Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2009-01-30 11:52 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote2009-01-30 11:52 pm
VI. I've been down on bended knee...
[following this...]
Katherine stepped through her door, back into the quiet dark hours of a Green Lake night, and looked upon her little home. The bed was still made up in her shadow-shrouded bedroom. Her unassuming little living room, filled with inky sundry shapes, stood sullen and quiet. Moonlight — breaking through the clouds at last — filtered through her kitchen windows, and gleamed off the small gun in her hand.
She shifted the weight of the Colt, and it clicked as she touched it, filling the hollow of the silent room.
There were voices approaching from outside her front door, and without thinking, through the fog in her sleep-deprived brain, she stepped back, opened the door to her little coat closet, and sank inside.
There came a loud banging on her door, followed by the sound of Trout Walker's voice.
"Kath-er-ine! Open up, girl!"
Another voice hooted beside him, and she knew he wasn't alone.
They broke in her door with the sounds of splintering wood and tromping boots, and she watched through the spindle-thin crack in the unlatched door. In the sudden light cast by the lanterns the men held aloft, she saw that their rifles were gone. However, that silver revolver still hung from Trout's hip.
"It's dark in here, Charlie."
"I can see that, half-wit," Trout bit back. "Katherine?!"
"Don't think she's here."
They moved for her bedroom, and out of her line of sight. She sunk farther into the closet, senses alert as she listened.
Finger on the trigger.
"It ain't even dawn yet! Where th'hell else would she be?" she heard Trout bark from the other room.
Doors were opening and closing, followed by the sounds of things being knocked down, as if the two men were searching for some hidden gem or concealed paper, rather than an adult woman. There was an odd thunk, and the sound of strings vibrating, and Katherine's hand tightened on the grip of her weapon.
'What'll it be tonight, Katie, belle? A little "Ohhhh Susanna"?' her daddy asks, sounding out a teasing note on his violin.
She giggles, collapsing onto the chaise lounge in his study.
'No? All right, then how about "Molly Do You Love Me?"' he continues, playing out a few bars of the tune on his violin.
When he starts to sing in a strange baritone, she again collapses into giggles, shaking her head.
'Sing for me, Katie. Go on!'
She could still see him, standing at the window overlooking peach groves, playing out the sad, dolce sounds of Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Op. 61 - "Larghetto." She would always remember him like that.
Trout crashed back into the room, tripping over a chair and cursing.
"Katherine!"
"Maybe she's gone off to Doc Hawthorn's?" his accomplice, whom Katherine could then recognize as the deputy, offered. Her eyes narrowed at the man.
Trout spun on his heel, wobbling slightly. "Doc Hawthorn's?"
His lips curled in an ugly snarl, and in his agitation he spun again, this time throwing the chair that had earlier tripped him. It landed near a little table, knocking it crooked against the wall, and down crashed books and glass, a vase shattering and spewing flowers and water across the floor.
She jumped at the sound.
"Maybe y'should do this another time, Charlie."
"No."
"She ain't—"
"Damnit, I said no!" Trout hollered, drawing his gun. "Now I been waitin', and waitin', an' I don't mean to wait no more!"
He held the gun on the deputy for a good while, and Katherine held her breath as she waited. Stonily, he turned and headed for the kitchen.
'Daddy?' she murmurs, cautiously entering the room.
He's sitting on the corner of his bed, an empty glass in his hand. When she speaks, he quickly rubs at his face with the heel of his free palm, and smiles at her, but the red in his eyes is unmistakable.
'Hey there, Katie, love,' he sniffles. He inclines his head for her to come closer.
She takes his empty glass and sets it aside, before letting him hold her hands.
It's been seven years, today.
'You're growin' up to be such a fine woman, sweetheart. She woulda been proud,' he murmurs, combing a strand of blonde hair behind one of her ears. 'She would have wanted to give you these herself...'
He reaches for the white gown laying beside him on the bed, and holds it out to her. It's a little long, but it looks smart against Katherine's slight frame.
He smiles.
'Now, don't you just look like an angel.'
The gun trembled in her hands as she lifted it, pointing it steady at the door, while she watched the men through that narrow crack. More things were sent flying and crashing to the floor, more doors slammed, and when they turned back to the living room she worried it was only a matter of time before they would find her.
Her heart was pounding when she cocked the hammer. They couldn't hear the solid click in the din of their rampage.
"Maybe y'should jus' let yerself cool off a bit, Charlie."
Trout rummaged through her secretary, throwing papers and documents as he searched.
"...What're y'looking for?"
Glass shattered as a photograph of her father and mother fell to the hardwood.
She couldn't hear them anymore, for the pulse of blood rushing through her ears.
Her knuckles were alabaster, finger snug on that trigger.
The men blurred in her vision.
'It's okay. It's okay, Katie. Yer so tender of heart.'
Her father's arms engulf her tiny, weeping form, as he drags her up into his lap.
She dropped the hatchet somewhere near the stump, and the chicken, spooked and ruffled, is clucking angrily as it flaps off again. Samuel can do little but hold his startled daughter while she weeps, voice muffled in her hair.
'It's all right, Katie. Yer heart is just too big, s'all. It's okay. Stop yer cryin', sweetheart.'
She trembles in his embrace, embarrassed.
'There's no shame in not taking a life. Hush, love. You're all right...'
"Charlie... c'mon. There's nobody here," the deputy encouraged softly. "Let's just go."
Trout didn't seem to listen. Katherine kept her piece trained on his form — at least, on what she could see of it.
Her heart was pounding so hard, every bit of her was shaking.
"Charlie?"
"...God... damned... Negro..."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
Justice. For a good man.
You have to do this.
Trout turned, and for a moment it felt as if he was looking straight at her. Her heart raced, her fingers trembled against flesh-warmed iron, her breath rattled and shuddered in her chest.
"Maybe if you just took a day to cool off..."
"God damn it!"
She closed her eyes.
"Kath-er-ine?!" bellowed Trout.
"Gimme th'light. I'll burn her out."
"...Charlie — No! Cut it out!"
"Give it to me!"
"You're drunk!"
"Give me the lantern!"
"Damn it, Charlie. You can't do this! She ain't broken no law!"
"Come back later, when yer sober!" said the deputy, shoving Trout back.
Infuriated, Trout spun, and took one last survey of the room.
"Bitch."
Katherine opened her eyes at the sounds of angrily marching boots, in time to see Trout storm out of her house, the deputy hurrying after him.
For a long moment, she didn't blink. She didn't move.
In the sudden silence of the room, every creak and shudder of the gun in her trembling hands sounded like cannon blasts.
She blinked the sting from her eyes, and at long last exhaled that breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Her arms drooped.
The gun tipped to the floor.
The hammer clicked back into 'safety mode.'
And she stared numbly at the closet door.
Unsettled and detached, she shifted further back against coats and scarves and linens. Gun still in her hands, she watched.
And waited.
And eventually closed her eyes.
.
Katherine stepped through her door, back into the quiet dark hours of a Green Lake night, and looked upon her little home. The bed was still made up in her shadow-shrouded bedroom. Her unassuming little living room, filled with inky sundry shapes, stood sullen and quiet. Moonlight — breaking through the clouds at last — filtered through her kitchen windows, and gleamed off the small gun in her hand.
She shifted the weight of the Colt, and it clicked as she touched it, filling the hollow of the silent room.
You are alone.
There were voices approaching from outside her front door, and without thinking, through the fog in her sleep-deprived brain, she stepped back, opened the door to her little coat closet, and sank inside.
There came a loud banging on her door, followed by the sound of Trout Walker's voice.
"Kath-er-ine! Open up, girl!"
Another voice hooted beside him, and she knew he wasn't alone.
They broke in her door with the sounds of splintering wood and tromping boots, and she watched through the spindle-thin crack in the unlatched door. In the sudden light cast by the lanterns the men held aloft, she saw that their rifles were gone. However, that silver revolver still hung from Trout's hip.
"It's dark in here, Charlie."
"I can see that, half-wit," Trout bit back. "Katherine?!"
"Don't think she's here."
They moved for her bedroom, and out of her line of sight. She sunk farther into the closet, senses alert as she listened.
Finger on the trigger.
"It ain't even dawn yet! Where th'hell else would she be?" she heard Trout bark from the other room.
Doors were opening and closing, followed by the sounds of things being knocked down, as if the two men were searching for some hidden gem or concealed paper, rather than an adult woman. There was an odd thunk, and the sound of strings vibrating, and Katherine's hand tightened on the grip of her weapon.
'What'll it be tonight, Katie, belle? A little "Ohhhh Susanna"?' her daddy asks, sounding out a teasing note on his violin.
She giggles, collapsing onto the chaise lounge in his study.
'No? All right, then how about "Molly Do You Love Me?"' he continues, playing out a few bars of the tune on his violin.
When he starts to sing in a strange baritone, she again collapses into giggles, shaking her head.
'Sing for me, Katie. Go on!'
She could still see him, standing at the window overlooking peach groves, playing out the sad, dolce sounds of Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Op. 61 - "Larghetto." She would always remember him like that.
Trout crashed back into the room, tripping over a chair and cursing.
"Katherine!"
"Maybe she's gone off to Doc Hawthorn's?" his accomplice, whom Katherine could then recognize as the deputy, offered. Her eyes narrowed at the man.
Trout spun on his heel, wobbling slightly. "Doc Hawthorn's?"
His lips curled in an ugly snarl, and in his agitation he spun again, this time throwing the chair that had earlier tripped him. It landed near a little table, knocking it crooked against the wall, and down crashed books and glass, a vase shattering and spewing flowers and water across the floor.
She jumped at the sound.
"Maybe y'should do this another time, Charlie."
"No."
"She ain't—"
"Damnit, I said no!" Trout hollered, drawing his gun. "Now I been waitin', and waitin', an' I don't mean to wait no more!"
He held the gun on the deputy for a good while, and Katherine held her breath as she waited. Stonily, he turned and headed for the kitchen.
'Daddy?' she murmurs, cautiously entering the room.
He's sitting on the corner of his bed, an empty glass in his hand. When she speaks, he quickly rubs at his face with the heel of his free palm, and smiles at her, but the red in his eyes is unmistakable.
'Hey there, Katie, love,' he sniffles. He inclines his head for her to come closer.
She takes his empty glass and sets it aside, before letting him hold her hands.
It's been seven years, today.
'You're growin' up to be such a fine woman, sweetheart. She woulda been proud,' he murmurs, combing a strand of blonde hair behind one of her ears. 'She would have wanted to give you these herself...'
He reaches for the white gown laying beside him on the bed, and holds it out to her. It's a little long, but it looks smart against Katherine's slight frame.
He smiles.
'Now, don't you just look like an angel.'
The gun trembled in her hands as she lifted it, pointing it steady at the door, while she watched the men through that narrow crack. More things were sent flying and crashing to the floor, more doors slammed, and when they turned back to the living room she worried it was only a matter of time before they would find her.
I can't breathe.
Her heart was pounding when she cocked the hammer. They couldn't hear the solid click in the din of their rampage.
"Maybe y'should jus' let yerself cool off a bit, Charlie."
Trout rummaged through her secretary, throwing papers and documents as he searched.
"...What're y'looking for?"
Glass shattered as a photograph of her father and mother fell to the hardwood.
She couldn't hear them anymore, for the pulse of blood rushing through her ears.
'That colored only got what he deserved!'
Her knuckles were alabaster, finger snug on that trigger.
'It was a hunting accident, Miss. Stray bullet meant for a buck. Terrible shame.'
The men blurred in her vision.
'Terrible shame.'
You can't do this.
'It's okay. It's okay, Katie. Yer so tender of heart.'
Her father's arms engulf her tiny, weeping form, as he drags her up into his lap.
She dropped the hatchet somewhere near the stump, and the chicken, spooked and ruffled, is clucking angrily as it flaps off again. Samuel can do little but hold his startled daughter while she weeps, voice muffled in her hair.
'It's all right, Katie. Yer heart is just too big, s'all. It's okay. Stop yer cryin', sweetheart.'
She trembles in his embrace, embarrassed.
'There's no shame in not taking a life. Hush, love. You're all right...'
"Charlie... c'mon. There's nobody here," the deputy encouraged softly. "Let's just go."
'Kate ... you want some time before we do this?'
'No. I'm ready.'
'You want this to work, you gotta be.'
Trout didn't seem to listen. Katherine kept her piece trained on his form — at least, on what she could see of it.
'Katya ... Didn't your papa tell you? Short women? We're tough.'
Her heart was pounding so hard, every bit of her was shaking.
'I'm not sayin' you should've done a thing with that rifle, Kate. But someone should have. I don't care what the Book says 'bout killin', it ain't right to let men like Murphy and those boys get away with the things they do.'
"Charlie?"
"...God... damned... Negro..."
'We're all equal under the eyes of God, Katie. You remember that.'
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
'You'll learn, Katie, that some things is just worth fightin' for. Some people are worth fightin' for.'
Justice. For a good man.
'For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind: it hath no stalk: the bud shall yield no meal: if so be it yield, the strangers shall swallow it up.' Hosea, eight-seven.
You can't do this.
You have to do this.
'All important stuff, though have t'admit it's hard to picture you with a rifle in those pretty hands. Not like I'm sayin' you ain't any good, just not that many strong women in the world, you know?'
Trout turned, and for a moment it felt as if he was looking straight at her. Her heart raced, her fingers trembled against flesh-warmed iron, her breath rattled and shuddered in her chest.
Katie.
'Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.'
"Maybe if you just took a day to cool off..."
"God damn it!"
Kate.
She closed her eyes.
"Kath-er-ine?!" bellowed Trout.
Miss Katherine!
...Miss Kate?
"Gimme th'light. I'll burn her out."
Katherine.
Katya.
Katie, belle.
"...Charlie — No! Cut it out!"
Kate?
Kate.
Katherine!
"Give it to me!"
"You're drunk!"
"Give me the lantern!"
"Damn it, Charlie. You can't do this! She ain't broken no law!"
Katie?
Miss Kate?
Kate.
Good mornin', Miss Katherine!
"Come back later, when yer sober!" said the deputy, shoving Trout back.
Infuriated, Trout spun, and took one last survey of the room.
Katherine.
Katya?
Kate.
Katie?
Kate!
Miss Katherine?
Miss Katherine.
Child...
Kate.
Katie--
"Bitch."
Katherine opened her eyes at the sounds of angrily marching boots, in time to see Trout storm out of her house, the deputy hurrying after him.
For a long moment, she didn't blink. She didn't move.
In the sudden silence of the room, every creak and shudder of the gun in her trembling hands sounded like cannon blasts.
She blinked the sting from her eyes, and at long last exhaled that breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Her arms drooped.
The gun tipped to the floor.
The hammer clicked back into 'safety mode.'
And she stared numbly at the closet door.
You couldn't do it.
Unsettled and detached, she shifted further back against coats and scarves and linens. Gun still in her hands, she watched.
And waited.
And eventually closed her eyes.
.