Foolish Games | Tombstone

Chapter Fourteen

Whatever deep hounding emotions followed Clara out of the Oriental were replaced subsequently and wholly with a guilty plunge into the depths of passivity. Her frantic running with tears pooled turned like a key in her heart, instantly without warning. Clara heaved with one breath, then straightened herself, encased in that passivity, allowing it to bore her back to the hotel where she sat on the bed, emotionlessly staring at the door. And while she sat brooding on the edge of the bed frame, it came into her mind to empty her heart of all emotion for this place that made her thus. What would it be like to taste the cool spring of freedom truly?

Now, Clara did not take it into her mind to begrudge Doc, Morgan or even Ringo for that matter. In fact, it was difficult to begrudge and yet easy to disdain everything and nothing all at once. If Clara was genuinely angered by anything, it was the sheer audacity she had for believing happiness that might have found her and made her whole again. There the passivity was lingering over the room like a spectral phantom, whispering that wondering either way was of no use and there was no use, for her life held no meaning now and probably never had to begin with. Ringo, Doc, and the whole of Tombstone only brought that fact to light sooner rather than later. Had she the courage to dwell on John Henry for longer than a fleeting moment, Clara might have realised where passivity had conquered her heart, commiseration enveloped his own.

*

From the outside looking in, Doc Holliday was far from any thought of his young fiance. If one could listen to the voice inside instead, it would have told a very different story. John Henry's mind bent on Clara, all his thoughts consumed by her and the more he thought, the more he pitied. Pity became admiration, and slowly over many a drunken hour, admiration became commiseration, and slowly love filled his breast once again. What anger could he harbour for his darling, Clara? Internal inebriated deliberation on the issue of Clara's virtue made a few things clearer- 'Oh, the irony in that!' he thought to himself- That if she had truly consented, which she may very well have to begin with- consensual carnal activity doesn't leave a woman in a state in which Wyatt found Clara. Of all things, she is still a child in so many ways, especially understanding the legality of rape or at least, forced copulation after withdrawing consent. And after all of that, he had sent her away. Doc had sent her away, his ego bruised with the thought of being cuckolded (of which he had no right) and bitterly choked on the very notion that any other might have known Clara the way he had. Doc had been wrong. He had been utterly wrong, and he would drink himself into a deep stupor before admitting to his friends or love that he had been so. Those long hours turned into days. Unable to stop himself from drinking or playing poker, it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to his vices. So be it.

*

While confined to the boarding home, Clara heard on the wind that Virgil had put a hold on the carrying or use of weapons in town, which seemed an action taken far too late for any progress to truly be made. The Cowboys still ran the inner workings of Tombstone and despite Earp's good intentions, Clara seriously doubted that much would change, let alone that anyone would adhere to that new law. It was like trying to eradicate the Devil from the churches; Good could not live much less thrive without the presence of evil, and their little mining town was thickly laden with it. Those who were smart had already begun making the arrangements to leave, most making their way to California if luck found them. Others simply took the trains back north to try their luck in the slums of the bigger cities. Not Clara. Clara was bound to this place like the shadow of a grave. If anyone in town had missed her, even the schoolmistress and children, there was no word saying so. She had been left to her stagnant musings, silently praying (if one could call it that) that Doc might stumble through the door to their lodgings. Clara ached in an indescribable way to see him again. For it wasn't only the creeping news of the town that she worried over, but the newfound sickness that seemed to confine her to bed-coming and going at all odd hours.