Baker/Toughnut Angel/11 1 Chapter Eleven An Angel in Tombstone 1880 – 1881 Tombstone, Arizona Territory, 1800s (Courtesy Tombstone Courthouse) Nellie stepped off the stage onto Allen Street’s dusty board sidewalk. She turned to catch her carpetbag when the stage driver lifted it down, but stumbled over the hem of her skirt into the path of a dark-haired man with a full mustache. The stranger grabbed Baker/Toughnut Angel/11 2 her waist. “Whoa. Welcome to Tombstone! Got your balance there, Ma’am?” Nellie pulled her traveling skirt out from under her button-down shoe and noticed the man wore a silver star on his blue shirt. He took her grip from the driver and set it on the sidewalk. “My name’s Virgil Earp.” Next to him two other men attempted not to laugh. Virgil smiled, and indicated the other two with his hand. “May I present my brother, Wyatt, and Doc Holliday?” Earp, not a common name. These must be the Earps who had served as lawmen in Dodge City. She’d read newspaper articles and one of T.J.’s dime novels about Wyatt Earp. Doc Holliday stopped stamping his black boots to remove the dust, bowed at the waist and swept his bowler hat from his head. He smelled of leather and, what was that? Sage? “Indeed, welcome to Tombstone, lovely lady.” He drawled in a bass voice from under another wide black mustache. That made Nellie think of how Papa had always joked that men with mustaches were trying to hide something -- their upper lips. The papers called Doc Holliday a gunslinger, as well as a friend of Wyatt Earp. Rumor had it that Doc Holliday risked his life in gunfights because he suffered from consumption and had nothing to lose. She thought him something of a dandy. Wyatt, whose Stetson hid his eyes, nodded and shook her hand. Nellie noted Wyatt’s strong grip. “Proud to make your acquaintance, gentlemen. I would be Nellie Cashman.” Virgil’s eyes narrowed, appearing to wonder where he’d seen her before. However, she didn’t recall meeting him before today. Baker/Toughnut Angel/11 3 “My brothers, James, Wyatt, Morgan, Warren, and I threw our hats in the saloon business here, along with a bit of mining. I serve as the deputy sheriff as well.” He indicated his silver star. “Wyatt and I have kept the law in a few frontier towns.” He must have read her thoughts. “You would be the Earps from Dodge City, Kansas, then.” “Yes Ma’am, as well as a few other locales, but definitely the Earps.” “And I have read of you.” “All good, I hope.” He tilted his head toward her. “And you’re the Nellie Cashman folks call the Angel of the Cassiar, correct?” Nellie sighed. Now she understood what he’d been considering a few moments ago. Newspapers all the way to the eastern side of the country had picked up the story of their trek through the blizzards to Dease Lake to save the boys. This fame was getting old. She’d only done what she had to do. “Aye, and that would be me.” “Then I’d be proud to make your acquaintance as well, as would our wives, I’m sure. And we would all like to hear how you managed to beat those Canadian blizzards, as well as the scurvy.” Nellie took a deep breath of Tombstone’s dry air. “I suppose that could be arranged.” Virgil leaned against a wooden pole that held up the roof over the boardwalk. “Miss Cashman, what brings you to Tombstone?” She looked up at his tanned face. “I plan to open a business, a restaurant or boarding house perhaps, but also to mine. And call me Nellie, please.” He smiled down at her. “Nellie, then. A mining woman, like in the Cassiar.” Baker/Toughnut Angel/11 4 She looked down the street at horsemen, men who drove wagons and others who sauntered along by foot, the fresh lumber buildings and a few dust-covered tents. She recognized some boys she had known in Virginia, then Pioche and later Dease Lake. The devil take him if he was planning to be another John Mackay. She spoke with confidence. “I’ve got a hankering for adventure, and don’t care for sitting, at all. I don’t need the money that comes with a strike, but there’s a passel of good things a person can do with money.” Virgil smiled a half smile. “Like eat and have a roof over your head.” “And you could be right about that, but I find a lot of other uses seem to crop up.” Angry voices came from across Allen Street, and Virgil scowled. “Well, I’ll look forward to getting to know you, Nellie. Good luck.” Nellie took her grip from him. “And I you, Virgil.” The three men headed toward the angry voices. Nellie turned her attention to workmen who climbed over the frames of the new buildings on both sides of Allen Street and filled the air with the clang of hammers. She could almost feel the determination in the air. Toward the east a cowboy staggered out into the dusty street waving a pistol. A woman in satin ran and pulled it form his hand. That must be the lower class end of Tombstone. It saddened her to think of the misfortune that caused women to be there. She had better get busy. She read the storefront signs next to the stage stop. One said “Ward’s Market.” She noticed that half the two-story structure was empty, picked up her grip in one hand and her navy blue skirt in the other and strode in the front door. The smell of raw meat assailed her. So, he was running a meat market. Perhaps a general store Baker/Toughnut Angel/11 5 would fit well next door. A gray-haired man who wore a white apron over his paunch met her. “Good morning, Ma’am. How can I help you?” “Where might I find the owner of the open space next door?” “Oh, I have plans for that space. Why do you ask?” Nellie smiled. “I’d like to open a general store in Tombstone.” The man coughed. “I’d need a large lease to part with it.” “You would be Mr. Ward, then?” “That would be me.” She sat her satchel on the wood floor and offered him her hand. “Mr. Ward, my name is Nellie Cashman. How much of a lease do you need?” Mr. Ward’s eyes shown with admiration as he pumped her hand. “Nellie Cashman, are you the one the papers call the Angel of the Cassiar?” She looked him in the eye. “That I am.” Sometimes this fame came in handy. “Miss Cashman, you can have the first month free. After that, how does five percent of your net profits sound?” “That would be workable, entirely.” She arranged with Mr. Ward to have the upper story finished as rooms for her dwelling, and strolled outside to look around the rest of the town. The Earps and Doc Holliday walked toward her across dusty Allen Street and stopped right outside the window of her new general store. Nellie nodded toward the store. “Gentlemen, take a gander at my new general store.” Baker/Toughnut Angel/11 6 Virgil glanced at Doc and then at Nellie. “Nellie you certainly don’t let any grass grow under your feet.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Stage got here about 45 minutes ago.” She looked up at the deep blue Arizona sky. “What’s that saying? Time waits for no woman. I believe that’s true.” She laughed. The three men laughed along with her. Doc tried to control his cough, but it continued while he spoke. “Miss Cashman … you have a … fine … boisterous … laugh.” “I do enjoy a good laugh. I heard if you stifle your laughter, it goes down and broadens your hips. And we can’t have that.” The three men looked at her with puzzled expressions. Good, they needed to be kept off balance. A person could come across about any kind of individual they’d want in the West, from gunslingers to nuns. They parted, and she stopped at the next building. “Sir, this looks to be a hotel in the making. Would that be true?” “That’s right.” The man focused on pounding a nail. “I see you have a door on this room. Would you rent it to me until my store is finished?” “It doesn’t have a lock.” He didn’t look up. “If you would add one, and give me the key, I would be happy to pay.” A woman walked from the back of the building. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Brown. I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. I own and will run the Grand Hotel, and I’d be happy to rent you the room, with a bed, at no charge. It would be good to have someone here to keep an eye on things at night.” Baker/Toughnut Angel/11 7 “It’s a deal.” Nellie shook Mrs. Brown’s hand, and stowed her grip in the room. Was it the luck of the Irish that she lived in this time, in this place, and met a new colorful or kind character just about every day? Imagine, a woman owning a hotel. On the other hand, she had run a boarding house, hadn’t she? “I’ll have the key for you if you’ll return in about an hour.” “I’ll be thanking you.” Sure and God blessed her with daily surprises, the human kind and the natural kind.