Foolish Games | Tombstone

Chapter Four

"What did it do to you?! Do you honestly think I had a choice, Katrina? What it did to you, please, woman. Someone has to take the blame, I suppose, though. So blame me, Kat. Blame away." Daddy walked to the door leading to the foyer, obviously done with the conversation. "I'll find Thomas. When I do, I'll send him home. You can be the one to explain to him that as a grown man, he still has to answer to his mother."

Before he left, he glanced at Clara once more. His daughter looked lost and confused. He left.

.

.

The rest of that afternoon, Clara mostly kept to herself. She had previously debated telling her mother she had an inkling of where her older brother might be. Or the very least, what he might have been up to; ultimately, the decision was to keep her lips sealed. If she had an opportunity that evening, away from Mama, Clara would try to discern where her taciturn sibling had ventured off. Until then, it was best not to upset Mama anymore than she already was. All she had done was mope around the house like a specter. It was most mood-dampening. Unable to take any more of the sighing or Mama's other depressive displays, Clara did the only thing she could think of to snap her mother out of it. She offered herself as a sacrificial lamb, requesting Mother dress and make her up for the evening. Although it didn't erase the melancholy, Mrs. Grady at least took up her daughter's offer.

They started, of course, with the choice of dress. Mama rummaged through a series of trunks, pulling yards of colorful fabrics from where they had been resting. Anything red, white, or blue had been tossed aside into a discard pile on the bed. It would have been gaudy to match the decorations in town. She explained. After colors had been sorted, came the decision of what style was appropriate. Mostly, the formal attire owned by Clara had all been ball gowns. A distant reminder of a very different world from the one they were now a part of. Those dresses were an ever-present shadow that wept a sonnet of what would become a bygone era. They told the ballad of the fall of an empire. Without a word, both women tucked those particular frocks back into a small trunk. Clara carefully slid it under her bed.

"I'm not sure I own anything appropriate." She declared with a sigh.

Thinking for a moment, her mother snapped her fingers. "I'll be only a moment. Wait here."

Clara pursed her lips and sat on the bed, waiting for her mother to return. When she had, Mama was carrying something special.

"It might be a bit old-fashioned, but with the right accessories and hairdo, it will be quite comely." She held up the garment for her daughter to see.

A delicate evening gown in the pretty shade of lilac draped over Mama's arm. It was light cotton trimmed with cream-colored silk around the ruffled layers with a matching bodice. Mama explained it wore off the shoulder, but Clara could borrow one of her shawls to keep her from getting cold later in the evening. Mother helped her daughter dress, from the bustles to stocking ties and buttoned boots.

Afterward, she styled Clara's hair. Waterfall curls elegantly piled atop her crown, pinned with a comb made of silver. Finishing touches were added, such as dabs of her mother's favorite perfume and her very own pearls around Clara's neck. Stepping back from her daughter, Mama smiled.

"You look beautiful."

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, it began to sink in. Soon enough, Doc and Wyatt, along with Mrs. Earp, would be at her door. Clara, who was dealing with racing thoughts of her parents' argument and her missing brother, was still forced to consider the implications of the cruel play she had delivered upon Doc. It had been festering in her thoughts for the entire week. To say she felt horrid about it all would have been a downplay of her emotions. Clara didn't know if she could face any of them because of what she had done. She voiced her guilty conscience to her mother.