William Johnstone - Snake River Slaughter

Gene Welch, the undertaker and proprietor of the Eternal Rest Mortuary, had thought Millie would be buried in the same way. After all, she was a whore with no known relatives and the only thing that was known about her was that she had told one of the other soiled doves who worked at the Sand Spur that she was originally from Springfield, Illinois. All that changed, though, when Kitty came to town.

“You will not put her in a pine box,” Kitty said, when she learned of Welch’s plans.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wellington, but the city is paying for her funeral, same as they done for Mr. Poke and Mr. Cooter. And with what the city pays, a pine box is all she gets,” Welch said.

“I am paying for her funeral,” Kitty said. “I want to see the finest coffin you have.”

A big smile spread across Welch’s face. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I got one here for you to look at that is as fine a coffin as you’ll find anywhere in the country. Why, you could bury the president of the United States in this coffin. It’s called the Heaven’s Cloud, and it’s all lined with silk, don’t you know. Why, I promise you, the young lady will be as comfortable lyin’ in that coffin as she would be sleepin’ in her own bed.”

“Good. I want her in that coffin, and I want you to use all the artifice and skill at your command to see to it that she looks beautiful,” Kitty said. “Also when she is taken to the cemetery, you take her in the glass-sided hearse. I will provide a team of horses to pull the hearse.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Welch said. “Mrs. Wellington, if you don’t mind my askin’, why are you willin’ to go all out for this woman? She wasn’t anything but a whore.”

“I do mind your asking,” Kitty replied. “You just do what you are paid to do, without asking questions. Otherwise I can hire Mr. Stallings from King Hill to conduct the funeral.”

“No, no, you don’t have to go be doing that, now,” Welch said quickly. “There’s no need for you to go over to King Hill. I assure you, Mrs. Wellington, I can give the young lady as nice, if not a nicer, funeral than anything Paul Stallings can do.”

“Have her ready tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be back with the team of horses then.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I have a fine team of draft horses.”

“I will bring carriage horses,” Kitty said. “That is what you will use to draw the hearse.”

“Yes, ma’am, if you say so. I’ll have her all ready, looking as pretty as a picture. What about a marker? Will you be wantin’ a marker?”

“Yes, of course I want a marker.”

“The problem is, as far I know there don’t nobody in town know her whole name. The only name anyone knows is Millie. And we don’t even know if that’s her real name or not, seein’ as whores often takes other names that aren’t their own. They do that to keep their family from findin’ out what they are doin’, don’t you know.”

“I know her real name.”

“You do? You know her real name, do you? Well that’s good. What is it?”

“Her real name is Millicent McMurtry,” Kitty said. “I’ll write it down for you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Millicent McMurtry. I’ll have that carved on her marker, along with a flower, or somethin’ real pretty.”

“You do that,” Kitty said as she left the morturary.

“Mrs. Wellington?” Welch called.

At the call, Kitty stopped and turned around.

“About callin’ Miss McMurtry a whore and all. I hope you didn’t take that personal.”

“Oh? And tell me, Mr. Welch, why should I take it personal?”

“You know, you bein’, uh, I mean what some folks say ’bout you one time, uh…”

“Yes, Mr. Welch?” Kitty said, pointedly.

“Uh, nothin’, I just, uh, like I say, I’ll have the—young lady—all ready in time for the funeral tomorrow.”

“You do that,” Kitty said, as she walked out the front door of Welch’s funeral establishment.

Chapter Eighteen

Shortly after Matt woke up on the day of the funeral, there was a light knock on the door to his bedroom.

“Yes?” he called.

“Señor Yensen, it is Frederica,” a voice called from the other side of the door.

“Just a minute.”

Quickly, Matt pulled on his pants, and put on a shirt. Then, with his shirt tucked into his trousers, he opened the door. Frederica was standing there, holding a cloth garment bag.

“Señora Wellington asks if you would please wear this for the funeral,” Frederica said, handing him the garment bag.

“Thank you,” Matt said, taking the bag from her. Closing the door, he took the bag over to his bed, unbuttoned it, and looked inside.

“All right, Katherine,” he said under his breath. “If you want me to wear this, I will.”

“Oh, my,” Kitty said when Matt came down into the parlor a short while later. “You look good in Tommy’s suit. In fact, you look more than good, you look positively handsome.”

“Frederica had to let the jacket out some for me to wear,” Matt said, holding out his arms and looking down at himself. He was wearing a black suit, gray silk vest, and black string tie, the clothes having belonged to Sir Thomas Wellington.

“Yes, in the shoulders,” Kitty said. “She told me.” Kitty smiled. “In fact, I think her exact words were that you were a very strong man.”

“Yeah, well, I have to tell you, Katherine, I don’t feel all that strong right now. That fight with Poke took quite a bit out of me,” Matt said, touching his side, gingerly.

“Are you sure you feel up to going?” Kitty asked. “I mean with your side, and all.”

“My side is bothering me, some, I will admit,” Matt said. “But I would go to Millie’s funeral if I had to hold my guts in with my own hands.”

Kitty chuckled. “Oh, my, how—descriptive—of you. But, hopefully that’s not going to happen.”

“Did you know Millie from somewhere before here?” Matt asked.

“Yes and no,” Kitty said.

When Matt looked confused, Kitty continued.

“I never met Millie before the night she brought you out here. But I knew her, because I’ve known dozens of girls just like her. And, of course, as you know, I was just like her myself, once. I know it might be hard for you to understand why I have this feeling of connection to her but—”

“No,” Matt said, interrupting her and shaking his head. “It isn’t at all hard for me to understand.”

There was a light tapping on the door of the parlor then, and looking toward it Matt and Kitty saw Tyrone Canfield standing just outside the parlor in the hall. Like Matt, Tyrone was wearing a suit, though even as he stood there, he tugged at the collar, giving evidence of his discomfort in such apparel.

“I have the team ready for the hearse,” Tyrone said. “I chose a couple of black Percheron mares.”

“Good choice,” Kitty said. “Go ahead and take them on into town to Mr. Welch. Matt and I will follow in the surrey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyrone said. “Prew has hitched up the surrey and brought it around, but if you don’t mind, he’d like to ride into town with me.”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Tyrone said. “We’ll see you in town,” he added as he started toward the front door.

Kitty watched Tyrone leave, then she turned back to Matt. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“I’m ready,” Matt replied, trying to hide the wince as he rose from the chair.

“Maybe I’d better drive,” Kitty offered, noticing the wince as he stood.

“Yeah, that might not be a bad idea,” Matt agreed.

The surrey was parked in the curved driveway, sitting right in front of the great, stone steps. It was a very attractive vehicle, polished black lacquer with yellow wheels, red leather seats, and a black leather top. And, adding to the overall attractiveness was the fact that it was being pulled by a team of very handsome, matching white Arabians.