(2)

She dressed plainly the next morning - a black traveling suit, minimal face paint and her hair pulled into a French twist. She placed an almost matronly rolled brim bonnet on her head. Trimmed in German braiding, it was decorated by tiny ostrich feathers arising from a dour black satin rosette and tied just to the side of her chin in a bow. The whole look was concealed behind a black wool hooded cape.

As she waited for Sam to come for her she carefully sealed the envelope containing the note she had penned to Dillon. Her words seemed most inadequate under the circumstances. They spoke so little of what was in her heart. Ruefully, she was reminded that there was a time, before October when there had been no need for words between them. The Dog Soldiers had changed all that. With Sam's knock, she placed the letter in her handbag. She took a last glance around her room, like someone fleeing from a burning building, wondering what prized possession should be rescued from the flames. Her eyes fell on a lawman's badge – bent and rusted. This was what she grabbed.

Sam drove her surrey to the train station by route of the back alley, minimizing the possibility of being spotted by any of her close friends. She thought of them now, Festus would have the second pot of coffee on the stove at the Marshal's office. Matt and Doc would be finishing off breakfast at Delmonico's, in happier times, before October and the Dog Soldiers; she would have been with them. She guessed this morning they were discussing how to talk her out of leaving. The hurt of parting from them without a final good bye was intense. She soothed the ache by reminding herself how much worse the pain for them would be if they knew the truth.

She followed behind, as Sam took her bags to the private compartment she'd reserved. When her luggage had been stowed away, he stood in front of her awaiting any final orders.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone Sam. You should be aware there is a possibility I won't be coming back. If that is the case I will see to it my lawyer advises you in plenty of time to exercise your options. Until then, I'm leaving the Long Branch in your hands, you do what you see fit. I trust you and your judgment." From her handbag she fished out the note she'd written for Dillon. "When a week has passed, I'd like you to give this to Matt, but not before then, promise me."

"Yes Miss Kitty, I promise."

"Take care, Sam … look out for everything …" her eyes strayed to the train window and Front Street framed by the dark curtains, "… everyone…"

"I will." He looked at his feet for a moment, "You just take care of yourself." He added, speaking for those who weren't there. The train whistle blew, once and then twice. "I'd best be leaving."

She stood on tiptoe and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "If there were any other way …"

Sam the bartender wasn't the kind of man who clearly understood women, although at times he felt like the keeper of a harem. He reminded himself now, that this wasn't the first time Kitty Russell had packed her bags and left town. She always came back; she'd returnto them this time too. He had to believe that. He looked at her with gentle eyes, "Just don't forget where home is." She answered him with a nod, because the lump in her throat blocked sound. She stood watching him as he made his way from the train car.

The locomotive gave a lurch, the whistle repeated and the wheels began the slow clickety-clack, which picked up tone and rhythm as they gained speed.

Left alone in the tiny one windowed cubical she removed the hat from her head and sat down on the bench seat to watch the prairie pass by. It seemed a ceremonial act for in many ways it represented her life passing by. In Hayes she changed trains and again in Summitville. On her journey she kept to herself leaving her compartment for onlybrief intervals. Her meals were brought to her and a maid stopped by morning and night to see to her needs. It should have been the perfect opportunity to sort out her life and figure out the solution to her problem. Again and again she went over her options, each timecoming to the same conclusion. She had only one choice that made any sense. She had only one choice, which gave her any hope of returning to Dodge City and the friends she'd left behind.

A homing instinct was driving her. In St. Louis she boarded the Yazoo and Mississippi Valley RR heading south to New Orleans. It had been years, twelve to be exact since she'd last been to the city of her birth. Matt had been with her to help sort through the paperwork connected with her father's death. There was no one left of her family now. Her mother's father had been a gentleman planter before the war. He'd lost his property to reconstruction and had died shortly thereafter. His only daughter, Kitty's mother had beenestranged from her father when she'd chosen to marry the gambler, Wayne Russell. He had however seen fit to give her an allowance so that she could live in reasonable comfort. The stipend had ended with her death. The old man made it clear he wanted nothing to do with his daughter's child. The young Kitty was sent to live under the care of her father's friends. It had made for an unusual childhood, for Kitty had been schooled not only in the art of being a lady, but also in being a lady of the evening. It had never occurred to her to be bitter about life, she had seen too many with more who had faired poorer. A realist, Kitty had learned from her earliest days to play the hand life dealt her.

The night before she left Dodge she had decided to do so as a widow, or at least garbed as one. It would grant her anonymity and distance. Two hours from New Orleans, she dressed for the day in a heavy, unadorned crepe de chine mourning gown. It had been a year since she'd worn it - Louie Pheeters funeral. She could mark two other occasions as well that the dress had been worn. Most women in the 1870s had at least one mourning gown to their name, ever fashion conscious, Kitty had three. Death was a constant and there were strict rules governing proper attire and behavior. The wearing of the dress now seemed somehow sadly appropriately, for in a way she was mourning a death. Her heart grieved with the sorrow of it.

From the bottom of her handbag she removed a small box covered in scarlet velvet. Inside resting between blue satin folds was her mother's wedding ring. She slipped this onto her finger. Propping a hand mirror on the room's small table, Kitty studied her face. A scar, the visible reminder of her time with the dog soldiers lingered on her left cheek. Skillful with face powder and rouge Kitty had always covered it up before appearing in public. Today there would be no need. She brushed her hair and pulled it back tightly, securingthe auburn tresses in a plain bun. She opened her hatbox and removed a somber black bonnet with two layers of veiling. She placed it atop her head. The weight of it bore down on her. She pulled the first layer of veiling over her eyes, this was chin length, loosely knitnetting that showed her features but hid her expression in shadows. The second layer fell past her shoulders, and provided complete isolation from the outside world.

At the depot she gathered together her belongs and with the help of a porter, secured an immediate hansom cab. The widow's weeds granted privileges even beauty had been denied. "Where toMa'dam." The dark skinned driver asked.

"St Catherine's Hospital." She replied.

"Yez'm."

She leaned back in the cab, and took in the sights, which were familiar yet, foreign after so many years in Kansas. The air was heavy with the smell of fish and the sea, flavored by the scent of Cajun spices. Memories of her girlhood came back with random strikes of clarity. They passed by the street where she'd lived with her mother and drove along the outskirts of the red-light district where Panacea Sikes had run a gambling house. Finally the driver pulled his horses to a stop in front of an immense stone and granite facility.

"We is at St. Catherine's Ma'dam." The driver drawled opening the door for her and offering an assisting hand.

"I won't be long, will you wait please?"

"Yez'um."

She gathered her skirts and pulled back the heavy black veil leaving only the netting in place. She walked swiftly up the long paved walk to the front of the building. A doorman let her in. At the reception desk sat an older woman dressed in gray with a full stiff whiteapron. With pen in hand, she looked up from a ledger book. "May I help you?" She questioned, her voice soft and genteel showing respect and sympathy for Kitty's clothing.

"Yes, at least I think you can, I'm looking for Dr. John Chapman. I believe he's associated with this hospital."

"Why yes he is. You will find him in his office this time of day. Down the hallway, last door on the left."

"Thank you."

The air was rife with the scent of lemon oil and quinine. Her footsteps echoed down the polished corridor. She stopped in front of a smoke-glassed door with the name John Chapman, MD, painted on it and knocked. A woman who might have been a carbon copy of the receptionist answered the door.

"I'd like to see Dr. Chapman, is he in?"

"He's busy this afternoon, was he expecting you?"

"No, but I'm an old friend of his."

"What is your name please?"

"Kitty …" it didn't occur to her to disguise her name, "Kitty Russell."

"Have a seat, I'll check with the doctor." The woman nodded and disappeared behind a door. When the door opened again it was Dr. Chapman who stood with his hand on the knob.

His suit was white, and adorned by a bow tie and stethoscope. He glanced around the room clearly not expecting to see his friend robed in widow's weeds.

"Dr. Chapman …" she said rising to her feet.

"Miss Kitty?" He moved to her quickly his hands reaching out to take hers.

Despite her firm resolve, her voice trembled, "I need a friend."

"My dear, you have found a friend." He placed a supporting arm aroundher waist and led her to the inner office. "Mrs. Frederick, we are not to be disturbed."

There was a light wind, which flowed through the open windows. Starched gauze curtains floated with the breeze. The doctor showed her a comfortable leather chair and guided her down and then took the chair next to her. His face had taken on an ashen hue, "What isthis all about Kitty? Matt isn't … he didn't … surely someone would have telegraphed me …"

"Matt's fine, at least he was when I left."

"Then what …?"

She leaned forward in the chair, "John … can I trust you not to betray my confidence?"

"I've taken an oath to that effect."

"I didn't have anywhere else to turn, I don't know what to do." The long trip and the emotional trauma had taken its toll; she turned away from his kind eyes in effort to keep her self-control.

To give her time and space, Chapman rose to his feet and poured her a glass of water. "Perhaps if you tell me what the problem is, together we can find an answer." He said as he handed her the tumbler.

She took a long drink before setting it in her lap. "Three months ago I was taken hostage by a band of outlaws known as the Dog Soldiers. I was beaten and raped, and then shot, left for dead in the street, like some animal."

Horror showed in John Chapman's eyes and voice, "Kitty …. My God…What did Matt do?"

"Went after them … the whole town followed."

It had been three years since he'd returned from the frontier to his position at St. Catherine's. He'd almost forgotten the brutality of the West. This was a cruel reminder. "Did they get them?"

"Yes."

Chapman studied her for a moment. In the six months he'd lived in Dodge City he'd become quite close to the redheaded saloon woman. He'd never known anyone like her before or since. He supposed he'd fallen a little bit in love with her from the first day. Not that there was a future to it. Kitty Russell's heart was not hers to give, it belonged to Matt Dillon. He could think of nothing that would make her leave Dillon, especially if she were in trouble. Then it hit him; he reached out to take her hand, "You're going tohave a baby." It was a statement born of instinct.

"I believe I am."

"Matt doesn't know?"

She shook her head in reply.

"Doc Adams?"

"No. I couldn't put Matt through this, not Doc either for that matter."

"Have you been examined by a physician?"

Again a headshake was her negative reply.

"We'll start with that. Fortunately for you this is a teaching hospital. We have access to the finest doctors in the south. I have a colleague who specializes in obstetrics – which is the medicine of female reproduction. Considering your age and what you've been through I believe it wise to have a doctor who deals with high-risk patients. The physician I'd like you to see is giving a lecture at Women's Hospital in New York City, he should be back by the end of the week. Do you have a place to stay?"

"No."

"You'll stay with my sister and I."

"I can't …"

"You can and will, we have plenty of room and it will be good for Annabelle to have someone besides herself to think about. You have bags with you?"

"Yes, they're in the cab, I asked the driver to wait for me, while I talked to you."

Chapman pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. "4:30. Time for me to be heading home." He snapped the watch shut and offered Kitty a helping hand. At the door she took his elbow and together they walked out of the hospital to the waiting cab.