May 9, 1889
Tombstone, Arizona Territory
Emily felt much better when she awoke. Sunlight streamed in through the window, but at an angle that told her the day was still young. Sitting up, she discovered she wore a voluminous flannel nightgown. When she slid her feet to the floor and stood, the room blurred and whirled for a moment. She clutched a bedpost until everything settled into comfortable stability.
Before she could make her way to the window for a look beyond, a sound turned her attention to the door. A young Mexican girl stood there, a tray in her hands. If anything, she was even smaller than Emily’s five-foot-three.
“Buenos días, señorita,” the girl said. “Here is your breakfast. Mrs. Cashman will be up to see you in a few minutes as soon as the boarders settle down to eat.”
