Wild Winds Page 18

  “Do you, Hawk Reynolds, take this woman whose hands you hold to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love, honor, and cherish her in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, in riches and in poverty, until death do you part?”

  “I do,” he responded, and meant it with all of his heart and soul. Afterward, Hawk observed Maggie as she gave her response. She was wearing a medium-blue day dress whose color enhanced that of her eyes and flattered her skin tone, silky flesh his fingers and lips yearned to caress. Before reaching the church, she had loosened her hair from its ribbon confinement to allow the long brown strands to flow down her back in a mass of curls and waves. His breath caught in his throat and his pulse raced with elation as he told himself she would soon belong to him, and forever.

  “Do you, Margaret Anne Malone, take this man whose hands you hold to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honor, obey, and cherish him in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, in riches and in poverty, until death do you part?”

  Maggie knew she was about to seal her marital future and to take that step in willing eagerness, though she had met him only a few weeks ago and still had much to learn about him. “I do.” With all my heart and soul.

  Maggie and Hawk were so caught up in the heady episode, that both forgot for a time that it was supposed to be only make-believe. Their hearts throbbed with love and happiness; their minds spun and their spirits soared from excitement and anticipation. Their bodies flamed with desire and reminded them of what normally transpired the night following a wedding ceremony …

  “The ring,” the minister prompted Hawk, who freed his hands to remove one from his coat pocket and place on the older man’s palm.

  “A circle without an end, as true love and marriage should be. It is a symbol of your sacred vows to each other before God. May your love and commitment remain as precious and shiny as the gold within it. Place the ring on Maggie’s finger and say after me: With this ring, I thee wed until death.”

  Hawk guided the band onto the correct finger, lifted his gaze to hers, and said, “With this ring, I thee wed Maggie Malone until death.”

  “Hold your groom’s hands and say: I accept this ring and thee I wed until death.”

  Maggie grasped his hands, gazed into his eyes, and repeated those sweet, meaningful, and honest words.

  Hawk had told the minister that he didn’t want just a hasty and formal exchange of legal words, and the pastor was doing a superb job of making the ceremony special and romantic, which he hoped would have a favorable effect on the woman he loved.

  “By the authority given to me by God above and by this Territory, I pronounce you husband and wife. As Matthew, chapter six commands, ‘Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. Let us pray.”

  The pastor placed their right hands on his Bible and covered them with his wrinkled one as he blessed their marriage. Afterward, he added, “May your union be long and happy. God bless you both. Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Hawk Reynolds. Son, you may now kiss your bride.”

  Hawk and Maggie shared a tender and tentative kiss, all the while craving a longer and more private passionate one.

  The two older women also congratulated the couple and kissed their cheeks before Hawk smiled and said, “We hate to rush, sir, but we have a train to catch. I’m much obliged for your help today.”

  “So am I, sir,” Maggie added, “and it was a lovely ceremony. Thank you.”

  On Thursday afternoon, the fifth of May 1883, Maggie and Hawk boarded the Southeastern Railroad train to head for Tombstone as a legally married couple, both wondering what that unusual night would hold for them …

  Chapter

  Ten

  As the train left the depot to head southward to their next destination, Maggie gazed out the left window at the lofty Dragoon Mountains which rose from the desert terrain. Her life had changed drastically in a short time span; she had become a criminal and a wife, and a woman in love with the man nearby. She was tempted to confess the entire truth to Hawk, but decided it was too soon. After all, their marriage was only a pretense at that point. She wanted to do everything she could to keep him, and nothing to repel him. She wanted him to get to know her better and move closer to her before she revealed something that could prevent a glorious future together.

  She glanced at the gold band on her finger, with pleasure. Their marriage certificate was tucked into his coat pocket, and she wondered if there was more to their union than a cover for safety. Mrs. Hawk Reynolds … Margaret Anne Malone Reynolds … Maggie Reynolds … How wonderful those names sounded, and she longed to keep them forever.

  She couldn’t resist telling her handsome groom, “The ring is lovely, Hawk, and it was clever of you purchase it. How did you know what size to buy, because it fits perfectly?”

  “Remember when I asked to see the one you usually wear this morning?” When she nodded, he explained, “I slid it on my little finger, memorized where it stopped, then tried on rings in Benson until I found one that fit the same in that spot.”

  She looked at the ring she had moved to her right hand and said, “This amethyst was a gift from my parents on our last Christmas together. It’s very special to me.”

  “That’s how I feel about my Bowie knife; it was a gift from my father, and it’s saved my life a couple of times.”

  “It’s nice to have special things with us when we’re away from home, and meaningful keepsakes of those we love.” To keep him talking so she could listen to his voice, she asked, “The pastor did a fine job with the ceremony, don’t you think?”

  “Yep, he surely did.”

  “Even though it was make-believe, were you nervous?”

  Hawk chuckled. “Yep, a little. What about you?”

  “A little,” she echoed with a matching grin. “It’s amazing what people will do to achieve their goals, isn’t it?” she jested.

  “Yep; if one’s worthy of going after, we should give it our best.”

  “We think a lot alike; that pleases me.”

  “Maybe that’s because we are a lot alike in many ways. You have plenty of good qualities, Maggie Malone, and you’re a beautiful woman.”

  “Thanks, but it’s Maggie Reynolds now,” she said and laughed.

  “That’ll take a little getting used to, won’t it?”

  “Yep,” she replied with one of his favorite words, then laughed again.

  “What’s amazing to me is how easy and comfortable it is being with you, since I haven’t spent much time around women unrelated to me.”

  “I find that hard to believe, Mr. Reynolds; you’re far too handsome and charming for women to ignore. Are you only trying to make sure you don’t create a jealous demanding wife to irritate you?” she jested.

  Hawk chuckled. “Somehow I can’t see you in that role.”

  “As a wife?”

  “Nope, as jealous and demanding if you don’t get your way.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised at how mischievous I can be at times. When Abby and I were away at school, we did all sorts of wicked things.”

  “Abby is Miss Mercer from Yuma?”

  “Yes, she’s my best friend. We became roommates and fast friends the minute we met. She’s going to be shocked when I write and tell her about this,” Maggie hinted as she tapped the gold band on her finger.

  “You tell her everything?”

  “I have few secrets from her. She’s being courted by a local rancher’s son and they expect to marry around Christmas time. She’ll make Matthew Lawrence a perfect wife, and I’m so happy for them. If we’re still partners in December, you can attend their wedding with me.”

  “Sounds interesting to me, boss lady, so I accept.”

  They exchanged smiles before they lapsed into silence as each tried to read between the lines of that conversation to assess the other’s feelings and intentions.

  They passed St. David, a M
ormon community which was settled in ‘77 on fertile farmland in the lovely San Pedro Valley and river between the Dragoon and Whetstone ranges.

  “Those mountains over there is where the notorious Cochise and his Apaches had a stronghold,” Hawk related. “He chose well; you can see for miles from those peaks, and some of those meandering and tight canyons are like mazes for enemies. He used to give wagon trains and the calvary hard times; he and his band would attack without warning and vanish into those hills and rocks before a rescue came. You can bet your boots nobody wanted to ride in after him, and was a fool if he did so. The Apaches know every crook and cranny of this territory, and they know how to live off of its harsh terrain and travel it with speed and ease, so soldiers are at a big disadvantage when they go up against them. I heard Geronimo and Chato are kicking up their heels again, but the Army is striving to keep them pinned in the Sierre Madre Mountains in Mexico. I guess I can’t blame them for wanting to stay free and trying to hold on to their homeland; they’re a proud and defiant people. Of course, that will be difficult with men like Mickey Free riding with the Army. He was captured as a child and reared by a band of Apaches; now he’s one of General Crook’s best scouts against them. Years ago, I met a Hechicero—that’s an Apache medicine man. He was one of the wisest, gentlest, and kindest men I’ve known, and he taught me a lot about his people.”

  “It’s tragic what’s happened to the Indians all across the West, Hawk,” Maggie said with a sigh, “but peace is difficult between two such different cultures, especially with the Indians being so hostile toward whites. I mean, innocent whites. I can understand them battling soldiers and wicked men, but not settlers or people simply passing across land they claim is theirs, land they stole from others years or even generations ago. Since I don’t know any Indians personally, I’m not a good judge of their character and motives.”

  “I’ve met and known plenty. Just like whites, there’re good and bad among them.”

  “That sounds logical.”

  So, how would you feel if you knew your “husband” was half Indian?

  They made a brief stop at Contention City, a town that served as a stamping mill for silver and gold, and was named after one of the richest mines in the area. It already had a colorful history of mining disputes and robberies involving famous and infamous gunfighters.

  To pass time, Hawk told Maggie about one stage robbery where $26,000 in bullion was saved by a Wells Fargo agent. The attempted theft in ‘81 was rumored to be plotted by Doc Holliday who had been arrested, released on bond paid by Wyatt Earp, and had his case dismissed for lack of sufficient evidence.

  Recognizing two of those names from newspaper articles and rumors, she queried, “Have you ever met the Earp brothers and Doc Holliday?”

  “Yep,” Hawk disclosed, “while they were big in Tombstone.” Hawk related the colorful tale about the gunfight on Fremont Street near the O.K. Corral between them and the Clanton gang two years ago. “To a lot of folks, it’s still unclear who was in the right and who was in the wrong. Those two sides had been at each other’s throats for a long time, so trouble was bound to erupt. There was a big funeral for the Clantons afterward. The streets were packed with people; and those boys were laid out in black caskets with silver trim and little windows over their faces. They were hauled to Boot Hill in a fancy hearse and with a brass band playing music; I read Ritter and Ream Undertakers paid eight thousand dollars for that hearse. Wyatt and Doc were jailed for a while; Morgan and Virgil were laid up with wounds. After a thirty-day trial, Wyatt and Doc were acquitted. The judge ruled they were only doing their duties as peace-officers, trying to disarm and arrest troublemakers who resisted and attacked them. Out here, it’s common on every day for at least one man to lay down forever with his boots.”

  It was evident to Maggie that this portion of the territory was hard land which bred hard men, many with a total disregard for human life. Their sacrifices and demands were countless. The perils confronting them almost daily were numerous. Greed was frequently a driving force among dreamy-eyed men who came there to seek or to steal fortunes. The strong and sly often preyed on the weak in body or will. Lives were taken without emotion, and sometimes without exposure and punishment. She had seen and read about men who could “throw lead quick and straight.” She was certain her husband fell into that last category.

  “They hope to extend the tracks to Bisbee within the next few years,” Hawk said. “Hauling copper, silver, gold, and zinc ores to Fairbank is long and hard work. Bisbee’s situated in two canyons in the Mule Mountains south of Tombstone. They have so many breweries, one area is named Brewery Gulch; that section is wild and rough. I hope we don’t have to go there, because it’s no place for a lady like you.”

  “From the way it sounds, I hope so, too. But it would be our bad luck that’s where Barber and Jones will lead us.”

  As they neared Fairbank, Maggie learned it was a vital location for mail, freight, and ore shipments. A supply point for other towns, ranches, settlements and mining camps, Fairbank was a busy and important place. Hawk told her how the surrounding area was favored by outlaws for robbing trains on deserted spans of track and stages along secluded stretches of dirt road, with ample concealment nearby for surprise attacks and ridges to gallop over for rapid and easy escapes: the kind of terrain villains such as Barber and Jones liked and frequented with daring raids.

  At the depot, they claimed their horses and possessions. After Blaze and Diablo were saddled and loaded, the couple mounted and got under way.

  En route to town three miles east of the river, Hawk told her how legendary prospector Ed Schieffelin was warned that all he would find in this “Apache-infested” area was his own tombstone; after he discovered silver and great wealth, he aptly and humorously named the settlement for that warning.

  “It sounds as if you know everything and have been everywhere out here, Hawk, so I’m fortunate to have you as a partner.”

  “The same can be said about you, boss lady. Now, hopefully, we’ll find what we’re looking for ahead of us.” Hawk doubted that she realized his words had dual meanings. He wondered how he would sleep in the same room with her without making romantic overtures, as his desire for her was enormous and increasing by the hour.

  As Maggie’s dreamy thoughts traveled that same path, she sighted Tombstone, perched on a high desert plateau between distant mountain ranges. The large town was sprawled over a lengthy distance, with mines studding the near harsh landscape in several directions.

  “So this is the infamous Tombstone,” she murmured.

  “Yep. She has over one hundred and ten saloons open around the clock to empty reckless prospectors’ pockets of weeks or months of work. While you settle in at the hotel, I’ll take a quick look around to see if I spot our targets. You can visit the newspaper office in the morning while I scout the rest if I don’t find them tonight.”

  “Don’t forget why you came here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Maggie laughed and prompted, “The missing Yuma girl and her gambler sweetheart, your original job.”

  Except for family and a few close friends, he had never been one for small talk, but Maggie had a way of relaxing him and drawing him out. He enjoyed their conversations, and enjoyed making her smile and laugh. Hawk chuckled and said, “I had forgotten about them for a minute. I guess you and our adventure distracted me. Thanks for the reminder.”

  “Since you added me to that short list, I’ll take it as a compliment,” she said with a saucy smile.

  “It was meant as one, Mrs. Reynolds. I hope you don’t mind if I practice using that name for times I must introduce you.”

  “Of course not; do it as often as possible to avoid a future slip.”

  They walked their horses into the windswept town. On the first of numerous saloons, Maggie saw Whiskey, 120 a shot painted on its window. They continued down Fremont Street as Hawk pointed out sites involved in the already famous Earp/Clanton showdo
wn: Fly’s Photography Gallery, the Harwood house, Papago Cash Store, and entrance to the O.K. Corral. She saw Bauer’s Union Market, pool halls, shops, homes, and businesses in a mixture of sizes and heights and constructed of adobe bricks or wood. In fact, she noticed that despite the lack of trees in that area, more places were built of wood than of adobe. With a population of over ten thousand-plus visitors, the streets were crowded with people. The air was dry and dusty; the sky, clear and blue. Horses’ reins were secured to countless hitching posts, and wagons sat here and there either being loaded or unloaded of various goods. She saw miners and prospectors who had come to town to purchase supplies and sometimes to drink, play cards, or seek out carnal delights. Despite the approaching dusk, carpenters still labored on new structures, the pounding of their hammers and slicings of their saws giving the raucous music stiff competition for volume.

  Hawk guided them down Fifth Street so he could point out the Epitaph’s office she would visit tomorrow.

  On Allen Street, Maggie didn’t have to be told what some locations were: cribs and bordellos where prostitutes were licensed at seven dollars a month to ply their trade. She watched a group of cowboys enter the infamous Bird Cage as they elbowed each other and joked in anticipation of watching the bare-breasted Fatima belly dance before assauging their carnal needs with a soiled dove behind one of twelve curtained-off balcony boxes referred to as “cages”. Every few buildings was another dancehall, saloon, gambling hall, or a combination of those.

  But, Maggie observed, there were plenty of “respectable” businesses and shops, even several ice cream parlors. There were churches, a school, two firehouses, Victorian courthouse, city hall, hotels, boardinghouses, and theaters. It was evident that Tombstone was a booming town.

  Hawk told her that one street over on Toughnut was one of Ed Schieffelin’s mines, the Goodenough which ran beneath the town itself.