The first Saturday that Christine Penmark went over to Miss Kitty's to start work on the new dress, she was surprised that Ronny wanted to go along with her and Rhoda. "Are you sure, Ronny? Wouldn't you rather be playing outside?" She had never seen any other children playing with her son, but told herself that anyone as smart and attractive as Ronny must be very popular.
"No, Mother, I'd rather spend some time with you and Rhoda this morning!" the young boy had replied with a winning, dimpled smile. Before joining his mother and sister outside, Ronny quickly pulled out the cigar box of his treasures, and excitedly envisioned the Mexican War medal there.
The trio went up the back stairs of the Long Branch to be met by Kitty as arranged. She hid her surprise that the eight-year-old boy had come too, and ushered them to a currently empty bedroom where her dress dummy was set up, and the nearby table held the roll of rose-colored material. "Christine, since you've already taken down my measurements to check against the dress dummy, I'll leave you to it!" I'll have Sam bring up some sandwiches and milk later. I'll be downstairs if you need anything," she added as she turned toward the door.
"You're too kind, Kitty, but thank you very much!" the pretty blonde woman replied. Her eyes glowed as she set down her sewing basket on the table next to the beautiful material. She needed this to take her mind off her loneliness for Kenneth, her troubling nightmares, and her growing worry about her son. The money would certainly help too! Mail from the frontier was very sporadic, and Kenneth's dutiful cash allotments were often late.
Glancing over at her children, she was pleased to see little Rhoda sitting on the rug already busily playing with the two dolls she had brought. Even Ronny seemed satisfied with his big book of the history of the U.S. which contained many graphic drawings of battles. It was his favorite present from his greatly-admired soldier father.
As Christine carefully unpacked her sewing kit, laying the measuring tape, pins, pin cushion, chalk, needles, pink thread, and pattern tissue neatly on the large table, she didn't notice her son's eyes watching her from over the top of his book. "Darn! Where are my sewing scissors?! I ALWAYS keep them in the bottom of the basket!" Christine muttered to herself. Frowning, she searched the basket again, and even turned it upside down and shook it over the table. The scissors were expensive, especially made for cutting fine material, and she could not proceed without them.
"Ronny!" she called, just as the boy quickly looked down at his open book. "Run home and get my sewing scissors! I must've left them on my sewing table in my room. Hurry now!" Not wanting to waste time for which she was being paid, Christine consulted the piece of paper where she had written down Kitty's exact measurement, and started spreading out the tissue for the pattern pieces.
"Yes, Mother!" Ronny piped, laying his book on his chair and running from the room. He hurried down the hall until he reached Miss Kitty's room. Silently snickering, the boy patted his right pants pocket where the sewing scissors were, then pulled a slender metal pin from the left. Glancing around and seeing no one, he put the pin into the lock, and after a few moments of skillful maneuvering, he smiled when the "click" was heard. He looked around once more, then turned the knob and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
"Now where would she put it" he asked himself, dismayed at the array of furniture with so many drawers, and so many other possible places, such as the intricately carved wooden box on a table by the window, and a round, ceramic container with painted roses on the lid setting on her nightstand. He figured he had about eight minutes maximum-the time it would take to go home and return-so he took a big breath and started searching in a clockwise direction. After five minutes without success, he was ready to give up for the day when he saw a small enameled box half hidden by a large vase of wildflowers on the dresser by her bed. "One last look before Mother will be wondering why I haven't come back with the scissors," he thought. Opening the small box, at first he couldn't believe his eyes. "The MEDAL!" Ignoring the ribbon-tied lock of blonde hair, he snatched up the old medal, stuck it in his left pants pocket, and gleefully ran towards the door to the hallway. He skidded to a halt as he saw the knob turning. His mind whirling, Ronnie quickly took the scissors from his pocket and adjusted his face into his sweetest expression.
"Ronny! What are you doing in my room?!" Kitty was sure she had locked her door, as always, and had been surprised to find it unlocked. And now this beautiful but strangely unsettling child was in her room innocently smiling up at her.
"Hello Miss Kitty! Mother sent me home for her special sewing scissors, and I was in such a hurry to get them to her that I went into your room by mistake when I got back." His dimples deepened as he saw the uncertainty crossing the young woman's face as her instincts were subdued by his perfect face. "You have a very lovely room, Miss Kitty!" he piped as he calmly walked by her and went down the hall to the room his mother and sister were in.
"Uh…thank you, Ronny…" her voice trailed off as she watched the boy, noticing how he was tightly grasping the long scissors like a dagger. Still feeling uneasy, she slowly scanned her room, searching for anything out of place or missing. Feeling guilty, she checked her stash of money in the top drawer of her dresser, wrapped in a hankie, then carefully checked on her jewelry. "Oh, I'm being crazy! He's just an eight-year-old boy and his unusual appearance and politeness are certainly nothing to hold against him!"
Later that evening, after Kitty had bathed and put on her dark blue satin nightgown, she sat at her dressing table, brushing her glossy hair, and anticipating Matt's arrival. When she finished, she got up, languidly stretched, and walked over to the vase of wildflowers. She admired the various colors and blooms, and the memory of Matt surprising her with the bouquet brought a warm smile to her face. They had been out on a horseback ride two days ago, and had stopped at one of their favorite spots by the river in a secluded, tree-ringed glade. Matt had spread out his bedroll for them to lie on under the large oak nearest the water while the two horses grazed in the sun. She had dozed in his arms, and had awakened to find the handsome lawman lying beside her, propped up on his right arm, watching her with twinkling eyes, the bouquet of flowers between them. Blinking a few times, the vision faded, and she noticed that the small enameled box that Doc had given her for her birthday three months ago was not exactly where she had put it behind the vase.
"Hmmm…I know I had it turned the other way," she mused as she turned it slightly to the left, paused, and impulsively picked it up and opened it. Army Lieutenant Robert Danforth Conroy, long known only as "Crowbait Bob," had left her a mysteriously poignant lock of blonde hair tied in a faded blue satin ribbon, a medal from the Mexican War, an old silver dollar, a War Department certificate, a rusted pistol, and a stack of worthless Confederate money. The only items she had kept were the lock of hair and the medal, and she had put both in the lovely little enameled box for safekeeping. It had immensely saddened the sensitive young woman to think that any person's life could be boiled down to so few items, and she was determined to honor Robert by remembering him. Now her eyes widened in surprise that the only thing now inside of the box was the curl of glossy hair. "The medal!" Her mind immediately flew to young Ronny Penmark being in her room, and what Doc had told her about the boy's odd reaction to old Cornelia Sparrow's tragic death. "No. It can't be true! What could I possibly say to Christine?" The considerate woman pondered a few moments, then decided that an ancient medal wasn't worth upsetting sweet Christine Penmark, who clearly doted on her son. But she would talk to Matt about it sometime.
To be continued…