The Undertaker's Devil - 9. Art Among the Caskets

December 15, 1881

Ritter, Ream, Samael, and Joe Corbin knelt among the packing crates and excelsior, examining the artworks which had been delivered that morning. Ream discussed advertising and prices with Ritter while Corbin and Samael sorted and admired, stacking framed works against the caskets of the display room.

Ream shook his head. “I have no idea what we’re doing selling paintings in a funeral parlor.”

“Come, now, Bill, we’re already selling picture frames and furniture of all kinds. It’s a logical next step.”

“But who is going to come to an undertaker to buy pictures? Are we going to display them here with the coffins?”

“Sammy has the lumber organized so well that it doesn’t take up near as much room. We can convert one of the storage rooms to a show room for the artworks.”

“If you say so. I still don’t know why I agreed to this.”

“Just give it a chance.”

Samael was looking at an image of a rower in a scull. “This one is really good!” he whispered to Corbin.

“You have a good eye,” Corbin said. “That’s a lithographic print copied from a painting by Thomas Eakins.”

“Who’s that?”

“A painter. One of the best. I almost studied under him.”

“You? You studied painting?”

“Yeah, when I was really young, I wanted to be a painter. I didn’t quite have the talent. And I have an aversion to starvation. So I went into carpentry.”

“I wish I could paint something like that. All I do is doodle in pencil.”

“Oh? Would you show me?”

“My doodles? They’re nothing much.”

“Show me anyway.”

They left Ritter and Ream designing an advertisement.

In Samael’s room, with its seldom-used rope bed, Samael pulled out a folder of loose papers. Corbin leafed through the sketches of horses, buildings, plants, and people, stopping on one of Ritter, lying asleep, his torso bare.

Samael tried to pull the sketch away. “That shouldn’t be in there.”

Corbin pulled it back. “Why not? This is very accomplished. Did you draw it from life?”

“What?”

“Did you draw it while Andy was lying there just like that?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So, why doesn’t it belong in your pile of sketches?”

“I don’t know. I was going to give it to him. It seems kind of private.”

“Private?”

Samael was blushing. “Because, you know, he doesn’t have any clothes on.”

“Nudes have a long and respectable history in art.” Corbin put the drawings down and looked squarely at Samael. “You really like Andy, don’t you?”

Samael looked away. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“And I can tell he really likes you.”

Samael said nothing but blushed deeper.

Corbin tapped the pile of papers. “You have talent. Probably more than I ever had. We should get back to the unpacking. You go on ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Samael, somewhat confused, went back to the display room. Corbin took another look at the sketch of Ritter. “Lucky bastard,” he muttered.

********

Martha Hill had not spoken or opened her eyes for two days. As her husband held her hand, she suddenly looked at him and whispered, “Sam.”

“What’s that, dear?” he said, startled.

“Sam. Get Sam.”

Her sister Helen looked up from her cross-stitch. “That devil’s spawn?”

Mr. Hill kept his eyes fixed on his wife. “Enough of that, Helen. It’s what Martha wants.”

“She wants lies of the Devil, so we give them to her? Is that what you’re saying? Or just a handsome young face to make her feel better? We all know the Devil can look good when he wants to.”

Mrs. Hill squeezed her eyes shut. “Hush,” she murmured, and then, opening her eyes again, “Jacob?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll send Robbie for him. I’m not opening the store today anyway. Robbie might as well make himself useful as long as he’s getting paid.”

********

Fourteen-year-old Robbie Crooks could perhaps be forgiven for not rushing to Ritter and Ream’s. The image most associated with the place was the photograph of the three dead Cowboys, giving it a notoriously morbid air in the minds of Tombstone’s citizens. But he overcame his dread enough to knock firmly at the door when he arrived. When he was admitted, he was surprised to find four men sorting through artworks rather than handling corpses.

Robbie handed Ritter a folded piece of paper. “Mister Hill wants Sam to come. His wife asked.”

Ritter unfolded the note and read it. “Sammy, Mrs. Hill may not have much time. We should go over there as soon as we can manage.”

Ream turned to Ritter. “You can leave this to Joe and me. You and Sam go on.”

“Yes, I think I will go with Sammy, although Sammy is the only one they ask for. Come on, Sammy, let’s get ready and go.”

Robbie, as he stood waiting, kept looking from Ritter to Samael and from Samael back to Ritter. Other than a tiny smile, he betrayed no reaction to whatever he thought he was seeing.

Samael got his coat and came back to the front of the shop. “I’m ready.”

Ritter faced Robbie. “What is your name, by the way?”

“Robbie, sir. Robbie Crooks.” Robbie smiled and extended a hand.

Ritter shook it. “I’m Andy, and this is Sam. Lead on, young man.”

********

At Mr. Hill’s house, Jacob Hill greeted Ritter and Samael with some agitation. “She’s slipping away fast. Please, Sam, go on in to her. Mister Ritter, let’s stay in the parlor.”

Sam entered the bedroom. Mrs. Hill lay motionless. Her sister continued to sew furiously.

“Miss Martha?” Samael took her hand.

Mrs. Hill opened her eyes. “Sam?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hill moved her lips soundlessly for a moment. Then she managed to whisper, “I didn’t – I haven’t—”

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Martha. Everybody leaves some things unfinished when it’s time. We have to let those things go.”

Mrs. Hill made a few more attempts to speak, but no sound came.

“There’s nothing to worry about. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re going to leave all the hurt behind. It’s all right. When it’s time, it’s time. I’m so glad you sent for me. I’m so glad I got to meet you.”

Mr. Hill opened the door a crack and peered in. Mrs. Hill’s gaze went to him. She moved her lips again. Mr. Hill came close and took Mrs. Hill’s other hand.

In a few minutes, she closed her eyes, took a last breath, exhaled, and gave up her life.

Later, Mr. Hill, Ritter, and Samael sat in the parlor. Mr. Hill kept shaking his head. “She can’t be gone already.”

“It was her time, Mr. Hill,” Ritter said.

“I don’t even have a picture of her. She always says it’s vain and self-indulgent to pay for a photograph. Now I don’t have anything.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mister Hill,” Samael said. “Would you like a drawing of her? I can make a little pencil drawing if you want.”

Mr. Hill was a bit taken aback. “You can draw?”

“A little,” Samael said.

“More than a little,” Ritter corrected.

“There’s paper and pencils in the desk there.” Mr. Hill waved to a corner in the room.

Samael sat at the desk and began drawing.

“Don’t you want to go in and look at her while you draw?” Mr. Hill said, mystified.

“I remember what she looks like.” Samael continued working. After fifteen minutes, he handed the sketch to Mr. Hill.

Hill covered his mouth with his hand. He was holding back tears. “How did you – How could you know what she looked like when I met her?”

“I just drew her the way I saw her,” Samael shrugged.

Ritter looked at the sketch. At first glance, it was simply an image of an old woman. But as his gaze shifted away, he saw something else in his peripheral vision. He looked again. The drawing had a strange, even unsettling youthfulness. There was no part of it – eyes, mouth, skin – in which the quality lay. One almost had to look to the side to catch it. Was it something in the curve of the shoulder that captured the way a young woman moved? Was there something in the hair that suggested the way a girl held her head? Was there mischief in the eyes? Ritter blinked. He thought his imagination must be getting the better of him.

Samael touched Mr. Hill’s arm. “If you don’t like it, I can try again.”

“No. No, I want this one. This is Martha. This is the way she was and the way she’ll always be.” Mr. Hill continued to stare at the portrait.

Helen walked through, muttering to herself. “Funny how she dies the minute that devil walks in the door. Well, I am going to speak to the Reverend about this. Maybe more than one reverend. They should know that someone’s preaching blasphemy. This town is godless enough without that.”

********

When Ritter and Samael arrived back at the shop, Sheriff Behan was inside talking to Ream.

Ream said, “Andy, there’s been some bad business with Mayor Clum.”

Behan also turned. “Someone tried to kill him. Tried to shoot him while he was getting on a train.”

Ritter knew that Clum was a supporter of the Earps. “Was it Ike Clanton?”

“No, Ike’s been over in Contention City, trying to get murder charges to stick, looking for a more sympathetic judge, I guess. Still, it could have been one of his men.”

Samael was going pale. “It’s never gonna be over.”

Behan turned to him. “What’s that, Sam?”

“It’s not gonna end. One side’s gonna keep killing someone on the other side and it’s gonna go on and on.” Samael sat down with his head in his hands.

Ritter moved to him. “Sammy, I know it sounds scary, but it doesn’t affect us.”

Samael grabbed his hand. “Sure it does. I get the same feeling from this as when Wyatt came calling and talked so big. That man can make a whisper sound like the worst threat in the world.”

Behan pursed his lips. “So Wyatt did come over here?”

“Yes, he did,” Ritter said, letting go of Samael’s hand.

“And what did he want?”

“Apparently, he wanted me to make sure I ended up on the right side of history – namely, his side.”

“Well, Sam here may not be wrong in thinking it’s not going to end, at least not soon. Judge Spicer has been getting death threats since he let the Earps off. If I can believe Ike, someone’s laying for him, too, or at least conspiring. And he’s insinuating things about – oh, nothing.”

“What, Johnny? What’s he insinuating?” Ritter felt jolt of panic.

“Nothing, Andy. Ike just seems to have a hair up his ass about Sam here, how he’s corrupting the whole town, or at least some people in it, which is a pretty far-fetched notion in itself, even without the overtones of witchcraft or some such that he keeps hinting at. Nobody pays any mind to that nonsense. I shouldn’t even have brought it up. But that man doesn’t know what’s good for him. I’ve tried to be his friend. Seriously, I’m the best friend he’s got. But he doesn’t know good advice when he hears it. He doesn’t know where his best interests lie. I’ve tried to look out for him, but I’ve about had it. I might save him from Wyatt, but I can’t save him from himself. Meanwhile, Andy and Bill, and Sam, too, please let me know if you get any more of these visits from Ike or the Earps.”

********

On December 28, Virgil Earp was ambushed and shot in the arm. He never regained the use of it. Murderous sentiments remained high on both sides of the Earp-Clanton conflict.

In late January, 1882, Ream invited Ritter out to lunch. “Let Sam hold down the fort,” he said.

“He’s doing an embalming in the back room. He’s not in a position to handle other business,” Ritter objected.

“It will be fine. If someone comes in, he can tell them to come back later. We’ll be gone less than an hour.”

“All right.”

Once their meals were served, Ream got to the point. “Andy, I’m going back to surveying.”

“What, part-time?”

“No, full-time. I’m asking you to buy out my share of the partnership. I’ll be reasonable. A little more than my initial investment will be enough.”

“Bill! Why?”

Ritter sighed. “You don’t need me, Andy. You’ve got Sam there all the time, and Corbin half the time, and all the others who come trooping through doing this and that. I don’t know what I can bring to the business anymore. You seem to have this expansive idea of what the business is about, and I can’t keep up.”

“Now, you have to admit that the art side of the business is going well. We’ve made a fair amount on it.”

“Yes, and that’s one reason I’m calling it quits. I couldn’t have seen that as something with a future. But you were right, and you’ve been right about everything, really. You’ve been making all the decisions and I don’t really see a place for me anymore.”

“Is that a change since we started?”

“It is. It’s not a bad change. You’re just more confident. Either that or you’re more bored with dead bodies. But I feel like a fifth wheel.”

Ritter considered. “But who’s going to tell me when I’m making a complete ass of myself?”

Ream smiled. “I’ll be back regularly and berate you.”

“I’ll count on it.” Ritter chewed in silence for a moment. “I never would have come to this town if it weren’t for you and your perverse insistence that I make something of myself. And now that I finally am making something of myself, you’re going to leave me in the wilderness, surrounded by jackals.”

“You can handle them. Like I said, you’re more confident now. The first few months we were here, you were cowering and ducking your head like you expected a rock slide any minute.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“So yes, you have changed. I don’t know why. Is it Sammy?”

Ritter grinned. “He makes me feel like I can do anything.”

“Well, maybe I was wrong in my initial assessment of his effect on your life.” Ream put down his fork. “Maybe.”