Magic in Her Touch

by Donna Dalton

  “Just fresh water and a pinch of sugar to tame the acidity.” She plucked a leaf and held it in her outstretched palm. “See, it’s an ordinary leaf. Green and supple. But the things it can do are almost… well, magical.”

  “Where did you learn about these herbs and what they can do?”

  “From my mother who learned from her mother who learned from her mother. The knowledge has been handed down in my family for centuries.”

  A process similar to his medical apprenticeship. He had been taught by his mentor who had learned from his. It was a familiar connection, and it made her skills seem somewhat more believable.

  She stripped leaves and flower buds from the plant and stuffed them into her bag. “And where did you receive your medical training? A university?”

  “Not at first. I apprenticed under William Giles, a well-respected physician in Philadelphia, for several years. Dr. Giles recognized my potential and urged me to attend the Philadelphia School of Medicine where I would learn more modern techniques. I owe him for all he did to further my career.”

  Owed the good doctor for that and much, much more. After his mother’s death, he’d lost his way and raced full tilt toward mental and physical destruction. It wasn’t until he began apprenticing under Dr. Giles that he was able to shake off his demons. He lost a wonderful mentor and a great friend when the elderly doctor drew his last breath.

  “And after medical school?”

  Her question prodded him back to the present. “A fellow graduate and I opened a practice on the west side of the city. John and I did fairly well for a pair of physicians straight out of medical school.”

  “If your practice was doing so well, why leave it to come out here? Mineral is a far cry from the luxuries in Philadelphia.”

  Who was doing the fishing here? As she moved through the nettle patch, plucking leaves and tucking them into her burlap bag, he considered his answer. He rarely opened up about that painful part of his past. And on the occasions when he did, the memories haunted him for days.

  He bent and scooped up a rock, fisting it like an anchor. “As I said, my wife passed on several years ago. Since then, her parents have been hounding me to visit. They wrote recently advising of Dr. Troutman’s death and begged me to take over his practice. It seemed the right thing to do.” For them and for him.

  “Her parents live in Mineral?”

  “Yes. Edeline and Stanley Wentworth. Do you know them?”

  A shadow darted across her face, a hummingbird flitting from danger. It disappeared as quickly as it surfaced. She jammed a fist full of nettle leaves into the bag. “Everyone around these parts know the Wentworths. They own the Shoehorn Silver Mine. I didn’t make the connection earlier when you mentioned your wife’s name. How did the two of you meet?”

  Rock points bit into his palm. “She was living with her grandparents in Philadelphia the same time that I apprenticed with Dr. Giles. As the Wentworth’s family physician and friend, he was often invited for dinner, and I would accompany him. What started as a social relationship grew to more.” More for him. Not for her. If only he had opened his eyes, he would have seen the reluctance, the stilted laughter, the failure to meet his gaze. Yet, he plowed ahead, oblivious. A wife with connections to upper society could open many doors.

  “I can see how difficult her death was for you.”

  He should take better care. Little good would come from exposing his emotions to the open air. “The grief has mostly receded. I try to remember the good times and not focus on the bad.”

  “A sound plan, yet not always so easy to shoulder.”

  Sadness tainted her tone. Was she plagued with painful memories as well? Oddly, he wanted to hear every detail.

  She pulled a short length of twine from her pocket and tied it around the neck of the sack. “I’m sure you had many remarkable memories, especially with the Wentworths as in-laws. Edeline Wentworth is known for her lavish dinner parties.”

  “Many of our clients treated us to lavish dinners as compensation for our services.”

  She laughed, but the sound rang hollow. “How fortunate you were. I’m lucky to get a sack of potatoes for my services. I remember one farmwoman offered me her old rooster in payment…provided I could catch it.”

  “Did you? Catch it?”

  “Heavens no. That scrappy fellow dodged me for nearly an hour. I finally gave up and trudged home with scratches and sore feet for my efforts.”

  A picture emerged of her chasing a bandy rooster, ebony hair flying behind her like a sail, and skirts hiked to her knees. A chuckle escaped his lips. He stopped with a grunt of surprise. When had he last laughed? With true good humor and ease that made the sound seem so relaxed? Years, if ever. And that shocked him. What was it about this woman that made him come out his shell?

  Chapter Five

  The mid-day sun painted the two-story farm house with a welcoming glow. Seaton House Home for Children. This was home. This was safety and unconditional love. After enduring several days of Dr. Locke’s scowls and constant scrutiny, she needed some cheerfulness.

  A bearded man wearing faded coveralls rounded the side of the house. Retired from ministering the Lord’s word to a flock in Kentucky, Joseph Hoggard had become the groundskeeper and spiritual mentor for the orphanage. He dispensed Bible verses and advice with equal amounts of compassion and wisdom. Not to mention bits of peppermint tucked in his pocket for soothing scraped knees and wounded egos.

  Moira unhooked her leg from the side-saddle and slid to the ground. “Good morning, Mr. Hoggard. How is everyone? Meredith sent a note saying you had all survived the earthquake just fine, but I had to make sure.”

  “No need to worry. The only casualties were a few cracked windows and some frayed nerves. Other than that, everyone is doing fine, just like Mrs. Booth said. How about you, Miss Moira? How are things at the doctor’s office? I heard some folks were injured during the quake. I pray everyone is all right.”

  “Some were hurt, yes. But they are all recovering nicely.”

  He gave her a wink. “Thanks to your wonderful gift of healing no doubt.”

  Mr. Pardue might agree, if he knew the true reason for his miraculous recovery. The sawmill foreman had returned to work after only a week of recuperation. A miracle from Heaven, many had said. She was no angel, but she did thank God for a gift that saved lives.

  She tucked her riding gloves into the saddle pouch and retrieved a burlap sack. “Is Mrs. Campbell around? I need to speak with her.”

  “She’s out back with the children. They’re taking advantage of the temperate weather and having lessons under the old oak.”

  “It is a nice day for that. Won’t be long before cold weather keeps everyone indoors.”

  He held out his hand. “Let me see to your horse while you visit. Miss Dolly looks like she could use a handful of oats.”

  She handed over the reins. Dolly would be well cared for and would probably gain another layer of belly fat. Mr. Hoggard treated his animal friends just as kindly as he did his human flock, if not better.

  At the back of the house, five children ringed a woman sitting on a stool beneath a tall oak tree. Salt and pepper colored hair framed a face that radiated with love and encouragement. Moira fingered the pendant dangling from a silver chain around her neck. St. Sophia, patron mother of orphans. Mildred Campbell had given her the necklace on her sixteenth birthday. It was a reminder that she would always be watched over. Always be loved.

  “Good, Timmy. Very good.” Mrs. Campbell held a turnip, balanced in her palm. “Now one more time. Try to hold it concealed for a little longer. Concentrate.”

  The turnip shimmered and then disappeared in a flash of blue light. Moira counted off the seconds. At twenty, the turnip reappeared in Miss Campbell’s hand. Moira smiled. Timmy was progressing well with his talent. Before she left to take over the medical practice in town, he’d only been able to keep objects cloaked for a few seconds.

  Seaton House wasn’
t an ordinary orphanage. Mildred Campbell rescued children with special talents from all over the country. She helped them learn to control their gifts so they could assimilate back into society. It was a special place full of special people.

  A squeal rent the air and a pink ball of ruffles rushed toward her. Arms trapped her legs. “Moira. You’re back. It’s so good to see you.”

  She brushed fingers over soft red ringlets. “Good morning, Anna. It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you. All of you.”

  “We missed you, too.” The girl tilted her head back, a twinkle sparking her green eyes. “’Specially Gabe. He’s been moping around like a dog that lost his last bone.”

  Thirteen-year-old Gabe Hunt had a tendre for her. He was sweet, but a bit over-zealous. He had used his special skills to send her possets of flowers or an apple fresh from the orchard. He’d once sent her a pie pilfered from the pie safe. It was a bit disconcerting to see objects floating across the ground of their own accord. But that was life at Seaton House.

  A woman bulging with child and holding the hand of a toddler approached the group. Meredith Booth. Her savior. Five years ago, Meredith and her husband had saved her from a posse of angry vigilantes and brought her to Seaton House. She owed Meredith and Mrs. Campbell a huge debt.

  Meredith sent her daughter to play with the other children and joined her under the tree. “Moira. It’s lovely to see you. What brings you out here? Didn’t you receive my note?”

  “I received it, but I had to come see for myself. I also wanted to harvest some Angelica root. Much of my stock was ruined during the quake, and I need to replace it.”

  “As you can see, everyone is doing fine.” Meredith laced her arm with Moira’s. “Come. I’ll walk with you to the garden.”

  Moira fell into step beside her friend, following a well-worn path leading to the barn. “How’s the baby? Is everything progressing as expected?”

  Meredith settled a hand on her belly. “The little jackrabbit kicks and rolls constantly. I think he’s eager to get out and take on the world.”

  “He was unusually difficult to examine. Never would lie still.” Moira had probed Meredith’s belly when complications cropped up early in her pregnancy. She’d discovered the little wick that told the baby’s gender.

  “The child isn’t the only one eager to get out. Preston must be beside himself with impatience.”

  Meredith laughed. “Indeed. He won’t leave my side for more than an hour. I’m lucky to have these few minutes to myself. So, tell me about yourself. How is everything going in town? Are folks coming to see you for medical care?”

  “Some have. I think I earned more of their trust after helping with the quake victims. All was well until…well, until Dr. Locke arrived.” Just saying his name brought forth images of a gaze that drilled into her very core.

  “Dr. Locke?” Meredith asked. “Who is he?”

  “He just arrived from Pennsylvania. He was asked by the Wentworths to come and take over Dr. Troutman’s practice. He was married to their daughter, Alice.”

  They reached the fenced area at the side of the barn. Moira pushed open the gate and stepped into the garden. Rows of late summer vegetables stood in precise formation. Off to one side, closest to the barn where they were protected from harsh weather, were the herbs she had planted in early spring. The cold-tolerant ones were still doing well. Those that required more warmth were withering…the perfect time for harvesting.

  Meredith trailed her through the gate and leaned against the side of the barn. Protective hands cradled her belly. “I remember hearing about Alice. She moved to Pennsylvania to live with her grandparents. She never liked living here in Mineral. To uncivilized for her tastes. She met a man, a doctor if I recall, and they married. After a year, she became pregnant. Both she and the baby died during the birth.”

  The unexpected deaths of his wife and child explained some of Dr. Locke’s behavior. Some, but not all. “How sad. The Wentworths must have been devastated.”

  “They were. Alice was their only child. Mrs. Wentworth took her death especially hard. She locked herself in her bedroom for weeks and refused to come out.”

  Moira rolled her skirts into a pad and sank to her knees near a mounded hill of dirt. “I can understand such grief. No mother should have to bury her child. Least of all her only child.”

  “Indeed.”

  Tall lanky plants spiked the mound. Angelica. A versatile herb, good for curing a myriad of ailments when used properly. Deadly when not. Meredith was wise to keep her distance, else she could harm her unborn child.

  Moira plucked a stalk out of the ground, roots and all, and stuffed it into the burlap bag. The dried seed pods would produce new plants come next spring.

  “Alice’s death appears to have affected everyone close to her,” she said. “Dr. Locke left a prosperous medical practice in Philadelphia. I suspect he needed to get away from all the reminders.”

  “Will he allow you to continue to work at the office?”

  That was the question of the century. “I don’t know. He calls my potions snake oils. He’s almost fanatical about their evil. He’s given me a month to prove myself. A month. I barely got my foot in the door with the townsfolk in the month before he arrived.” She yanked another stalk from the mound, sending dirt clods flying.

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  Very unfortunate. She sank back on her haunches, her energy uprooted. “I want to stay, Meredith. For Mrs. Campbell. For the people of Mineral.” She couldn’t keep despair from muddying her voice. “For myself.”

  “Then you should do all you can to make that happen.”

  “I wish it were that simple. As if his distrust isn’t enough, I find myself attracted to him. If I have any hope of staying on, I must squash those feelings. I get the impression the last thing Dr. Locke wants is a romantic entanglement, especially with someone like me. I don’t even come close to his standards of acceptance.”

  Meredith pushed away from the barn, clucking like an agitated hen. Her forehead bunched with furrows. “Don’t you dare put yourself down, Moira Devlin. You are kind and caring and loyal to those you care about. You would make any man a wonderful wife.”

  She laughed but without any humor. “I doubt the starchy Dr. Locke would want me as a wife. Once he finds out about my ability to heal, he’ll toss me out on my backside without a second thought.”

  Meredith’s expression softened. “If I may offer some advice…?”

  She owed Meredith her life. Anything her friend had to say was worth listening to. She brushed dirt from her hands and pushed to her feet. “Certainly. I always take great stock in your advice. You and Mrs. Campbell mean the world to me.”

  “And you mean the world to us. We want you to be happy, Moira. Don’t let anything get in the way of that. If you want something, go after it, without fear or restraint. Whether it’s to continue with your healing or finding the love of a good man, don’t give up on your dreams.”

  “I’m not sure Dr. Locke will believe in me, even if the proof smacks him in the face.”

  “Is he a good man?”

  Deep down, she knew he was. He behaved irascibly only because of his desire to protect people from harm. She understood that. She would stand up against an army of evil to keep her patients safe.

  “I can see by that wistful expression he is. Don’t let a chance at something amazing slip away.”

  “What if he isn’t ready or interested in finding love again? I could ruin my chances of staying at the practice.”

  “Don’t try to be something you are not. Shutting down your feelings will only make things worse. If Dr. Locke is half as perceptive as you say, he will pick up on your charade quicker than a duck pounces on a June bug.”

  “Indeed.”

  Meredith smiled. “You’ll know soon enough if you and Dr. Locke are meant to be. Once you cross over the threshold to love and passion, nothing will break that bond. Not your misgivings. Not his. Believe me,
I know about such things.”

  “But you and Preston are perfect together.”

  “We are now. However, we had a long road to travel and many obstacles to overcome to get where we are. But that’s a story for another time. I can only hope my advice will make your journey to happiness much shorter and a lot less taxing.”

  She always thought her happiness would come from administering to those in need as her mother and grandmother had…without the need for a man in her life. What if she was wrong? Was she letting fear get in the way of the chance at something wonderful?

  ****

  The bureau drawer wedged halfway open. Anson tugged harder. The ornery thing wouldn’t budge. Not one inch. Damnation. Had the woman put an enchantment on the furniture too?

  He wriggled and pulled. The drawer refused to cooperate. It looked up at him with a half-gapped grin. Infernal oak.

  Giving a growl of frustration, he leaned back and leveraged all his weight into the effort. The stuck drawer screeched open, sounding like a banshee screaming for a victim. He stiffened and listened. Only a soft snoring drifted in from the bedroom across the hallway. Lucky for him, Miss Devlin’s companion slept like the dead.

  He poked under the neatly folded stacks. Nothing but handkerchiefs and women’s underthings. Simple cotton garments. She wasn’t a frilly woman. Not in clothing. Not in life. Yet she exuded grace and refinement. It poured from her like perfume from a rose, captivating any who drew near.

  He thrust the drawer closed with a grunt. He would not be captivated. He needed answers. Not silly romantic notions.

  He tugged open the next drawer. A small wooden box sat beside a stack of woolen stockings. He slid open the lid. Inside there was a folded piece of paper, some beads, and a dried flower. Gifts from a lover? Guilt stung him. He shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts, much less going through her personal belongings. Yet the welfare of the townsfolk trumped a little indelicate snooping.

  He unfurled the paper and read the neatly scrawled missive. May St. Sophia guide and protect you. Never give up on your dreams, Moira. They are the lamps that light the way. Love always, Mildred Campbell.