THERE WAS NO CHANCE NOW OF MAKING A QUIET RETREAT. Stilwell, Spence, Swilling, and Cruz were seen leaving Tombstone, but the Cow Boys had eyes all over town. There was every reason to believe there’d be another attack on the road to Benson.
As word of Morgan’s death spread, men who’d served Wyatt and Virgil as deputies showed up, armed and red-eyed, to escort the Earps to safety. It fell to James to prepare what was left of the family for the journey.
“What about Mattie?” he asked Wyatt.
“Yeah, her, too. I don’t want her in the house if they burn it down.”
“We’ll need money for the trip. You got any?”
“Some. Sell the horses, I guess. Except for Dick.”
While the women packed, James stopped by the lawyer’s office and arranged to have the last of the Earp properties disposed of. “If there’s anything left after you settle the debts, send it to Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Earp in Colton, California,” he told Bill Herring.
He went to Dexter’s livery next. They bought Morgan’s horse and Virgil’s. Most of that money went to renting wagons and teams to transport the family to Benson. Johnny Behan came by to murmur condolences and offer $400 for Wyatt’s Arab mare, Roxana, and her colt Reuben. It was a tenth of what the animals were worth, but it was cash in hand and James was grateful.
He walked to the Western Union office after that, which was when James finally broke down, writing the telegram that Virginia Earp would receive.
MOTHER MAY GOD COMFORT YOU STOP MORGAN IS DEAD STOP WE ARE BRINGING HIM HOME STOP
“Half a dollar,” the clerk said quietly. “I’m sorry about your brother, sir. I’m sure he’s in a better place.”
“No,” James said, his voice ragged and fierce. “No! Wherever my brother is, that place is better because he’s in it.”
DOC HOLLIDAY NEVER LEFT LOU’S SIDE in the hours after Morgan’s death. All that night, they waited in the mortician’s office while Morgan’s body was embalmed.
“I can’t leave him,” Lou said over and over, as though apologizing for keeping Doc from going to bed. “I just can’t leave him.”
“We’ll stay here,” Doc always replied. “We won’t leave him alone.”
When the body was prepared, they went in together, arm in arm, to view the remains. “So cold!” Lou whispered when she touched Morgan’s hands. He was dressed in the suit Doc had bought him. Weeping, she ran a hand down Morgan’s arm, along the sleeve. “It matched his eyes,” she said.
Doc nodded to the mortician, who cut a curl of Morgan’s hair and then took a snippet of marine-blue gabardine from a place where it wouldn’t show. These mementos were wrapped in tissue paper, tucked into a little envelope, and pressed into Lou’s hand.
“I can’t leave him!” she said again. “Doc, I can’t—”
“We’ll stay right here,” he told her. “We won’t leave Morg alone.”
At dawn, the coffin was loaded onto a flatbed wagon, wedged in tight with the family’s valises and bedding so it wouldn’t shift as they traveled over the rutted, gully-riven road between Tombstone and Benson. Lou and Doc would sit in the back with Morgan. Allie made beds up for Virgil and Bessie in a second wagon; Mattie would ride with them. The wagon drivers and a mounted escort were armed with rifles, pistols, double-barreled shotguns, and enough ammunition to fight off a concerted attack by the Cow Boys.
Already in the wagon bed, Virgil sat up, his boneless, aching arm strapped tight to his chest for the journey. “Where’s Wyatt?” he called, and you could hear the panic in his voice. “Has anybody seen him?”
“He’s over at the church,” Jack Vermillion said. “Chased everybody else out.”
“He’s all right, Virg,” James soothed. “Don’t worry. I’ll go get him now.”
THE DOOR WAS OPEN. James looked inside. It was Sunday but there was no minister, no congregation. It was just Wyatt by himself, wet-faced and pacing in front of the plain white wooden altar. James recognized the rhythm of what he was saying, for it was Wyatt’s favorite psalm. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew the right spirit within me. Then the rhythm broke and the words became angrier.
“Why him?” Wyatt cried. “Answer me! Why him?”
James backed away from the door and crept down the stairs, waiting until he was a good distance out in the street before he called, “Wyatt? We’re ready to go!”
A few minutes later, Wyatt came outside. His eyes looked raw, but he pulled his hat down low, and now there was no other sign of distress. “You get Mattie?”
“Yeah, but she’s drunk. Brought a bottle with her.”
“SHOULDA BEEN YOU, not Morgan,” Mattie sneered when she saw Wyatt. “You brought us all down here to die. You ruined my life! You ruined everyone’s life—”
It was Bessie who slapped her. “He never shoulda taken you in. I’da sent you right back to the street where you belonged. So you just shut your mouth, get in that wagon, and be glad we don’t leave you here alone.”
THE WILDFLOWERS WOULD BE GLORIOUS in the spring of ’82. Seeds that had lain dormant for years had soaked up the unprecedented moisture of the previous summer. Soon buds would swell, blossoms would explode, and the stony Arizona sand would offer up a lavish display of color and scent.
In a few weeks, Louisa Earp’s garden would be an oasis of verbenas and primroses, lupines and gold poppies and larkspur, but on the twentieth of March, there was nothing more promising than a few green shoots along the side of the house.
With one hand on her husband’s coffin, Lou watched their home disappear as the wagon made the wide turn out of town, rolling past the cemetery and a farmer’s grave.
Exhausted by grief, she closed her eyes and saw Tom McLaury’s face. Beautiful in death. Cold and white as marble in the snow.
You were right about my sister’s lilacs, she thought. They died, too.
MAYBE THE COW BOYS were down in Charleston, celebrating Morg’s death. Or maybe they were around but didn’t care to take on the Earps’ armed escort. Whatever the reason, there was no trouble on the road, and Wyatt believed the worst was over when they reached the railway depot.
All he had to do was get Virgil, James, and the women onto the train to Tucson with Morgan’s body. When that was done, he’d go back to Tombstone with Sherm McMasters and Texas Jack Vermillion and Turkey Creek Jack Johnson, collect the warrants, and begin the pursuit.
“I’m goin’ with you,” Doc told him after Lou was on the train.
“No,” Wyatt said. “You’re not.”
“I am not askin’ for permission, Wyatt.”
“Good, ’cause I’m not giving it.” I don’t need a sick man who might collapse or cough at the wrong time, he meant. I can’t stand to see my grief in your face.
Doc looked like he’d been slapped. Wyatt softened. “Doc, my brothers can’t take care of themselves, let alone the girls. I need somebody I trust to look after them.”
So it was decided: Doc would travel on to Tucson with the family. When the Earps were on the train that would take them to California, he’d continue north to Denver, as he’d meant to do before all this happened.
He and Wyatt shook hands, and Doc climbed aboard the train. He had just gotten settled into a seat by the window when a breathless messenger ran up to Wyatt Earp and handed him a telegram.