Chapter 10

Saturday, September 5th, 1885

Hill Valley

7:56 P.M.

Main Street was completely transformed by the time Marty, Doc, and Jennifer stepped out of the blacksmith shop. The road was lined with dozens of Chinese lanterns, flickering bright red against the deep black of the night sky. Long tables laden with mounds of food filled the air with smell of fresh meat, vegetables, and pastries. In what would eventually become the courthouse square, carpenters had set up a makeshift stage and dance floor, on which numerous people were already gathered. Along the perimeter stood a number of wagon booths, with traveling peddlers hawking their wares and offering various entertainments. Marty whistled. "Not bad for the 1800s."

"Reminds me of when they did those 'spirit day' fairs back in middle school," Jennifer nodded. She lifted her nose and sniffed. "Ooh, I think Mrs. Anderson made pie!"

Mmmmm! the tentacles hummed.

Better get over there now, Father, before the gunfight over the last piece breaks out, Tommy joked.

"I'm sure we'll get our fair share," Doc chuckled. "If she's smart, she's made at least four or five to keep up with the demand!"

As they went to join the crowd, a man caught Doc's arm. He turned to see Sheriff Strickland's top deputy, Warren Church, regarding him with a slightly-apologetic smile. "Excuse me, folks," he said, waving Marty and Jennifer back. "Before you can go on, I need you to check any weapons."

"Weapons?" Jennifer repeated, tilting her head.

"Who brings weapons to a party?" Marty asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, you never know who's going to show up," Deputy Church replied. "We don't want any rough sorts causing trouble. Not to say that you and Mr. Wayne are rough sorts, understand," he added, cheeks flushing. "But Sheriff Strickland says we can't make any exceptions. Got to ask everybody."

"Oh, that's fine," Doc assured him, smiling. "And it's not a problem – we're unarmed."

Well, for a certain definition of the word, Verne added in his head, making his brothers giggle.

Deputy Church grinned and nodded, releasing Doc's arm. "Didn't think you were, but you know how the Sheriff gets. Much obliged, and have fun! I think the mayor's going to be dedicating the new clock tower in just a minute."

"Oh yeah – the clock arrived on the same train as Miss Clayton, didn't it?" Jennifer said, standing on tiptoe to get a better look.

"Yup! We've been waiting a while for it."

Father, we should go! Jules said, as his fellow tentacles fought back squeals of excitement. Talk about an auspicious event in our personal history!

"Then that's where we're headed," Doc said, to both Deputy Church and the tentacles. "Have a good evening, Deputy."

"Thanks, and you as well." Church headed off in search of more newcomers while Doc, Marty, and Jennifer made a beeline for the crowd now gathering in front of the courthouse. Marty grumbled as they found themselves stuck at the very back. "I can't see a thing! Why'd all the tall people have to come first?"

Jennifer jumped up and down a few times. "Ugh! All I see are hats."

Too bad we can't give them a boost, Albert commented.

Tell me about it, Doc agreed. I'm not having much luck getting a decent view myself. Scanning the area, he saw that the deck around the Palace Saloon was deserted except for one or two stragglers. "Hey – let's see if we have a better vantage point over there," he said, pointing it out to his friends.

They hurried over, finding a decent position just as the mayor ascended his little stage. Hubert grinned at the crowd, hand held on his chest like the great orators of old. "Ladies and gentlemen – as mayor of Hill Valley, it gives me great pleasure to dedicate this clock to the people of Hill County!" He indicated the familiar clock face behind him, set up with all its gears and springs in place and with the hands reading eight o'clock. "May it stand for all time!"

Well, he's right about that bit, Albert said as the people let out a few hurrahs. Now, if he'd said "run" for all time. . . .

Hey, by the time it stops, he's gonna be long dead, Tommy snickered. No skin off his nose!

Shhhh, Doc thought, resisting the urge to laugh.

Hubert held up his hand for silence, then grasped the lever that would start the gears moving. "Tell me when, gentlemen," he said, looking at his fellow councilmen.

The one nearest consulted his watch, then started the countdown. "10 – 9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – now!"

A quick tug, and the clock began to tick. The gathered townspeople cheered and applauded as fireworks whizzed off the courthouse frame in celebration. Hubert doffed his hat and spread his arms wide. "Let the festivities begin!"

"Wow," Jennifer said, giving Marty a hug. "This must be a real mindblower for you and Doc."

"Tell me about it," Marty agreed. "There when it started, there when it stopped."

"Indeed. We've been witness to both the beginning and end of this timepiece now," Doc nodded. "Or, rather, end and beginning."

"Yeah. Too bad we don't have a camera," Marty said, half-joking.

A sudden flash caught their attention. Right before them, the cameraman for the "Telegraph" had set up his tripod and was taking pictures of the clock and the party. The three looked at each other for a moment. Then, in near-perfect unison, they smiled.

A couple of minutes and a quick chat with the photographer later, they were standing beside the clock – Doc on the left, Marty and Jennifer on the right. "The only trouble is, we'll never be able to show it to anybody," Doc said as the man prepared his camera.

Marty shrugged and slipped his arm around Jennifer. "Smile, Doc."

Doc did as bid as the photographer readied his flash. The world went bright white for a moment as the camera went off. Doc's spine stiffened on automatic, his breathing quickening. Just for a moment, he was back in the Libyans' makeshift lab, brilliant white light burning through his eyeballs, rendering the world a confused and blurry mess. . . .

Four stiff metal arms pressing up against his back brought him back to the present. It's okay, Father, Jules said as the others made soothing noises. Just a camera. Nothing's going to happen to you.

I know, Doc thought back, relaxing as his eyes readjusted to the dark. Great Scott, am I glad that I was able to get my eyes fixed without a hitch during our little sojourn in the future! I can only imagine the trouble we'd be in if I couldn't see properly on top of all this.

Let's not think about it, Verne declared. We've got enough on our minds already.

After paying the photographer and getting his promise that he'd deliver the finished picture tomorrow evening (and that no, he would not keep a copy for the paper), the group made their way to the food tables. As predicted, Mrs. Anderson's pies were going fast – a couple of tins were already empty by the time they got to the front of the line. Jennifer went in search of plates while Doc and Marty kept guard over the remaining slices. "Man, it makes you wonder what she puts in this stuff," Marty muttered, frowning at someone trying to edge around them.

"Whatever it is, it makes me sad I don't have a counterpart to her working in my own kitchen," Doc mumbled. He craned his neck as he spotted some familiar faces coming toward them. "Oh – hello Mr. and Mrs. McFly!"

Seamus gave them a little wave as he and his wife Maggie wound their way around the crush of people. "Good to see you, Mr. Wayne, Mr. Eastwood," he said, touching his hat. "I hope you're enjoying the festivities."

"We're having a good time so far," Marty replied. He peered at the infant swaddled in Maggie's arms. "Oh, hey, is that William?"

Maggie beamed proudly. "Aye! The first McFly born in America." She held up William so the infant could get a good look at the pair. "Will, this here is Mr. Eastwood and Mr. Wayne."

William stared at them with wide blue eyes. Then he blew a raspberry. "Well, will you look at that," Seamus said with a laugh. "I think he likes you two. He doesn't usually take to strangers."

"Baby's got good taste," Marty smirked. He reached out and rubbed the baby's head through his bonnet. "Hey Will. Welcome to Hill Valley."

Jennifer returned, holding a stack of plates close to her chest. "Hi Mr. and Mrs. McFly," she said. "Here to get your share of the pie?"

"No, just enjoying the party for now," Seamus said. "Please don't let us stop you, though. We know all too well how fast Mrs. Anderson's pies vanish!"

"Yeah, us too," Marty said, taking a plate from Jennifer and claiming the last piece of strawberry. "The woman–"

He stopped suddenly, eyes fixed on the tin. Then he burst out laughing. "Oh, hey, Jen! Look at this!"

Jennifer did so, and started giggling herself. "Frisbie! Who would have guessed?"

Seamus and Maggie stared at the teens, then shot Doc a baffled glance. Doc shrugged, doing his best to act like he had no clue either. Marty, Jennifer, you know better than that! he mentally scolded his friends.

Well, it is a funny coincidence, Tommy said in his head.

Admittedly – I just wish they hadn't chosen to express their amusement so loudly!

Marty and Jennifer seemed to realize their faux pas and devoted themselves to eating their pie. With a shrug, Seamus and Maggie moved on, Doc seeing them off with a tip of his hat. "They probably think you're strange now," he informed his friends once the family was out of earshot.

"Well, I bet Seamus already thought we were weird after the 'snake' incident," Marty responded as he pulled his fork out of his mouth. "And I couldn't help it, Doc. Last place I ever expected to see that name."

"We're leaving Monday," Jennifer added, licking raspberry filling off her lips. "Let 'em think we're strange."

"Fine, it's not that big a deal," Doc allowed. "Just try to laugh quieter at your little in-jokes with the future next time, all right?"

After finishing off their pie, the group made their way over to the stage. The band was playing a lively tune, stomping their feet to the rhythm of their drums and guitars. Doc glanced curiously over at his 80s-rock-loving friend. "What do you think of the music?"

"I like it!" Marty said with a grin. Seeing the older man's surprised look, he added, "Well, it's got a beat and you can dance to it."

Jennifer leaned up against her boyfriend, a sly smile on her face. "Yeah. Speaking of dancing. . . ."

"Step right up, gentlemen, and test your luck!"

The trio turned to see one of the wagon peddlers nearby, standing before a crudely-automated shooting gallery. The salesman was holding a gun up, waving it to and fro before a gathering group of customers. "It is my privilege to present to you the finest gun yet made by the Colt company – our very own Peacemaker!"

There's a joke to be made there, Albert remarked.

Oh-oh, Tommy said suddenly, his claw just peeping out from beneath Doc's coat hem. Miss Clayton at two o'clock!

Doc spun back around. Sure enough, Clara was making her way through the crowd at the opposite side of the stage, greeting people as they passed. Doc crossed the dance floor to get a better look at her. She'd changed her pink-striped dress for a white one speckled with tiny flowers, accented near the scooped collar with a sprig of purple blooms. She'd also gone hatless, letting Doc get a better look at those luscious brown curls. A few carefully-arranged tendrils trailed out of her bun down her shoulder. What would it be like to tangle his fingers in them, he wondered. . .and to touch that collarbone so delightfully exposed. . . .

And there you go, getting soppy again, Albert complained. Edging on perverted.

Easy on, Father, Jules warned. Remember your promise to Marty and Jennifer. You have to explain to her tonight that we're not staying in town much longer.

I know, Doc thought, a pang going through him. I'm not looking forward to it.

The tentacles pressed up close against his back again. We're sorry, Father, Tommy said. We wish there was another way. She really is nice.

If only she didn't live in the past, Verne agreed. And, uh – you know.

Doc bit his lip, doing his best to stop a wince. I do know. It's all right, boys. I understand my duties to the space-time continuum. Besides, I've handled heartbreak before. Though never as the one inflicting it. . .maybe it'll be easier that way, though. He frowned to himself. I hope.

Clara reached the edge of the stage, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone. Finally, she glanced up and saw him, waiting for her by the steps. Her face broke out in a brilliant smile. Doc smiled back, his painful unease fading away under that glow. Even if I do have to end things soon, there's no reason why I can't allow myself to enjoy the majority of the evening, he decided, descending the steps toward her. Might as well make some pleasant memories while I can. He doffed his hat and bowed. "Good evening."

"Good evening," Clara replied, nodding in return.

It occurred to Doc that he ought to compliment her. She was truly a vision in white tonight. . .and it might make things easier when the party ended and he had to explain things. Surely she'd take it better if she knew he genuinely enjoyed her company. But what exactly should he say? "You – you look very – nice," he blurted.

Oh, smoooth, Albert said, snickering.

Look, I'm a scientist, not a poet.

Clara, however, seemed quite pleased with his clumsy attempts at flattery. "Thank you," she replied, beaming. Doc felt a wave of happiness and relief. How could anyone be so wonderful? He really did have to make this the best night of her life!

Unfortunately, he didn't have any idea what to do next. They stood in awkward silence for a minute, Clara fiddling with her hands as Doc thought frantically. Damn it, why must I be so out of practice at this?!

Father, calm down, Verne said. It can't be that bad. When was the last time you were out on a date?

Can't you just access my memory and find out for yourself?

We like asking you. Feels less intrusive.

Fine. Doc took a deep breath. 1957.

There was an even more awkward silence inside of his head. I'll shut up now.

Maybe you should consider what Marty might do in this situation? Jules suggested. He and Jennifer are your best role models when it comes to romantic interactions.

Doc pondered that for a moment. He wasn't sure what Marty would do – but Jennifer had clearly been about to ask her boyfriend to dance, and it was unlikely that Marty would have refused. Add into that they were already at the edges of the dance floor, and it seemed to be the favorite activity of most of the couples here. . . . Plucking up his courage, Doc faced the schoolteacher and held a hand out toward the stage. "Would like to–"

The instant Clara turned those bright brown eyes on him, though, all thoughts – including how to end the sentence – fled Doc's mind. "Uh – would you care to – to–" he tried again, desperately waving at the floor when the word just wouldn't come.

I believe you are looking for the verb "dance," Jules said, his intensely formal tone just hiding a laugh. Defined as an activity in which a person moves his or her body rhythmically in time to the beat of a song. Most often done in pairs, although some styles allow for groups of three or more –

You've made your point! Great Scott, are you lot going to mock me all night?

Sorry, Father, but you're making it awfully easy, Albert said with a snigger. Doc somehow stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

Clara, meanwhile, had managed to interpret his half-sentences and gestures. "I'd love to," she said, pulling him back into the outside world.

Relieved that she didn't think him a complete idiot, Doc smiled and offered her his arm. She took it, and together they climbed onto the stage, locating an empty spot to start in. As befitted the protocol of the times, Doc bowed and Clara curtsied. Then, with a touch of nervous hesitation, they reached for each other. Doc held his breath as Clara's hand ghosted over his back. She was too high to feel anything of the tentacles, but there was always the chance she'd find the brace. . . .

Fortunately, if she did touch it, she made no comment, instead simply settling her hand on his shoulder. Doc pressed his own against her waist as his other hand clasped hers. The feel of her skin was just as distracting as her smile. How was he supposed to remember how to dance when all he could think about was how perfectly her fingers seemed to fit between his?

Then, suddenly, he found old memories of a turn with a dance instructor his mother had hired once and the few turns he'd done with Lucy as a teenager popping into his head. Confusion reigned briefly before he realized what must have triggered them. Thanks, he sent the tentacles gratefully.

Well, if we're going to mock you all night, we might as well soften the blow, Verne replied.

Doc gave a slight nod, then took a moment to observe the other couples whirling around them. It didn't look difficult at all, really – just a more enthusiastic variation on the box step. Taking a deep breath, he threw himself wholeheartedly into imitating the steps of those closest. Clara did the same, and it wasn't long at all before they fell into the right rhythm, parading around the stage like pros. The pair beamed at each other, and Doc felt his heart swell up with pride and love. All right. No matter how this night ends – this, right here, right now, is the best moment of my life.

"Man, he's really pushing this thing, huh? They must not be selling well."

"Either that or he's just really, really into guns," Marty said as he and Jennifer watched the salesman finish up his pitch. "More than these other guys, anyway."

This seemed true enough – while the peddler had attracted a decent number of people, none of them seemed particularly convinced by his insistence that the Colt Peacemaker was the best gun in all the West. The man was undeterred by the crowd's apathy, however. "Of course, words are just that – words," the man said looking around. "The real proof is in the feel! Who'd like to give this little beauty a try?" His eyes scanned the gathered men, then suddenly locked onto Marty. "How about you, young man? Want to give her a go?"

Marty jerked backward, startled, then bit his lip. "I dunno," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He liked shooting games just as much as the next kid – he'd wasted countless hours on "Duck Hunt," and he was a whiz on the local 7-11's "Wild Gunman" arcade. But so far he'd managed to avoid touching a real gun. While it was a temptation, he didn't want to hurt anyone should things go wrong. "Hey, Doc–"

He blinked as he realized the space next to him was empty. What the hell? Where did he go? he thought, looking around in bafflement.

Jennifer nudged his side and pointed. Marty followed her finger to see Doc with Clara on the dance floor, of all places. Doing pretty well for himself, no less. Marty watched as they spun by him and Jennifer, amazed. "The Doc can dance?"

"And he's not bad at it," Jennifer said, sounding pretty stunned herself.

A tug on his sleeve brought Marty out of his stupor. He looked down to see the gun salesman on the steps just below him, grinning like a lunatic. Marty was starting to wonder if the guy ever stopped smiling. "Son, I just told everyone that even a baby could handle this! Now, you're not afraid to try something a baby could use, are you?"

Marty's eyes narrowed, feeling a flash of the old 'are you calling me chicken?' anger. No matter how stupid it was, it had never quite gone away. He glanced up at the shooting gallery. It didn't look too complicated – three tin cowboy figures popping up at regular intervals in front of a western town backdrop, each with a little metal heart as a target. Along the top ran a line of crudely-painted ducks for additional practice – Marty caught himself wondering if there was an annoying dog figure somewhere at the bottom that would pop up and snigger if he missed any of them. Not any different from the NES, really. What was the harm of giving it a shot? "Course I'm not," he said, letting the salesman pull him down.

"Marty, be careful," Jennifer called, leaning over the railing.

"I don't intend to hit anybody, Jen!"

"And you won't," the salesman agreed, clapping Marty on the back. "Easiest gun in the world to use! Safest, too!"

So saying, he handed Marty the gun – or, rather, he shoved it into Marty's left hand. Marty tried to switch it to his right, but the salesman was already curling the teen's fingers around the grip. "Now, you just hold it like that, and ease that hammer back. . .no, no, real smooth like–" the man counseled as Marty attempted to follow directions and aim.

BANG! Marty nearly jumped out of his skin as the gun went off. The salesman burst into laughter, prompting a few snickers from the other men. Marty glared at the lot. "Listen, can I try that again?" he asked, now determined to make a good show of this.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," the salesman chuckled.

Marty tossed the gun into his right hand, his fingers curling around the suddenly-familiar shape. He took a deep breath and prepared himself, learning the pattern of the figures as they rose and fell. Okay, McFly, just like in Wild Gunman. . . .

He fired. The recoil felt strange to someone used to the NES Light Gun, but it did nothing to trip him up as he began taking out cowboy after cowboy, making their little hearts spin wildly. Within a minute, he'd successfully hit every target offered. The salesman gave him a dumbfounded stare, while Jennifer started a quick round of applause. Marty grinned, spun the gun around in his hand, and handed it back to the peddler grip-first. Before he could leave, though, the guy grabbed his arm. "Just tell me one thing," he said, shaking his head. "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

Marty couldn't resist. "7-11," he replied nonchalantly, before pulling away and darting to safety on the stage.

Jennifer hid a grin as he rejoined her. "Oh, you're lucky Doc didn't hear that one," she giggled.

"Yeah, well, that jackass deserves to be confused," Marty said, glancing back as the salesman frowned to himself, then got his bearings and started going on about how they surely couldn't keep their hands off this fine firearm now that they'd seen it in action. "Besides, he seems to have shaken it off pretty quick."

"Maybe – but you know, I could rat you out," Jennifer said, batting her eyelashes.

"Oh?" Marty smirked. "And what do I have to do to make you keep your mouth shut?"

In response, Jennifer pulled him out onto the dance floor. "Yeah, figures – though, uh, I've never square-danced before," Marty confessed, stepping out of the way of a spinning couple.

"Me either," Jennifer said. "But it can't be that hard. I mean, look at Doc."

Marty did so, scanning the crowd until he spotted his friend still whirling Clara about. He took a moment to marvel at the sight once more. He knew Doc loved good music – one of the pleasures of going to work at his place in the early days of their friendship was listening to the scientist's record collection – but he'd had never struck Marty as the dancing type. Then again, I never saw him as the 'girlfriend' type either, Marty admitted to himself. Yet here he is, probably having a better time at this party than I am at the moment. This trip has been full of weirdness.

Well, he couldn't let his best friend have all the fun. He watched Doc's feet, studying the steps. It didn't look too hard. . .he turned back to Jennifer and shrugged. She shrugged back. "I think we'll look sillier just standing out here than if we give it a go," she said.

"Right," Marty nodded. He took Jennifer's hand in his and put his other arm around her waist. Jennifer slipped her free arm around his shoulders, and they began to dance.

They were quite awkward at first, stepping on each other's toes and tangling up their legs. After a couple of minutes of practice, though, they managed to settle into the rhythm of the music. Marty grinned as they paraded around the floor. "Hey, this is pretty fun!"

Doc and Clara came up beside them. "Glad to see you could join us!" Doc said, grinning to beat the band.

"Thanks!" Marty replied. "You know, I think you're doing better than I am!"

"Sheer luck, I assure you," Doc said with a laugh.

The song ended, sparking a round of applause from the dancers. A man climbed onto the stage and waved his hands for silence. "All right, folks, form two lines! Women on this side, men on the other!"

Doc looked at Clara as the other dancers hurried to line up. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Clara said with a smile.

Jennifer grinned at Marty. "Up for it?"

"Why not?" The two couples took their places at the end of the line. The band took a count of four and started up a new tune, the man started calling out steps, and they were off.

To Marty's relief, the line dance was a fairly simple one, though it did involve a lot of turning and partner-switching. He and his friends kept up the best they could – though the weirdest moment for Marty was having to take a turn with Clara. "You're tall," he commented as they spun around, unable to help a tiny spike of envy deep inside.

Clara chuckled. "I take after my father. He's a very tall man – a few inches taller than Emmett, in fact."

"Ah. I take after my dad's family too, but I get my height from Mom," Marty said, waving his hand over his head. "Only thing I really wanted from Dad, and he wouldn't give it to me."

Clara patted his shoulder. "No shame in being short. And you're quite the dancer. Jennifer's lucky to have you as her partner."

Marty smiled, a weird mix of happiness and awkwardness settling in his stomach. "Thanks." Damn it, why do you have to be so nice? Telling Doc he can't do the romance thing would be a lot easier if you were a jerk. Damn space-time continuum making you live 70 years before the rest of us. . . .

He wasn't given much time to ponder this, fortunately, needing most of his brainpower to keep up with the other couples. By the time of "bow to your partner – you're through!" the teen was exhausted. "Whew!" he said as they favored the band with another round of applause. "They really give you a workout here!"

"Tell me about it," Jennifer agreed, rather breathless. "Wanna take a break?"

"Sure," Marty nodded, then tipped his hat at Doc and Clara. "We're heading off for a bit. See you guys later?"

"We'll be here," Doc said, pulling Clara close as the band launched into Darling Clementine.

"All right then." Marty took Jennifer's hand and led her off the stage. "I think I'm in the mood for some punch, then maybe some more pie. You?"

"Punch is a definite must," Jennifer nodded, fanning herself with her hand. She kissed Marty on the cheek. "But you know what? Even with all the exhaustion, and wondering what's gonna happen between Doc and Clara, I'm glad we came. I'm having a good time."

Marty kissed her back. "Me too. Hopefully the rest of the night will go just as well." Up until Doc's gotta break the bad news to Clara. . .but nothing else horrible can happen, right?