by Bess McBride
She tried to stay awake while Marie went to get some toast and tea, but she drifted off again, comb in hand.
Some time later, she heard a voice. “Hilly? Hilly, wake up.”
She opened her eyes to see Clint’s face near hers. He watched her with a tender expression in his soft blue eyes.
“Morning,” she said hoarsely.
“It is early evening, sleepyhead.” Clint leaned over to remove the towel from her head. He took the comb from her hand and started to comb out her almost dry hair.
“I can’t believe I slept with that in my hand,” Hilly said. “I think I was supposed to comb my hair. I can do that, Clint.”
Clint smiled as he worked the knots from her hair with a gentle touch.
“It is my pleasure.”
Hilly relaxed under his care.
“Where is Marie?”
“She has gone to work. She ordered me to make sure you ate toast and drank some tea. You really must, Hilly. You look very dehydrated.”
He stopped combing her hair and held up her hand, now blue-veined and pale. The skin was dry.
Hilly nodded. “I am hungry and thirsty.”
“Good. Marie left some lip salve for you, something with cactus oil. Here.” Clint picked up a small container and rubbed some of the salve onto her lips. The burning eased.
“Wow! I gotta say, I’m loving all this babying.” Hilly tried to smile lightly. The truth was she felt like she was experiencing one of the most sensuous moments of her life, being groomed by a man who loved her.
Clint applied more salve and let his fingers linger on her lips. His voice when he spoke was husky.
“Your lips look better already,” he said. “Not that they weren’t beautiful before—even when you were sick.”
Hilly took his hand and kissed his fingers.
“I was wrong about you. I was wrong about Marie.”
Clint nodded. “We were both wrong about Marie, it seems. She gave me a sound lecture, I can tell you, about the difference between saloon girls and...” He refused to use the word again. “She said I was naïve.” He grinned broadly.
His hand cradled her cheek.
“In a good way,” Hilly said. “And definitely not about everything.” She moved her face to kiss his hand.
“I love you, Hilly Creighton,” Clint said.
“I love you too, Clint Woodward,” she said.
“If I get you toast and tea, would you marry me?”
Hilly laughed though her stomach muscles ached.
“Well, yes, I will, Clint, but only if you get me toast and tea. Not a chance otherwise.”
Chapter Fifteen
Clint picked Hilly up in the wagon the following morning, although the walk from Marie’s house to Hilly’s house was short. She was still too weak to walk any distance. He worried about leaving her on her own in the house for the next few days, and vowed to hunker down in a blanket and sleep on the porch if need be. Although they were to be married, respectable townsfolk would disapprove if they knew he had stayed in the house with her.
He helped her down from the wagon and would have carried her into the house, but she put up a hand.
“I have to get my strength back, Clint. Let me do this. If you can just give me your arm.”
Clint held out his arm, and Hilly leaned heavily on it as they climbed the stairs. Clint opened the door for her, and she preceded him. He had thought to settle Hilly in bed, but apparently that was not what she wanted.
She sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to her. Clint sat.
“You have to go back to the mine, don’t you?”
Clint shrugged. He had almost lost her. Somehow, the mine hardly seemed to matter.
“At some point, yes.”
“Well, here’s the thing,” she said in that oddly adorable vernacular she used on occasion. “I’ve enjoyed working in the store with Nan, but I want to be with you. All the time. I want to go back out to the mine with you.”
She held up a staying hand when he protested.
“If you were willing to come back every night, then we can still return to the house every night—that is, if you think I’ll still be miserable out there at night. I’m a lot tougher now than I was when I first got here. I know you don’t think so looking at me, but I’m gonna guess I’ve built up some immunities over the last week.”
She paused, her chest heaving as she sought to take in a deep breath.
“Hilly! Look at you. You can’t even breathe.”
“I’ll get strong again. I can just hang out in the wagon. You can build me a tent. I’ll sit in the mine and chat with you.”
Clint shook his head vehemently.
“No, absolutely not. I can’t take you out there. It is my fault you almost died once. I will never forgive myself for that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you had not cooked for me, if you had not used unboiled water.”
“You didn’t get sick, so it wasn’t the food or the water.”
“I have developed a resistance to diseases in the nineteenth century. You have not.”
“Clint! I’m immunized against most of these diseases.” She grimaced. “Although not apparently dysentery.”
“There! That is exactly what I mean. You are not immune to all diseases.”
“Well, neither are you,” she said with narrowed eyes. “And you’re certainly not immune to Indian attacks, snake bites, and scorpion stings.”
“You only reinforce my reasons for not taking you back to the mine with me. I would rather sell the claim than take you back out there again.” What Clint truly feared, and what he could not say was that he was afraid to lose her in time. But she knew him too well.
“What? No way! You haven’t struck it rich yet!” Hilly grinned as if she teased, then she sobered. “Look, I know I’m sick, and I know I’ve always been a burden to you.”
“That is ridiculous. I love you.”
“I know you love me, and I know I’m still a burden, but I promise you, I won’t get sick out there. I’ll toughen up. I’ll take it easy. Whatever you need me to do. I just want to be with you, Clint. I am sick and tired of not seeing you.”
Clint wavered. To hear that she wanted to be with him was hard to resist. He wanted the same thing, had dreamed of having her at his side.
“I thought you were going to write,” he said, his voice weakening as did his resolve.
“That’s it! You’re right! I am going to write. Good idea. I’ll write out there! Beats lifting a pickaxe.”
“When do you want to get married?” Clint asked.
“As soon as possible,” Hilly said. “Don’t change the subject.”
“But it takes time to plan a wedding,” Clint said. “How can you do that if you are at the mine with me?”
“I don’t want a fancy wedding, Clint. Just a justice of the peace or whatever you all use here.”
“That doesn’t seem like enough,” he said. “I want the best for you.”
“Which brings us back to the mine. The best for me is being with you. We can get married whenever the justice of the peace is available.”
“I made inquiries. Judge Carmichael is out of town for the next week.”
“We’ll get married then,” Hilly said.
“I need to get back to the mine before then.”
“And I’m going with you.”
“I worry about scandal, Hilly. What will the townsfolk say? When you came out to the mine with me before, only John and Nan knew of your existence. You have met many more people since then in the store, in town.”
Hilly shook her head and took Clint’s hand. “Please don’t think of more obstacles, Clint. I promise you I won’t be a burden.”
Clint leaned in to kiss her.
“I want you to be with me too,” he said quietly. “I miss you terribly when I am at the mine. I talk to you as if you were there.”
“When are we going?” Hilly smiled.
“Tomorrow morning,” Clint said.
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good. Now, let’s find some food for you to eat.”
After preparing pancakes and tea for Hilly and himself, Clint took the mules and wagon back to the stable and returned to his room to change clothing and gather the rest of his freshly washed laundry. He returned to the stable for the mules and stacked the wagon with hay. Joe would have to stay behind. He picked up a few supplies from Nan and advised her that he was taking Hilly out to the mine with him. As he expected, Nan protested vehemently, but he stood firm, telling her that it was Hilly’s wish.
He had said nothing to Hilly, but leaving town for the next few days was the safest possible thing. He had found out the date. It was October 25, 1881. The gunfight at the O.K. Corral would occur the following afternoon. Although he had read no bystanders were hurt in the melee, he didn’t want to take any more chances with Hilly’s life. It was just as well that she hadn’t returned to Nan’s as the mercantile was across the street near where the gunfight would happen. By then, Hilly would be safely out at the mine with him.
He returned to Hilly’s and prepared a light dinner for them. Hilly, for all her protests of independence, eyed the stove with concern, stating she didn’t want to do anything to get him sick.
They sat on the porch after dinner, his favorite pastime, and whiled away the hours talking about Tombstone in the nineteenth century and in the twenty-first century. He kept his mouth shut about the upcoming battle at the corral.
When Hilly yawned, Clint saw her inside and said goodnight, reporting that he would pick her up first thing in the morning. He returned to the street, fed and watered the mules and crawled into the back of the wagon and under a blanket. He was not leaving Hilly. He reminded himself to send word to Marie that Hilly would be with him, and that she did not need to check on her.
He fell soundly asleep and jerked away some time later by a touch on his shoulder. Hilly stood there, in a nightgown, with a blanket wrapped around her.
“Hilly! What are you doing out here?”
“Well, what are you doing out here? If I had known you were going to stay, I would have invited you in. Come inside now.”
Clint climbed down and enfolded Hilly into his arms, as much to keep her warm as because he loved her.
“I can’t, Hilly. I do not want people gossiping about you.”
“Oh, please,” she said. “Come on.” She pulled his hand. “Are the mules going to stay hooked up to that wagon all night? Don’t they need to lie down and sleep or something?”
Clint chuckled. “No, but I will let them loose in the yard with some hay and water. The fence will keep them in.”
“Oh, good!” she said. “I’ll see you inside.”
Clint took care of the mules and entered the house. The only light came from the bedside lamp in Hilly’s room. He hesitated just inside the front door.
“Hilly?”
Hilly emerged from the bedroom with a pillow and a blanket.
“I know you worry about what people will say,” Hilly said. “This way you can tell them all was right and proper. There will be plenty of time for us.” She set the bedding on the couch and leaned up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.
“Thanks for staying,” she said. “I’m glad you did.” She smiled and returned to the bedroom.
Clint watched her walk away and dreamed of the day when they would be married.
****
The following morning, Clint awoke early and looked in on a sleeping Hilly before making coffee. He felt completely domesticated with the thought that this was what married life must be like.
Following a light meal, they left for the mine early. Clint watched Hilly carefully, but she seemed to grow stronger every hour. He blamed himself for her illness, and worried about future illnesses. Even childbirth. More than anything in the world, he did not want Hilly to die. More than all the silver in a rich mine. More than his own life. More than keeping her with him.
He put the thoughts aside and turned to enjoy Hilly riding on the wagon beside him, her legs encased in the trousers they had purchased in Nan’s store at his urging should they come across anyone. Though the day was comfortable, he insisted she wear her topcoat and the broad-brimmed hat.
On arrival at the mine, Clint unhooked the mules from the wagon and tied them up while Hilly watered them. He threw some hay down for them, and returned to the wagon to unload supplies.
“But you don’t boil the water for the mules, do you?” Hilly asked.
Clint shook his head. “No, they don’t catch the same diseases that we do. I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Hmmm,” Hilly murmured. She patted the mules on the neck and returned to the wagon.
“I am going to set up a tent for you,” Clint said.
“All right!” Hilly laughed. “Camping!”
She watched as he spread out a large canvas tent and raised it with iron rods.
“This looks like Army issue,” Hilly commented. “Like pictures I’ve seen of the Civil War.”
Clint smiled. “I got it from John. It probably is that old. But it appears to be in good shape.”
“Yes, it does.” Hilly lifted the flap and peered inside. “Pretty clean too.”
“John seems to be meticulous. The stable is always clean, well mucked out, the horses and mules fed and watered.”
He pulled down the blankets and set them inside the tent. Then he returned for a small box and he handed that to Hilly.
“There! Now sit down and write.”
Hilly opened up the box, containing loose paper and several pens.
“Oh, Cliiinnnt, look at these. Are these fountain pens?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Thank you!” Hilly said. “I will. I’ll start right now. You go do the mine thing, and I’ll just hang out here and write.” She reached up to kiss Clint, and he pulled her to him.
“I love you, Hilly.”
“I love you too. Now, go make money.”
She crawled into the tent and opened the box, and Clint strapped on his equipment and climbed down into the mine. He felt he was close to a strike, but many miners felt they were close. He’d found a small vein of silver which led to the tunnel. Every day he worked at the mine, he managed to widen the tunnel.
While he chipped away at the rock, he thought of Hilly in the tent, writing. He thanked John again for the tent. He worried less about Hilly knowing she was protected from the heat and from the cold—and far from town on this day. He couldn’t help but listen intently as if he could hear the outbreak of the gunfire, but they were too far from town.
He worked diligently for several hours and leaned back to take a break. His stomach rumbled, and he thought it was high time he had something to eat. A sound caught his attention. Not gunfire. It was Hilly’s voice. He crawled back down the tunnel.
“Hello down there,” Hilly called. “Hello, hello, hello...” she called again.
“I’m coming,” Clint called. “Be careful at the edge, Hilly.”
“There you are! Are you hungry?” she called out. “I’m starving. Come up for a break.”
He looked up. Hilly peered over the rim.
“Hilly, please be careful.” He scrambled up the ladder.
“Hello down there! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Hilly laughed, unaware that sand and gravel fell from the entrance to the cave.
“Hilly! Don’t lean in! The cave is giving way!”
Hilly screamed, and the mouth of the cave weakened. She toppled in headfirst, and Clint let go of the ladder to reach for her. Her body hit him hard, and as he grabbed her, he lost his balance. Everything happened so fast, he was barely aware of their fall.
****
Clint opened his eyes. His head hurt where he’d hit it. He sat up quickly. Hilly! Was she all right?
Loose dirt and rock from the edge of the cave coated him, and he rubbed at this eyes.
“Hilly?”
he called out in a ragged breath. He couldn’t see her anywhere. He ran his hands along the ground around him but felt nothing warm. He scrambled to his feet and looked up. The ladder was still intact. The sky looked dark gray, as if it was late evening. The cave was dark.
“Hilly?” he shouted. “Hilly? Where are you?” He scrambled to his knees and crawled into the tunnel.
“Hilly?” he called. “Hilly, please answer me.” He reached the end, but she wasn’t there. He crawled back out and scrambled up the ladder.
“Please, please, please, no,” he chanted. “Please no.” He threw himself over the edge and stood upright.
“Hilly?” he shouted as loud as he could. The sun was low on the horizon. It was late in the day. He had been unconscious for hours.
He ran to the tent, but Hilly wasn’t in there. The box lay open, a few sheets of paper stuffed underneath the box as if securing them from a breeze. The mules watched him, still tied to the tree.
“Hilly! Hilly!” he called. He ran into the brush, calling for her. “Hilly! Hilly!”
There was no answer. He circumnavigated the entire hill, running, stumbling often and picking himself back up. When he reached the camp again, he looked for her in the tent and in the cave. But she was gone.
Clint fell to his knees and covered his head with his arms. “Please don’t leave me, Hilly! Please don’t leave me,” he sobbed. “Please come back...”
Hours passed, and Clint descended the ladder back into the cave, there to wait for Hilly. She would come. She had come before. She would come again. He waited for her to call to him. He waited and listened.
Chapter Sixteen
Hilly rolled over onto her back. Pain ripped through her hip. She opened her eyes and looked up. The sky, visible through the cave opening, was a dark gray as if it was early evening.
A memory of falling drifted in to her consciousness, and she gasped and sat up.
Clint!
“Clint,” she said in a low voice. She worried that the whole cave might collapse if she raised her voice.
“Clint?” She squinted in the dim light at the bottom of the cave, scanning the floor. He wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have left her, she was sure of that.
