Foolish Games | Tombstone

Chapter Two

Three days had come and gone, three uneventful days. At that time, Clara forgot about the 'Doc ordeal' and began feeling her sanity settle into a pool of stagnant detachment with the lack of stimulus. There were only so many books to read, conversions with Mama, and sewing to pass the time before a sense of cabin fever took hold. She began to feel trapped, akin to a bird within a cage. No matter how patiently Clara waited, her mother hadn't suggested that her daughter may fancy wandering around town or extending invitations to the Earps' wives to have tea. The latter was more understandable; Mama would never have guests over while staying in a boarding house. Katrina Grady was far too proud. It was becoming unbearable. So much so that Clara had decided on the third morning to address her mother openly concerning it.

A bold decision, but Clara had knocked upon Mama's door before she had even left for morning coffee. "Mama," Clara gently rapped the back of her hand on the wood. "I was hoping I would speak with you for a moment."

From the other side of the door, all Clara could hear was silence. She began to wonder if her mother had even risen out of bed. Quickly she crossed the hall and went down the first few steps of the staircase leading to the communal dining table. Across the way from the oak slab sat a grand clock. 6:30 A.M., it read. No, Mama should have well been up by then. She turned, climbing back up the stairs. As Clara reapproached her mother's door, she heard the soft click of the lock. Gently the door cracked open. Mama was in her nightgown and dressing robe.

"Clara darling, is everything all right?"

Her daughter cocked an eyebrow in bewilderment. The primary reason for her early call fell by the wayside. "I could ask the same of you, Mama. It is not like you to still be in your night clothes at this hour."

Mrs. Grady sighed, opening the door to her room wider and ushering Clara inside.

Her daughter was right. It was contradictory for her to be unkept after six o'clock. Katrina had always been a stickler for schedules. The daily one was not an exception to the rules. Perhaps she had, much the same as Clara, been feeling stationary as of late. She gracefully sank into the chair of her boudoir. Staring into the mirror of the vanity table, her daughter quietly stepped up behind her.

"May I?" Clara gestured toward her mother's hairbrush on top of the toilet table.

Mama nodded and passed it to her daughter, who carefully removed the ribbon from her mother's hair and unwove the long plait. Gold and silver strands cascaded down Mama's back. Clara carefully used the boar bristle brush to smooth out the waves. She glanced at her mother as she did so, feeling all manner of guilt for the initial reason for her visit. Clara noticed Mama's wistful eyes lingering on a photo on the table of a boy in a Confederate uniform. It was her eldest brother, William. He was only fourteen.

Clara swallowed a lump at the back of her throat, suppressing her tears. "It's okay to miss him, Mama."

"Please, don't." Katrina reached forward, pulling the framed photograph facedown. That was the end of that particular conversion.

In silence, Clara finished styling her mother's hair, pushing the painful memory of William from her mind. Now more than ever, the Grady women needed a fresh start. They needed to take in air. Albeit if it was dry and dusty, and hot.

"Perhaps we should take lunch with Daddy today? He was always fond of those sandwiches you'd have made for him. And I'm sure he's been missing some proper sweet tea." Clara was leaning in now, her cheek pressed against Mama's as they stared at one another in the mirror.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Mama nodded. Clara's joy sprawled across her face. There was no containing her smiles.

Mama tapped her cheek with her finger. Her daughter gave her a soft peck before being dismissed for breakfast.