The night sky wept with a soft, steady drizzle as the redhead waited for her husband to finish speaking with Percy Crump. Kitty wondered why rain always seemed to coincide with death. She gathered her shawl around her shoulders, remembering how rain had fallen after Henri's untimely death. Octavia had told her that she believed it was a sign of the deceased's soul being cleansed as they transitioned into the afterlife. Kitty stepped onto the ground, tilting her face toward the sky to feel the rain on her face, hoping it would calm her swirling emotions. "Oh, Sam," she sighed, finding solace that his peaceful passing had been what many men wished for. At the sound of the door closing, she turned on her heel.
"All taken care of for a reasonable price," Matt informed, hoping his beloved's anger had calmed over the undertaker's attempts to overcharge. He'd been surprised that she'd excused herself before her temper erupted, and he'd also been surprised to learn that Percy's duties had expanded to include death care. The undertaker offered burial and mourning clothing, body preparation, and funeral coordination. Matt remembered the days when the man had been simply a furniture maker.
"I need a drink," she mumbled. "Can I buy you one, Cowboy?"
"I'll buy," he winked, sliding his arm around her waist. Matt stopped shy of the saloon as he noticed Dr. Chapman's horse and buggy easing by Delmonico's.
"What'd you stop for?"
"Go on in. I'll tell Chapman while you tell Hannah." He waved his long arm to the physician.
"Alright," Kitty mumbled, watching her husband walk down the boardwalk. She set her eyes on the batwing doors of the Long Branch and felt hesitant to set a foot into the place she'd once called home. She shook the silliness out of her head and pushed her way through, scanning the lively crowd.
From the end of the bar, Hannah curiously lifted her head as silence fell over the room. She swallowed hard at the sight of the former owner. Her hazel eyes met the saddened pools of blue, and she knew her business partner and pal was gone. Hannah retrieved another glass, generously pouring her best whiskey into the tumbler. To disrupt the stares and whispers, she announced a round of free drinks to the saloon.
While patrons clambered to the mahogany bar, a broad-shouldered fur trapper loitered until the right moment to block the auburn-haired beauty's path. "Let's have a drink," the man proposed in his deep, scratchy voice while licking his lips.
Kitty faintly cringed at the distinctive scent of poor hygiene and pelts. "You can have one without me."
"I came here t' have a good time."
"Well, have a good time. I certainly won't stop you."
"I'm fixin' to. Why don't we talk about it, huh?" He placed his hands on her arms, imagining how soft her fair skin was underneath the lavish sleeve.
"I've heard it all before," Kitty retorted flatly, pulling out of his clutches.
"I'm sure you have, but we can still be real friendly." He took his filthy hat off his head, plastering a smile on his face. "My name's Abel Jackson."
"Get outta my way," she growled, sidestepping him.
Abel anticipated the redhead's move and blocked her path again. "For a soft thing, you got spunk. That's the way I like my women."
Her brow furrowed as her eyes narrowed on him. "In just about one minute, you're going to find out how much spunk I've got."
"Oh, we can talk about that, too," he replied, hooking his arms around her to pull her flush against his barrel chest.
Kitty felt nauseous from the heat of his rotten breath tickling her skin. Her eyes widened as his hands roughly groped her breasts, and his wet mouth covered her neck. She swiftly raised her foot, kicking her pointy shoe into his shin.
The saloon erupted into laughter as the man landed on his backside, and the redhead lifted her skirt to step over him. Kitty shook her head, softly chuckling at the amused expression on Hannah's face. "I haven't missed that."
"Sam always said you sure could take care of yourself. I'm gonna miss 'im."
"I am, too." Kitty turned her head, recognizing the shuffle of Louie Pheeter's footfalls. "Louie," she greeted.
"Miss Kitty, I heard about Sam," he consolingly patted her hand while eyeing the bottle.
"Louie, Hannah and I were about to have a drink in honor of him. Will you join us?"
"If you insist, Miss Kitty."
"I insist." She graciously poured him a drink, sighing heavily as she realized the trapper's eyes were burning holes into her. Kitty swore under her breath while preparing herself for another round with him.
"Some won't ever learn," Hannah muttered with a shake of her head as he approached. She tapped Pheeter's arm, signaling him to go for the marshal.
"What's the matter with me? You'll have a drink with him but not me."
"He's a friend. You're not."
"Mister, the next bottle's on me if you get outta here," Hannah stipulated, hoping the old trick would work.
"I ain't leavin' without her," Jackson growled, the scratch in his voice more pronounced with his resolve. "C'mon with me, Red. Let's go out and have a look at the moon." He slung his arm around her, breathing in her captivating scent as he drew her into his side.
"Let me go!" Kitty angrily screamed, elbowing him in his ribs while stomping her pointed heel into his foot. She felt his grip on her loosen and took the opportunity to grab the whiskey bottle, breaking it against the bar. "I've had enough of you! C'mon, I'd just love to rub the rest of this in your face."
While the trapper's laughter echoed off the walls, Hannah anxiously glanced at the saloon entrance until she saw the giant coming in behind a worried Louie. She'd meant Newly, but Matt Dillon would do. She winced as the man's huge fist collided into the side of Jackson's head and sent him flying into the wall. She silently cheered at Matt's decision to send a well-aimed blow to the fool's stomach. Hannah was certain the third punch to the head made the man see stars.
Matt straightened, taking his hat off to wipe his brow. He looked at the customers. "Some of you get 'im outta here," he requested, stepping closer to his wife to take the jagged bottle from her. "Honey, you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm alright," she mumbled, catching her breath. "You deserve a drink after all that."
"I'll buy," Hannah offered, watching the unconscious oaf be carried out of the Long Branch. "Now, let's have that drink to our dear, departed friend." She waited for the barkeep to fill more glasses. "To Sam," Hannah declared, raising her glass.
The alcoholic dismissively waved his hand, believing his friend deserved a worthy tribute. He straightened his spine and cleared his throat, "And, when he shall die…take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with the night…and pay no worship to the garish sun."
Kitty sniffled and leaned in, chastely kissing Louie on his whiskery cheek before she raised her tumbler.
Under the cover of a hackberry tree, the girls were on their backs in the overgrown grass, gazing at the white, puffy clouds. Vivienne glanced at her younger sister. "Regarde, Josie," she directed, pointing to a gigantic cloud. "That one looks like a hippopotamus. Hippopotame," she carefully pronounced since the word was new.
"Hippopotame," Josephine repeated with a soft giggle. Her brown eyes fixed on a smaller but similar formation. "Petit hippopotame. Ils sont le mère et l'enfant."
"You think so?"
"Uh huh," she murmured while sitting up. "À bientôt, Vivi." The five-year-old scrambled to her feet and dashed toward the house, compelled to be close to her mother. She drifted inside and found the older redhead sitting cross-legged on the floor of Sam's bedroom. Without a word, Josephine slipped her arms around the grieving woman and kissed her cheek before settling next to her.
"I needed one of your hugs, Quatre," Kitty murmured, smiling softly at her girl while holding the key to the handcrafted cedar chest in her palm. For the last half hour, she'd been willing herself to put the key into the lock but couldn't do it. As soon as she turned that lock, Sam would truly be gone, and she'd have to begin the arrangements for his funeral. Fortunately, he'd made his wishes clear for a humble burial service.
"Maman, what are you doing?"
"I'm trying to gather the strength to go through Sam's things. He told me to open this after he died."
"You gotta do it," Josephine said, deciding to plop herself in her mother's lap. She ran her fingers down the brass bands of the storage chest. "Ouvrir."
"It's easier said than done, Quatre."
"Monsieur Sam wanted you to, Maman." Josie leaned her head back into her mother's bosom, meeting her watery eyes as she reached up to comfortingly brush her fingertips along the side of Kitty's face. The girl whispered, "He's not sad. He's in Heaven, Maman. Papa's taking care of him. He's taking Monsieur Sam to the ones waiting for him."
Kitty encircled her arms around her daughter and kissed the middle of her forehead. She buried her face into Josephine's copper curls, envisioning Henri and Sam together. She was sure her ears would burn from the chats the men would have about her.
"Sam's in mighty good hands," Matt declared from behind his girls. He'd returned from his trip into town for boxes to pack Sam's belongings. "Josie girl, let's help Maman open this chest." He lowered himself onto the floor next to his wife and took the key from her, twisting the iron into the lock.
The petite redhead stood on her knees and pushed the lid with a grunt, peering into the depths of the chest. "Ooh," she crooned as she gazed at all the treasures. She lifted a silver rattle from the cedar depths.
Kitty rubbed her lips together and let her eyes roam over the contents. She touched the walnut box of his fiddle case, recalling all the Ford County socials he'd played and the nights he'd entertained the Long Branch regulars with Rudy on guitar. She took a bundle of old letters wrapped in ribbon out of the chest while Matt carefully sorted through the rest. Kitty untied the silk and opened one of the letters, reading the script. Her hand trembled, releasing the paper. A sudden rush of emotion caught her breath in her lungs and brought her thoughts to a standstill. She stared at her daughter, shaken and astonished as she replayed Josephine's words in her head.
"Honey," Matt murmured, looking from the documents he'd discovered in a small wooden box. "What's the matter? What'd you find?"
"Sam had a wife."
"What?"
"Her name was Damaris. She died from complications of childbirth. Their baby did, too. She was born too soon."
"I never knew." He placed his hand on the middle of her back, rubbing his palm back and forth between her shoulder blades.
Kitty somberly dipped her head. She'd never known either. All too well, she understood how painful some experiences could be to share, but her heart still ached for Sam's significant losses.
"He's waited to see 'em a long, long time," Josephine professed, smoothing her fingers over the braid of raven black hair that had fallen from the letter. Her hip bumped against her mother's as she scooted nearer, gingerly placing the plait in the letter.
Matt tenderly smiled at his kindhearted daughter. "You honestly didn't know, Kitty?"
She shook her head. "I didn't. I knew about his time in the New Mexico Territory."
"Followin' a cow around," Matt said. He'd known about Sam's time as a cowpuncher but had forgotten until several nights ago. After a prying eight-year-old had asked Sam about the condition of his face, the barkeep had answered that the canyons of wrinkles on his face were from following a cow around. Matt chuckled, recalling Luc's baffled expression. The barkeep had shared fresh details and had retold a handful of amusing stories from younger days. He cleared his throat, glancing at the certificate he'd discovered. "Honey, Sam deserves a funeral with military honors."
The older redhead swallowed her emotions, staring at the scroll. Her mind whirled with what she'd never known about Sam's years before he'd come to Kansas and had started working for her. She'd known he'd fought in the Civil War. Like others, he didn't talk about the horrors of the battlefield. She wiped her eyes, lifting her gaze from the medal in her husband's large hand.
"He received a Medal of Honor," Matt told her while Josephine climbed over Kitty's lap to get a better look. He showed the youngster the medal and instructed her to be careful as she made herself comfortable in his lap.
"Daddy, how'd Monsieur Sam get that?"
Matt cleared his throat and read from the scroll, "With one companion and under fierce fire from the enemy at short range, Samuel James Noonan went to the rescue of a wounded comrade who had fallen between the lines and carried him to a place of safety."
"He was brave."
"Yes, he certainly was," Kitty murmured as tears trickled down her cheeks. "He was one of the best men I've known."
Matt squeezed his wife's knee. "Josie girl," the father whispered, resting his chin on top of the youngster's curls. "Why don't you and me let Maman have a little time to herself?"
The child decisively shook her head while shifting onto her daddy's thigh. "Non, Daddy. I'm stayin' with Maman. She needs me," Josephine spoke softly, gently tugging him to her level by his shirt collar. "You, too."
The big man knew better than to argue with the truth.
On the flat, grassy land of Maple Grove Cemetery, the girl stood between her brothers and father. Vivienne gazed at the solemn faces of the funeral-goers and markers of stone and wood surrounding her. From the number of graves, the eleven-year-old realized death was a common experience in Dodge City. She didn't believe she'd ever get used to attending funerals although Sam Noonan's service had been vastly different from her papa's interment. No priest had blessed the casket with holy water, and a pall hadn't been placed on the casket. She glanced at her mother as her uncle stepped forward to sing one of Sam's favorite hymns.
Kitty offered her oldest daughter a faint smile before she glimpsed at her slumbering seven-month-old in his wicker carriage. She hated to disturb Noah's nap, especially since he was sleeping so peacefully. He reminded her of Matt with his arms stretched above his head and a crooked half-grin on his mouth. She lightly tickled her fingertips across Noah's chest to wake him. Kitty watched him slowly open his eyes and rub his face with his chubby hand. "What's the matter?" she asked as Lark whined for her.
To no avail, the nearly three-year-old had pouted and pled with the big man to put her down. "Daddy," the moppet grunted, wriggling to get on the ground. "Help, Maman."
"Sweetheart, you're on your own with your daddy," Kitty said, mirthfully smirking while lifting Noah from the carriage. She hoped he wouldn't be as frightened if he was in her arms since Matt had arranged for soldiers from Fort Dodge to end the service with a three-volley salute. Kitty smoothed her baby boy's golden swirls of hair and kissed his head, rubbing his back as he stretched and yawned. "I can't help you, Lark."
Lark huffed a dissatisfied sigh since her mother wouldn't aid her. She twisted in her father's arms and clenched her small fists, pounding on his chest.
"Lark Rebecca," Matt deeply growled, meeting her alarmed, wide eyes since he'd used such a harsh timbre. He wouldn't give into her pouting to be put down. He was certain she'd run all over creation or climb into the funeral wagon. "I'm not puttin' you down. You're stayin' put."
"Listen to Daddy, Alouette," Josephine whispered from her place between the giant and her mother. She resumed softly singing along with her uncle's baritone.
Matt grumbled under his breath, latching onto Lark's wild arm before she could swat her sister. "No, Ma'am. You want a whoopin'? You're gonna get one if you keep on."
Her eyebrows rose. "No, Sir, Daddy."
The father let out a breath of relief as Lark put her head on his shoulder. He patted her back, wordlessly thanking her for deciding to be on her best behavior. "Now, it's gonna get loud. You cover your ears like I showed you. You too, Josie girl," he instructed.
As the soldiers raised their rifles and the casket was lowered into the ground, Kitty shifted Noah to her shoulder and put a gentle hand over his ear while swaying with him. She flinched at the first blast of gunfire, but Noah didn't startle or cry at the sudden noise. Her precious boy contentedly nestled into her. During the second barrage, she keenly studied him with her heart caught in her throat. Her eyes drifted to the rest of her children, jumping and pressing their palms harder to their ears from the loud volley.
She felt his little hand against her cheek as the final shot boomed like thunder. His loving smile and happy gurgle shattered her heart. "Oh, Noah," she murmured, staring into his blue eyes while tears formed in hers. The distraught mother broke into sobs, cradling her youngest against her while pressing her lips to the shell of each of his ears, the ears that had never heard all the lullabies she'd sung or the words of love she'd said since he'd been born.
Author's Note: I'm sure plenty of you will notice that I smashed aspects of two episodes together, so credit to the original writers of The Odyssey of Jubal Tanner (S8.E36) and Texas Cowboys (S3.E30).