MAY
An Apple a Day

Saturday, May 2, 1885
9:55 PM

What a week.

Seamus and Maggie had their baby and named him William Sean McFly. His birth was uneventful, thank goodness. Dad was in a rush to get experienced hands in there, but when reminded that nothing went wrong the first time (Marty is a direct descendant), he calmed down. By the time the doctor was with Maggie, her contractions stopped, and they didn't start again for another full day. We later got word from Seamus that after sixteen hours of labor, Maggie and William were both in good health.

I saw Clarence yesterday for the first time in ages. He's somehow figured out how to conduct business with Dad whenever I'm away or otherwise occupied in the last few weeks. I was coming back from the meat market when I saw him in the road heading towards me. His mouth twitched with a dim smile before he turned into his father's workshop, and that was it. The guilty part of me wonders if it would have been so bad to test the waters for a while. Sometimes I miss being slightly annoyed, mildly nauseous, and shamefully afire all at once, bad as that sounds.

I've been busy enough that I'm not dwelling on it. Dad has kept his word; we work on or discuss the DeLorean almost every day. I am getting better with the Smith & Wesson, I cooked something resembling a stew, and Mrs. Ward is trying to talk us into two science lessons every week beginning next school year. Even though I hope to be gone by then, I've spent time mentally checking that my ideas are corroborated by the science of the times.

There is a lesson on Monday, but Dad will be the only one in attendance. We're discussing memory recall. I was quietly observed by the class before leaving on Friday, and now they will try to recall what I looked like after three days (color of dress, hair up or down, jewelry, etc.). I'm going to use the time to charge the DeLorean's battery and maybe outline the spaces of the Monopoly board. I'm also going to make the colored portions of the properties inset so the houses and hotels don't go flying if the board gets bumped.

Maybe there is a way to magnetize the tokens to the board...

Mrs. Ward waved goodbye to the students as they scattered from the grounds of the school. A few crickets leapt and chirped as they disturbed the wild grass. Seeing they were all on their customary paths home, she went into the schoolhouse and closed the door.

"If only they were so keen on subject-verb agreement."

Doc laughed, erasing the blackboard as she came down the aisle with her sentient smile.

"I think they missed your assistant today."

"All necessary for the lesson," Emmett said, clapping the chalk dust from his hands. "Now that we have two sets of data, Emma will come back for the next session dressed as she was last week. At that point, we can introduce the idea of false memory and the power of suggestion."

"I wanted to ask you if we could move that lesson up to tomorrow," she said as she closed up the windows for the day. "I'm planning to close the school for the rest of the week after that. My husband is due back, and I'm going to Pine City to bring him home to Hill Valley."

Emmett secured the last two windows for her, put his hat on, and followed Mrs. Ward toward the door. While the sky was overcast, the air was warm and heavy with lupine and iris.

"That's wonderful news," he said in earnest, letting her out first. "He's been gone some time, hasn't he?"

"Near six months," she nodded, tying her bonnet over her graying chignon. She walked over to his horse with him. "It's the longest cattle drive he's been on. He was supposed to be retired by now, but he hasn't quite gotten around to it. Perhaps now is the time to finally consider it."

"Not to worry," Doc reassured as he mounted Archimedes. "Emma and I will be here tomorrow morning so you can be on your way at the end of the day."

Mrs. Ward smiled. She stroked Archimedes' mane and fed him the sugar cube hidden in her palm.

"I appreciate your willingness to accommodate me."

"Emma will be glad of it." She was due to give the horse stalls a thorough cleaning tomorrow. He did not anticipate her objecting to the change of plans.

"They do love her so." She stepped away from Archimedes and lowered her hands. "It's encouraging to see the next generation keeping pupils engaged in their studies. It makes me feel as though our hard work is valued enough to be passed on.

"Your daughter is a fine young woman, Emmett. She is already making a difference. And you know what they say," – she inclined her head with a meaningful stare – "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Emmett returned her gentle smile as he faced Archimedes toward the road, tipping his hat in thanks. A swell of sweet wind sent more fine pollen up from the tall grasses, and Mrs. Ward took another step back, this time toward her home.

"Thank you, Mary. We'll be here."

"I look forward to it."

The next morning was shrouded in fog after a predawn rain shower. It left the air thin enough to irritate the sinuses. Milky sunlight spilled into the living mists that rolled through the countryside. Emma let her hand drift through the cool vapors from atop Newton as she and Doc made their way toward the schoolhouse.

She had recreated her appearance from Friday – a white blouse and a navy high-waisted skirt with a large ringlet on her shoulder. It was verging on the Edwardian, but she had strong opinions about having to wear a cage to "achieve the desired silhouette".

"Whoa, whoa, boy."

Emma looked up, reflexively pulling Newton to a stop next to her father and Archimedes. In the strange light filtered by the lingering fog, the students were standing outside of the schoolhouse, sullen and still. Elmer, the eldest boy in the class, wasn't there. Doc withdrew his pocket watch before getting off his horse; it was several minutes past ten, over an hour after the start of the school day. After helping Emma dismount, they crossed the wet grass to the children huddled in the shadow of the dark schoolhouse.

Emmett brushed through their disjointed round of "good mornings" to ask, "Why are you all outside?"

"The school is closed," Clifford said.

Pearl fingered the end of her braid. "Mrs. Ward isn't here."

Emmett looked over at the house. He thought for a moment that she got word to leave early for Pine City, but her horse was still there. Remnants of a fire seeped from the chimney and mingled with the low clouds. He was about to tell Emma to stay with the class while he went to her door when the rumble of hooves came up the road. It was Strickland's men – the deputy and two officers. Elmer rode with one of the officers.

Doc gravitated toward them, confused. He held his hand out behind him, silently directing Emma to keep the students away as he detached himself from the group. The deputy and one officer dismounted, allowing Elmer to walk them to the front door.

"I knocked and knocked, but no answer," he said.

The officer still on his horse acknowledged Doc with a nod. Taking it as permission, Emmett slowly approached the white fence as the two men entered the house. He reached for Elmer as the boy came off the porch, sinking to his eye level.

"Elmer, what's going on?"

As their eyes met, Elmer took a moment to find his voice.

"I've got a bad feeling, Mr. Brown."

Doc's brow flinched. Again, as he was about to speak, he was interrupted, this time by the heavy footfalls of the deputy coming out of Mrs. Ward's house. Emmett rose despite the oppressive weight of dread on his person. His surroundings grayed as he registered the remorse dominating the deputy's command to his mounted officer.

"Go and fetch Mr. Phipps."

MARY ALMA WARD

Born

June 18 1829

Died

May 4 1885

Emma turned away from the headstone with her father, inhaling the pungent perfume of damp earth and poppies. Half of Hill Valley came to the interment, and each one proceeded in an orderly fashion to pay Mr. Ward their condolences as they left the cemetery.

Emma caught her first glimpse of Mr. Ward over the five or six people in line ahead of them. Lean but strong for a man with a kempt white beard and windburned cheeks. His brow hooded his downturned eyes, and his nose might have been broken once or twice. He was just shy of being eye-to-eye with her father, and he respectfully inclined his head to her when the preacher next to him invited them to come forward.

"Emmett, this is Ezekiel Ward, Mary's husband."

"Zeke is fine," the widower said. He pushed a faint smile through his beard as Doc shook his hand. "Mr. Brown. Rumor has it you were the last to speak to her."

Emmett nodded. She had returned home after he left the schoolhouse and, according to the doctor, was taken in her sleep by her heart. He had yet to understand it; she was perfectly fine when he left that afternoon. But truth be told, he also had yet to understand Dolores's sudden passing eighteen years on. With this realization, a sense of kinship bonded him to the cattle driver.

"Mary spoke of her trip to Pine City to bring you home," Emmett said. "She was determined to talk you into retirement by the time you returned to Hill Valley."

"Well, she might have done," Zeke admitted with a thin smile. "I think it's for the best now that I do. Thank you for being her friend. For that alone, you can come to me should you need anything."

Emmett's voice softened as the sun dipped behind a cloud.

"Thank you. Please accept our sincerest condolences. Mary was an exemplary educator."

Zeke nodded. "That she was. She said much the same of you and your daughter when she wrote to me."

"We were privileged to take part in her lessons," Emmett said, touching Emma's back to include her in the sentiment. "She gave us a bit of our old life back in doing so."

"Is that so? Were you a schoolteacher?"

"A professor, long ago. And Emma, here, is a tutor."

Emma flashed a polite smile when Zeke's gaze drifted to her. "I helped my peers when I was in school," she said. "I haven't done much in the way of it since coming here."

"Not the way Mary told it," Zeke said. A thought crossed his face, momentarily lightening his dulled eyes. "In fact, I'm certain no one would oppose you and your pa finishing out the school year in her stead. Might be you find the same passion Mary did."

The comment gave Emma pause. Her career goals were centered around the field of science, not the field of education. But here, the avenue to the life of a scientist was impossible for her. She could probably drop the Theory of Relativity in their laps to propel herself to the top, but such a power move destroyed the space-time continuum no matter how you sliced it.

Here in 1885, she would be accepted in this role. She had a knack for guiding her classmates to a place of understanding. Experimenting and inventing were fun and exciting, but so was seeing the lightbulb flicker to life over someone's head when something finally clicked. As she laid out for her father several weeks ago, the plan for her to run a blacksmith shop as Plan B wasn't the best. She'd have to marry and let her husband be the face of the business if it were to survive to support her.

But the teacher of choice around here was a maturing young woman without a family or homestead to occupy her time. And if Emma married anyone or had children here, there went the space-time continuum again, surely. She could safely provide for herself and spread the good word of science as a schoolteacher.

While she doubted it would become a passion, it was a solid back-up plan.

Emmett shook Zeke's hand once more.

"Should it be asked of us, we would be honored."

May 13, 1885

It was decided at the town meeting on Sunday that the remaining two weeks of the school year would not be held. We considered reducing the number of days school was in session until the end of the month, but it was ultimately voted that the school year be ended prematurely. Sadly, I don't think anyone minded that much. We're all under the same cloud right now.

It was also put to a vote to move the fundraising festival for the courthouse from the end of May to the beginning of September to coincide with the delivery of the new clock. I believe most of us voted to move it out of respect for Mrs. Ward's passing. No one is much in the mood for a festival right now. Some argued it might lift out spirits, but I want this grief to run its course.

It's been difficult to find the motivation to do stuff. I haven't felt like this since first arriving here. I don't know what to do except hate myself for not wanting to work on the time machine constantly. I wasn't particularly close to Mrs. Ward, but when she was in the back of the class during our lessons, I was encouraged and proud, standing a little taller each time I took the helm. She shared the special love of her students with me, and I worry how they are handling her loss.

I owe her a lot, and I'm only just realizing that she was my teacher, too.

The Friday before Decoration Day, temperatures soared into the nineties. Emma splashed another handful of water on her face and wiped away the black streams of sweat trailing down her neck. She was this close to taking a pair of scissors to her sleeves and making a pair of shorts out of her breeches. She quickly downed a glass of water before answering the knock at the door.

Emma gave the stranger a friendly smile.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, excuse me, miss," he said, touching the brim of his hat. "I was looking for the blacksmith."

"He's under a wagon right now. Are you picking up an order?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," the man said. "Picking up for Theodore Livingston."

Emma paused; she never saw anyone but Clarence come by on behalf of his father. This gentleman was burly and middle-aged with a jolly smile. If she didn't know any better, she'd assume he was a relative of Marshall Strickland's deputy.

"The cabinet maker?" she asked.

"The same, yes, ma'am."

"Just a minute."

Emma retreated inside. She untied and unrolled the leather pouch on the shop bench, checking that all of the chisels had been returned to their proper slots. She straightened two of them before packing it up and debating whether or not to ask after Clarence. What if he was sick or injured? Maybe they could help him get better. Her father had amassed a small library in four and a half months; what book would she give Clarence to read while he recovered?

"I'm sorry. I'm used to Mr. Livingston's son coming for his orders," she said as they exchanged chisels for coin. "How is he?"

"Clarence, you mean?"

She nodded ardently, bringing her clasped hands to her chest.

"He's on the three o'clock train to Ogden. Flying the coop, as it were."

Emma's face fell. "What? Y-you mean he's leaving? Leaving leaving?"

"He's leaving town, yes."

"Where? When?" Emma demanded.

The man narrowed his eyes at her, pointing around the stables and repeating slowly, "He's on the three o'clock train to Ogden –"

An incoming train whistle blew in the distance. Emma shot past the man to the corner of the livery, skidding to a halt in the road as the black engine glided into the station. Through the plume of dirt she kicked up, she spotted Clarence all the way up near the bath house with a large sack slung over his shoulder. He made for the station with a brisk stride. Emma took off.

When she finally reached him at the station platform, perspiring and disheveled, she gave him a weak shove in the back of his shoulder before doubling over to catch her breath. The air trapped under the roof of the platform was thick with steam, hot iron, and woodsmoke, complicating the task.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Clarence bent his brow – "…Missouri?" – and turned to see it was Emma. She wavered in place with her hands on her hips as she recovered from her run, all the while trying to give him some kind of stink eye. Clarence relaxed his stance and let the corner of his mouth rise.

"Hello, Miss Brown."

"Well?" she panted indignantly.

"Well what?"

"Were you going to tell me you were going to Missouri?"

Clarence shrugged. "Why would I tell you I'm goin' to Missouri?"

"I'd tell you if I were going to Missouri!"

"Would you?" he asked, on the verge of speaking over her. "You didn't tell me you loved someone else."

Emma shrunk, mouth agape as she tried to clamber over his barb. He had a right to be short with her; she hadn't explicitly discouraged him, so the waters muddied. She wet her lips and cast her gaze to his faded boots, twisting her pinkie.

"No, I didn't."

"So I have a hard time figurin' how I owe you an explanation without gettin' one first."

"I'm sorry, Clarence. You're right. I didn't mean t –"

Emma stopped, firmly pressed her lips together, and shut her eyes. He wanted an explanation, not a spew of compulsive apologies. Her gut wrenched at the prospect, but she made herself look him in the eye. She needed to do this right for both their sakes.

"I don't know if I'll ever see him again," Emma confessed as evenly as possible. "I hope I do, but some days, it feels impossible. When that happens – when I think I'm finally going to suffocate from the agony of that uncertainty – you say good morning to me," she laughed ruefully, "and it puts me at ease just long enough to miss him all over again."

God, I don't know how he can look at me right now. She wanted to fold up on the ground and disappear.

Clarence cleared his throat and adjusted the sack on his shoulder. She may be to blame for his callous tone and mild bitterness, but he could not deny that she, too, suffered from a heart torn asunder. He never had a chance. Though he already knew the answer, he found himself asking her, "Do you love him?"

Emma paused, staring at Clarence as an ethereal, harmonious chord instantly struck her in the chest. It sounded suspiciously like AC/DC. Absorbing the shock of its beauty and resolve, she stilled as colors began to dance under her skin and scatter stars before her eyes. Goosebumps raced up her spine in exquisite exultation.

A pained smile surfaced through the crack in her voice.

"Yeah, I do."

Clarence frowned at the ground, running his lip between his teeth.

"I'm sorry, Clarence. Really, I am."

He huffed, dismissing her anguished apology with an amiable smile as the wind rippled over his shirt. What mattered was that she valued him enough to be sincere and forthright in their final hour. She put right what needed to be put right while staying true to herself, and he was compelled to do the same to alleviate any residual animosity between them.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was goin' to Missouri."

Emma eyed him. "Why are you going to Missouri?"

Clarence gestured to the train with his elbow.

"My uncle put in a good word with the Union Pacific." His smile grew as Emma's eyes widened. "I'm just a fireman now, but I'll be an engineer before long. I already know these ten-wheelers frontways, backways, inside, and out, but I have to put in my time, see."

A chuckle burst through the ache in Emma's chest as she smiled between Clarence and the sundrenched locomotive. He looked ready to shoot to the moon.

"What about your pa?" she suddenly remembered. "Doesn't he need you?"

"He's fine," Clarence said, scratching the side of his nose. "One of his infantrymen from the war moved to town last month. Wantin' to keep busy after his wife died."

Emma swallowed, stepping out of the way of some last-minute passengers and trunks.

"And your uncle is in Missouri?"

"No, he runs Cheyenne to Denver, so I'll see him on my way out," Clarence said. "They need a man between Denver and Kansas City right now."

"You're their man," Emma grinned.

Clarence beamed. "I'm their man."

The train whistle blew again. Emma's smile faltered as she looked back up at Clarence.

He was leaving.

Leaving leaving.

Emma threw an arm around his neck and drew close. She sighed.

"Good luck, Clarence. I'm going to miss you."

Clarence carefully laid his hand on her back. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by her warmth. Soot, sweat, and fresh bread enveloped him, and it nearly broke him to resist turning his face into her hair.

"Y'know, I haven't gotten on the train yet," he murmured, curling his fingers into the back of her dress. "I haven't gotten on that train in all this time. It could wait a while longer," he whispered.

Emma smiled sadly into his shoulder. The world did not deserve Clarence Livingston, let alone the girl breaking his heart. She fell from her tiptoes and stepped out of his arm.

"Get on the train, Clarence. You've waited for this long enough."

The doors on the passenger cars began to close. Clarence stumbled as Emma hurried him forward to the nearest one. He tossed his bag into the doorway, climbed aboard, and fixed her with a stern brow.

"That boy of yours better come back soon, you hear?" he said. "I don't like to see you melancholy."

The train began to move. Emma's eyes reddened.

"Goodbye."

He tipped his hat.

"Goodbye, Miss Brown."

The train pulled out. She stepped to the edge of the platform, folding her arms over her abdomen as he pulled himself aboard. Clarence Livingston was finally being taken beyond Hill Valley to live life on the railroad, but with the pangs of loss came a peace she did not expect.

As the caboose was lost on the horizon, she sent him away with a soft smile and hung her head.