"How long?"
Doctor Gilberts looked at the stoic, twenty-six-year-old redhead in front of him with some surprise. Her voice had not even quivered as she asked the fateful question. She had to be a very strong lady. Most women would have been sobbing hysterically by this point.
"It's impossible to know. Six months, perhaps a year."
She nodded curtly.
"You understand the implications of your diagnosis?" the physician asked her.
"I am familiar with the disease," Kitty Russell replied in a staccato tone, reining in the flood of memories which threatened to overwhelm her. She remembered herself as a young child, living in the squalor of overcrowded lodgings in New Orleans, watching neighbor after neighbor grow thinner and thinner, coughing up blood…becoming emaciated, pain-wracked corpses right before her very eyes.
"You know, then, that it is an infectious disease. Those who associate with you most often are most at risk. It appears to be spread through the air, and through saliva. Every kiss from you can potentially infect someone. As a result, I strongly recommend that you consider secluding yourself from your family as much as possible."
Unconsciously, Kitty's hand moved to cover her lips. Heart wrenching, she thought of just one word:
Matt!
She remembered all the sweet kisses he had bestowed upon her during their seven-year courtship, and in particular thought of the one that she had received in his office right before she had embarked on her journey to St. Louis. Little had she thought then that it would be the last one they could ever share!
"Stay in a separate room at all times, or even better, once you get your affairs in order, go to a sanitarium. There is a particularly nice one in San Francisco by the sea which I recommend. They specialize in consumption, and you will be very well taken care of. In the meantime, take these powders if you have trouble sleeping, and this tonic can calm down your cough – to a certain extent."
Kitty's hand reflexively reached out and closed around the proffered medications.
"Thank you, Dr. Gilberts," she said. She pulled out a few dollars, paid his fee, and rose to leave.
"I am sorry that I could not give you better news, Ms. Russell," the physician said softly. "Very sorry."
With one last nod and look, Kitty silently took her leave.
….
She walked out of the office and onto the busy St. Louis street in a daze. Without giving a thought to the direction, she simply started walking past the people and buildings blindly.
She had not gone into Dr. Gilberts office expecting good news. For several weeks now, Kitty Russell had been certain that something was very, very wrong with her. The symptoms had started with fatigue, back when she was still in Dodge, but she had attributed it to normal tiredness and believed that it would be easily fixed by a vacation from the Long Branch and a change of scene. Thus, she had arranged to spend a month in St. Louis, visiting friends. But during her stay in the city, her appetite had dwindled down to almost nothing, and whatever she choked down invariably caused nausea. Her throat was perpetually sore, and at random intervals, a hacking cough broke out from her lips. Her muscles cramped. At last, when she could barely drag herself up the stairs to her hotel room, she had caved and decided to look up Dr. Gilberts. She had heard Doc Adams speak of him many times before, and she knew that he held the physician in high esteem. Therefore, she knew that his professional judgement could be trusted.
But she had not foreseen that the diagnosis would be consumption!
Paling, Kitty thought of the future which awaited her – a slow, lingering, painful death. But it was not herself that she thought of the most. It was for her friends that her heart broke.
Everyone who came near her would be risking their own lives. Poor Doc – practically an adopted father to her – would have to keep watch at her deathbed until the end. He had seen a lot of suffering, but Kitty knew that a particular look came into his eyes whenever anyone he loved was ill, and that every moment at such a sickbed cost him dearly. Sam and Festus would drop their usually loud voices to soft tones so as to not disturb her, and pretend to be stoic while they quietly wept on the inside. Ma Smalley would sit with her patiently and kindly, not giving a thought to her own health. And Matt – Kitty could hardly bear to even imagine what he would go through. He could bear terrible bullet wounds himself calmly, but every time she was injured or in danger he came closer to losing his equanimity than in any other situation. How would he react when he found out that he was going to lose her, and that there was absolutely no chance of a reprieve? Watching his grief would be worse than any amount of physical pain that illness could inflict upon her!
Kitty suddenly stopped short in the street.
There was no reason that they had to find out!
She was over five hundred miles from Dodge. No one but herself had heard Dr. Gilberts' bleak prognosis. If…if she never went back, no one would ever know. They might wonder and be hurt at her severing their acquaintance, but it would undoubtedly be easier for them than watching her slowly perish. And dying in a sanitarium would be easier for her than to see all the sad faces of her friends around her bedside as she became more and more helpless. She felt the old Russell pride swell up in her independent heart.
That settled it. She had set foot in Dodge for the last time.
Taking a shaky breath, she glanced around, oriented herself to her location, and hurried back to her hotel. There were many affairs that needed to be set in order.
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