Sage

by Cindy Caldwell

  “I may be. A little. I’ve never had a tonic not help. Especially for something as simple as this. It was just to relieve a cough. There’s nothing in it that would cause him to be lethargic or anything similar.”

  “These are your tonics that that the patients receive?”

  Sage nodded slowly.

  “The doctor is very busy, you see, and long ago I asked if I might help some of the patients, just to relieve symptoms. He was reluctant at first, but my family and friends had gained comfort. He finally relented, and I’ve been helping best I can since then.”

  “The doctor doesn’t participate?”

  Sage guided the horse around a tall saguaro cactus.

  “No, he is much more interested in modern practices. Not remedies from plants,” she said, her chin lifting. “A while back, he seemed interested. I even showed him how I make the tonics, and explained the healing effects of all the plants.” She took a deep breath and let it out as she rubbed her hand over her brow. She remembered the day she’d brought him to her mother’s garden, shown him everything. She cringed a bit in embarrassment at the memory.

  “But he has since discounted any positive effects. He has no interest in it whatsoever, but he allows me to do it, nonetheless. Grudgingly, however.”

  She shook her head again as she thought of the miner.

  “There was nothing in that tonic that should have resulted in ill effect. I’m very careful.”

  “His wife said that he’d been getting better. I would say that speaks well of your efforts,” Clint said.

  She had said that. But part of Sage’s effort was to provide comfort so that the patient could regain their strength and return to their daily routines. The man should have been back to work by now.

  “I can’t imagine how, but it appears I did something wrong,” she said quietly.

  “I haven’t taken that part of my studies yet in medical school but I’m looking forward to it. There’s quite a lot to learn.”

  Sage sighed. “You have no idea.”

  “Why don’t you enlighten me, then,” Clint said, a laugh in his voice. “Where did you learn?”

  The familiar emptiness in Sage’s belly came as she thought of her mother. Nothing had filled in since she’d passed several years ago. Maybe talking about her might ease the ever-present ache. She studied her hands for a moment before she began.

  “My mother. When I was a girl, I wanted to be with her as much as I could. I’m not sure if it was just to be away from the others, but being with her in her herb garden was the happiest place on earth, as far as I was concerned.”

  “The others?”

  Sage ran through her siblings quickly in her head. Her family was such a big part of her that she often forgot that people didn’t know them all. Especially one who’d recently come to town.

  “Yes. I have five sisters—one is a twin—and a brother. Hank, Nutmeg, Rosemary, Saffron—she’s my twin—Tarragon and Pepper.”

  She looked over at him as he laughed heartily, wondering if he was laughing at her or with her. Her cheeks prickled with heat.

  “Those really are wonderful names. Your mother certainly did love her herbs. Charming.”

  He certainly did laugh easily, and she believed his compliment was genuine.

  “How did she possibly grow such things out here in the desert?” he asked as he looked out over the expanse of saguaro cactus and rolling hills before them.

  “You’ve noticed that there’s a little more foliage in town, I’m sure. Mesquite trees, even some oaks. My parent’s ranch has many trees, and as Tombstone is at a higher elevation, she was able to produce quite a garden.”

  They started to climb a small hill as they neared town, and as if she’d conjured them, several oak trees dotted the side of the dirt road.

  “It’s a very unique mix of desert plants and trees, I must say. I imagine your mother’s garden is quite something to see. My mother had a garden, too,” his voice trailing off as he looked away.

  The realization struck her that he’d lost his mother long ago, too, and had been without her much longer than she had. Mr. Jackson Senior had shared that fact with her long ago, and she’d felt a pang for him then. She felt it again for his son, as he was on the cusp of losing his father, too, and would have no family at all.

  A hawk circled above, startling two turkey vultures sitting atop a cactus. She followed his gaze toward the vast valley below Tombstone—empty, and it seemed to go on forever. Mountains in the distance made it feel even bigger, and her smaller.

  They’d fallen silent, but Sage certainly didn’t know him well enough to be as impertinent as to ask him how he felt about that, although she felt herself pulled to do so.

  “So you spent much time with your mother in the garden?” he asked.

  Relieved, she continued with her story.

  “I did. The other girls hadn’t as much interest and tried to avoid pulling weeds at all costs. But I didn’t mind. And then when I was a little older, Mama began to explain what each plant was, and what it was used for. She’d allow me to stay and watch her, and eventually help her take cuttings—even from the plants in the greenhouse, the special and dangerous ones. I was ever so interested in how they worked together, and Mama taught me. People came to her from miles and miles away for her tonics.”

  “My, that’s quite high praise,” Clint said. “She must have been very talented.”

  “She was. She’d had someone show her, but she learned even more on her own and liked to experiment. But she never had anyone get even sicker, like I have.”

  She frowned as the miner’s wife’s pained face flashed before her eyes once again.

  “Do you experiment as well?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “No, I don’t. I follow what my Mama taught me. I only experimented once, and I won’t ever again.”

  Clint looked over at her with a frown of his own.

  “What happened?”

  Sage closed her eyes briefly. He seemed sincerely interested—even concerned—and not as if he was going to tease.

  “When my mama was ailing, and we knew that there was nothing to save her, it was very difficult. She was in a lot of pain.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Clint said.

  She paused a moment and continued. Something about his kind, compassionate demeanor made her want to.

  “Mama had taught me that certain plants had strong pain-relieving qualities, but they could be very dangerous. She was always very clear which ones to stay away from.”

  “I do believe I’ve read that there are plants that can be lethal.”

  She jerked the reins and sat bolt upright.

  “Yes. There are. But they are also very powerful pain relievers if you use them correctly. When Mama was near the end, she asked me to mix a tonic for her. Just for her. And to never do it again.”

  Clint pushed his hat back on his forehead and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I didn’t even tell Papa. She made me promise.”

  He rubbed his palms together absently, looking away toward the mountains.

  “And did it help?”

  “Yes. It did. She was able to sleep, and her last weeks were much calmer. But I was very frightened that I hadn’t done it right. That it might hurt her.”

  She swallowed hard and blinked back tears.

  “I’ve never told anyone that before. Not anyone. And now—what if what I’ve given the miner has made him more ill? Or for that matter, your father.”

  He leaned back in the buggy and took off his hat. He cleared his throat then turned toward her, reaching for the reins. He took them from her hand and she let him, wiping a tear from her cheek as he slowed the buggy to a stop under the shade of the only tree nearby.

  He turned on the bench and faced her, reaching for her hand. As he squeezed it gently, their eyes met. Sage searched them for a moment, the depths of blue washing her with comfort.


  “Sage, what you did was very kind, a loving concern for your mother that no one else could have provided. You shared with her all that you’ve learned, and provided comfort for her when she sorely needed it.”

  She sniffled and took the handkerchief he offered her.

  “I thought it was the right thing to do, but what if—”

  He interrupted her and squeezed her hand again.

  “I have found in many years of watching and learning from my father, much like you did with your mother, that it’s best not to allow ‘what if’s’ in regard to people passing. Everything happened as it should have. You comforted your mother in a way no one else could have. You were courageous and kind. She was lucky.”

  “But what if—”

  “There’s that ‘what if’ again. What happened with your mother has no bearing on what’s happening now, beyond the fact that you are sharing her legacy with many more people, equally fortunate to have you. I don’t imagine that there’s anything about your time-tested tonics that are causing harm. You certainly have no ill intent, and nobody in their right mind would peg you for a charlatan.”

  He laughed, and she couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

  “Thank you. That is comforting, and I appreciate your compassion,” she said, fighting to remove any remaining doubt from her mind.

  Chapter 13

  By the time the buggy approached Mr. Jackson’s funeral home, Sage was still confused about the experience with Mr. Chapman. She’d certainly discuss it with the doctor when she saw him, but she couldn’t help but feel responsible. She’d been mixing tonics for many years, and while not all patients experienced the relief she consistently hoped for, none had ever had adverse effects the likes of which Mr. Chapman was experiencing.

  Mr. Jackson hopped out of the buggy as it slowed and tossed the reins over the post in front of his father’s house.

  “Thank you for taking me to see them,” he said. He reached up for Sage’s hand to help her down from the buggy. “It didn’t take long, either. It’s just a bit past noon. Perfect time for lunch.”

  “Noon?” Sage remembered that Dr. Folsom had said he would expect her in his office at noon and here it was almost half past. While Dr. Folsom was regularly late—and frequently didn’t show up at all—she was never late, and it hadn’t been her intention to start now. She glanced at the watch pinned to the bodice of her dress—the one she’d hunted for earlier while she was dressing so this specific thing would not happen. “Oh, this isn’t good. I was supposed to be at Dr. Folsom’s by now.”

  She held her hand out toward Clint, expecting that he would untie the horses and put the leather leads back in her hands. If she left right away, she might get there before even the doctor did—at least, any patients.

  Clint was not forthcoming with the reins. He stood on the boardwalk, his thumbs in the pockets of his vest as he rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels. “What? Not long? I’ve been looking forward to the famous offerings of Maria all day.”

  Annoyance bubbled into her chest and she turned an exasperated glance his way. As she did, she stopped, her hands on her hips. She hadn’t known him very long, but rather than become more annoyed, she noticed that he had the same mischievous smirk she’d seen several times in the past couple of days.

  Underneath it, she did sense a bit of disappointment—she felt it as well once she realized they wouldn’t be lunching together—and she decided to strike a bargain.

  “I am sorry. Truly, I am. Maria’s empanadas are the best for miles around, and I know you’ll love them.”

  She reached into the back of the buggy and pulled out the basket, the one he’d teased her about eating earlier. She swung it over the side, holding it out for him.

  “How about you take this and share it with Mrs. Baxter? Maria sometimes sends empanadas over for her and your father. They were his favorite. She’ll like everything else, too.”

  “I was hoping you would join me,” he said. His face clouded as he pulled away the handkerchief that covered the basket and peered inside.

  “Mm, it smells of apples. My father’s favorite.”

  Sage’s stomach fell. She hadn’t meant to make him feel bad, or remind him of his father’s illness. On the way out to see Mr. Chapman, she’d filled Clint in about Tombstone and all the ways it had changed in the past few years that they hadn’t even discussed his father. And on the way back, she hadn’t been able to focus on anything other than Mr. Chapman and her tonics.

  Much to her surprise, Mr. Jackson set the basket down on the boardwalk and stepped down into the road.

  “Thank you. That’s kind of you. I wish I’d had the opportunity to share it with my father. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the smile on his face as he bit into an apple delight of any kind. I wish I could see it again.”

  Not for the first time, Sage’s heart went out to this man who was losing his father, right before his very eyes. If she hadn’t lived through the exact same thing with her mother years before, she might not have felt his pain so deeply herself—but she had. And she did.

  She leaned over from her seat in the buggy and rested her hand on his shoulder, her compassion overwhelming her. It struck her suddenly why he might have wanted her to join him. Here he was in Tombstone, so far away from New York, not knowing a soul but Mrs. Baxter. On top of that, his father was dying. The least she could do was offer him some comfort. But she wasn’t sure how.

  They both looked up as Mrs. Allen approached, her footsteps barely audible. Sage hadn’t heard her coming at all, and was almost startled when she spoke.

  “You got some of Maria’s cooking?” she said, her eyes twinkling. “You’re a lucky man. And do I smell Maria’s apple empanadas?”

  She bent forward over the basket and inhaled, her eyes closing as she took in the smell of the apple turnovers.

  “I believe so,” Mr. Jackson said as he glanced at Sage. “Maria sent lunch for us but we didn’t get a chance to eat it and Sage must be at the doctor’s office right away.”

  That reminded Sage once again that she was, indeed, even more late now than she had been when they stopped. She held out her hand for the reins and Mr. Jackson complied, handing the basket to Mrs. Allen, untying the leads and lifting them up toward Sage.

  She thanked him, and Mr. Jackson turned and stepped back up onto the boardwalk, holding his arm out for Mrs. Allen.

  “Would you care to join me for Maria’s bounty. I’m certain it’s as delicious as you say, and I would love to share it as Miss Archer is otherwise obligated.”

  Sage wished she could stay and join him but as she couldn’t, she was happy that Mrs. Allen could. All of the Archer girls had become quite fond of Mrs. Allen as she’d spent more and more time at Archer Ranch. From time to time, one of them would speculate about whether or not their father was courting her, and their questions were always dismissed. Lately, they’d quit asking, satisfied that their father seemed happy and Mrs. Allen was interesting, funny, charming and pleasant to be around. Mr. Jackson would be hard pressed to find better company.

  “Thank you again for taking me out to visit them. Remember what I said. No ‘what-if’s’.”

  Sage did remember what he said, but she wasn’t so sure he was right. She was anxious to eventually get home and go over in her mind the particular tonic she’d formulated for Mr. Chapman. Had she made a mistake? Done something wrong? She couldn’t imagine she would have, but she wrote all of her formulations on cards and kept them in a wooden box as she wanted to remember exactly what she’d done, and for whom.

  As she pulled the buggy up to Dr. Folsom’s office, she noticed with relief that he was not back yet, and that their first patient of the afternoon hadn’t yet arrived. She tied the horses to the post, fumbled in her pocket for the key to the front door and stepped inside.

  She hung up her hat and gloves next to the door and crossed behind the counter, quickly scanning the patient list for the afternoon and mentally calculating
which of them might need tonic. She’d brought in several bottles of basic mixtures, just for general malaise, and she turned toward Dr. Folsom’s office to fetch a few bottles and bring them up front, just in case she needed them.

  She stopped short as the latch didn’t move with the pressure of her thumb. She looked down and tried again, pressing harder. The door had never been locked before. She’d kept her tonic in the doctor’s office for months, and she’d gone in and out hundreds of times to fetch some.

  She jiggled the latch one more time before she gave up and turned away, back toward the waiting room, just as the doctor breezed through the door

  She pulled her hand back quickly from the latch as she turned toward the door.

  “I see you’ve found that I’ve placed a lock on the door to the office,” he said airily as he hung up his coat.

  “Yes,” she replied, not certain if it was her place to ask.

  He tugged at the hem of his vest. He turned to her, his arms folded over his chest.

  “As a trained physician, it is important that I comport myself with the utmost respect for my patients’ privacy. My notes regarding patient progress should be closely guarded, as such.”

  Sage blinked a few times as he spoke. She’d been working with Dr. Folsom for some time and he’d never indicated that she shouldn’t know or be part of patient care.

  He continued. “As I research appropriate and new forms of treatment, some of the information is not suitable for someone without the bountiful knowledge I possess.”

  As he reached in his pocket and pulled out a key and unlocked the latch, Sage swallowed hard and her cheeks flushed. The words,

  “Someone like you,” hung in the air, unsaid, and it was as if he’d stabbed her with the unspoken words.

  Disappearing inside, he returned carrying several bottles of her tonics and set them on a shelf by the counter. “If you still must have these here—although they are nothing more than sugar water and not at all helpful in a palliative sense—I must insist that they stay out here. My office is off limits, henceforth.”