by Donna Dalton
So, this was the mysterious Miss Devlin. She possessed more medical skills than a nurse, yet she looked far too young to be a certified physician. Not to mention being a woman. Very few females in his experience entertained the notion of being a doctor, much less accepted as one. “Are you a physician? Did you apprentice under Dr. Troutman?”
She shook her head. “I’m a simple healer. I was asked to care for the people of Mineral when Dr. Troutman passed on.”
Faint clock gongs drifted in from the foyer. The mournful peals sounded like a funeral dirge. Anson squared himself. There would be no deaths. Not on his watch.
He crossed to the examination table. Mr. Pardue sat straight, no slouching or guarding. His eyes were clear, his coloring normal. His chest rose and fell in regular intervals. He appeared hale as a horse.
Anson held out a hand. “May I have a look, sir?” At Pardue’s nod, he set two fingers on a thick wrist. A steady, even pulse throbbed under his fingertips. Quite normal. He moved his inspection to the bandages swathing the man’s back and pressed lightly. Pardue grimaced.
“How bad is the pain?”
“Not too bad. It’s starting to ache again, but Miss Devlin said that would happen once the shock wore off.”
“Shock?”
Miss Devlin shuffled closer. A burn scar ribboned across the back of her neck and dipped beneath her collar. It appeared to be an old injury, the blemish a translucent white while the skin around it was a healthy shade of cream. How had she come to have such an injury? Were there any other scars hidden beneath her humble veneer? The physician in him itched to trace the mark, to soothe any lingering pain. The rational part warned to keep his distance.
She picked up a white cotton shirt draped across the end of the table. “We had an earthquake earlier that sent stacks of lumber in the mill yard toppling over. Some boards struck Mr. Pardue’s back, bruising ribs and perhaps his liver. I applied that constrictive bandage to keep him as immobile as possible until the injuries can heal.”
The proper treatment for blunt trauma to the body. Except for…he pointed to the glass clutched in Mr. Pardue’s hand. “And that?”
“A mixture of white willow bark and milk thistle. Perfectly safe, I assure you.”
That’s what all the snake oil peddlers claimed. “Be that as it may, your services as healer are no longer required. You may gather your things and leave. I shall administer medical care to the people of this town from now on.”
The man on the table glowered at him. “Here now. There’s no cause to be dismissing Miss Devlin out of hand. She’s done a wonderful job taking over from Doc Troutman. No reason the two of you can’t work together for the good of the folks in Mineral. The town is growing. We could use more than one doctor.”
He could think of a thousand reasons why they shouldn’t work together, the least of which she was uncertified. “Physicians are sworn to do no harm, Mr. Pardue. Those potions she dispenses are unproven and could be deadly. I won’t have them peddled in my office.”
“Miss Devlin brought me back from the dead. I trust her…and her potions.”
Anson swallowed back the colorful rejoinder hopping on his tongue. Returning fire would only fuel the man’s misplaced chivalry.
Mr. Pardue wasn’t as inhibited. He hefted the glass to his mouth and proceeded to consume the swill in one continuous, noisome gulp. Once done, he lowered the glass and swiped a hand across his mouth. “There. I say Miss Devlin stays.”
“Yeah, us too,” came a chorus from the doorway.
Narrowed eyes dared him to disagree. Anson fisted his hands at his sides. If these men were any example of the pulse of the town, there would be an uproar if he forced the charlatan to leave. Best to let her dig her own grave.
The front door squealed open, bell jangling. The twosome shielding the doorway moved aside, providing a view of the foyer. A man toting a young boy stepped inside. Two other men and a woman trailed behind him. Great. More patients. It appeared he would have to swallow his outrage for a while longer, no matter how unappetizing.
“Miss Devlin, you and I will discuss our working arrangements later. For now, there are patients to attend to.”
As he slipped out of his jacket, a throbbing gathered at his temple. His simple act of atonement was turning into an inoperable tumor.
****
Moira pulled open the front door and stepped to the side. Lantern light splashed a golden streak across the boardwalk and into the darkened street. Nightfall had descended during the hours they had been seeing patients. Weary bones cried out for the soft bed in her chambers over the office. But sleep would have to wait. There were chores yet to be done, one of them not so appealing.
“Thank you, Miss Devlin,” came a voice behind her. “The missus and I are grateful for your help. We’ll pay for Luke’s doctoring soon as we get the summer corn harvested.”
She forced a smile through her exhaustion. “There’s no hurry, Mr. Johnson. Pay when you are able. All you need to do right now is focus on your son. Try to keep him as still as possible for the next week or two. I know that won’t be easy with a five-year-old, but the less he moves that arm, the faster the injury will heal.”
Little Luke Johnson had dislocated his shoulder after falling from a tree during the earthquake. Dr. Locke had repositioned the bone while she had fashioned a sling to keep the boy’s arm immobile. They had worked well together, like tightly-fit grindstones milling patients quickly and efficiently. Hopefully that seamless collaboration and the sawmill workers’ enthusiastic endorsement would tip the scales to her advantage and the good doctor would consider keeping her on. Hopefully.
The door closed behind the Johnsons, and silence descended. The waiting room was finally empty after holding nearly two dozen visitors…more people than she’d seen in a month. While exhilarating, treating a constant stream of patients had sapped her strength. Her mind, however, had no such difficulty. It raced with thoughts of her life’s latest complication.
He stood by the sideboard in the examination room, cleansing a piece of medical equipment with carbolic acid, an innovative new antiseptic. Dr. Locke was everything she wasn’t. Well educated, as demonstrated by his fancy speech and advanced medical skills. And wealthy. His tailored suit and precisely barbered hair spoke of affluence and class. She couldn’t find fault with his bedside manner either. He treated each patient, young and old, male and female, with respect and patience. The townsfolk were sure to welcome him with open arms. That didn’t bode well for her, a woman of modest means and schooling.
With a heavy heart, she gathered the lantern from the waiting room and headed down the hall. She was evading the elephant in the office, but she needed time alone to think. When first asked to step in as town healer, she had balked at the idea. If anyone found out about her special skill, she could be labeled a witch and run out of town…or worse. She rubbed the scar at the back of her neck. It had happened before. But Mrs. Campbell had convinced her it was time to stop hiding and start living. This job was a chance to prove to herself that she could survive on her own without fear of discovery. Oddly, now that she’d had a taste of life outside of Seaton House, she wanted more of it.
All she had to do was convince a well-dressed mule to drink.
She stopped just inside the doorway to the storage room. Broken glass littered the floor. Blue, brown, and amber…a rainbow of destruction. The quake had rattled the bottles off the shelves and destroyed her precious stock. Was her life always to be filled with misfortune? For every step forward, it seemed something cropped up forcing her two steps back.
She huffed out a growl and snagged a bucket from the corner. Sniveling was for cowards. She had never given up before. She wasn’t about to start now.
She rolled her skirts into a pad against the glass shards and knelt. Using care, she plucked pieces of glass from the floor and tossed them into the bucket. Over the noisome clanging, the sound of footsteps thumped behind her.
“We need to talk,
Miss Devlin.”
The elephant had trumpeted. She glanced over her shoulder and into a gaze that ran over her, evaluating and assessing. Her arms prickled with gooseflesh. There was no denying the force of his presence. The wise thing to do would be to pack her belongings and leave. No one had ever called her wise.
She sat back on her haunches. “I know you don’t want me to stay, Dr. Locke. But I was asked by someone I respect and admire to serve the people of Mineral. I would like to honor that request by continuing in my current capacity as healer and herbalist.”
“With whatever those bottles contained.”
His sarcastic tone sliced into her. She ignored the jab. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his mistrust pinched. “Yes. With my herbs and medicinal potions.” He didn’t need to know about her gift. It would only fuel his quest to send her packing.
“Their medicinal value remains to be seen.”
Stubborn as the day is long. She tossed a piece of glass into the bucket. “What made you want to become a physician, Dr. Locke?”
“Pardon?”
“Why medicine? Why not become a lawyer or a banker? You clearly have the intelligence, education, and the financial wherewithal to be anything you want. Why a doctor? It’s not the most glamorous or well-paying of occupations.”
Floorboards protested under the shuffle of feet. “I simply want to help those in need of medical aid.”
“As do I, especially the children. They are so innocent and vulnerable. They need our help the most.”
“You were uncommonly good with little Luke Johnson. He sat quieter than I’ve ever seen a child sit before. Most squirm and shriek like banshees while being treated.”
His tone was softer this time, more respectful. She couldn’t stop from looking back at him. His gaze met hers, curious and definitely more attentive. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, dark and deep, like the ocean depths. His chin sported the faintest hint of a beard, in contrast to his perfectly barbered hair. He was slim and trim, his tweed suit only slightly rumpled from travel. He was a most attractive man. A man who would please a woman in many wonderful ways. Her body seemed to notice. Pleasing heat gathered under her ribs and spread into her belly. She smothered a groan. She should have better control of herself. Wanton behavior would not be tolerated. Not by her, and for certain, not by a Puritan like him.
She swung around and snatched up a chunk of glass. A jagged edge jabbed her finger. Pain bolted up her arm. She jerked back with a yelp. Blood bubbled on the tip of her index finger. Her stomach vaulted into a round of summersaults. Had her healing power restored itself? If not, the bleed could go on for hours.
Footfalls thudded closer. “You’ve cut yourself. Let me have a look.”
The last thing she needed was to have him notice her oddity, either profuse bleeding or abnormally rapid healing. She hunched over, hiding her hand from him. She wrapped her finger with the apron tied at her waist. The barest hint of blood streaked the white. Good. Her powers had returned.
“It’s just a little cut. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“I can apply a bandage if you’d like. It’s difficult to treat yourself one-handed.”
Allowing him to touch her would be akin to poking a hornet nest. Control over her body already hung by a thread. A very thin thread. “A bandage is unnecessary. The bleeding has already stopped.”
“So quickly?”
“Yes. A shallow cut, as I said.” She gathered her feet under her and pushed upright. He was closer than she thought. His heat and the heady aroma of cologne cloaked her. Bay rum with a hint of lemon. Her head reeled. Her mouth went dry. She’d been hornet stung.
She took a step back and busied herself with shaking glass shards out of her skirts and into the bucket. He mustn’t see her inappropriate reactions to him. It would only confirm his doubts about her suitability to remain as his associate.
“Are you all right, Miss Devlin? You look a little shaky.”
The man was far too observant. She squared herself against his scrutiny. “I’m perfectly fine. As you were saying, little Luke sat quietly because he understood I only wanted to help him. That’s all I want to do. Help people…in any capacity I can.”
His hand shot out, and he seized the only surviving jar of potion from the shelf. Pink flushed his face. “How can you claim to want to help people? These potions are untested and if administered incorrectly can cause debilitation or even death.”
What caused him to be so caustic and unbending? The few doctors she had come across had encouraged her holistic remedies, especially when modern medicines failed. She hefted her chin. “I am well-schooled in their use, and centuries of administering them have proven their worth. Are you not a man of science, Dr. Locke? Can you not admit there could be valid medicinal purposes for them?”
“You, my dear Miss Devlin, are far too young to have been properly educated in the art of medicine. It takes decades to learn such things. I’m still learning myself.”
True. While she had absorbed every ounce of knowledge Granny Tate had to impart, she was learning new things every day. Like adding gunpowder to a plaster of crushed sheep sorrel leaves. According to the blacksmith in Willoughby, the mixture sloughed off obstinate skin blemishes quicker than a ripened tomato rotted. Unfortunately, the sociable smithy was one of the few people who would share such tidbits with her.
The distant bay of a wolf filtered through the square of window. A shudder coursed through her. If she couldn’t convince Dr. Locke to allow her to stay, she would be out on her own, exposed, and at the mercy of sharp-fanged strangers.
“Give me two months to prove myself. You can inspect every ingredient that goes into every potion. You can observe their effects. Test them for yourself. If after that time, you or the folks of Mineral decide I am doing more harm than good, I will pack my things and leave.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why? As you saw earlier, I am a very capable assistant. There was nary a hiccup in our collaboration. In addition, I could take care of the minor treatments by myself. That would allow you free time to study the latest developments in medicine.”
The skin covering his jaw twitched. He opened his mouth to reply. She didn’t give him a chance to spew any more venom.
“You heard Mr. Pardue and the other workers. They have confidence in my abilities…while you, a newcomer, will have to earn it. You have everything to gain by keeping me on.”
He finally let go a grunt that could have meant anything. “I will give you one month. Not a day more.”
Relief flooded her. “Thank you, Doctor. You won’t regret your decision.
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Know that I will be watching you, Miss Devlin. Closely.”
Chapter Three
Anson stepped onto the porch landing and shucked off his hat. The stiff brim dug into his palm. He itched to do an about-face and retreat. But he couldn’t. He had an obligation to fulfill…no matter how distasteful.
A wreath festooned with colorful ribbons and wildflowers decorated the plain wood door. Images sprouted of a grand ballroom drowning in flowers and streamers and people. A bride in a pale blue gown held court over the multitude, her head swathed in a coronet of roses and gossamer white ribbons. Alice flitted from perch to perch, trilling her happiness like a finch greeting the springtime.
It was the last time he saw her smile.
He shoved a hand into his pocket and fisted the small box inside. A chair by the hearth and the latest discoveries in the New England Journal of Medicine would be a much more enjoyable evening. But this visit had to be endured. He couldn’t avoid them forever.
He dragged in a calming breath and knuckled the door. After a few moments of silence, footfalls clicked on the other side and the door swung open. A stouter, more mature version of the bride from the image appeared in the opening. Milky blue eyes widened, and a squeal of delight that would rupture even the sturdiest of tympanic membranes blas
ted over him.
“Anson. Oh, my sweet Lord in Heaven. You’re here.”
Arms enveloped him, squeezing as if he were the only tree standing in the middle of an avalanche. He fought for a breath and was inundated with the cloying scent of lavender and vanilla. His head reeled. Alice had worn the same fragrance. Had bathed in the stuff, much to his nose’s dismay.
He shifted, and Mrs. Wentworth thankfully eased her death grip. She leaned back, hands locked like talons on his arms. She was clingier than he remembered. And older. Her upswept hair was more white than blonde. Even her eyebrows were streaks of snow across her brow. Bags cradled her eyes, and folds of skin ringed her neck. The past few years hadn’t been kind to her.
“Did you just arrive, Anson?” She craned her neck to peek around him. “The four o’clock from Guthrie must have been delayed. It’s usually the last train run of the day.”
He peeled out of her grasp and held his hat in front of him, a buffer from any further invasions. He liked people. He just preferred them in their own space.
“There was no delay. After arriving at the train station, I went to the doctor’s office where I discovered an abundance of patients injured by the earthquake. I only just finished treating the last of them before coming here. Are you and Mr. Wentworth all right? Did you hurt yourself in the quake?” She didn’t appear to be injured. Her eyes were clear. Her skin tone normal. She stood solidly on both feet, no swaying or favoring.
She gave a dramatic shudder. “The house shook like a railcar on an uneven track. I thought the walls were going to fall in on us. But everything stayed intact, thank the Lord. Stanley and I were unharmed.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Many folks weren’t so fortunate.”
“I’m sure you patched them up good as new.” She stepped back and motioned to the hallway behind her. “Please come in. Stanley is in the parlor having an after-dinner drink. You can join him and tell us all about your trip.”
After the day he’d had, a mind-numbing glass of whiskey sounded quite enticing. But that would mean investing time in drink and chit-chat. He wanted this task over and done with as soon as possible.