by Bess McBride
“Good, I dropped a good load of ore off at the mill. I should see a nice profit from that, pay off my bills and then some.”
“Good for you,” John said. “When are you headed back out?”
“Soon, I think,” he responded. He dismissed the image of Hilly’s face, as he had tried to do for weeks. It hurt too much to think about her, but all he had done was think about her.
“Well, Hilly is in the store. Seems she wanted to keep working there after you helped her move into that nice little house.”
Clint nodded. He didn’t want to see Hilly at the moment. He was too dirty, too hungry for some cooked food, too tired. But at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to see Hilly.
“I’ll go get cleaned up and come back,” Clint said. His plans, however, were delayed when Hilly came running into the stable.
“Clint! You’re back!” she said. She stopped near him. He turned to look at her. She looked beautiful in a light blue dress that nipped in at her waist.
“Hello, Hilly. You look well,” he said. He was uncomfortably aware of how awful he must smell. “I was just going to go get a bath and a shave and come to see how you are doing.”
Her smile wavered, and he could have kicked himself. They couldn’t seem to get back on the same footing. Ridiculous for two people who loved each other, and he had no doubt that he loved her, or that she loved him. Her eyes showed how much she had missed him. His heart raced as it always did when Hilly looked at him.
“Oh! Okay,” she said. She clasped and unclasped her hands. “Can you come to dinner? I’m cooking!”
John moved away discreetly.
“You are? In the house?” Clint asked with a broad smile. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement like a young child. “Well, yes, that would be nice, thank you.”
“Clint! Welcome back,” Nan said as she came up behind Hilly. “Goodness, you have been missing the excitement. The Cowboys keep refusing to give up their guns when they come into town, and Sheriff Behan and Marshal Earp have to keep wrangling with them.”
Clint caught Hilly’s eyes. And so it began. It was October 1881. Having been out at the mine, he wasn’t quite sure what day it was.
He shook his head. “No, I hadn’t heard.” He chewed the inside of his lip, wishing he could find a way to get Hilly out of Tombstone and back to her own time as tensions between the outlaws and the law grew.
“Well, it sure is stirring up a hornet’s nest, I can tell you that! Not to mention I don’t think the authorities are getting along very well either. There are some bad feelings between Sheriff Behan and the Earps, something to do with a woman. That’s not helping curb this business with the Cowboys. I don’t know what this town is coming to,” Nan sighed.
Clint shook his head in commiseration, but he dared not say anything for fear of making a mistake. Hilly eyed him steadily, the only other person to know the eventual outcome of the ongoing hostilities.
“I had better go get cleaned up,” he said. “I will see you in a few hours, Hilly.” He tipped his hat and said his goodbyes to John and Nan.
Several hours later, clean, shaved, and in fresh clothing, he knocked on Hilly’s door. He surveyed the outside of the house with a critical eye, thinking he still needed to do a lot of work on the yard. Keeping a yard looking nice in Tombstone without running water from a hose was tough though, and he thought once again of all the conveniences of the twenty-first century.
Hilly opened the door, wearing the same dress she had worn earlier.
“Welcome!” she said. She stepped back to allow him to enter. The smell of food made his mouth water.
“Thank you,” Clint responded. “Is that a new dress, Hilly? It looks very nice on you.”
Hilly blushed and looked down at the dress. “I bought it myself,” she said. “Nan is paying me now, you know. But don’t worry. I’m setting some aside for rent.”
Clint had not known Nan was paying Hilly wages, but he was pleased for Hilly. He knew she needed to feel independent.
“I don’t want you to worry about the rent. We agreed I would pay for the house, Hilly. I brought in some good quality ore this time.”
Hilly turned away. “No, I want to. I can’t just let you take care of me. It’s not like you’re getting anything in return.” She stepped into the kitchen, and Clint followed.
“Well, that is a crass comment,” Clint said. He had been predisposed to spending an enjoyable few hours with Hilly, but her words hurt.
Hilly, at the stove stirring a pot of something that smelled like a stew, turned and stared at him.
“I never expected anything from you, Hilly. Never. I hoped for your love, but I never rented this house for you in return for...” He left the words unsaid.
Hilly’s cheeks reddened, and he felt instant remorse at his spurt of anger.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you don’t expect anything, Clint, but it’s hard for me to take without giving or paying in return. If I can’t pay my own way, I’ll feel no better than a—” She pressed her lips together and turned back toward the stove.
“A what, Hilly?”
“A prostitute,” Hilly said quietly.
Clint swung from the room and stormed outside. When he would have stalked back to his rooming house, he stopped at the picket fence. What was he doing? Abandoning her? Hadn’t he done that for the past three weeks? Left her alone in the nineteenth century—alone with her fears, alone with her secrets?
He turned back to the house to see Hilly running down the steps, skirts clutched in her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathless as she stopped in front of him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave.”
Clint pulled her into his arms. “Never,” he said. “I will never leave you no matter what, Hilly. Well, no further than the gate.” He chuckled softly.
She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him. “Okay! The gate then. I’ll let you have your space.” She responded to his laugh with a small one of her own. “I’m sorry if I offend you sometimes with my words. I don’t mean to upset you.”
“I know you don’t, Hilly.” He kissed the top of her head, all he dared at the moment. “I am sorry if I seem touchy at times. It is this subject of...” He wasn’t going to say the word again.
“Well, don’t look at me, Clint!” Hilly said with a brief smile. “I’m not about to bring the subject up again either, especially if I want you to stay for supper. But you know what I mean when I say I want to pay my own way...or at least as much as I can.” She stepped back from him and took his hand. “Come on, let’s go eat. Nan gave me a recipe for a stew, and I’ve been fiddling with the stove for the past few weeks trying to get it to work right.”
Clint allowed himself to be led back into the house and seated at the small dining room table, now decorated with plates and silverware. Mrs. McIntosh, the owner of the house, had accommodatingly left everything behind when she moved back to Vermont, taking only what she could hold in a traveling case. Hilly had been the beneficiary of cookware, dishes, cutlery, toweling and linens.
“Okay, sit there,” Hilly said. “I’ll be right back.” She returned in moments with a plate of biscuits and the pot of stew. She ladled out portions of stew for them and took the pot back to the kitchen. Clint eyed the stew speculatively. It smelled delicious, if a little burnt.
Hilly seated herself and eyed him.
“Well, dig in,” she said. “I had a bit of trouble regulating the heat, but I think it’s okay. I’m not much of a cook at home, so...” She let the words hang.
“It looks delicious,” Clint said. He took a bite and swallowed it with a smile directed to Hilly. It was burnt, and he was fairly sure there was no meat in the stew, but it tasted fine.
“Wonderful. I could not have made it better myself.”
Hilly smiled and dipped into her stew. “Well, it’s not as good as yours was, that’s for sure, but I couldn’t very well invite you over and have you cook.”
�
��I did notice there is no meat in the stew. Did Nan give you that recipe?”
Hilly blushed. “No, but I’m not going to the butcher shop. That’s just not going to work for me. I don’t want to get sick. You know, lack of refrigeration, etc.”
“We do have an ice house in Tombstone, Hilly. I think things are kept well refrigerated. Have you used the ice box in the kitchen yet?”
Hilly turned toward the kitchen and shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I’ll have to figure out how to get the ice and what I think I need to have cold. Nan feeds me all the time, so I haven’t really had much chance to cook here at the house. In fact, none.”
“I can make sure ice is delivered to you, Hilly. You don’t need to worry about that.”
Hilly looked as if she was going to protest, but she bit her lip and nodded. “Thanks.”
“The biscuits are very good,” he said. “They taste just like the biscuits Nan sent out with us.”
“They are,” Hilly grinned. “She gave them to me, and I heated them up. She also baked an apple pie and that’s for dessert.”
Clint laughed. “It seems as if Nan is taking very good care of you.”
Hilly chuckled. “Yes, she does. I’ve been lucky.”
They ate companionably while Hilly asked about the mine. The pie was delicious as Clint had expected. Nan was a very good cook. He rose from the table and helped Hilly with the dishes, showing her how to care for the cast iron cookware that Mrs. McIntosh had left in the house.
Night had fallen, and Clint lit the lamps in the house, and the one on the front porch. They settled onto a bench on the front porch and watched the lights of the main portion of the town one street away. Several shots in the near distance startled Hilly, and she jumped up.
“What was that?”
“Gunfire,” Clint said. He took her hand and pulled her back down to the bench. “It is Saturday night in Tombstone, Hilly, and the Cowboys are probably in the streets out front of the saloons, drunk and shooting off their guns. Hopefully, into the air.”
Hilly sank back down but remained rigid. “You know? Right about now, I’d be calling the police if I were home.”
“I am sure the sheriff will settle them down,” Clint said. “I wish now that I had memorized the historical events of Tombstone more thoroughly—who gets shot on what day.”
“That’s ghoulish,” Hilly laughed without humor.
“Maybe, but it would make me feel better as far as your safety is concerned. Tombstone is somewhat lawless right now. I know it will settle down in time, but the town is in its infancy, like a spoiled child who has too many toys and yet throws a temper tantrum if denied one more.”
The sounds of gunfire stopped, and Clint relaxed. The only sounds remaining were the faint tinkle of music from the saloons, occasional laughter, and the ever-present faint repetitive boom of the stamping mills, miles away. The night air was cool and comfortable.
Hilly yawned, and Clint knew it was time to leave. He hated to go, relishing the temporary lull in their ongoing difficulties. This is what he thought married life would be like—dinners together and nights sitting on the porch watching the stars.
He rose and took Hilly’s hand to his lips.
“Good night, Hilly. Thank you for dinner.”
“Do you have to go?” She stood with him.
Clint’s heart jumped into his throat. He certainly didn’t want to.
“I do,” he said. There was no alternative—not until they were married. If they ever married.
“When will I see you again? When are you going back out to the mine?” she asked. She held onto his hand, and he tightened his grip on hers.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Will you be all right?”
Hilly, unsmiling, nodded. She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be fine. I’m staying busy at the store. I might actually start writing again...except with pencil and paper. We’ll see how that goes!”
“Hilly! What a great idea!” he said.
She ducked her head. “Maybe,” she grinned. She gave his hand a squeeze and then pulled her hand away. “Well, good night, Clint. Will you be gone long this time?”
Clint swallowed hard. His chest ached. If he could have come home to Hilly, he would come home every night—no matter how late. But he wouldn’t come back to town, only to sit around in his room at the boarding house and stare at four walls. He had no intention of ever going back to the saloons for a drink, not while Hilly was here, not while she believed he had gone there for more than just to quench his thirst.
“Not for long,” he said. He recognized their need to be together, yet the wall that existed between them. And he didn’t want to hurt her, not for anything in the world. “Not for long,” he reassured her.
Hilly nodded. She put a hand to her stomach, and Clint, always vigilant as far as she was concerned, noticed.
“Are you well? You look pale, Hilly.”
Hilly wiped at her forehead.
“I’m fine. Just a stomachache. Probably something I ate.” She grinned at her joke, and he was reassured.
“Good night then.” He longed to lean in and kiss her but held back.
“Good night, Clint. Be careful out there,” she said. “Don’t get bit, shot or eaten. I need you.” She chuckled, but Clint focused on her last words.
“I need you too,” he said quietly. He turned and headed into the night. A block away, he turned to look at the house. Hilly stood there on the porch, highlighted by the porch light, one hand to her stomach. She raised her other hand to wave goodbye.
Chapter Fourteen
Hilly awoke to the worst stomachache she’d ever had. She needed some medicine, anything to stop the pain. She climbed into the dress she’d worn the night before and headed out of the door, forgetting to wear her hat.
On her travels through town, Hilly had seen a nearby drugstore on Allen Street, and she made her way toward it. Perspiration beaded her upper lip and forehead, and she wiped at it. The town seemed abnormally quiet that morning. A church bell rang somewhere.
Sunday! Would the drugstore be open?
She rounded the corner and stopped in front of the door. A handmade sign said it was closed. She leaned her head on the glass and tried the door. The pain gripped her, and her mouth salivated. She felt so sick. If she could make it further down the street, maybe Nan could give her something. Surely, people in the nineteenth century had some homemade recipes for a stomach flu.
“Are you all right, Miss Creighton?” A female voice intruded on her pain, and she turned to see Marie, the taller of the two prostitutes, standing there. “It’s closed,” Marie said with a nod of her head in the direction of the door.
“I know,” Hilly muttered. “I’m sick. I just needed something.”
Marie, now dressed in a more subdued dark blue silk gown, put a hand on Hilly’s forehead.
“You have a fever. What’s hurting?”
“My stomach,” Hilly said. “My stomach hurts.”
“Do you live close by?” Marie asked.
“Around the corner. I’m going down to Nan’s to get something.”
“If you mean the lady who owns the mercantile down the street, I think I saw her at church a few minutes ago. She may not be there.”
Hilly, almost too sick to realize Marie had been to church, put a hand to her mouth.
“I have to go home,” she mumbled.
“Where is Clint?” Marie asked.
“At the mine,” Hilly responded. She hardly even cared about Clint and Marie’s former “relationship” at the moment.
“Well, you can’t go home by yourself. You’re coming with me.” She took Hilly’s arm, but Hilly resisted.
“I can’t,” Hilly said. “I just want to go home.”
“You can’t be alone, Miss Creighton. Come with me. I’ll send for the doctor. I think I saw him at church too.”
Hilly imagined herself sick and in pain in a small dark roo
m in the attic of some sort of saloon.
“I don’t want to go to a bar,” she muttered. Blackness swirled around her, and she pressed a hand to her mouth again.
“I don’t live in a ‘bar,’” Marie retorted. “Katherine and I have a house. Come on.”
She pulled Hilly from the door and led her down the street, turning a corner and leading her up to the front steps of a small white house very similar to the one Hilly lived in.
“Katherine is away visiting her brother in Tucson this weekend. Let’s get you to bed.”
Hilly allowed herself to be led to a small bedroom where Marie deposited her on a brass-framed bed covered by a white quilt dotted in delicate little blue flowers.
Spasms ripped through her stomach, and she moaned.
“We need to get you out of that corset and those clothes.”
Hilly felt Marie help her to her feet. She began to unbutton Hilly’s dress.
“Oh! You’re not wearing a corset. Well, good for you. I hate those things,” Marie said. She expertly held Hilly up with one hand while divesting her of the rest of her dress and her petticoats.
“I’d ask you where you got those under things, but I think you’re too sick to tell me. Maybe Paris?” Marie said. Hilly could only moan. Marie threw a soft white cotton nightgown over Hilly’s head and settled her back onto the bed.
“The bathroom is right through there.” She pointed to a door in the small hallway. “I’m going to run outside and send someone for the doctor.”
Hilly fell back onto the bed and pulled her knees to her chin. The position hurt just as much as lying prone or standing, but it was the only thing that made sense to her at the time. She wiped at her mouth and moaned again.
Marie reentered the room. She poured a glass of water for Hilly and set it on a pine nightstand by the bed.
“There, the doctor has been sent for. I have something for a mild upset stomach, but I think what you have is much more serious. I’ll wait until the doctor comes. Hopefully, he will have something to help you.”
“Thank you,” Hilly whispered. “I have to go.”
