At Death's Door
Jimmy receives dire news from Teaspoon and comes home to find out that he's misunderstood everything
Jimmy laid his head against the side wall of the stage and tried to shut out the insistent banter of the other passengers. How could they be so happy… how could they taunt him with their simple conversations… when inside he was dying…
Dying, like Lorilei.
The telegraph had looked innocent enough, printed on a piece of paper like any other letter or message, but the words had nearly felled him right there in the marshal’s office. It was from Teaspoon. It told him… warned him… that he better get home… that Lorilei was ill… and had taken a turn for the worst.
The telegrapher stood by, wringing his hands. “The operator in Rock Creek… he said your friend, Marshal Hunter, he was real upset… near tears. Word around town is your wife,” he cleared his throat, “she ain’t got more than a few days and-“
That’s all it had taken. His job forgotten, the waiting prisoner left waiting, Jimmy’d taken his coat from the hook beside the door and pulled his hat brim down to shade his face. Marshal Tucson called after him, demanding to know what he should do about the prisoner, asking him why he’d just given up the money for transporting the man.
The brim of his hat hid the tears gathering in his eyes, but it didn’t hide the waver in his voice. “Find someone else to do it. I’ve got to go home.”
To: James Hickok
From: Teaspoon Hunter
Come home. Wife ill. Hurry.
*** ***
He’d nearly run his horse into foundering less than a day later and taken the stage when the only way he’d get a horse would have been by stealing one. Jimmy had been lucky to find one with no more than a few stops between Titus and Rock Creek and had left his saddle behind when it meant traveling faster.
Titus was a small town with nothin’ more than a store and a whorehouse, but it managed to have a telegraph in the whorehouse. Some folks want the best of everything.
The madam was a comely woman, but not one given to sentimentality. Still she managed to rustle up a few words of sympathy when she handed him the telegraph she’d copied down herself.
To: James Hickok
From: Teaspoon Hunter
It’s over.
When the stage had finally left Titus, Jimmy was at the breaking point. Sending telegrams ahead of their stage, he wanted to make sure that nothing was missed… that everything would be ready when he arrived. ‘Once I’m home,’ Jimmy thought, ‘I only want to do one thing, spend time with the woman I love before…’ his thoughts drifted off into the worry and pain he’d been drowning in since the telegram had arrived and he’d tried to get some rest.
But that wasn’t going to happen. The constant chatter of the other passengers was keeping him awake. Pulling the paper from his coat pocket he held it to the twilight rays of the sun outside his window.
Pain gripped his heart as he turned the paper over and reached into his coat for his pencil. Gnawing on his lower lip he struggled to gather his thoughts and pen a fitting tribute to the woman that had turned his life upside down with her sassy wit and love of life. By the time he’d fallen into a fitful sleep, James Hickok had worn down the point of his pencil and had written and re-written her eulogy nearly four times.
*** ***
The driver shook him awake with care. While ‘Wild Bill’ no longer followed him around like a prized bull-mastiff, Jimmy’s reputation for his dead-on aim kept some folks at a distance. Sliding down from the stage, Jimmy started off in the direction of home.
Passing by the other passengers stretching their legs, he worked out his sore muscles with the long strides that ate up the distance between the stage office and home. He didn’t bother going to any of the businesses that he’d telegraphed. He’d trusted the operator to do his job; now he had to do his…
He hoped that he’d arrived with enough time to… say goodbye.
*** ***
He half expected Teaspoon or perhaps even Polly to meet him in the entry, but the front room was quiet… almost too still. The air inside was sweet, with a faint… onion smell that had Jimmy quickening his steps. The path to the bedroom was familiar and yet his feet hesitated when he thought of what he might find inside. Steeling his nerves he set his hand on the knob of the door and turned. His head hung low in reverence he strode into the room. “Am I too late? Have I-”
“Jimmy!”
A shrill reproachful yell had his head spinning with information.
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