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—."
Wyatt raised a hand to pause his host, tapping at his vest and pulling from within it a letter. He held it up, shaking his head. "I told Clara, Ma'am, I'm not here to speak to your husband. The truth is, I got a letter here for your daughter. Was asked to deliver it as a... a—mediator—go between of sorts."
"Who is writing my daughter?" Katrina asked flabbergasted.
"Well, ma'am, Doc asked me to deliver the letter."
Mama's features were stoic and unreadable, whereas Clara's face was green with anxiousness. Her fears were bubbling to the surface. If John Henry had found out about Thomas, the Cowboys, and the day before at the saloon... Well... who knew what would ensue. She reached out from across the table and took the parcel from Wyatt.
Clara swallowed hard. She felt Mama's eyes on her like a hawk on a rabbit. Suddenly the summer heat hit Clara in a wave; a trickle of sweat pooled at the base of her neck before dripping down her spine, saturating her corset.
"Well, go on then, child. Open the address."
She felt faint. "Yes, ma'am."
Trying to steady her hands, Clara lifted the tab on the envelope. Taking the piece of paper, she unfolded it. Her eyes scanned the contents of the letter guardedly. Mama and Wyatt looked on, one still curious, while the other knew more than he let on. An expression of pure horror washed over Clara's face as she read it.
Mama became concerned. "You look as though you've seen a ghost, Clara. What does it say?"
Without looking at her mother, she handed the letter over. Katrina eagerly took it, her brown eyes eating every word on the page.
Dear Miss Clara Grady,
Will you favor us with your company this Saturday, Jul 4th, for the quiet festivities within the town? Mr. Earp and I should not consider it complete without your presence—given express permission from your honorable mother and father. In this case, I will take no denial.
Yours sincerely,
J.H. Holliday
Katrina took a deep breath, staring disapprovingly at her daughter for her ghastly display. She squared her shoulders and turned to Wyatt. "Will Mrs. Earp be in attendance?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then I see no reason why Clara shouldn't join you."
"Mama!" Her daughter objected. "You cannot be serious!"
Mother shot a stone-cold glare in her daughter's direction. "That's enough, Clara. It will be good for you to see the townsfolk. After all, your father is the Sheriff. The entirety of the family should be more active in our public roles. I think it is a very kind gesture on Mr. Holliday's part. Given how rudely you insulted him upon our first meeting."
Gawking with an open mouth, Clara began to heat up with tenacious anger. This couldn't be happening to her! "With all due respect, ma'am, you would have my first public appearance be on the arm of a walking corpse."
"Clara Delphine Grady, that is quite enough! You will accept Mr. Holliday's invitation. This afternoon. Go and write your response presently. With a good paper, mind you. We will send it back with Mr. Earp to return."
When Clara had risen from her chair and left the room to pen a reply, she did so noisily. Mrs. Grady exhaled through a clenched jaw, completely and utterly embarrassed by her daughter. It crossed the aging woman's mind that perhaps she hadn't given Clara the switch enough as a child. Perhaps, that was why Clara was so bold in her tantrums. She was a grown woman, for heaven's sake! A grown woman with little means to marry and a bitter attitude. Errant girl.
"I do apologize for her behavior. She conducts herself as a child more than a proper young woman."
Wyatt shrugged his shoulders, taking the last gulp of his coffee. Then reached forward and poured himself another cup. Afterward, he offered Katrina a smile. "I don't know about that," he chuckled. "It's no mystery she's not a fan of Doc. I reckon that's half the reason he wrote the invitation. Ruffle her feathers a bit."
"I won't pretend I'm not privy to what everyone says about the man." Katrina took a sip from her teacup. "Nor will I hide my opinion on the sins of gambling, which your acquaintance is fond of. So, I suppose I would like to know what you make of him. What sort is Mr. John Henry Holliday? What are his intentions, regarding Clara?"
Mama conveyed in her mannerisms, tone, and posture what she was getting at without coming outright and saying it. Doc was a sick man. A dying man. And Katrina Grady's concern was centered around that indisputable fact. If Doc had an interest in Clara, he had better quell it before emotions began to bud. That road would only lead to devastation, not to mention Clara was not a nursemaid. Katrina would never allow it. Not even for someone as charming as Doc.
Sighing with furrowed brows, Wyatt considered the questions. He weighed his words carefully within his mind. What exactly was Doc's sort? He gave a kind of chuckle mixed with nostalgia.
.
.
Huffing with irritation, Clara swung open the writing desk and sat down sluggishly, almost wishing the letter had been about Thomas. Instead, it was Holliday up to his tricks, no doubt. Wickedly, Clara wagered tormenting her was what kept him going.
She despised how he made her look foolish, causing her cheeks to flush. Oh, how Clara loathed him and his smooth talk, but her displeasure with him didn't stop there. Nothing was more revolting than his green eyes sparkling at her when she attempted to knock him down with spiteful words. Or when he smiled openly at her in her moment of weakness outside the barbers. The way Doc watched her walk toward him as he beckoned her to come closer. ...
Clara recalled his long and slender fingers tapping the chair beside him. Doc's lips had pursed lightly around his cigarette, taking a deep pull; when he'd done so, she felt pulled along with it. Never having admitted to it, hearing her name fall from his mouth was ever so pleasant to her ears. Something stirred in her stomach, fluttering and bubbling across her chest and down her limbs. The very reason she disliked him. Or did she? No, she didn't that day.
Even then, she thought. It was bold to send her an invitation.
Pulling out a sheet of paper, Clara had half a mind to write,
My Dear Mr. Holliday,
Kindly jump off a cliff.
Sincerely,
Miss. Clara D Grady
Though, she'd never get that passed Mama.
Heaving, she dipped the pen into the ink well. It was torturous writing the reply, but in the end, Clara kept the correspondence genteel if not crisp.
My Dear Mr. Holliday,
I hasten to reply to your kind invitation, which arrived with Mr. Earp this morning. As my mother has approved, I am most happy to accept it and will do my very best to provide adequate company as my show of thanks. From what I hear, you do very well at amusing your friends, so I expect to derive a measurable amount of happiness from the festivities in your company.
You will have to excuse the shortness of my reply, as I have many tasks that need attending to before the week's end.
Believe Me,
Yours truly obliged
Miss Clara Delphine Grady
There. Mama couldn't disapprove of that, she told herself as she fanned the wet parchment in the air. When satisfied the ink wouldn't bleed through when folded, Clara stood up. The sooner she handed the note to Wyatt, Clara could push that awful morning behind her and get on with the day. Closing back up the writing desk, the young woman strolled out of the study and back to the dining room.
When she approached the threshold, Clara paused. Knowing very well eavesdropping was a wicked thing to do, she found she couldn't help herself. Mama had just asked Wyatt about Doc's character. Clara was afraid that if she had entered the room, Wyatt might never answer her mother's questions. So naughtily, she stayed a few paces away from the entryway, holding her breath.
When Earp spoke, Clara hung on every syllable. It occurred to her that he sounded genuine in the soft expression of his friend. Little was left to the imagination.
"Ma'am... I don't like talking about people who aren't present to defend themselves, but Doc is a good man. I find him a loyal friend and good company. He was a dentist whom necessity has made a gambler: a gentleman whom disease has made a vagabond. Doc is a philosopher whom life has made a caustic wit. Anyone can see he's long and lean, nearly dead with consumption, and at the same time the most skillful gambler and nerviest, speediest, deadliest man with a six-gun I've ever known. I guess, in short, Mrs. Grady, he's my friend, and I'd trust him with my life. Incidentally, he's saved it once before."
When he didn't say anything else, Clara stepped into the room from where she had hidden away. Something about the way Wyatt spoke about Doc had softened her resolve toward him at that moment. She gingerly handed Earp her response. Mama was eyeing her suspiciously.
Admitting to her act of snooping just around the corner, Clara apologized. She also took a moment to express how deeply Wyatt's words regarding John Henry had touched her.
There had been no sympathy or pity, mind you, but a seed planted in her chest. One that first sprouted thorns of disdain upon their initial meeting and her generalized opinion of Doc. And while the thorns were still there, ready to prick unsuspecting hands, a small budding flower threatened to bloom. There were parts of Clara that wanted to cut and crush the bloom. Whilst others were cursing her for not taking that seat next to him that day.
Wait. What on Earth was she thinking?
"In any case," She quipped. "I look forward to conversing about and dissecting the works of Poe more in-depth with Mr. Holliday. You know of Edgar Allan Poe, don't you, Mr. Wyatt?"
He nodded. "Very little, I'm afraid."
"That's quite the shame... Might I ask a favor of you, sir?"
"You might, Miss."
Clara reached across the table, grasping one of the books she had been perusing that morning. It was a magazine. "Would you give this to Mr. Holliday so he might read it before our next meeting? Thank you kindly, sir."
He didn't question Clara or her motives, and after folding the letter and the magazine into his vest, Wyatt excused himself. Mama and Clara saw Mr. Earp out the door, watching him ride off in a trail of dust back into the heart of town.
Mrs. Grady relaxed, her arms folded over her chest. She turned to Clara and lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the burning desert sun. "What did you send with him?"
Clara glared out over the horizon, squinting. "The Masque of the Red Death," she offered.
"Why on Earth would he want to read that?"
Clara tapped her foot. An impish grin crept onto her face. "It tells the story of a highfalutin prince who thinks he can outrun death. And the death just happens to be a plague of consumption—."
SMACK!
Mama's palm landed against her daughter's left cheek. Clara's hand flew to her face, which had contorted into a rather stunning display of disbelief.
"You are wicked, Clara Grady. A wicked, spoilt young woman." Katrina's jaw clenched tighter. "If it weren't too cumbersome, I'd bend you over my knee and give you a tanned behind. Lord knows I wouldn't stop him from doing it, either."
Clara's face grew as red as a cherry, imagining such an embarrassing scenario. Absolutely mortifying. Mama huffed and swished her skirts to the side, stomping back into the house. Her daughter was left to stand there alone, leaving herself to wonder: had she gone too far this time?
A/N: I know this chapter is short and there is no Doc in it. Please don't hate me for it. Haha. I promise the next chapter will make up for it. Longer read and I can guarantee we will have some daring flirtations and even some possible fluff. Who knows? ;)
I'm testing out the waters using or borrowing bits of actual historical quotes from Earp and Doc, so if you recognise those in the story please note I'm in no way, shape, or form claiming credit for it as my own invention. My only intention is to bring some life to them in this fanfiction.
Also apologies for taking my time with an update. It was New Years, what can I say?
Big shout out for those lovely comments! Again, thank you so much for your feedback. It really made my day!
As for anyone else reading, feel free to drop some votes or comments and give me a follow. Those are always so lovely and I'll make a point to respond to everyone. Engaging with readers is amazing. Always, I hope you enjoyed it. Cheers. Xx