Chapter 11
Saturday, September 5th, 1885
Hill Valley
8:42 P.M.
I wish this moment would never end.
Doc smiled dreamily at Clara as they revolved around the dance floor to the strains of "Darling Clementine." The song had never been a favorite of his – in fact, he found it rather inspid. Having Clara in his arms, however, made it better. Clara made everything better. She's absolutely perfect, he thought with a mental sigh.
Are you gonna kiss her? Tommy asked, his first speech in about a half-hour. All the tentacles had been unusually quiet in, fact – Doc suspected that, out of respect for his feelings, they were trying to give him the illusion of privacy. He appreciated it. Especially since he knew they were going to be at him to end this budding relationship soon. At least Tommy seemed to be marginally on his side. Maybe, he thought back.
Maybe? Come on, Father, she likes you, you like her. . .you might as well get one kiss before it all goes bottoms up.
Doc supposed Tommy had a point. And he did very much want to kiss Clara. The taste of her lips would be sweeter than the most intoxicating wine, he was sure (although he hoped they wouldn't send him crashing to the ground unconscious!). But the logical part of his mind kept interjecting that, even with how strong his feelings were for Clara already, that probably was taking things a little fast. And there was the reactions of the rest of the community to consider as well. Marty and Jennifer had gotten their share of disapproving looks whenever they indulged in a brief public display of affection, and they were posing as an engaged couple. The local blacksmith kissing the new schoolteacher (a position that called for the utmost chastity) smack dab in the middle of town would probably cause an uproar to rival the one that had surrounded the press's discovery of his tentacles.
Then again. . .they were at a party. Parties were the perfect occasion for loosening the rules, weren't they? His eyes flicked left and right. Nobody was paying them all that much attention. Surely – surely one small indiscretion would be worth –
Someone grabbed his shoulder roughly, forcing him to stop. Before he could protest or even turn his head, he heard something bounce off the metal covering his spine through his clothes. He stiffened as the tentacles went into high alert mode. What the–
"I told you to watch your back, smithy," an all-too-familiar voice whispered in his ear.
Shit! Doc thought, going pale. In all the excitement of coming up with his grand plan, getting the DeLorean ready for its train-powered trip, and meeting Clara, Doc had completely forgotten about Buford and his promise to put a bullet in his back. "Tannen," he greeted the man, for lack of anything better to say or do. "What are you doing here?"
"Enjoying the party," Buford said, breath reeking of booze. He jammed the – gun? Doc assumed that's what it was, his condition made it hard to actually feel it – deeper into the scientist's back. "It's a derringer, smithy. Small but effective. Last time I used it, fellow took three whole days to die," the outlaw continued with relish. "That means you'd be dead by about suppertime Monday."
Jules, quick – would his bullet actually penetrate the metal embedded in Father's flesh? Verne asked, echoing the thought currently foremost on Doc's mind.
78% probability it wouldn't, Jules said after a moment to perform the calculations. The problem is, his survival would raise some hard-to answer questions from the locals – unless you think you could distract them by claiming you were wearing some sort of body armor. Did people do that in this time period?
They might have, but I can't think of–
Clara suddenly moved closer, bracing herself on his shoulders to scowl at Buford. "Excuse me, I don't know who you think you are, but we're dancing," she snapped.
The pressure from Buford's hand relaxed as the outlaw switched his attention from Doc to Clara. "Well, looky what we have here," he said, his leer clear in his voice. He jabbed Doc in the back once more. "Well, ain't you gonna introduce me to the lady? I'd like a dance!"
Oh no. Doc was not letting this ruffian anywhere near Clara! He'd heard enough about Biff's unwelcome attentions on Lorraine in both the 50s and the previous version of the 80s from Marty – it was a scientific fact that Buford would be a hundred times worse. He spun around and hit Tannen with his best glare. "I wouldn't give you the pleasure! You'll just have to go ahead and shoot!"
"All right," Buford agreed readily, sticking his gun – which was so small the barrel was barely visible past his thick fingers – under Doc's chin.
Uh, Father, the bullet has a 100% probability of severely injuring if not killing you if he fires it through your head, Jules said, his normally clinical voice shaking as his brothers suppressed squeaks of fright.
Clara seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "No! No, Emmett, I'll dance with him!" she cried, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him away from Buford.
Doc was set to protest – even if he couldn't think of a way to avoid getting shot for doing so – but Buford's tongue was faster. "Woo! Boys, you keep the blacksmith company while I get acquainted with the filly!" he said, shoving Doc to the side.
Boys? Doc thought, just before strong arms encircled his middle and held him nearly immobile. Looking around, he saw that he was in the grips of Buford's gang. Ah yes – Buford wouldn't go anywhere without his little entourage, would he? The blond-haired one smirked at him. "Evenin', blacksmith. Enjoying the party?"
Doc glared at him, then squirmed and yanked against the men's grip. The men's hands held fast, though, and he was forced to watch helplessly as Buford dragged Clara across the dance floor like she was some sort of rag doll. The other dancers scrambled out of the way of the outlaw lest they be trampled. Buford just laughed and continued yanking Clara around. "Let me go!" Doc snarled, trying again to escape as rage bubbled up inside him.
Oooh, if only we could pop out – we'd kick their asses, Albert growled, his brothers hissing in agreement. Father, think we could risk maybe giving them just a little nudge? Just enough to startle them and make them loosen their grips?
Doc caught himself seriously considering the proposition. It was so goddamn tempting. . .but he held himself in check. Even a tiny nudge stood too much chance of being noticed – especially with more and more dancers bolting for the sides of the stage as Buford shoved his way through them. If the tentacles were spotted, it would be sure to cause chaos. And he didn't want anyone, particularly Clara, getting hurt as a result. Argh! he thought, gritting his teeth so hard it hurt. Sometimes I hate this time period!
Buford, for his part, looked to be having the time of his life. He snickered as he leaned in to sniff Clara's hair. Doc half-expected him to just start licking her like the 'mad dog' of his nickname. "Woo! You know, blacksmith, maybe I'll just take my 80 dollars' worth out of her!" he suddenly called to Doc.
Doc hadn't thought he could get any angrier. The rage coursing through his veins now felt like the last moments before a nuclear explosion. "Damn it, leave her alone!" he yelled, throwing himself forward and almost managing to pull free of his captors. They quickly redoubled their efforts to keep him still.
Buford just laughed again and went back to leering at Clara. "Yeah, I bet there's something you could do that's worth 80 dollars," he said, not even bothering to lower his voice. The local women exchanged horrified looks as the scientist growled deep in his throat.
To Doc's shock, Clara responded to this proposition by smiling. "I believe you've underestimated me, mister."
Buford's eyes lit up. "Oh, have I now?"
Clara nodded – then lifted her foot high and kicked him as hard as she could in the shin. Buford yelped in pain, releasing her and stumbling backward a step. Doc grinned as the tentacles let out a mental cheer. That's my girl!
The moment didn't last, however. The instant Buford got his feet again, he lunged at Clara and threw her to the ground. There were gasps all around as the persistent last of the dancers froze in shock at this act of violence. Even the band stopped playing.
Doc barely noticed any of this. Seeing Clara hit the ground had upgraded his rage to full-on supernova. He surged forward, dragging the rather startled gang members with him. "Stop it!" he roared. He could hear the tentacles hissing audibly, but he was beyond caring. "Damn you, Tannen!"
Buford glared at him. "No," he said, raising his gun so it was pointed straight at Doc's face. His cronies scattered as the tentacles' hissing became frightened squeaks. "I damn you. I damn you – to hell!"
Father! Father, do something! Tommy cried.
Doc, however, had no idea what to do besides duck, and he didn't want to do that for fear of getting someone killed and changing history. And it was rather hard to come up with new, better plans with a gun in your face and four terrified voices panicking in your head. Great Scott, he thought as Buford cocked the hammer and curled his finger, don't let it end like this!
Shit! Not like this, not like this!
Marty gaped at the scene as Jennifer pressed her hands against her face. His heart felt like it was trying to burst out of his ribcage and go racing down the street. Seeing that gun pointed at Doc's head. . .it was the Libyans all over again. He could already hear the high-pitched scream as the bullet tore through his best friend, and see the body motionless on the floor, one foot twisted at an all-too-familiar awkward angle. . . . No, I can't go through that again, I can't, he thought, sweat pouring down his body. I gotta help him – but how?
For some reason, his mind went back to earlier in the evening, and the name he'd spotted on the pie tins. A wild idea entered his head. Without pausing to think too hard about it, Marty snatched up one of the empties from the buffet table, took aim, and threw it as hard as he could.
The tin sailed through the air just like it was a real Frisbee, only with a lot more weight to it. It slammed into Buford's hand just as the outlaw fired, causing the shot to go wild. The bullet hit Doc's hat instead, sending it flying into the air but leaving the scientist unharmed. Marty breathed a sigh of relief. Oh thank God.
A confused and slightly-in-pain Buford jerked his head around to see the teenager standing in the same direction the tin had come from. Even his dim brain could infer the reason for his missed shot. His eyes glittered with anger. "You!"
Marty glared back, advancing a step and jabbing a finger at the gunman. "Lighten up, jerk!"
Buford blinked, frowned, then glanced back at his gang. They shrugged at him, not understanding the phrase any better than he did. Buford decided it wasn't worth thinking about and got back to glowering at Marty. "Mighty strong words, runt! Are you man enough to back them up with more than just a pie plate?"
Marty saw Jennifer pale out of the corner of his eye. Honestly, he wasn't feeling all that much better. He knew what Buford meant, and, much as he hated the guy, he didn't really want to get into a gunfight with him. He craned his head to get a look at Doc. His friend was crouching down by Clara, helping her off the floor and making sure she was all right. Neither of them seemed to be hurt – just shook up. Probably best to end this right now. He shook his head. "Look, just leave my friends alone," he said, then turned to walk away.
"Hey, where are you going?" Buford demanded, clearly unused to someone refusing him. "Get back here! Are you yellow?"
Marty stopped, his fists clenching on automatic as the anger flared up again. Had he heard that right? Had Buford just called him yellow? How the hell could that asshole call him a coward after he'd disarmed him with one throw?!
Buford snickered behind him. "Just what I thought," he said, letting the words drag out. "A yellow-belly."
Marty closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No. He couldn't let the guy get to him. He had to remember what he'd promised Doc and Jennifer. Had to remember what had happened the last time he'd lost his temper with a Tannen who'd called him a chicken. Come on, McFly. In just two days, with any luck, you're gonna be out of here for good. Do you really want to get yourself killed right before you go home? Just keep walking.
Buford, however, had no intentions of letting up the assault. "I knew you was a coward!" he yelled as Marty attempted again to leave. "You and your cheatin' blacksmith uncle! You're both gutless yellow turds!"
All right, that was it. Buford could insult him all he wanted, but Marty drew the line at that asshole taking pot shots at his best friend! Especially after what he'd just pulled! "Doc's braver than you'll ever be, you jackass!" he snapped, whirling around with gritted teeth.
Buford's eyes narrowed. "You just call me a donkey, runt?"
"Yeah, I did. Better than a mad dog, right?"
Buford turned crimson. "All right, Eastwood!" he roared, pointing at the teen's chest. "Let's settle this once and for all, right now!"
One of Buford's gang reached forward and tugged his sleeve. "Uh, not now, Buford," he said, almost apologetically. "Marshall's got our guns."
"Like I said, we'll finish this tomorrow," Buford amended.
"Tomorrow we're robbing the Pine City stage," another member said, eyes darting this way and that.
Buford grumbled and turned to face them. "What about Monday? We doing anything Monday?" he demanded. Marty found himself fighting back a laugh despite everything. Who knew outlaws needed day planners?
The gang conferred for a moment. "Nope, Monday's fine," the first man said with a nod. "You can kill him on Monday."
Buford nodded back before directing a hard stare at Marty. "I'll be back this way on Monday. We'll settle this then." He pointed toward the local watering hole. "Right in front of the Palace Saloon."
Yet again, those cliches from the Westerns he'd watched as a kid turned out to have a place in reality. He'd never get over just how weird that was. "Yeah, right," Marty said, shaking his head. "When? High noon?"
"Noon?" Buford snorted. "I do my killing before breakfast. Seven o'clock!"
Damn. Now what? Angry as he was, Marty still didn't relish the idea of facing Buford one-on-one. All he wanted was to get home in one piece. But it was clear to him Buford wasn't about to let this go, for any reason. How did he get out of this?
Then an idea hit him. He grinned at Buford, doing his best to play the brave white-hatted hero. "Eight o'clock," he replied, ignoring Doc and Jennifer staring at him like he'd lost his mind. "I do my killing after breakfast."
Whatever protest Buford might have made to the time change was cut off by the sound of a shotgun being pumped. Both he and Marty looked up to see Marshall Strickland ascend the stage. "What's going on?" he demanded, eyes hard. "You causing trouble, Tannen?"
Buford frowned sullenly at the lawman. "No trouble, Marshall," he replied. "Just a personal matter between me and Eastwood. This don't concern the law."
"Tonight, everything concerns the law," Strickland shot back. "Now break it up! Any brawling, that's fifteen days in the county jail."
Buford and his gang looked at each other, then reluctantly stepped back, conceding defeat. For an instant, Marty considered running at the other man and taking a swing at him, just to see if Strickland was serious. Then he decided the chance of landing Buford in jail was not worth the risk of ending up in the cell right next to him. He'd have to be content with the idea he'd already had. He nodded at the lawmaker, holding up his hands. "We're done."
"Good." His authority over the town reestablished, Strickland finally cracked a smile and lowered the gun. "Hey, this is a party!" he called to the rest of the crowd, waving a hand. "Let's have some fun!"
Even though he'd had some time to get used to the man, Marty couldn't help staring. Holy shit – did that really just come out of a Strickland's mouth?! he thought as the band started back up. Sheesh, I seriously would have thought you were the stiffest of them all! Can we bring you back to the future with us and put my Strickland here?
His idle daydream of how the two Stricklands would react to each other's time periods was interrupted by Buford's face appearing in front of him. "Monday morning, eight o'clock," he said, leaning as close as he could to the teen. Marty wrinkled his nose as Buford's breath proved the older man had never brushed his teeth a day in his life. "And if you ain't there, I'll hunt you and shoot you down like a duck."
Marty frowned, puzzled. There was something wrong with that sentence. . . . The gang member from before grabbed Buford's sleeve again. "It's 'dog,' Buford. Shoot him down like a dog."
Apparently, being corrected on his similes was the last straw for Buford Tannen. "Let's go, boys!" he yelled, storming away from Marty. His three cronies hurried after him. "Let these sissies have their party!"
As soon as the gang had gone, they were replaced by a worried-looking Doc and Jennifer. "Marty, what do you think you're doing, saying that you're going to meet Tannen on Monday?" Doc demanded.
"Didn't you see us trying to wave you off?" Jennifer added. "You could get yourself killed!"
"No, I'm not!" Marty reassured them. "Monday morning, eight o'clock – we're going to be gone, remember?"
"Theoretically, yes," Doc said. "But what if the train's late?"
Marty hadn't thought of that. Hill Valley's railroad was very good at keeping to its schedule, but Marty guessed that was actually an anomaly for this time. Who knew what could happen in a world where steam power was still relatively new and bandits roamed free? "Still, it's not like we're going to be here," he countered. "We're camping out by the tracks, right?"
"True, but what if Buford–"
Doc suddenly looked to the side and straightened up. "We'll discuss this later," he whispered.
Marty blinked. "What? Hang on, Doc, you brought this–"
However, the reason for Doc's sudden reticence became clear just a moment later as Clara joined them. She gave Marty a grateful smile. "Thank you so much for your gallantry, Mr. Eastwood," she said. "Had you not interfered, Emmett might have been shot." The look on her face as she glanced at her beau suggested this was the absolute worst thing she could imagine happening.
Marty tipped his hat, nodding. Oh yeah, he could sympathize with that feeling. "I wasn't about to let that happen, ma'am. He's been one of my best friends for years now, on top of being family."
Clara nodded back, then turned to Jennifer with a grin. "You've got a very good man there, Miss Streisand."
Jennifer smiled back, wrapping her arm around Marty's waist. "Believe me, Miss Clayton, I know."
"Marty, Jennifer, I'm going to take Clara home," Doc said, looping his arm through Clara's. "I think we've all had enough excitement for the day." The other three nodded. "I'll see you later tonight." He gave Clara his warmest smile. "Shall we, Miss Clayton?"
"We shall, Mr. Wayne," Clara replied with a soft giggle. "Good evening, you two."
"Right," Marty said. "Evening Doc, Miss Clayton." He watched the pair walk away, arm in arm. "Aaand he's not telling her we're leaving at all, is he?"
"I doubt the kids will let him forget," Jennifer told him. "But it really is–"
"Mr. Eastwood!"
Before either teen could react, they were suddenly surrounded by men, all smiling and trying to shake Marty's hand. "Good for you, Mr. Eastwood!" one proclaimed. "I'm glad somebody finally showed the gumption to stand up to that son of a bitch!"
"You sure showed him good, Mr. Eastwood!"
"You're all right in my book, Mr. Eastwood. I'd like to buy you a drink."
"I don't want a drink," Marty said, holding up his hands to preclude any attempts to wrestle some of Chester's paint thinner down his throat. "Listen, guys, me and my fiancee just want–"
A firm hand on his shoulder interrupted him. Turning, Marty saw the Colt salesman, his face practically split in half by his smile. "Son, I'd like to present you with this Colt Peacemaker and gun belt – free of charge!" he declared, holding up a long brown piece of leather complete with spare bullets and revolver.
Marty gaped, shocked. Well, the guy had certainly gotten over the "7-11" crack. "Free?" he repeated, taking the belt and looking it over. "Um–"
The salesman nodded, eyes bright. "I want everyone to know that the gun that shot Buford Tannen was a Colt Peacemaker!" he announced, gesturing grandly toward the sky.
Marty didn't have the heart to tell the guy that he wasn't going to be using any gun, Colt or no, against Buford Tannen. "Thanks," he said instead, holding it up against his waist. A smile worked its way across his face as he looked down at it. Even if he had no intentions of using it, just holding it there made him feel like a real cowboy.
The salesman nodded, clapped the teenager on the back, then leaned down close to Marty's ear. "Of course," he whispered, "you know that, if you lose, I'm taking it back."
And just like that he was gone, back to his stall. Marty stared after him, trying to ignore the way his heart had skipped a beat. "Thanks again," he called weakly.
Jennifer took the belt from him. "Are you actually going to keep this?" she asked, frowning at him.
"Well, I'm not taking it back with me, if that's what you're wondering. But hey, might as well play real cowboy for our last day here, right?"
Further conversation along these lines was cut off by the arrival of Seamus and Maggie, both with deeply disapproving expressions. Marty tried not to show just how tired he was of all these interruptions. "You had him, Mr. Eastwood!" Seamus said, sounding quite disappointed. "You could have just walked away and nobody would have thought the less of you for it."
"I would have thought less of me," Marty replied. "I don't care so much if he calls me a coward, but I draw the line at talking s-uh, bad about Doc," he censored himself, glancing at Maggie and her baby. "You don't know all the stuff he's been through. He's the bravest guy I know, and I won't have anybody like Tannen saying different."
"There's nothing wrong with being proud of your relative," Seamus said, shaking his head. "But you shouldn't have let Buford rile you like that. Now you're playing his game, his way, by his rules."
"Yeah, that's what he thinks too," Marty said, smiling. "I have no intention of being in town Monday morning, Seamus, so you can stop worrying. Though thanks for thinking of me."
Seamus blinked, completely thrown by this. "What, lad?"
"I was bluffing," Marty told him, glad to finally have a chance to properly explain this to someone. "I just wanted him off my back. I knew he wasn't gonna leave me alone until I agreed to some time, so. . . . Trust me, I'm not stupid enough to actually want to get into a shootout with him. Besides, we're going on a trip Monday anyway. Leaving early enough to avoid all this."
"Are you?"
"Yeah – taking the train to San Francisco," Jennifer supplied, to Marty's gratitude. "We need to pick up some things there for the blacksmith shop."
"Oh, I see." Seamus frowned. "I still think it's a risk. Buford Tannen's going to be looking for you if you don't show up. He doesn't take well to people trying to hide from him."
"All the way to San Francisco? I'm not sure he hates me that much. Anyway, unless he hijacks the train. . . ." Marty looked down at the gun belt. "I guess I'll keep this on me, though. Just in case."
Maggie shook her head, nose wrinkled. "Too sure of yourself by half, I think. And you seemed to be to be itching for a fight before."
"Hey, who likes to be called 'yellow?'" Marty said, starting to get irritated. Why did the McFlys care so much? It's not like they knew who he really was. "And I'm not gonna say I wouldn't mind just punching that ba – that guy's teeth down his throat, pardon my language."
Maggie sighed and looked at Seamus. "He reminds me a bit of poor Martin."
"Aye," Seamus agreed, head drooping.
Marty and Jennifer blinked, frowning at each other. "You – knew another Martin?" Marty asked.
"Me brother," Seamus explained. Marty had to concentrate to keep his jaw from dropping. "Used to let people provoke him into fights to prove he wasn't a coward. I told him to be more careful, but he told me he knew he'd win any scuffle he got in." Seamus let out a deep, sad sigh. "We had to bury him in Virginia City after he got a Bowie knife shoved through his belly."
That sent a cold chill down Marty's spine. During some of his more risky, death-defying time travel moments, he'd occasionally pictured a anachronistic tombstone bearing his name in the local cemetery. To learn that one actually existed, even if it wasn't some time-displaced version of him buried underneath. . . . "I'm sorry for your loss," he forced himself to say. Really, really sorry.
"Thank you, lad." Seamus put an almost-fatherly hand on his shoulder. "I know you think you've got this all planned out right and proper. But keep your ear to the ground, and think, Mr. Eastwood. Me brother never considered the future, God rest his soul – I hope you don't make the same mistakes he did."
With that, he turned and walked away, Maggie following. Marty stared after them. "I think about it all the time," he murmured.
Jennifer patted his back. "I know you're not going to appreciate me agreeing with him, but – Doc wouldn't have been insulted if you'd just kept walking," she said.
"I know," Marty sighed. "But – I've just had it with that asshole. And I'm not sure he would have let it go even if I'd tried to walk. I mean–" and here he couldn't stop himself from smiling "– I did just show him I'm a better pie-tin-slinger than he is a marksman."
Jennifer snorted. "All right, I can give you that. And I'm glad you don't actually want to go and fight him if you don't have to." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You really had me worried there for a minute."
"Sorry," Marty said, pulling her a little closer. "I didn't mean to scare you. Or Doc. I just – I wanted him to stop talking shit." And not try to hurt Doc again, he thought, repressing a shiver at the idea. Not going through that again. Not ever.
"Yeah, well, we'll see how it goes. Or not, if everything goes according to plan." Jennifer looked over Marty's shoulder. "It's not you that I'm worried about so much about as Doc. We need him to get this whole 'get us back to the future' plan off the ground, and – well, for the first time since I've known him, he's not all wild about science!"
"Tell me about it," Marty said, shaking his head. "He's loopy for her – and she for him. Which is the worst part about this. I know it's for the best that they break up and he forget all about her, but part of me. . . ." He groaned and threw up his hands. "She's nice! I wouldn't mind them staying together if it wasn't the wrong time!"
"Me either. And the insane part is that they've known each other for what, a day?"
"Tell me about it. Though I guess we're not ones to talk. I asked you out after knowing you a whole lunch period," Marty reminded her with a nudge.
"Okay, yeah, good point," Jennifer admitted, giggling. "I guess I just never expected it from Doc. He never struck me as a guy who'd be interested in romance."
"Me either," Marty said. "Then again, we're talking about a guy who kept Playboys under his bed."
"That you occasionally snuck home."
"I had to! They were there! Calling to me!"
Jennifer shook her head fondly. "What say we head back to the shop and I try to make you forget about Hef's collection of Bunnies?"
"Sounds like a plan to me," Marty said, leading her away.
"And that little one in the center there – the one that looks like a starburst? That's Copernicus."
Doc squinted through the eyepiece of the telescope, taking in the magnified face of the moon. He and Clara were sitting outside Clara's cabin, doing a little stargazing to ascertain that her telescope was functioning correctly. Both of them knew it was merely an excuse to spend more time in each other's company – Doc had discovered shortly after she'd left that there wasn't actually anything wrong with the telescope beyond possibly a bit of scuffing from its tumble from the buckboard – but neither was so crass as to actually say that aloud. Besides, Doc was quite enjoying this impromptu lesson on lunar geography. He grunted in assent as he spotted the crater she'd been describing. Pretty! Tommy said in his head.
Isn't it? Doc agreed, then snuck a glance at Clara, sitting just beside him. Mind you, I'm having trouble concentrating. There's a body that's far more beautiful than any in the sky just beside me.
Well, you look at Clara, and I'll look at the moon.
Clara suddenly laughed, making him briefly wonder if she'd somehow heard Tommy. "Will you listen to me? I feel like I'm teaching school!"
Doc grinned at her. "It's fine. Please, continue the lesson. I never found lunar geography so – fascinating."
More like you've never found a woman so fascinating, Albert corrected sarcastically.
Doc ignored him. "You're quite knowledgeable," he continued. "How does a schoolteacher become so interested in astronomy?"
Clara gave him a sweet smile. "When I was eleven, I had diphtheria. I was quarantined for three months. My father put this telescope in my window so I could at least look outside. It wasn't long before I was making my own maps of the stars and moon."
"Really!" Doc was pleasantly reminded of his own childhood experiments after reading Jules Verne, such as his failed attempt to dig to the center of the earth. She seriously seemed tailor-made for him. "Do you remember any of them?"
"Oh, just a little snippet here or there," Clara said, clasping her hands in her lap. "I know I called Copernicus 'Little Sunshine.' Doesn't it look like a little sun?"
Doc took another look. "It does," he agreed. "'Little Sunshine' is honestly a more descriptive name. Nothing against the great scientist, of course."
Father, Jules cut in abruptly. You're stalling.
Jules, please. I'm trying to have a conversation.
Yes – the wrong conversation, Jules replied with an irritated hiss. Father, we've told you before – you need to tell her you're going! We will be gone Monday!
Doc somehow managed to keep his internal grimace off his face. I know. Yes, I admit, I'm putting it off. But – can you really blame me? She's wonderful. The woman of my dreams.
Father, we're not happy about this situation either, Jules said, a little more gently. We like her too. But there's nothing for it. Unless you're willing to just disappear on her.
Great Scott, never! I've had too much experience being on the other side of bad breakups. All right, here goes. Doc took a deep breath and turned to his beloved. "Clara–"
Clara, however, was looking up at the night sky with a thoughtful expression. "I've always wanted to see what it was like up there," she murmured. "Ever since those three months." Her eyes darted down to him. "Emmett, do you think it's possible we'll ever be able to travel to the moon like we travel across the country on trains?"
Doc eagerly seized on the new topic, glad for any excuse to continue putting off the painful conversation. "Of course," he said, trying not to smile too much. "Although not for another eighty-four years, and not on trains."
Hypocrite! Hypocrite! Albert cried. After giving Marty and Jennifer crap about the Frisbie business too!
Like she's going to figure out that I'm talking about a real thing! "We'll have spaceships – giant machines with powerful rockets," he continued, ignoring Albert and Tommy's scolding raspberries. "So powerful that–"
"That they break the pull of the Earth's gravity," Clara interrupted, eyes closed in scientific bliss, "and send the projectile into outer space."
Doc stared at her, stunned. What the – how had – how could Clara –
Uh, Father, you're sure you're the first one to invent time travel? Verne asked in equal bafflement.
Clara opened her eyes and giggled at his expression. "Emmett, I read that book too!" When his confused frown didn't change, she added, "You're quoting From the Earth to the Moon by Jules Verne."
Oh. Right. Duh, Verne said, simultaneously relieved and embarrassed.
Doc's head, however, had no room for either with the surge of shocked love filling it. Would wonders never cease? A fellow science fiction lover as well? "You've read Jules Verne?" he asked, trying and failing to hide his excitement.
Clara grinned at him, that dreamy look back on her face. "I adore Jules Verne."
Your favorite author. She loves your favorite author, Albert said in disbelief. What the hell is with the universe, having her live a century too early?!
Believe me, I'd like to know myself, Doc thought, even as he beamed at Clara. "Me too! Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea is my absolute favorite – when I read that as a boy, I wanted to meet Captain Nemo!"
Clara laughed again, shaking her head slightly. "Don't tease, Emmett," she mock-scolded. "You couldn't have read that book as a boy. It was only published about ten years ago."
You really need to apologize to Marty for all the times you scolded him about this sort of thing, Tommy commented.
Right, yes, do that when I get home. . . . Doc gave Clara an embarrassed smile. "I meant – it made me feel like a boy," he corrected himself.
Clara accepted that explanation with a little nod. "I can understand. Reading From the Earth to the Moon makes me feel like a little girl myself."
"He's truly an incredible author, isn't he?" Doc leaned forward, looking deep into her eyes. "I never met a woman who liked Jules Verne before," he admitted, voice soft.
Clara returned his soulful gaze. "I – I never ever met a man quite like you before," she whispered.
They remained there, drinking each other in with their eyes, for a moment more. Then, as if in response to some hidden cue, they began to lean in. Doc's lips puckered in anticipation as his eyes started to close.
Abruptly, Clara winced and drew back. Doc blinked. What – had she changed her mind? "Clara?" he asked, putting a hand on her arm. "Is everything all right?"
Clara gave him a tight, weak smile, rubbing her temple. "Fine," she said. "Just – this particularly annoying voice in my head, telling me we've only known each other a day, if that."
Doc couldn't help the grin that came to his face. "I've heard that voice too," he said, ignoring the squawks and annoyed raspberries the tentacles responded with. "Though – I must confess, it has a point. Do you feel we're rushing this? Leaping in before we look?"
Clara looked at his hand, then placed hers on top. "If we are – I don't care a bit," she said, meeting his eyes with the most profound look of adoration he'd ever seen. "I love you, Emmett Wayne. And I want to be with you as long as I live."
All thoughts of telling her he was leaving Monday – in fact, of leaving at all – fled Doc's brain. There was no way on earth he could leave this, leave her, behind. "Clara – I feel the same," he whispered.
Then he leaned forward and captured her lips with his.
