Hour Glass Read online

  “Why, Hour?”

  “It’ll help him. She helps me.”

  “Hour, I want you to listen to me, really listen, okay.”

  “I can hear you.”

  “Pa is dying. He probably won’t be with us much longer. We need to go say goodbye. Do you understand?”

  “He’s gone or dead?”

  “Yes. Well, no. Listen, he will be dead. We need to see him, you hear?”

  “Yes. I’m takin’ Fred,” she said resolutely.

  “Hour, that ain’t a good idea.”

  “I’m takin’ Fred.”

  There were times, terrible times, in my life that I just wanted to slap my sister. I tried to have so much patience with her, but when my world was collapsing around me the way it was today, I struggled to scrape up the strength to deal with her. It was such a chore to care for her in those moments, and I cussed myself later for it, but I wished against all the stars in the sky that she was a normal girl. Maybe she could be one who liked ponies and pretty rocks. Hell, I wouldn’t have cared if she liked playing cowboys and Indians and fishing in the creek like a boy, as long as it wasn’t a struggle to get her to look me in the eye.

  I pinched the spot between my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, trying to squeeze some proper words together beneath my anger that would make her understand. I didn’t hear her get up. The blood was pulsing so hard in my ears I didn’t hear nothing but my own frustrated heartbeat. All the same, when I opened my eyes and the fuzziness in my vision cleared, they fell on an empty room. I stood in alarm and looked around for my sister.

  “Hour?”

  My head spun this way and that, but there was no hide nor hair of my sister or Fred the cat. The door that led to Dora’s saloon was wide open, and I didn’t waste a minute putting together where she had gone in my head. I raced out of the door.

  “Hour! Get back here!”

  In the hallway, there was no one to be seen. Instinctively, I went to the dining hall and then to the kitchen. If she went anywhere out of habit, it would have been there. My heart caught in my throat, and I was forced to swallow it back down when I discovered no trace of Hour or Fred the cat. The saloon was next, but the only one there was Ruthy. She was busy righting some tables and chairs that had gotten banged around the night before. The girl had a sour demeanor and bags under her eyes large enough for a week-long trip to Denver.

  “Ruthy, has Hour come through here?”

  “Hour?”

  “My little sister? Hour?”

  “Oh yeah, the peculiar one that ain’t talkin’ much.”

  “That’s her. Did you see her?”

  “Yeh, she come through here just a second ago. Holdin’ that kitten of hers. I was meanin’ to ask her how she got the thing to sit so still in her arms like that. Mine won’t be still fer me fer nothin’. Just the other day . . .”

  I didn’t have time for this.

  “Quick, where did she go?”

  “Out that a-way.”

  Ruthy pointed the saloon door that led out onto the street. I said thanks and made it to the door in a hazy cascade of worry. My heart still thudded so hard, I began to see the world as though looking through a tunnel. Hour was my sister, my responsibility. It would be my fault if anything happened to her.

  The quick breeze hit my face with an agitation that filled some ancient part of my body with a new sort of dread. There were times, like with the stagecoach, when trouble seemed to sneak up and surprise you in a quick blast of events. Then, there were times that you could smell the happenings coming a mile away, like when the sky turned all green and hard before a bad storm came. I walked out of that saloon into a frenzied wind that kicked up things this way and that. There weren’t an order to it. It smelled wet and foreboding and made the hairs prickle on the back of my neck.

  When I spotted Hour, she was already halfway across the wide thoroughfare holding that kitten in her arms. Her determined stride was taking her to the pest tent, or where she best reckoned the pest tent must be since she hadn’t been there herself. Laying my eyes on her put three little muscles in my ribcage at ease, and I exhaled the relief. At least I could see her now. I knew where she was, and she was all right.

  The second after that thought marked my mind, yelling—the bad kind—came from the far end of the thoroughfare and down a street. It was accompanied by a group of horses furiously whinnying and the sound of hooves against wood. The frenzy peaked with a smashing noise and the screaming of men. I moved to the edge of the walkway outside Dora’s and craned my neck to see what the commotion was about. Several men leaped out of the way of three wild horses stampeding from the livery and bucking their captors away.

  Two of the horses forced their way out onto the open thoroughfare, frothing with rage. One got caught up in a merchant’s stall, grounding the poor beast in the dirt. Of the freed horses, there was a brown one and a painted one. The brown one went one way, and the painted one went the other. In a moment of sheer, terrible understanding, I watched as the painted horse raged its way down the wide road and headed straight toward Hour, who had stopped her progression in the very center of the road. She was standing stock-still in the middle of the thoroughfare staring wide-eyed at the crazed horse barreling down at her, her kitten squirming in her arms.

  All I could think was that she was mine. My responsibility, my sister, my only family soon. Hour was mine, and I had to protect her. Everything happened so fast.

  I sprinted into the thoroughfare and grabbed my sister, but her body wouldn’t be moved. She stood, as if in a trance, gaping at the stampeding animal. I wanted to say something, anything to get her to understand she had to move. A charging animal didn’t care. It would run her down, and Fred with her. The thing was, no words would come to my mouth. Not a one.

  I heard screams. People yelled for us to get clear and take cover, but Hour was frozen in place and wouldn’t be moved. The only thing left for me to do was to get between her and horse. I moved in front and hugged her, covering her tiny body with mine in the hopes of taking most of the damage myself instead of her. The hooves were beating their way closer now.

  She was mine. Mine. Mine. My responsibility. God, I was so sorry for every bad thing I had thought about her minutes before.

  The ground beneath us shook, and I braced for impact.

  Mine. Mine. My life. My sister. My only family left.

  “Hey!”

  A gunshot splintered the air. The drums of the stampeding hooves halted, and I turned to see Jane standing like some sort of beacon in between us and the rearing horse. She was holding a gun straight in the air with her other hand up as well, shielding me and Hour from impending doom. The horse screamed and snorted but came down and to a stop just in front of Jane. For a brilliant second, I wondered if this was really happening or if it were a dream.

  The painted thing fidgeted angrily and snorted pure fire at Jane, who began slowly lowering her revolver and cooing to the beast.

  “Whoa, whoa. Easy, girl. Easy now.”

  “Jane?” asked Hour, as if coming out of her trance.

  Our savior turned her head and looked at me.

  “Get her the fuck out of the road. Now!”

  At last, my sister was pliable. I led her and the frantic kitten struggling to get out of her arms away from the horse and back onto the planked sidewalk. As soon as we made it to the front of Dora’s, Hour released the kitten, and it scampered almost comically through the open saloon door and back to our room. A number of people had heard the screaming and came out to see what the commotion was about. I held Hour’s hand and squeezed as we watched Jane.

  “Whoa. Whoa, now there, honey. Take your peace now. Whoa.”

  Jane slowly lowered her gun to the ground in front of the grunting beast, but kept her other hand high in the air as if its presence kept the creature from starting up its running ag
ain. It worked more or less. The painted horse stamped the ground and complained, but she stayed there as Jane came back up to approach her with two hands emptied of weapons.

  As Jane approached the horse, we spotted three livery hands sneaking up behind the wild horse with lassos and whips in hand. Quietly, Jane shook her head to them, and they backed off, waiting for her next signal.

  More people gathered along the sidewalks, watching Jane ever so slowly approach the animal with deliberate steps, outstretched hands, and a calm voice. By the time she was close enough to grab the bridle, she didn’t have to. The painted terror was calm and leaned into her for comfort.

  Jane signaled one of the hands to give her a lasso, and she gently placed the loop around the horse’s neck. There would’ve been an applause had everyone not been terrified of sending the creature back into a hysterical state once again. I heard Dora whisper to someone out of sight behind me.

  “That’s her horse now.”

  “Who’d want it after all that?” replied a man’s voice.

  “She will. Ain’t nobody that horse will belong to but her. Trust me.”

  The hands led the horse back down the street toward the livery. There was no sign of where the brown one had gone, but there was a terrible streak of destruction in its wake. Jane marched right over to me and Hour and fell to her knees, taking my sister in an embrace I knew she’d hate. The thing of it was, Hour didn’t flinch and didn’t pull away. She let Jane hold her. Her little body was tense but she allowed it.

  Jane finally pulled away, holding Hour’s tiny shoulders in her hands. Frantic tears had streaked wet paths of clean down Jane’s tanned and dirtied face. Those crystalline eyes of hers stared, searching into the little girl’s eyes. I wanted to say something but had no words.

  “You can’t be doin’ that, little one. I know you got a different way of seein’ things, but you gotta run! You hafta git outta the way. Protect yourself. You hear me? That horse coulda hurt you so bad. So bad. Please, Hour Glass, tell me you hear me. Tell me you understand.”

  Hour was staring into Jane’s tear-stained face much like she had with the horse. Neither of us could tell if any of this was sinking in. But then, to the surprise of everyone, Hour responded.

  “Jane?”

  Jane’s face brightened as she brushed some of the little girl’s hair from her face.

  “Yes. Yes, honey. I’m here.”

  “You swore,” said Hour, and she held out her hand.

  The tension, the sheer gravity of the situation melted then. Jane started to chuckle so suddenly, snot came from her nose in a bubble. A bunch of the girls who had been recently plagued with little Hour and her swear jug snickered and giggled. Dora DuFran, the jug’s biggest contributor besides Jane, laughed so hard she doubled over as far as her corset would allow.

  A laughing, tear-stained Calamity Jane reached into her pocket and produced a copper penny. She placed the coin in Hour’s hand and closed her tiny fist around it, smiling from ear to ear. Hour nodded to her and then looked away as though their transaction was now at an end. Jane hugged her again, lighter this time, regardless of her diverted gaze.

  “You’re right, kid. I s’pose I did.”

  15

  We didn’t go off to see Pa that day. Hour, despite her outward appearance of indifference toward the happenings with the wild horse, was shaken in a way only I could detect. After we were deemed safe to go back to our normal day, Hour made a beeline for the back kitchen and Nancy May’s presence. Structure and routine was key with Hour, and she did best when she had a set schedule for the day’s events.

  I followed her back to the kitchen to an awaiting Nancy May. She had a look of pure relief to see us. Evidently, the girls had made sure the news traveled quickly to her ears. Nancy wrapped little Hour in her arms, burying my sister in a mound of warmth. Hour squirmed uncomfortably, as she usually did in a hug. I knew something had clicked for Hour when I saw her little hands tremble as she went to the kitchen and washed them in the basin. After drying them, she walked over to me and held the shaking hands up for me to see.

  “They ain’t stoppin’,” she whispered plainly to me. “How do we make them stop?”

  Nancy May’s eyes grew as big as saucers. She had never been present when my sister had said so much before. I held her hands to try to steady them. They were ice cold.

  “I know, Hour. I think kitchen duty is covered for today. Ain’t that right, Miss Nancy?”

  Nancy May caught on to me fast. She was a quick-witted woman.

  “Yes’m. It’s true, honey child. All caught up on the chores here. You just go have you a rest.”

  “Rest?” Hour whispered to me.

  I knew it wouldn’t do right now to have my sister without a task. She was obviously shaken up, but sitting idle wouldn’t be a fitting solution either.

  “You got a new penny to add to yer jar, ain’t you? And I bet poor Fred is gonna need some love and affection after her big scare. Think you can take care of that?”

  Hour looked down at my knees and nodded.

  “I bet Miss Nancy will give you a bit of milk fer the kitten.”

  “You bet yer buttons. Come here, child, and we’ll get you a saucer. Then, we’ll go find yer kitten, Fred. Show me some of them pennies.”

  Nancy May looked over her shoulder at me as she led Hour away and nodded. I nodded back. I had been watching Nancy over the time we’d been here. She was a tough cookie, like most of the people I’d seen survive it out here. Jane, Dora, Nancy. They all were tougher than most folks even imagined being. Deadwood was a wild place. Wild and lawless. People died all the time. People killed other people. Life was a cheaper thing here than in places with laws and police and borders.

  So why change themselves for a little girl? Why did a hard woman like Dora or Jane or Nancy bend to and coddle a helpless girl? Why did men like Joseph DuFran and Charlie Utter do the same? In a place where life didn’t matter much, why did one strange little girl’s life matter so much?

  I went back to working around the saloon like normal. The idea of getting Hour to Pa was gone now. She was a wreck, and I was none too ready to go outside and relive the trauma we’d just endured. Work was a good idea. Hour would nurse her kitten, and I would clean vomit off the floor by the bar. If nothing else, I needed the space and quiet to think on our near-death experience.

  Ruthy worked near me, setting up the tables like Madame Dora DuFran wanted them. She wasn’t a pretty or smart girl in the sense most thought, but she had an instinct about her that I appreciated. I didn’t want company, and she didn’t push hers on me, even though I could tell she wanted to talk. She humbly did her work next to me and allowed a calming silence to sleep in the middle.

  I had finished mopping up the sick and righting the barstools when I noticed a flash of blonde on the railing above. When I looked up, I saw the battered face of Lil’ Missy peering down at me. It felt like ages since I’d seen her, and even longer since she’d tried to come out of her room. The only news I’d heard of her was that she had finally started eating normally again, but that was all the talk on the topic.

  With a small nod of her head, she beckoned me upstairs and then promptly turned and disappeared down the hallway. I put away my mop and bucket and climbed the staircase without a word. This was something I hardly ever did. There wasn’t a reason for me to come upstairs and bother the girls. It was a place of mystery and lace up there in that hallway. The only time I had been invited before was to aim a rifle at the Bear Man.

  When I reached the top, I found Missy not there, but her door was slightly ajar. An invitation, I reckoned, but when I reached the door, I knocked to be polite anyway. With a timid voice, she invited me inside.

  Missy was in a big nightgown, one that looked a little too big on her shoulders. Her blonde locks were pulled up with a ribbon and the bruising on her face was looking
better. Yellowing parts were beginning to heal and turn fleshy again. One eye was still swollen but not all the way shut like it had been.

  “Hey,” she said like it was an experiment.

  I reckoned she hadn’t talked to most anyone. Was she trying out her voice on the likes of me? What had I done to make her trust me that much?

  “Hey.”

  “Um . . . I . . . I saw . . . what happened . . .”

  Missy pointed to her window. I went to the window and looked out. The view was of the alley, but if you craned your neck to the right, you could’ve seen the whole thing with Hour and me. With such a ruckus, how could anyone not look? Apparently, she had watched it happening. I pulled my head back inside.

  “We’re okay, and all . . .”

  I was cut off by a sudden embrace. Missy, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, threw herself into my arms and hugged me. Suddenly, one of the worst days of my life got a whole lot better, and I wrapped my arms around a bruised angel. She felt small under my hands, even though she was bit taller than me. Taking it all in, I became intoxicated with the smell of warm cinnamon all around her.

  All too soon, a chill breezed between us. She had pulled away from me.

  “Sorry,” she said looking worried.

  I felt a stupid grin pull at the edges of my mouth.

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “I just . . . I just wanted to thank you.”

  Missy looked on the verge of tears.

  “Fer what?”

  “You were one of the people who . . . who got that bastard.”

  Habit had me look around for a second for Hour and her swear jug, but then I remembered where exactly I was. Being near Missy put me in a daze.

  “Oh that. It wasn’t nothin’, really.”

  “Don’t say it wasn’t nothin’. That’s what stupid people say when they ain’t got nothin’ better. It was brave.”

  Her eyes were so serious, not like how she normally was. The lightness of her was missing somehow. Missy was always so sweet and fun. Never serious and full of tears like she was now. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I shifted my feet in place and stared at my hands a lot. That gaze of hers was intent though, and there was more she wanted to say.