Defend Me from My Friends
by MAHC (Amanda)
Chapter 18: For Dust You Are
POV: Kitty
It rained the day of the funeral. Standing morosely in the elements, a thin shawl poor cover against the steady downpour, Kitty Russell stared numbly past the preacher, the drone of impotent words meant to comfort falling without comprehension on her ears.
"By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken."
Doc stood beside her, hat in hand, gray head bare despite the weather, eyes pained and sad.
"For dust you are and to dust you will return."
It took four men to lower the coffin evenly into the grave, their efforts to ease the final journey successful save for a moment when one of them lost his grip, barely managing to regain a hold on the slick rope before the burdened vessel could plummet the final few feet.
The minister barely took a breath before beginning his recitation of the 23rd Psalm. Kitty could not help flinching when the first clump of dirt hit the wood – a dull thud, followed by another, and then another as chosen townsmen cast shovel upon shovelful of sodden prairie soil into the grave, slowly obscuring the rough pine box until it could no longer be seen.
Even after the men had finished, dutifully patting a smooth pattern onto the mound, only to have it instantly altered by hundreds of raindrops, Kitty lingered, shaking the preacher's hand, nodding to respectful mourners.
"Come on," Doc urged, tugging gently at her arm. "Let's get you back inside and dried off."
But she couldn't leave just yet. Thoughts of "what if" swirled through her mind.
What if Glenn Cantrell had never come to Dodge? What if Matt had not trusted his old friend from the beginning? What if she hadn't been so foolish as to let herself be taken? What if Matt had stayed in bed with his wounded leg like he should have? What if Chester had gotten to Matt earlier? What if –
Her weary thoughts were drawn back to those hours of waiting on the prairie, standing in the hot sun, staring off across the grassy plain, hand at her throat, watching, waiting for a glimpse of a horse and rider – two horses and two riders. Despite Doc's advice, which finally turned into pleas, she couldn't pull herself away, couldn't bear to wait inside the cabin. Somehow, being on the prairie felt closer to Matt, as if she could help him, send him her strength, make sure Cantrell and Layton didn't win this time.
"Chester'll be bringing him back, Kitty," Doc had assured her as soon as the gangly assistant disappeared on the horizon. "My gracious, Matt won't make it to where Cantrell is. He won't even make it – " The craggy face flinched in realization of what he was saying, and he stopped, shaking his head.
Kitty knew that well enough, knew that the average man's chances of staying in the saddle long enough to meet up with the outlaws were slim. But she also knew that Matt Dillon was no average man. And Doc knew that, as well. If anyone could overcome such severe injuries long enough to challenge the men who were responsible for them, it was Matt Dillon. But challenging and then surviving the challenge were not the same.
She shuddered, but it wasn't from the chill of the rain; it was from the terrible memory of Chester's return, of seeing that dark speck appear in the distance, growing closer and closer, wavering and blinking under the hot sun until Kitty could finally discern a shape, a man, and a horse, and another horse, and something trailing behind them. Nausea still pushed at her throat at the remembered vision. Sprawled on a make-shift travois, he looked more like a twisted bundle of soiled rags at first glance, blood splattered from head to toe, flesh swollen, features distorted, clothes ripped and stained. Doc's inadvertent groan revealed the truth, and she couldn't deny that the physician had tried his best, had worked as hard as he had ever worked to save Matt, even knowing that sometimes even the best isn't good enough.
When the hard-packed earth began to melt into mud, Doc took her arm again, more insistent this time. "You'll catch your death, Kitty," he admonished in a soft but firm voice.
Acquiescing, she allowed him to escort her around quickly-forming brown streams cutting through the streets until they reached the boardwalk in front of the Long Branch. Turning, she placed a hand tenderly against his cheek and allowed a small smile.
"Give me a little time alone, would you, Doc?"
He sighed but nodded. "I'll be up to check later. You just try to get some rest."
She nodded back at him, but both of them knew there was little chance rest would find her anytime soon. Trudging up the stairs, she let her gaze flicker across the saloon, bittersweet memories of easier times flashing through her mind – friendship and laughter, fellowship and comfort.
As her slow steps brought her closer to her room, her mind meandered through those early days of tentative teasing, which, despite the wariness from past pain on both their parts, led inevitably to breathtaking discovery, deepening passion, and finally long-lasting love.
So much to live for. So much to lose.
TBC