Back to Tomorrow

Chapter 9

Chapter 9Jake planted his feet apart, raised his clenched fists, and glared up at Zach, who was just a bit taller. Jake’s normally dusky face was suffused with his rage, turning an ugly shade of red.

“I warned you, Tremaine, to stay out of my domestic affairs. I got home last night to find the place dark and empty, Mary Ann gone. I’m not putting up with this.” Jake literally spat the words at Zach.

Zach wanted to hit Jake rather than explain, but he held off. He didn’t want to strike the first blow, and he noted Jake had several of his cronies with him while Zach was alone.

“I wasn’t even in town yesterday,” Zach protested. “I was in Benson sending dispatches back to my paper, gone all day, as any number of people can vouch. However, I also warned you—not to mistreat my sister. She was beaten so badly she lost the child she carried. You’re a sorry excuse for a man, attacking a defenseless, pregnant woman. If friends hadn’t come to her aid, she’d be dead now.”

Jake stalked closer, snarling directly in Zach’s face. “What I do with my woman is my affair. I won her fair in a game in Deadwood, so she’s mine to do with as I choose,” Jake blustered. “She’s not worth much to me the shape she’s in now, anyway, but I haven’t chosen to get rid of her yet.”

Zach had enough. He wasn’t a pugilist by any means, but he’d watched a number of prizefights on the seamy side of Philly, enough to pick up a few tricks. He doubled his fist and swung a quick, hard right, connecting solidly with Jake’s chin. The gambler staggered back, almost falling until two of his cronies caught and steadied him. He spit blood from biting his tongue and charged at Zach, swinging long before he had a chance to connect.

Zach took a grazing blow alongside his left ear while another glanced off his right cheek, but he got in second solid punch, this one in Jake’s midriff. The air whooshed out of the gambler’s lungs and he staggered again, this time gasping for wind.

Rather than push his advantage, Zach stepped back and waited to see what Jake would try next. The man was no great fighter; he was clearly a bully who was used to getting his way by threats and intimidation rather than real force.

Again, Jake’s friends caught him and held him up while he wretched and gagged, struggling to regain his breath. Zach’s attention was fixed on Jake, so he almost missed seeing the burly man who had stood behind the rest of Jake’s friends. This hulking brute now strode forward with a growl, as if he intended to take Jake’s place in the match.

“Yeah, Tug,” someone shouted. “Go get ‘im.”

The huge man outweighed Zach by at least fifty pounds. He also had arms nearly as long as his legs. Against him, Zach had only one advantage—speed. The man moved slowly and clearly thought slower still. Zach would have to stay a step or two ahead of Jake’s champion if he didn’t want to get beaten to a pulp.

Zach ducked a number of the giant’s blows and danced away from others, but he couldn’t avoid them all. Those that connected jolted him to the core, rattled his teeth and made his head hurt. He scored many hits, but they hardly seemed to faze the brutish man. The fellow might grunt or grimace, but he kept on swinging, stumbling around like a tired old dancing bear. Hitting him was like fist-fighting an ox, as painful and about as fruitless.

Blood trickled from a split knuckle on Zach’s right hand. His left eye was swelling to the point he could hardly see out of it, and he feared one or more teeth were knocked loose. And he was tiring. He took a half dozen steps for every one of his foe, and the pace began to wear him down.

By now a crowd had gathered. Men placed bets on the outcome and some egged the big man on. Zach realized he was still essentially a stranger and an outsider, not a miner or cowboy but an educated “dude.” Not many Tombstone people sided with him, for he wasn’t one of them. He heard a few yells of encouragement aimed his way, but only a few. Who might be right or wrong was of no import. To most of the watching crowd, the brawl was merely an entertaining spectacle.

To Zach, the battle rapidly became a life or death issue. The hulking man was capable of beating him senseless, and probably wouldn’t scruple to do so. Certainly Jake wasn’t going to call off his guard dog.

Just then, the ring of spectators parted, letting through a small man simply dressed in dusty gray, nondescript clothing. A serviceable looking revolver hung at his hip in a worn leather holster and a star-shaped badge pinned on his vest reflected the light spilling out of a nearby saloon doorway.

“Enough,” he roared, in a voice surprisingly deep and powerful for so small a man. “I’ll not have this sort of activity on public streets.

Tombstone is going to start getting civilized in spite of itself.”

“The dude swung first.”

Zach couldn’t identify the speaker, but it was neither Jake nor his second opponent. He blinked the haze from his undamaged right eye and looked at the new arrival. “So I did, but not without provocation.”

The gray clad man swept a quick glance around the gathered crowd.

“Get on about yer business,” he growled. “This show is over.”

There were some muted grumbles, but the people dispersed quickly, leaving Zach standing alone before the Town Marshal.

Zach leaned his aching body against one of the pillars supporting the overhanging roof and strove to collect his wits. His ears rang and a red haze swam in front of his eyes, both the bruised one and the other.

“You look like a whole team run over you, son. All twenty mules. You got someplace to go?”

“I—I’ve got a room at Mrs. Cashman’s. I’ll go just as soon as I catch my breath.”

The marshal nodded. “I’ll see you to the door,” he said, “in the interest of preventing any more trouble.”

Zach was more grateful for the lawman’s company than he wanted to admit. The block and a half walk seemed as long as the ride to Benson. Once when he stumbled, stepping off into the street, the marshal caught his arm and saved him a fall. Zach got his feet back under himself and staggered on.

He could only hope neither Nellie nor Emily were around and he’d be able to get upstairs to his room without seeing them, or anyone else, for that matter. He was in no mood or shape to answer questions or endure either censor or sympathy.

* * * *

May 16, 1889

Emily didn’t think much about the fact Zach didn’t appear for breakfast. For all she knew, he might have left town again, still searching for a safe route to Benson or going about some other errand.

Angelina took a tray up to Mary Ann’s room. When she returned, she reported the redhead was feeling much better today. Emily sighed in relief. The antibiotics must be working. If only the few pills would be enough to kill all traces of the infection.

Angelina wasn’t in on Emily’s secret, so she couldn’t share either her worries or her elation with the younger girl. Though Emily longed to tell her new friend the story, she deemed the wild tale more than an unschooled girl could understand and accept.

The fewer people who did know, the better. That reduced her chances of becoming some sort of sideshow curiosity or perhaps being restrained as a dangerous lunatic. She wasn’t sure either Nellie or Zach truly believed her, but at least they hadn’t showed too much shock and horror, nor had they laughed off her strange story. No doubt they’d have many questions, once the pressure of Mary Ann’s health crisis passed, though. Somehow, she would have to answer them in a satisfactory way.

Emily was in the midst of washing dishes while Angelina made the first daily run to the laundry when a creak of the floor behind her made her turn. Zach stood there, looking like death warmed over. She couldn’t contain her shock at the sight of his battered face, the blackened left eye swollen near-shut, lower lip puffy and split, and red and purple spots overlapping each other on almost every exposed inch of skin.

“Heavens to Betsy! What in the world happened to you?”

“I got into some fisticuffs last night.” Zach’s attempt at humor fell flat. His lips were almost too stiff to shape the words. He tried to smile and gave up the effort when the pain obviously proved too great.

“Could I please have some coffee?”

Recognizing his need for care, Emily recovered at once. “Here, sit down before you fall down,” she said, pulling a chair out from the kitchen table. While he sank into the offered seat, she turned to fill a large mug from the coffeepot on the stove and set it before him. “There were a few biscuits left if you’re hungry.”

He shook his head slowly, as if motion hurt. “No, I don’t want to eat right now.”

“Jake did this, didn’t he?” Emily felt a sick certainty, saddened that Zach had apparently paid for the work she and Angelina had actually accomplished.

Zach nodded, again slowly. “Yes, but after a few minutes he backed out and sicced his pet bruiser on me. Thank golly the marshal came along and broke up the fight. I don’t think I could have lasted much longer.”

Emily looked at him again, feeling her stomach roll at the sight.

She’d never before seen anyone in such shape. His hands were swollen and bruised also, she realized. He held the mug in both hands, as if one might not manage alone. And he sipped the coffee cautiously, as if pressing the cup to his lips caused still more pain. As swollen as they were, it probably did.

“We ought to get some ice on that eye and probably your hand. Let me break some chips off the block in the icebox and wrap them in a couple of clean towels. The cold will help the swelling some.”

She expected him to argue or protest, but he didn’t. He took the improvised ice packs with a mumble of thanks, pressing one to his bruised eye with his left hand and resting his right hand in the other. He sat slumped in the chair, his demeanor so different from his normal ebullient attitude that she had to worry.

Emily went back to the dishes, but kept an eye on Zach, filling his coffee cup and fetching more ice when the first batch melted. Questions burned on her tongue, but she held them out of consideration for Zach’s battered state. Her curiosity would keep until he was fit to speak.

We’ve opened a real can of worms, now. Emily shook her head, wondering what would be the best thing to do next. She certainly didn’t want to return Mary Ann to Jake’s custody, but what else would he come up with to make their lives miserable or hazardous if the girl remained here? Did he know she was here? If he hadn’t found out, no doubt he would soon. The doctor, in his cups—which was most of the time if Nellie had spoken truly—was likely to let some hint slip. And she felt sure they hadn’t avoided being seen by many on their way from Charleston to Tombstone, although no one had accosted them. She sighed.

“Thank you for the nursing,” Zach said, as he stood slowly, shook out the damp towels, and handed them to her. “I feel better now, between the ice and the coffee.”

Emily couldn’t see much change, but he did appear a bit more chipper than when he’d first staggered into the kitchen.

“What are you going to do now?”

He shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled tender muscles. “To be honest, I really don’t know. Any suggestions?”

“None that you’d likely follow.” Emily, hearing the tartness in her tone, tried to soften her words with a smile. “If it were up to me, you’d take something for the pain, to make you sleep, and spend the rest of the day in your room, preferably in bed. I’m sure Nellie could come up with a medicinal to do the trick.”

He managed a crooked grin. “I wouldn’t doubt it, but I can’t afford to waste a whole day. I think I’ll go by Spangenberg’s Gun Shop and get some more ammunition. Then I’ll ride out of town a ways and practice a while.”

“You’ve got a gun?” Emily felt herself going pale at the thought, as if she might faint. Why did men always think violence was the only way to settle a problem? Even as gentle as Rich had been, he’d owned several firearms and professed to enjoy shooting. Emily didn’t think she could ever be comfortable with the idea.

“Of course. Everyone goes armed here. I bought a revolver the second week I was in town, and I’ve fired a whole box of ammunition already.” Perhaps seeing the distress in her expression, he quickly added, “Only at targets, just to get the feel of it.”

“Well, at least try to stay out of trouble and avoid Jake McEuen,” Emily said. Hardly realizing what she did, she edged a little closer to him. She forced herself to look at him, past the bruises, to meet and hold his gaze.

Zach gave her a crooked smile. Perhaps moved by something he saw in her eyes, he leaned forward and lightly brushed his bruised lips across hers. “For luck,” he said. He turned quickly and marched out the back, just as Nellie came through the door from the hallway.

“I will not allow sparking in my kitchen,” Nellie said sternly, but Emily saw a smile lurking in her eyes. Under the circumstances, Emily deemed it safe to change the subject. “How is Mary Ann doing today?”

Nellie gave her a sharp glance, but answered calmly. “She’s improved greatly since last night. There are two days’ worth of your medicine left. I pray that will be enough to pull her through. She’s young, which is in her favor, but she’s also fearful and despondent, which doesn’t help. I don’t begrudge her shelter, but I’ll feel better when she is on her way home to wherever she came from.”

“I’m worried what McEuen may try next,” Emily confessed. “Za—Mr. Tremaine got into a row with him last night, and apparently McEuen had his champion finish the fight. I’m afraid Mr. Tremaine got the worst of it. He’s a mass of bruises and scrapes today. I had him put ice on his hand and black eye for a while.”

Nellie shook her head. “He’d do well to stay off the streets and out of harm’s way, but I know how men are. They aren’t about to listen to us. Not to say I’m afraid of Jake McEuen. I know his type. If he tries to bully me, he will get a rude surprise.”

When Nellie beckoned, Emily followed her into her private rooms.

Nellie drew a double-barreled shotgun out of a corner.

“As you can see, I’m prepared to defend my establishment and patrons if necessary,” she said. “For the next day or two, I’ll keep this at my side, just in case. You and Angelina watch yourselves and report to me if anything out of the ordinary takes place. I refuse to be bullied out of doing what is right.”

* * * *

Zach left the boarding house and wandered down to the stable. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he’d fallen prey to a restlessness that wouldn’t let him sit idle. Although he ached all over from the beating he’d endured, he didn’t want to hide away and lick his wounds in private. To do so would be to admit that Jake and his cronies had gotten the best of him, and that he wasn’t about to do.

He saddled the bay and rode out of town, with no particular goal in mind. Although Zach recognized his right hand was too sore to do much shooting, he wore the Colt .45 he’d bought. The weapon had begun to feel comfortable, a solid, familiar weight at his hip. Since a sidearm was part of most westerner’s normal attire, he wanted to become accustom to his. And, after the exchange of threats and the fight, he felt better to be armed, especially when he wandered away from town.

Zach followed a meandering path up into the hills, passing the stone cairns that marked mining claims, most not currently being worked.

When the trail petered out, he made his own path to the top of the highest of the hills south and west of Tombstone, between the town and the San Pedro River.

From the crest, he had an excellent view of Tombstone, Charleston, and the surrounding countryside. He got down to let the horse rest, loosened the cinches, and dropped the reins to ground tie the gelding.

No well-trained western horse would wander far when the reins trailed on the ground. He sat down in the horse’s shadow, the only available shade. This was as good a place as any to do some thinking.

Zach found himself musing over Emily’s amazing tale. As much as he wanted to believe her, he found that difficult. How could anyone leap backwards across one-hundred-eleven years and retain some degree of sanity and normality? Time travel was the stuff of fairy tales, wild imaginings, too incredible to be real. And yet, Emily had showed him the medicine bottle, made of a material clearly not glass. She’d reminded him about her shoes, of a style and construction he’d never seen. And she’d shown him a small device that lit up and did sums and other computations when its buttons were pushed.

She said she had crossed the country from the Boston area to Tucson in a few hours on a flying machine called a jet plane, that men had set foot on the moon, and that a machine called a television brought plays, music, and all sorts of entertainment right into people’s homes.

If she was lying, she had a fantastic imagination and should become a writer! Together, they could surely craft tales that would make them both famous. Together—he’d really never thought before about sharing his life with a woman, but somehow with Emily the notion didn’t seem so strange.

The bay nudged his shoulder then, as if to say, “Hey, boss, are you going to sit here all day?” The nudge was enough to urge Zach to his feet, and soon back into the saddle. He had reached no profound conclusions, but somehow he felt better.

On an impulse, he decided to go down to Charleston and pay the Gonzales family a visit, if they were home. And perhaps check out the cabin where Mary Ann had lived and almost lost her life. Maybe he’d learn something that would help his effort to get a jump on Jake and get Mary Ann headed home to Philadelphia. Right now both tasks looked very close to impossible.

* * * *

The quietest time of day in Tombstone tended to be right after the midday meal, when the sun beat down in full fury and most of the folk wisely stayed indoors and followed the Mexican custom of a midday siesta. Too bad the chores required to keep Nellie’s establishment operating smoothly could hardly tolerate such a break.

With a resigned sigh, Emily gathered up the latest bundle of linens to deliver to the laundry. Might as well get the task done now, she reasoned. She tied the rest up in one large sheet and hefted the awkward burden. As an afterthought, she snatched one of the sunbonnets Nellie kept hanging on hooks by the back door and popped it on her head. The floppy brim would keep some of the sun off her face even though the covering didn’t make her much cooler.

She trudged down the alley, her eyes on the ground, concentrating on reaching the laundry by the most direct route. Inside the establishment she felt even hotter, for the atmosphere was thick with mists rising from steaming tubs and soap bubbles hanging in the heavy air. Emily gave her bundle to Lo Piang, the laundryman’s teenaged daughter, and took the ticket for reclaiming the items later.

Although she sometimes spent a few minutes talking with Lo Piang, who although shy was bright and pleasant, Emily wasn’t tempted to linger today. The laundry felt like a sauna. She took her leave as quickly as she could and set out to retrace her steps.

Just as Emily walked out of the alley to cross Fourth Street, a fast-moving horse jostled her. She stumbled, but before she could get her feet under her, the rider grabbed her by one arm and jerked her off the ground. She gave a startled squawk of protest, which was cut off by the man’s heavy, dirty hand clamping over her face. She tried to sink her teeth into the hard palm, but it was too broad and solid for her to get a good bite.

The unseen man thumped her down in front of him, where she perched awkwardly on the saddle horn and his thighs. Without a pause, he wheeled the horse and sent it galloping to the west, the shortest route out of town. Emily kicked and wriggled to small avail. He held her fast with one massive arm while he kept his other hand over her mouth and nose, almost cutting off her breath. What sounds she managed to make emerged muffled and faint. She tried to turn enough to see his face, but the iron pressure of his hand kept her facing forward.

When struggle proved fruitless, fear began to replace rage as her dominant emotion. Who had snatched her and why? Where was he taking her? Emily felt sure her captor wasn’t Jake McEuen himself, but the idea her abductor might be a friend or cohort of the gambler’s seemed all too likely.

Then the horse turned toward Charleston Road and certainty replaced possibility in her mind. No doubt Jake awaited, probably intending that she should take Mary Ann’s place as his virtual slave.

Well, if that were the case, he’d find her much less docile and biddable than Mary Ann had been. The first chance she got, she’d be out of there, as he’d have to sleep sometime!

If he came home drunk, she’d keep out of reach until he either passed out or fell asleep. Then, she just might find a way to avenge Mary Ann’s brutal treatment before she made her escape. He’d find he had gotten more than he bargained for this time.

Reaching that decision, Emily ceased to struggle. There was no use wearing herself out accomplishing nothing. She’d save her energy for opposing Jake.