West of Paradise

by Hatch, Marcy

  “Maybe,” Eliza allowed, sniffing a little. “Maybe you’re right.”

  She had risen to go then but turned at the door with a teary-eyed smile. “I almost forgot what I came for, besides bringing you the news about Mr. Woolbridge. I meant to apologize.”

  “What for?”

  “I . . . I knew she was waiting for you in that room. I wanted to warn you but . . . but she said she would take William away if I gave you any warning, said I’d never see him again. I . . . I couldn’t let her do that. He’s all I have left of family. I’m sorry.”

  She left, and Katherine stared after her for a bit before turning her attention back to Jack who was still sleeping, thanks to the laudanum the doctor had left. She waited a long while before waking him, reluctantly. A part of her said to let him sleep but he also needed to drink as much as possible. If he had been in the hospital they would’ve had an IV in his arm, forcing fluids and antibiotics into this body.

  She wished she had a thermometer, afraid if Jack got a fever she wouldn’t know until it was full-blown. She did find the carbolic spray he had used on her leg, making use of it on the knife wound, and she kept the quilt close around him, keeping him covered up except for his face.

  He was an easy patient, cooperative and sleepy, so that when dark came and her stomach started to rumble she risked leaving him long enough to go down to the dining room where she convinced one of the servers to make up a tray for her. She was not gone long but when she returned Jack was wide awake and looking worried.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

  “Nothing now,” he said.

  She smiled. “What? Did you think I’d gone and left you?”

  “I was afraid you had. After all, Alanna’s dead now. You can go about whatever it was you were doing before.”

  She sat down next to him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. Still cool. “I’m not going anywhere. Anyway you need someone to take care of you until you can get back on your feet.”

  “Oh? And you’re going to do that?”

  “Someone has to, Jack, and I don’t see anyone else.”

  He managed a smile and glanced over toward the tray she’d brought. “Anything good?”

  Katherine shrugged. “Gumbo, cheese, bread, and apple dumplings. Are you hungry?”

  “Thirsty. And I need to . . .” He started to rise but Katherine pushed him back easily.

  “Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere yet. Doc Holliday said—”

  “Doc Holliday? Doc Holliday was here? In this room?”

  “Yes, why?” Katherine frowned.

  “But . . . but he’s not . . . that is . . . is he a real doctor?”

  “Well, no, actually. They said he was a dentist but the regular doctor was out on a call. Why?”

  Jack shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind,” he said.

  Katherine gave him a look and went on. “As I was saying, Doc Holliday said you should stay as quiet as possible for at least twenty-four hours and then minimal movement for the next two to three days. So, if you need to use the, ah . . . what did you call it? Outhouse? I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with the chamber pot. Need any help?” She smiled a little.

  “I think not,” Jack growled. “Just get me the damn thing before I piss the bed.”

  Katherine retrieved said item from behind the screen where it lived alongside the big porcelain tub, handing it to Jack.

  “Mind?” he asked pointedly.

  Katherine obliged, though of course she could hear the long, hard, stream of urine that came out of him. Apparently her attempts at pushing fluids had been effective. She kept her comments to herself, merely taking the chamber pot when he’d finished and returning it to its place behind the screen.

  “Now, how about something to eat?” she asked cheerily.

  Later, after Jack was asleep again, Katherine watched him, every now and again reaching out to touch his forehead, peering closely at his face in the lamplight in an effort to check his color. She thought he was cool enough and he didn’t seem to be as pale as when they’d first brought him. But she worried, knowing how easily people fell ill in this time, well aware that the knife Alanna had used was unlikely to have been sterilized between killings.

  And she worried that she’d lied, yet again to him, telling him she wasn’t going anywhere when in fact it was all she thought about. Not that she wanted to. A large part of her wanted nothing more than to stay and nurse Jack back to health, take a chance that what she felt was real and true. But how could she when she could never be completely honest with him about who she was?

  And what about her grandfather? How could she let him wonder for the rest of his life what had happened to her? After all he had done for her, how could she do that to him?

  She had to go back.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Twenty Questions

  Jack woke early. He’d been sleeping on and off for the better part of the last four days and now, he was done. Done with resting and done with the damn bed he’d been relegated to.

  Katherine watched hawk-like as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing at his bare midsection where the wound was still red and obvious. There was no sign at all of infection and he attributed that to her care.

  How many times had he woken to her ministering to his wound? How many times had he felt her soft hands on his forehead? How many times had she quietly woken him with hot and cold tea, making him drink, even when he hadn’t wanted to?

  She was wearing a new dress today, a cheerful calico with half sleeves. Her cloak was draped over one arm and the valise over the other wrist, fingers clutching the bonnet she wouldn’t put on until she had to. He knew she had bathed earlier, having heard the sound of water being poured, and he could see now how shiny her hair was, how soft it looked the way it fell away from her face. If there was one thing he missed from his own time it was the way women left their hair free of pins and combs.

  “Are you sure you’re ready?” Katherine asked.

  Jack nodded, straightening slowly, pulling his shirt together and buttoning it. The vest followed, and finally his coat. When he was done he walked over to Katherine, reaching out to touch her hair, letting it slip between his fingers, feeling how silky and soft it was. She looked up at him, her blue eyes like the sea in winter, a cool stormy blue. He kissed her quick, surprising her a little, enough so that her eyes widened.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  She nodded, and he hefted his leather satchel over his shoulder with a grunt, feeling a twinge in his side. Katherine made a worried noise.

  “It’s okay,” he reassured her.

  They left the room, making their way down the curving staircase to the lobby where Eliza Pratt was waiting with young William. His face lit up when he saw her.

  “Mama!” he cried, jumping down and racing over to her, wrapping his arms about her and hugging her tight.

  Katherine looked over to Eliza Pratt who shook her head, eyes glistening.

  William looked up at her, the big smile fading fast. “You’re not my mother,” he said.

  Katherine knelt down. “I’m sorry. I’m not your mother.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Katherine.”

  “Kath-ryn,” William said.

  “Close enough,” Katherine said with a little laugh, rising and ruffling his hair.

  He looked up at Katherine with something akin to whatever it was he had felt for his mother mingled with confusion and longing.

  “Are you ready to travel?” she asked him.

  He nodded solemnly and she took his small hand in hers. “So am I!”

  Jack shook his head, certain Katherine had forgotten the ever so wonderful stage ride
that had brought them to Tombstone. He, however, had not, and when it arrived, he was the last person to embark, reluctantly ensconcing himself between Katherine and an old man that looked to be a few heartbeats away from his last. William chattered nonstop until they reached Contention and the train. It wasn’t until they’d actually boarded that the excitement of traveling began to wear off and William settled down and asked for his mother.

  “She’s with God now,” Eliza Pratt told him.

  “Who’s God?” William wanted to know.

  “He’s what made this world and everything in it,” Eliza said.

  “Where does he live?” William asked.

  “He lives in Heaven.”

  “Where’s Heaven?”

  “It’s up in the sky.”

  “How does he get there?”

  And so it went, with Eliza doing a fair job of answering until she grew tired or impatient (Jack couldn’t tell), at which point she gave the tried and true ‘that’s just how it is,’ and William fell silent though he was clearly not satisfied. He gave a huge ragged sigh and asked Katherine if he could sit with her.

  Katherine nodded, and he clambered up into her lap and was soon asleep, the few tears drying on his little cheeks. She glanced over at Jack, clearly not comfortable in the role of surrogate mother.

  He wondered if it bothered her, the fact that she couldn’t have children, or did she think of it as a blessing in disguise, knowing she would never have to go through the uncertainty of childbirth. And almost he was glad, knowing that at least she would not die that way, though he knew there were a great number of other ways to die in this time.

  “I think you’re a comfort to him,” Jack whispered. “Not a replacement.”

  Katherine nodded and they all sat back to enjoy the relative quiet while the wheels of the train ran over the tracks with their rhythmic clicking and the great engine huffed and every moment brought them closer to something Jack could feel coming. He should’ve guessed it would be Leavenworth. After all, that’s where it had all started.

  ❧

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  They were sitting on the platform, waiting for their train. Katherine had gone to use the facilities while Eliza Pratt was doing her best to entertain William who had wanted to go tag along. Jack looked at the boy standing in front of him, dressed in paper-thin trousers, bare feet, and a worn shirt that could hardly have kept him warm. A grubby hand offered a folded piece of paper.

  “She said to give this to you.”

  Jack took the paper. “Who?”

  “The lady.”

  “What lady?” Jack asked.

  The boy gave a shrug. “I don’t know. Some lady.”

  “What did she look like?” Jack persisted.

  “Pretty,” was the boy’s answer.

  Jack shook his head and tried again. “What was she wearing?”

  The boy scrunched his face up, thinking. “Red, I think.”

  Katherine had been wearing red. Jack grabbed hold of the messenger boy.

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  The boy squirmed in Jack’s grasp. “I don’t know! She was on the street and gave me the note, said you’d be right here.”

  Jack let him go and turned to Mrs. Pratt. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, hurrying out of the station and onto the streets of Leavenworth, his eyes scanning over the people, searching for the particular shade of red that had been Katherine’s gown. But she was nowhere to be seen and though he went down into the streets and even over to the Silver Slipper to talk to Shorty he found no trace of Katherine, no evidence of her at all but for the note the boy had given him. He looked at it again.

  Jack, I’m sorry. I have to go home. Katherine.

  Jack folded it up and put it in his pocket, walking back to the station and sitting down next to Mrs. Pratt. “I’m afraid Katherine will not be coming with us,” he said.

  Mrs. Pratt didn’t say anything, merely nodding and holding tighter to young William’s hand until he made a little noise and she let him go, murmuring an apology.

  After a long moment Jack asked, “Did you know?”

  Mrs. Pratt gave a short nod.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because . . .” Jack shook his head. Why would she indeed? “Do you know where she’s gone?” he asked.

  “She never said and I never asked,” Mrs. Pratt said.

  Jack didn’t ask any more questions. It didn’t matter. Katherine was gone and if she’d wanted him along she would’ve asked.

  ❧

  The wind was blowing hard when they arrived in Boston, sweeping down and around the platform, blowing stray bits of paper and old ticket stubs about like confetti at a party. The air was crisp and Jack shivered as he and Mrs. Pratt went down into the station. William was asleep in his arms, his warm breath blowing against Jack’s neck.

  “May I suggest you stay the night at my house? Tomorrow I will see you and William home,” Jack said to Mrs. Pratt who was dragging herself after him. She nodded tiredly and once outside, Jack hailed a cab, handing Mrs. Pratt inside and settling William on his lap.

  George was not entirely surprised to see him, having received the wire Jack had sent and prepared accordingly. Once again Jack gave up his room, letting Mrs. Pratt and William share his bed while he took a seat at the table in the kitchen where George had a glass ready. George didn’t ask about Katherine and for that Jack was supremely grateful. He didn’t think he could have answered any questions.

  The next morning he saw Mrs. Pratt and William off, sending George off with them, and telling her that if she ever needed anything she should come see him.

  “I think I’ll be fine. Miss Katherine wrote a nice letter for Mr. McLeod, just like she was Alanna, telling him how she wanted things. But I’ll keep your offer in mind, and thank you.”

  Jack wondered what Katherine had written but didn’t ask, watching the cab roll out of the driveway and onto the street. He wandered back into the house, thinking he’d take some time off, try to relax and enjoy his books, take some satisfaction in the fact that at long last Alanna McLeod had gotten what she’d deserved.

  But it didn’t last. He couldn’t enjoy the quiet of his house. He paced. He couldn’t sleep. He was restless. And he thought about Katherine.

  Every time he tried to read she distracted him from the words. He tried to sleep and she woke him. He walked and she was there with him, her cheeks flushed from the heat, tendrils of hair slipping away from the pins, and that yellow blouse with the little buttons. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and one rainy day he quit trying.

  He took a bottle of whiskey into his study and sat in his chair with it and thought about her, starting with the very first day he’d seen her walking past him like she owned everything or should. He thought about how mean he was to her when he thought she was Alanna, and how angry she’d been at him, swearing like a cowboy. He thought about how she’d looked the day she hadn’t shot him, and how pretty she was in her gown at the opera, even if she had been with Will. He thought about their train ride west and their stay at the Windsor Hotel. He thought about how happy she was in her bare feet and their game of twenty questions. He thought about . . .

  Jack put the bottle down, almost missing the table.

  Twenty questions. Had he said it or did she?

  He closed his eyes and replayed the scene in his head. “Are we playing twenty questions?” she’d asked. And he’d said, “Sure, why not.”

  Except . . . except twenty questions wasn’t that old of a game. He was sure of it. He closed his eyes and thought about her some more, focusing on all her little quirks, like swearing and not liking shoes and not mindi
ng sharing a room with him and dumping that water over her head. It all began to fit together in a different way; and when he added in the fact that he’d met her and lost her in Leavenworth, the conclusion was so obvious he was surprised he hadn’t seen it before.

  Outside the rain fell steadily, the wind rattling the glass in the window. If he remembered correctly there was a train west at four o’clock.

  It was time to go home.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Home

  Katherine lurched and dropped to her knees, immediately sick. When she looked up she saw the familiar face of Louis Cade, a sympathetic smile on his face and a towel in his outstretched hand. She took it and wiped her mouth, getting to her feet slowly.

  Louis thrust a chair toward her. “Here, sit for a minute. I’ll get you a glass of water. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

  Katherine took the chair, taking small sips of the water when he brought it, glancing about at Louis Cade’s lab, seeing the familiar machine with its rings and mass of cables snaking out from the platform, the counters with the long line of computers, holo screens hanging in the air above them, and the mini-fridge that held water and chocolate, Louis Cade’s two staples of working.

  She was back.

  She blinked her eyes and rose. “I think I’d like to take a shower if you don’t mind,” she said.

  Louis nodded, handing her the key to her locker where she’d left her clothes. She found it and dressed, feeling strange in the short dress, exposed. She laced up the sandals and wiggled her toes. After her shower she would paint her toenails, she decided, and sleep in a real bed. Then she would go home.

  Louis saw her out, but she walked the rest of the way alone and happy to be that way. She didn’t particularly want any company right now, glad to take her time through the halls, pausing once in the long library where a fire was blazing in the stone hearth. The place was empty and looked very inviting. Outside rain fell heavily, drumming every hard surface, spattering against glass.