Foolish Games | Tombstone

Chapter Three

Later that same day, the furniture from Denver arrived. Mama had been adamant that moving into the new Grady home should commence immediately. It was Katrina's dream house, after all. The home built by her husband (with mostly her money) was her new pride and joy. Having grown children left Mama with a burgeoning need for purpose; being a homemaker without servants was a new challenge. One she couldn't wait to sink her teeth into. Clara, on the other hand, had found the mansion to be overly excessive. She couldn't rightly understand why her mother needed to impress with grandeur. Their family had lost nearly all their fortune after the war. Like most old southern families, their wealth accumulated from plantations or the slave trade. Clara's family, at least on Mama's side, wasn't the exception. So it made very little sense to Mrs. Grady's daughter why they should now be living (in Clara's mind) well outside their means. She kept this, wisely, to herself. Instead, she did everything her mother asked of her, aiding in fixing up the home to Mama's specifications. On the fourth day of moving in—a Wednesday, just after morning tea, there was a knock on the front door.

"Clara, answer that, will you?"

Clara nodded, setting her new book aside and rising from her chair in the dining room. As she crossed the foyer, she half excepted to open the door to find Thomas. It hadn't slipped from her memory the instance when last brother and sister met, and she still had a list of questions—an interrogation really—he needed to answer. Not to mention many platitudes he should give to Clara for not telling Mama about him. To her surprise, it wasn't. Standing on the doorstep was none other but Wyatt, looking rather sheepish and out of place.

"Mr. Wyatt, I'm sorry, Daddy isn't here." Clara apologized, suspecting that the lawman had called to speak to her father.

He removed his hat. "Clara, how many times do I gotta tell ya? Just call me Wyatt."

Mama called out from her chair in the other room, inquiring who was at the door.

"Not in front of Mama, I won't." Clara's replied with laced humor, in part. She knew well enough that Mama would faint if she ever had the misfortune of hearing her daughter call a grown man by his first name without a title in front of it. She hollered over her shoulder. "It's Mr. Wyatt, Mama."

Her mother conveyed to her to tell him that Mr. Grady wasn't home. Clara shook her head and raised a hand in confirmation.

"Actually, I'm not here to talk to Doug." He was fiddling with the brim of his hat, pointing a finger passed the doorframe. "May I come inside?"

Taken aback, Clara opened the door wider. If Wyatt wasn't here to speak with her father, what was the purpose of his visit? A chill went down her spine. Could it have to do with Thomas? She led him through the foyer, stopping when Wyatt had. He was taking in the sight of the house.

"This sure is somethin'."

Clara didn't know how to feel, seeing him so in awe. It made her uncomfortable. "I suppose it is... Mama is in the dining room."

Her attempt to coax him to follow worked.

When they reached Mama, she extended a seat to their guest, perplexed.

Offering Wyatt some coffee, Katrina poured a cup and placed it in front of him. "You'll have to forgive the state of things at the moment. I've yet to unpack the good china."

He assured Mama that he wasn't bothered by it. Sipping the black liquid, he smacked his lips and peered over at Clara before turning his full attention back toward Katrina, who smiled.

She spoke. "I'm sure Clara informed you my husband isn't home. He left in the early hours this morning with Virgil. We are more than happy to take a message—."