(6)

Chapman had studied her with a medical eye when she'd claimed a headache and told him she'd not be able to attend the party. Not that he had expected her to go after the scene that morning. In truth he was far more shaken than he chose to admit, for he'd never realized the full impact of rape. It hadn't occurred to him before just how deeply the act scarred a woman's psyche. As a physician he'd been trained to treat the flesh. This emotional trauma was far more devastating than any physical hurt he'd ever doctored. The invisible wounds were profound and seemed incapable of complete healing.

He'd visited her room a second time, just before he and Annabelle were set to leave for the party. "I don't like leaving you alone tonight." He told her.

She was sitting in the rocking chair, her pale face strained by tension, "I won't be alone, Renee will be here."

"Just the same…" he started.

She managed a smile, which eased some of his worry, "Mr. Boudry is counting on you to be there. He's nervous about his first party since his wife died." She glanced out to the window and then back at him, "Look John, I'm fine … I'm sorry for my emotional outburst. As you said it was the shock, I'm over that now. I just need some quiet thought to plan for the future."

He patted her hand and promised, "I'll put in my appearance and be home early."

She had spent that afternoon in the rocking chair by the window, watching the storm clouds move across the sky like the ebb and flow of high tide. Kitty was not a vengeful person, nor had reprisal been a motive to her before, but now it empowered her reasoning. This growing thing she carried inside her was the physical embodiment of wickedness. Getting rid of it was a strike against the monsters who had attacked her. She could not think past the faces and voices of nameless Dog Soldiers. Alone with the dark sky and even darker thoughts, she relived the hours she had been held hostage by Jude Bonner's men. The memory was a constant in her mind, never far from the surface and always ready to drag her down in a never-ending maelstrom of deep unyielding despair. Like some talisman to ward off an ever-present evil she held tightly in the palm of her hand Matt Dillon's badge. The shape was distorted, showing the mark left by a bullet when the badge had become a shield, were that it could become a shield now she thought and protect her from her own demons.

Shortly after John and Annabelle's carriage pulled away from the portico, Renée came to her bedroom door. She was dressed in a black gown and matching turban. "It is time Madame." She said holding Kitty's cape for her to put on. "You have the money?"

"Yes," Kitty answered, "I have the money."

They left Mayhaw by the servants' staircase and a side door. The rain clouds partially concealed the moonlight making it difficult for Kitty to tell the direction they were headed. Renée led the way through the dark streets and Kitty could only follow as they moved among the shadows.

In a hoarse whisper, Kitty asked Renée, "How will we get back to Mayhaw after this is over?"

There was a catch to the young woman's voice, "Madame, I am sorry but you will not be coming back to Mayhaw. You will stay with Irma until zee bleeding has stopped and you have your strength back."

She stood in the street, "But … what about my belongings … my money …Surely Dr. Chapman will be wondering what's become of me…"

"Zee Mademoiselle Annabelle will find a note she say you have written to the Monsieur Doctor. It say you have returned to your home. You will be given train ticket and small amount of cash to do so. The rest, your things and money she will keep, she say you owe her."

"Fine." Kitty replied with a nod of her head, "It's a small price to pay."

They turned a corner and began walking down a cobblestone lane. There were no streetlamps here; the only light was that which burned in the windows of the cottages lining the road. They stopped at the third house on the left. Kitty tripped when she stepped on the broken stair in front of the door, catching herself from falling on the rickety porch rail. Renee knocked twice and then twice more.

The door opened a crack and a voice asked, "You brung her?"

"Oui"

"She got the money?"

"I have the money." Kitty answered. The door opened slowly and she alone was allowed inside. The place was small; the parlor hardly big enough for a shabby mismatched settee and chair.

The middle-aged white woman, who had opened the door held out her hand, mistakenly Kitty thought it was in greeting. "The money first, we ain't gonna do nothing without the cash in my hand."

Nodding her head in understanding, Kitty opened up the small reticule she carried and drew out the one hundred-dollar bill. Before handing it over, her eyes traveled the length of the large muscular woman, taking in her somewhat disheveled and soiled appearance; she recognized her caste, she was what was commonly referred to as `poor white trash.'

Her voice held steady, "Are you the one who'll be doing … it?"

"My man does the dirty work." She said, yanking the bill from Kitty's hand. "You'll have to wait a spell, he's working on another of your kind. You can set down in here, till he's ready for you."

"Irma, get your ass back in here" A crude, though perhaps better educated voice yelled from the back room.

"Keep your pants on ol' man, I' is com'in," The woman shrieked back. She unhooked a key from her belt and locked the front door. "Don't want no uninvited guests showin up fer the party," She pulled out a derringer from a fold in her skirt."Wouldn't wanta hafta use this." She said with a threatening voice before she left the room.

Alone in the parlor Kitty tried to make herself comfortable on the chair, she scooted over to the far side to avoid the loose springs. She knew enough about medicine from years of helping Doc to realize the importance of sanitary conditions. Even in the parlor's dim light she could see a layer of grime covering wall, floor and furniture.

It was harder still to ignore the sounds and smells coming out of the next room. From the cries of pain it was apparent the woman being operated on was not given any form of anesthesia. The thought of what lay ahead for her, worked away at Kitty's intestines. The back of her throat burned with bile. Horror stories she'd heard about botched abortions came to her mind, women dumped in back alleys left bleeding to death, or post operative infections which ravaged the victim's body, leading to a slow painful end. Most disconcerting were the tales regarding the gruesome birth defects of infants unlucky enough to have survived.

As if on cue she felt a flutter in her lower stomach, it could have been the result of any of a half dozen things, but she knew it wasn't. So light, delicate, so sweet, like the wings of a butterfly floating against a Kansas spring breeze. It was the quickening, a mother's first knowledge of a baby's movement defining growth and life. She hadn't expected it and moreover she would not have expected to be stirred by it. But she was and her hand traveled down to protectively cup the area. It remained there for a heart beat. Suddenly, she stood up, her voice a determined whisper, "I can't go through with this." And louder so that Irma could hear in the back room. "Unlock the door, I want to get out." Irma reappeared in the hallway. She wore, hanging from her neck and tied loosely at her back, an apron, which resembled that worn by a butcher complete with bloodstains. Her voice was an angry snarl, "Let you out so's you can go to the police and turn us in? Ain't no way you is getting outa here till we's done the deed you paid us to do. Till you is just as guilty as me `n Reggie."

"Keep the money, I won't turn you in, just unlock the door and let me go." Kitty said. She could see the bulge of the key ring behind Irma's apron.

Irma moved toward her, "I said no."

In desperation, Kitty made a lunge for the key, but the other woman was too fast for her. Grabbing Kitty's arm with her left, Irma swung with her right, landing a hard fist to the belly. Kitty doubled over in pain and fell to the floor. "That oughta learn ya. Don't give me no more grief, you hear!" As if for insurance Irma kicked the prostrate Kitty in the back, "I ain't got no tolerance fer it."

Irma left her where she was and returned to the back room. Gasping for breath from the force of the blow, Kitty Russell lay on the filthy floor; finally she dragged herself to the settee and pulled herself up. The movement exacerbated the pain, which came as excruciating spasms across her abdomen and spine. She was aware of moisture between her legs and even in her agony wondered if the `deed' had already been accomplished.

Sometime later Irma came back in the parlor for her. "Get up." She ordered.

"I … I can't."

"You is more trouble than you's worth." The woman grabbed Kitty and pulled her roughly to her feet. "Walk," she ordered and began half dragging her toward the back room. They had reached the hall just as there was a pounding on the front door.

"You in there, open the door!" From a pain-shrouded fog, Kitty recognized the voice as John Chapman's.

"What you want?" Irma hollered.

"You've got a woman in there, Kitty Russell, I've come to take her home."

"Got no one here by that name, go away."

The pain was unbearable, but she realized she was a dead woman without John Chapman's aid so she summoned what was left of her strength and cried, "John … help me."

There was sudden force applied to the door and the splintering of wood as it came crashing to the floor. Chapman and Zebulon burst into the room.

Letting go of Kitty, Irma fumbled for the derringer hidden in her pocket and shouted, "You is trespassing, you ain't got no right to break into a body's home."

Zebulon moved in front of the woman and grabbed her by the neckline of her dress holding it tight, choking off her speech. "Woman, if you don't stop talking immediately, I will see to it that you never speak again."

Chapman ran to Kitty, catching her as she fell and easing her descent to the floor, "Kitty … my God, Kitty … what did they do to you."

"Help me…" She whispered as the vortex she'd fought against for so long, finally won.

GS GS GS GS

The stars in the sky shining in from the bedroom window were the first things Kitty saw when she opened her eyes again. Drugs had dulled her pain and mind. Her thinking was confused and she was unable to focus on time and place. The only reality she could grasp was the comfort of a clean bed and the kind hands caring for her. A word came to her lips, and it was the one word, which had meaning, "Matt … Matt …" The significance was lost on the man who heard.

Professor Pittlekow turned up the lamp next to her bed. He took her wrist in his hand and checked off the beats of her heart with the ticking of his pocket watch. "Schlafen, sleep, Frau Russell, you are very sick, you must rest."

She closed her eyes blocking out the star shine and the Professor's profile. Later she woke to find John Chapman sitting in the chair. He smiled and waited for her eyes to focus and recognition to show on her face.

"Well, are you surfacing for good this time or just passing through again?" he asked kindly.

Her mouth was dry and her throat sore, but she managed to get the words out. "The baby?"

His hand reached over to rest lightly against the blanket covering her stomach. "The baby is still with you." His voice softened and a gentle smile lifted his lips, " I would never have believed it could survive what you've just been through. In fact there was more than once in the past ten days that I didn't think you would survive."

He raised his hand to cradle her face. She moved her head slightly to accommodate him, "How … how did you know?" she asked.

He frowned until understanding came to him, "Where you were? Renee found me at Randolph Boudry's; fortunately Zebulon was waiting with the carriage. Renee led us to you. I'm indebted to her. Between Zeb and I, we were able to break down the door and get you out of there."

Tears of weakness pooled in her sad eyes. "I … I'm so sorry."

"No my dear, I am the sorry one, sorry for not recognizing the depth of your emotional pain, as well as the depth of my sister's dislike for you. You'll not have to worry about her again; I've sent Annabelle to St. Louis to visit friends and have advised her to make other living arrangements should she decide to return to New Orleans."

He gave her a sip of water, "Kitty, I understand how much you abhor the thought of giving birth to this child. As a physician, I am morally and ethically opposed to any action, which might harm the infant, and will do everything in my power to see your pregnancy to term. But I want you to know, once the child has been delivered you do not have to care for it or acknowledge it in any way. The Sisters of Charity at Our Lady of Perpetual Hope Convent run an orphanage. Immediately after birth, the child can be sent to them, they will care for it. You can stay here until you have regained your strength and then if you still desire to leave, return to Dodge City to resume your former life."

She closed her eyes without giving John Chapman an answer. Her mind was cluttered with emotions impossible to categorize. Though she couldn't define it, amid the tumult, in that secret dimension between life and death there had been planted within her a small seed of respect for the child who refused to die.