Back to Tomorrow

Chapter 2

Chapter 2May 15, 2000

Fort Huachuca, Arizona

Emily held out for a week against the potent lure of Tombstone, a mere fifteen minute drive away. She talked for hours with Carol, helped decorate the nursery, shopped for baby things, and finished reading the journal. It wasn’t until after she’d read the final entry that she admitted to herself she had to go to Tombstone. Somewhere in the town she might find an answer to the burning question left in her mind.

Although she hadn’t told Carol quite everything, she’d confessed the journal’s narrative had become very real to her. As for the narrator, she admitted she felt a special kinship with him. Were they not both looking for adventure and something beyond the humdrum of daily existence? For her, the source had heretofore been historical accounts, authentic old letters, documents, and “I was there” tales. For him, it was the actual “wild west,” or what remained of it in 1889.

Over breakfast Carol and Emily discussed the final entry in Zach’s journal, dated June 12, 1889.

Carol shook her head. “You mean it just stops? That’s too weird.”

“I know,” Emily replied. “That really worries me. What happened?

Was he killed? Did he flee for his life and leave the journal behind?

Somehow I can’t see him doing that.”

“But it would be better than getting shot! Golly, I can’t even imagine…” Carol let the words trail off, a shudder and a grimace completing the thought. “I mean like this isn’t TV or something. It’s real, at least I guess it was.”

Finally, Emily got the book itself and read aloud the lines that troubled her so much.

June 12, 1889. Today I saw Mary Ann settled on the eastbound train with a ticket through to Philly. She’ll be traveling in the company of Major John Dodd and his wife.

The major has been reassigned from Fort Huachuca to Washington. Upon hearing our tale, Mrs. Dodd assured me they would see Mary Ann safely home to the Philadelphia station. I do not doubt they will do just that as Mrs. Dodd seemed a woman of considerable fortitude and determination, rather overpowering her scholarly looking husband.

Now my adventures can begin in earnest, although some unfinished business remains. While I was gone, my dear Emily vanished again and so, it seems, has Jake McEuen.

The last I heard, McEuen was looking for me with the object of provoking an incident in which he could feel justified in shooting me, but I believe he has now sought his revenge through Emily. If he dares harm her, earth will hold no safe haven for the blackguard!

Since the terrible slaughter in ‘82, the city fathers have outlawed dueling and cracked down considerably on intemperate gunplay. Still, although they try to put a good face on it, this is a near-lawless community where human life is not highly valued. Men die daily from accidents in the mines and elsewhere, their mates scarcely pausing to give them a decent burial. Everyone is mad for more silver, a new game, the next drink.

I have practiced diligently with my .45 for almost two months now and attained reasonable proficiency. I will track McEuen down, and when I find him, arrange to meet near the river, since Charleston has no pretensions to lawfulness.

I will endeavor to tend to this business tomorrow in hopes of getting it resolved soonest, but first I must find Emily.

Emily’s voice almost broke on the last few words. “That’s where it stops, Carol. I have no way of knowing what happened. Did he get killed? Did he leave town? And who was Emily? Somehow I can’t help feeling it is—or was—me! And I can’t imagine why he’d stop writing unless something terrible happened, or why, if he did depart, he’d leave his journal behind.”

Her gaze sought Carol’s, reaching for support and willing understanding. “I’ve been dreaming of all this since before I left Vermont. It’s so real, as if I actually was there. Something very strange is happening to me.”

“Oh, my word! I don’t blame you for being curious, even concerned. Such a coincidence too, the names.” Carol smiled at Emily fondly. “You’re still the same old Em, so intense. I swear you expend more passion on your history than most women on the love of their life!”

Emily chuckled, then sighed. Carol really didn’t understand. How could she when Emily herself couldn’t make sense of it all?

“I know, but for so long reading of bygone days took the place of the friends I lacked. Moving every two or three years, I finally gave up trying to have real friendships. It was too hard to begin them only to see them wither and die through separation. So I found companionship in books, in history.”

Carol reached across the table and patted her hand. “That’s because you were always too shy. You were still timid the first year we roomed together, but now you seem to have outgrown a lot of it. Or did a little bit of me rub off?

“Anyway, why don’t you check some of the museums in Tombstone, maybe the library? They sell books on the town’s past in many of the shops too. Once people learn you’re a librarian and scholar, I’m sure they’ll want to help. Take my car and go today.

Maybe you can put your mind at ease. Darn, I wish I could tag along, but Dr. Winkler insists I stay off my feet.”

Emily hesitated. “I’ll feel terrible, leaving you here alone. You invited me to come visit, not go gadding off without you! I know you’re going stir-crazy with this idleness.”

Carol grinned. “True, but don’t feel guilty! This is all really my fault, giving you that journal. Anyway, you can come home tonight and tell me everything. You’re such a sleuth, you’ll probably have the whole story!”

* * * *

Half an hour later, with Carol’s hand-drawn map and directions, Emily headed down Charleston Road toward Tombstone in Carol’s little Ford. Although she’d never been in the Southwest before, the countryside didn’t look strange. How many times had she seen it in dreams already?

The rounded gray hills between the San Pedro River and Tombstone were the location of the rich ore bodies exploited by the mines. Even the vegetation wasn’t unfamiliar, though it bore little resemblance to that of New England. The low, dark green shrubs were creosote bush, the lacy-leafed taller ones were mesquite. A roadrunner scooted across the narrow blacktop ahead of her. As she recalled the rascally bird in the old cartoons, Emily grinned.

“Beep, beep.”

The winding road led her past Charleston, the site of an old stamp mill for ore extraction and a loading point for ore shipped by rail back in the eighteen-eighties. The place where Jake McEuen and Zach had shot it out might be nearby. Even, perhaps, Zach’s final resting place…With a shiver, Emily resolutely turned her thoughts in less morbid directions.

Driving into Tombstone, Emily parking the Escort on a side street.

When she set foot into the talc-like dust, she felt some of the wonder Zach had expressed upon his arrival. How many famous feet had trod this dusty ground? How many hapless folk had bled into it, pierced by sizzling lead? How many lives had been ruined or ended by the turn of a card, the luck of a miner’s claim, or the whim of someone with a faster draw? Her vivid imagination, seeking to run wild, didn’t rein in readily.

The crowding spirits made Emily shiver. Several of them seemed to implore her to learn their secrets and tell the world their tales.

Impatiently, she promised each of them their turn, just as soon as she learned what had happened to Zachary Tremaine.

Unsure where to go first, Emily made her way slowly along Allen Street, the main street of old Tombstone. She wandered in and out of shops featuring curios and memorabilia designed with tourists in mind.

Around her voices spoke a polyglot mixture of languages, English and Spanish, German, and Japanese. The scents of leather and gunpowder blended with the perfume of juniper and wild flowers, dried as potpourri.

After she’d glanced through several books attributed to local historians and would-be scholars, finding no mention of Zachary Tremaine, she gave a little snort of disgust. Apparently, most visitors didn’t want to know about anyone who wasn’t named Earp or Clanton.

When hunger began to gnaw, sometime after noon, Emily stopped for lunch. The Last Chance Café featured meat from the crossbred buffalo and beef cattle called beefalo. Emily ordered a spicy beefalo burger that she washed down with a glass of old time sarsaparilla. From her waitress she got directions to the library. That would be her next stop.

Outdoors again, Emily was surprised to find dark clouds had rolled in. Across the valley toward Fort Huachuca, she heard a threatening rumble of thunder. She remembered then that Carol had mentioned thunderstorms were very common here. Her friend had even said “Huachuca” came from an ancient Native American word meaning “where the thunder walks.” At the time, this bit of lore hadn’t seemed too important, but now it took on ominous new meaning as the thunder stalked closer.

Emily started across one of the side streets that bisected Allen Street, thinking of what she might find at the library. The chill wind, blowing ahead of the approaching storm, sent a shiver down her spine that she strove to ignore. So far her search had turned up nothing worthwhile. Was she doomed to failure?

At that instant, a brilliant flash lit the glowering cloud directly overhead. The ear-splitting crack of thunder came before her eyes recovered from the shocking glare. Temporarily blinded, ears ringing from the concussion, Emily lost all sense of direction.

Nor did she hear the clatter of the approaching stagecoach until it burst around the corner, just a few feet away. One of the renovated coaches used to give rides around the town, its normally placid team had panicked into stampede at the sudden burst of light and noise.

The bewhiskered driver sawed futilely on the reins. When he saw Emily, directly in his path, he yelled. “Look out, Lady! Get outta the way. I can’t stop.”

Emily, still half-blind, tried to jump clear, but her foot slipped in a patch of loose gravel. Arms flailing, she fell forward toward the side of the coach as it careened past. When her forehead cracked against the ironbound edge of the rear wheel, the impact sent multicolored stars of pain flaring through her skull. She never felt the ground—a maelstrom of light and crashing noise swallowed her whole before the road came up to meet her.

* * * *

May 15, 1889

Tombstone, Arizona Territory

Zach hunched into his jacket and flipped the collar up to cover his neck as he walked along Allen Street, mulling his options. The gusty wind bit at him as it rushed a thickening scatter of dirty, gray cloud scraps eastward. He’d been in Tombstone over three weeks now.

Although the weather had been warm since his arrival, today it looked as if a storm was brewing.

After the first brisk start, Zach’s search seemed to come up against a brick wall. Although he’d spent several days exploring the area around Tombstone on horseback, he’d found no trace of Mary Ann nor even of Joker Jake. He did find a shanty in the wide canyon just north of town, but it appeared deserted.

Perhaps Mustang Pete had given him a bum steer, although the cowboy had seemed pleasant and sincere. What course did he have now other than making another visit to each of the many saloons to inquire if anyone could point him in Jake’s direction? It was even possible the gambler had left town. There were probably many places where crooked cards could be a lucrative venture.

Feeling in a pocket, he realized he’d left his wallet in his room.

Back there, then, before he began his next search. He’d probably have to buy a drink or two, using liquor to elicit information.

After picking up the wallet and slipping it into his hip pocket, Zach paused to look down at the street. He started to turn away from the window when a buckboard traveling south down Allen Street caught his eye. The driver was female, apparently young. Wisps of reddish hair slipped out from the dark scarf wrapped around her head and neck.

Something about her seemed hauntingly familiar. He leaned forward to get as good a look as possible. Could it really be?

“Mary Ann?” He barely registered that he’d spoken aloud. “If I hurry I can catch up, see if it’s really her.”

Wheeling from the window, he headed for the door, determined to get downstairs and catch up with the buckboard if he could. For a moment, he stopped. Was someone standing just inside the doorway?

The shadowy figure’s face looked feminine, but the person wore masculine attire, blue trousers and a matching jacket. How strange. The vague image vanished before he reached the portal. He hadn’t been drinking—maybe his writer’s imagination was playing tricks on him.

Even in a wild place like Tombstone, surely no woman would be seen out and about in trousers!

Rushing down the stairs, he turned to go south down Allen Street.

The slab-sided horse drawing the buckboard seemed unwilling to move faster than a jog. They were still in view when he emerged from the boarding house. Zach broke into a run, taking to the edge of the street itself to avoid bowling people over on the busy boardwalk.

He’d done a bit of running in school, and though it was harder in heavier clothing, he hadn’t lost the knack. Moving at a brisk pace, he soon gained on the trotting horse. When the driver halted the animal in front of the Silverado Mercantile, Zach caught up with them.

The woman climbed down, every movement slow and awkward. As she turned, Zach saw she was definitely in the family way. His knowledge of such matters was sketchy, but she appeared not too far from giving birth. Still, her face, shadowed by the scarf, wasn’t clear enough for him to identify her positively.

He sucked in a quick, deep breath. “Mary Ann? Is it really you?”

She turned then, facing him fully, her gray eyes—so much like his—going wide and her mouth shaping a silent “O” of distress. She shook her head as if denying what her senses reported.

“No! Go away, please. If Jake sees anyone talking to me, he’ll kill us both. I just came to town for a few things and I have to hurry straight home. I’m in a rush. Please, Zach, just pretend you didn’t see me. You shouldn’t even be here!”

Zach stepped closer, reached to rest his hand on her arm. “I can’t do that! There’s no way you can be happy with that beast, sis. I’ve heard how he treats you. I’ve come to take you home.” He spoke forcefully, urgently. He had to reach her, to break through her protective shell of isolation.

“No! He’ll kill you, Zach! I’ll not have my brother’s blood on my hands adding to my other sins. And once you’re dead, he’d make my life pure hell.” She spread a hand over her swelling abdomen. “Look at me. I can’t go home this way. It’s too late.”

The anguish in her face and tone tore at him like icy blades.

Whatever foolish wrong she’d done, she was still his beloved little sister. The one who’d dogged his steps for the first sixteen years of her life, sought his protection when their stern father’s manner became too harsh. Zach searched for the right words. How could he convince her none of her errors mattered, that he still loved her?

Before he could reply, she whirled away, fleeing into the store as fast as her thickened body would allow. His worse fears were confirmed. She was being held against her will, and clearly feared for her safety, her very life. Now, with the child to consider, it was going to be even harder to effect her escape.

“If you know what’s good for you, dude, you’ll stay clear of my woman.”

Zach wheeled to face the voice. A man about his own age strode toward him along the boardwalk. “Jake McEuen?”

“What’s it to you?” Handsome in a dark, dissolute way, the man stopped, feet apart and right hand hovering over the pearl-handled pistol on his hip. He wore black, the traditional frock coat and brocaded vest of the gambler. His close-set, dark eyes flashed a wicked warning, thin lips twisting into a sneer under the narrow line of his black moustache.

Zach straightened, throwing his shoulders back to stand tall. “I’m Zach Tremaine, Mary Ann’s brother. Unless you can show me a marriage certificate, I’ve more right than you to speak to her.”

“Why buy the cow when milk’s so cheap?” the man said, his tone full of scorn. “If I was through with her, I might let you have her back, but I think I’ll keep her a while. She’s obedient, she can cook, and she has other uses. I might even want the brat she carries. Children have their uses too. Some bring a good price.”

Bile burned in Zach’s throat. He swallowed it with the cutting words that might end his life—and any possible help for Mary Ann. He hesitated, keenly aware in spite of his rage that he was unarmed. While every instinct urged him to charge the gambler and smash a fist in his face, reason said such a display of foolhardy bravado would only make Mary Ann’s plight worse.

He took a steadying breath before he spoke. “We’ll see about that. Even in Tombstone, it isn’t legal to hold anyone against their will. Slavery was outlawed by Lincoln in ‘64.”

The gambler laughed, a cold, harsh sound like ice breaking. “So what do you propose to do about it, Tremaine? There are no chains on the woman. You can’t prove anything.” He turned to follow Mary Ann’s route into the store.

Gritting his teeth in impotent fury, Zach started back the way he had come. He found he was shaking, almost overcome with the rush of anger still pounding through him with each heartbeat. His thoughts flew in a thousand directions at once, seeking a method to avenge Mary Ann and get her safely home. Fighting for calm, he admitted he had to approach the matter deliberately, make a reasonable plan, and then carry it out.

Since arriving in Tombstone, Zach had used his investigative and fact-finding skills to good advantage. He’d managed to elicit scraps of information from almost everyone he spoke with, scraps that he later assembled into a pattern that revealed more than anyone might suspect.

The timing of most recurring events in the town was firmly fixed in his mind. The plan of its streets and buildings had been similarly recorded. He’d even located the places most convenient for a possible ambush and where “accidents” could easily be staged, more to avoid hazards than to utilize such means.

Somehow, he’d find where Jake and Mary Ann lived and arrange to visit when Jake was away, probably at night. Evening hours were the most profitable for gamblers since the night shift in the mines utilized fewer men than the day, and the evening of the weekly payday was the best time of all.

Thinking quickly, he slipped into a narrow passage between two buildings to watch until Mary Ann and Jake departed from the store.

He’d follow them at a discreet distance, perhaps find where they now resided. Though not naturally patient, Zach had learned to persevere.

He could out-wait the most placid when he had to.

As he stood quietly in the shadowed passage, he vowed he’d purchase a handgun at once and begin to practice with it. To go unarmed in Tombstone was almost tantamount to exhibiting a death wish. He had too many years and adventures he didn’t want to miss to run that risk.

Zach smiled ruefully to himself. With those tiresomely constant iterations of “turn the other cheek” and “the meek shall inherit the earth,” Father would spin in his grave at the idea of a pistol in his son’s hand. Still, had the old man been a bit more reasonable, Mary Ann would not have fled in the night to fall into the clutches of a wretched conscienceless rogue like Jake.

There was also the Biblical tenet of an eye for an eye, one that Zach found imminently more practical. Whether or not Jake had a sister, Zach didn’t know. He probably hadn’t the heart to abduct her anyway, but there were other means of inflicting punishment. While he hoped to use the law to aid his cause, he’d handle matters himself if he must. He had a promise to keep.