Foolish Games | Tombstone

Chapter Thirteen: Part I

Dinner went off without much fuss. It was quiet, mostly, with a sparing conversation about the weather, current affairs, and daily goings on in the town. Everyone seemed well enough, howbeit Clara could not put her finger on the strange way Wyatt seemed to be acting. Three times that night, he brought up the topic of moving on for the better–the reason he brought his family out that way, to begin with. To build a better life. The irony with all of its paradoxical natures wasn't lost on her.

Given the opportunity to lead the chat near the end, Clara found herself struggling. Pushing the back of her fork against a lump of potatoes and peas, her lips were pressed into a thin line, barely poised. Biting the proverbial bullet, she dove right into it.

"I delivered some books to Ms. Santee, the schoolmistress, this afternoon. She's extended the offer of a position at the school, which I am inclined to accept."

A deafening silence fell upon the dining table following. Clara dared not to look up from her plate, opting to remain with her eyes downcast against her companions boring theirs into her. She knew why. Her sudden change of heart in rejoining society made her a perfect candidate for contradiction. Hearing Mattie begin clearing the dinner plates, Clara jumped at the opportunity to help. She'd have taken anything to get away from being sat there.

"Well, I think that's a mighty fine idea, Clara." Mrs. Earp smiled behind an opium-fueled head. "Very brave thing of you to do. I'm not so sure I'd be able to, not knowing who that awful man was, who did those things to you and everything. He could be walking around town, free, for all we know."

Clara froze for a fraction of a second, her mind reeling with the sudden barrage of images of Ringo. She had been that good afternoon too, until that point. Steeling herself, Clara tried to smile, her brows furrowing in disdain and discomfort. It was the one thing that had happened to her that only the closest of her friends knew of. Still, there was an unknown distrust of Mattie, probably misplaced on Clara's part.

"Mattie—." Wyatt tilted his head, embarrassed and disappointed in his wife's callous comment.

"No, Mattie's not wrong." Clara smiled behind a pair of pale, insipidly bare eyes. "It can be unnerving, the not knowing."

The shared look between Doc and Wyatt was unmistakable. Neither one believed her; it was written all over their faces.

After dinner had been cleared from the table, the menfolk went outdoors, waiting for Clara to finish the cleanup with Mattie before she and Doc left for home.

The temperature had dropped, the coolness of the desert enveloping the sleepy town. Neither man said much, only because there was nothing much to be said. Wyatt puffed away on a cigar; Doc on his cigarette. It wasn't long before Clara was out of doors, waiting patiently to take her leave with John Henry.

A few hushed words passed in farewell between them, the content too low for Clara to make out. Nevertheless, she stood by patiently, waiting.

What Clara didn't hear was probably for the best. Johnny Ringo was the heavy after-dinner topic discussion betwixt Holliday and Earp. Both of them are now completely aware of the Cowboy's deeds. Without Clara's admission to Ringo's crime, there was not much either of them could do to bring him to justice.

Just give her time to come out with the truth. That was Wyatt's advice. Sadly, he didn't know Clara as well as Doc, who was aware of Clara's ability to keep secrets until they inevitably blew up in her face. To that, Doc's friend put a hand on his hip, puffing away on a cigar. The other burning question was whispered, would Doc pop the question to Clara?

Now, Wyatt didn't go shoving his nose into others' personal lives, but this was different. Doc was a close friend, and Clara, well, hell, at that point, Clara was kin. He said. Wyatt reckoned someone ought to give a blessing of sorts. She was a good girl who had been through too much to be denied that small token of kinship.