Miracle Jones

by Nancy Bush

  Miracle blinked, her mind dull. She didn’t know who he was talking about.

  “And Tremaine doesn’t want to see Belinda anyway,” Harrison said in a low, angry tone. “Neither do I. But she’s in a fever and she needs someone. Will you see her? Talk to her, give her hope, or a prayer, or whatever you do.”

  Miracle then understood. Though Harrison had no faith in her powers as an herbalist, his mother wanted one. The much-maligned faith healer, Belinda, was unavailable. Miracle, the Indian medicine woman, would have to do.

  Hurt, Miracle nevertheless understood that he was giving her a chance to prove her worth. But her need to escape was so strong. It was nearly impossible to believe he didn’t know about their lovemaking, yet apart from that one lapse, when he’d pressed her back against the wagon bed, he’d been a perfect gentleman.

  All in all, he’d treated her with respect, and that was why, Miracle discovered to her donning misery, she was so attracted to him. He’d been nothing but kind to her. He’d tried to rescue her and had assured her he wouldn’t tell the sheriff she’d stabbed him.

  She, Miracle Jones, was a fraud. She was falling in love with him, and all she’d brought him was pain and trouble. The least she could do was see his mother and try to help her, perhaps soothe the sick misery that was eating Harrison alive.

  “Take me to her,” Miracle said abruptly, brushing past him out of the barn.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  Eliza Danner lay motionless on the sumptuous feather bed, only the barest rise and fall of her chest indicating she was still alive. She had a face like porcelain, finally cracked now with lines of age, or maybe illness. Her hair was blond and thick, pulled back from the loveliest features Miracle had ever seen. The woman fairly took Miracle’s breath away, and the unmistakable aristocracy around her nose and lips made Miracle even more aware that there were depths to this family she hadn’t suspected.

  Looking down at her, Miracle felt as dirty and torn as the young beggars who pulled at her skirts and pleaded with huge, empty eyes for a penny or a hunk off a loaf of bread.

  Diphtheria. The word was only whispered in the dark. The horror of it evident in the hopelessness of families who lost all their children in one devastating wave, and maybe even both parents, too. The maid’s reaction had been understandable, if cowardly. There was no cure.

  She lifted her gaze to Harrison’s. His expression was somber and tense. Did he blame her for keeping him away? How could he not? She was half sick with blame herself.

  “She’s unconscious. She doesn’t know you’re here,” a deep masculine voice said from Miracle’s right. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”

  There were four other people besides Eliza, Harrison, and herself in the room. Kelsey was there, quietly standing back, her hands clasped in the folds of her skirt. On one side of the bed stood Harrison’s sister, Lexie, blond like Harrison, with the same green eyes. Next to her was the tall, dark-haired man with the piercing blue eyes who’d just spoken, Dr. Tremaine Danner, Lexie’s husband. In a chair pulled close to the head of the bed sat a gray-haired man with slightly stooped shoulders and a face ravaged with fear and pain. Joseph Danner, Miracle had learned. Harrison’s father.

  As if on cue, the group, except Joseph, who elected to remain at his wife’s bedside holding her limp, white hand, left the room as one. In the hallway, Harrison grabbed Tremaine’s arm, stopping him.

  “Will she live?”

  Tremaine’s eyes were hooded, as if he were purposely hiding his thoughts from the anxious gazes of Lexie and Harrison. Miracle held her breath. He didn’t have to answer as far as she was concerned. The truth was evident.

  “I’ve seen people worse than she is recover,” Tremaine said at length, drawing air between his teeth as if it were some magic fortifier. “But not many.”

  “You are absolutely certain it’s diphtheria?” Harrison demanded.

  “She has the membrane across her throat,” Tremaine answered flatly. “It’s ripped and bleeding in places.”

  “God.” This was from Lexie, who stood stoically beside her husband, her face as pale as alabaster.

  “She’s not swallowing well,” Tremaine finished harshly, his face grim. “It may be the beginnings of paralysis of the throat and diaphragm.”

  Harrison absorbed the news without flinching. Kelsey stared at him, as if she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t throw her arms around him or console him in any way. Miracle sensed that Kelsey’s relationship with her future husband didn’t include such displays of affection. Miracle was slightly surprised. Harrison was neither standoffish nor cold. He was, in fact, quite warm and sensual, as she knew from experience.

  Swallowing, Miracle gazed at Harrison through her thick lashes. Apart from a tightening of his jaw, she could scarcely tell he was emotionally overwrought.

  “What have you given her?” he asked Tremaine.

  “Diphtheria antitoxin.”

  “She needs her throat swabbed,” Miracle said in a strange disembodied voice. “A mixture of carbolic acid, glycerin, tincture of myrrh, and maybe a drop of oil of wintergreen. She should swallow some, too, if she can.” She felt three pairs of eyes turn her way. “It will relieve the pain,” she said simply.

  “Do you have tincture of myrrh and wintergreen?” Tremaine asked her.

  Miracle nodded. “I think so. If the bottles are still intact.”

  “Get them,” he said.

  She ran down the stairs, half stumbling. Behind her, she heard Lexie say on a choking sob to Harrison, “Thank God, you’re all right. Mother’s been calling for you, and we were all afraid you’d been burned in the barn fire!”

  Kelsey answered, her words indistinguishable, but then Miracle heard Harrison’s voice, clear and regretful. “Kelsey, later, when things have calmed down, we need to talk. I’m sorry about the wedding.”

  Miracle ran out into the deepening shadows. Billy was at the wagon, pounding the wheel on with a sledgehammer. The lantern which had been strung on to the end of the wagon was jumping and flickering with each blow.

  “Thank you, Billy,” she told him in a heartfelt voice, glad she wouldn’t have to spend the night on Danner property. She wanted desperately to get away.

  “It’s finished, ma’am,” Billy said, wiping his grease-spattered hands on his pants.

  “Would you do something for me?” Miracle asked, climbing up the stairs into the back of the wagon.

  “Sure. If’n I can.”

  She rummaged through several large trunks that she rarely opened, pulling out two bottles. “Take these to Dr. Danner. He’ll know what to do with them.”

  Billy’s brow creased. “Are you leavin’ then?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Miracle smiled. “Tell – Mr. Harrison good-bye,” she added softly.

  “Will you be in Rock Springs?”

  “I’ll be looking for someone,” was her oblique answer. She closed the wagon doors and then settled herself on the front seat. “Oh, Billy!” she cried to his disappearing back. “What do I owe you?”

  He held up the bottles. “Figure if Dr. Danner wants these, they’ll do as payment.”

  Miracle waved good-bye as Billy took the wintergreen and myrrh to the house. “Giddyap,” she yelled at the drowsing nags, turning her attention to practical matters in order to ignore her bruised soul. “And don’t delay this time! I’ve got enough problems without the two of you arguing with me.” As they lurched forward, she added, “When we get to Rock Springs I’ll give you each a feedbag. Just go!”

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  “Where’s Miracle?” Harrison demanded as soon as Billy delivered the bottles to Tremaine.

  “Gone off,” he answered, his face changing as he realized he might have erred in letting her go.

  “To Rock Springs?” Harrison demanded.

  “I – think so.” Billy’s brow puckered. “Said she had to find someone.”

  “Ah. Uncle Horace,” Harrison muttered more to himself than to Lexie and Kelsey, wh
o stood beside him outside Eliza’s room. Miracle was undoubtedly heading to Rock Springs. She wouldn’t leave the area until she’d either found Uncle Horace or learned he was dead. “All right. Thanks, Billy.”

  He glanced at the half open door, where he could see Tremaine trying to get Eliza to swallow some of Miracle’s cure. No, it wasn’t a cure, he reminded himself harshly. It was just something to help ease the pain.

  “Maybe I should go,” Kelsey murmured.

  Distracted, Harrison nodded. Then, remembering himself, he asked, “Would you like me to take you back in the buggy?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  He didn’t mind at all. The impotence he felt over his mother’s illness made him uneasy and tense. He wanted to do something to help but knew there was precious little even Tremaine could do to fight the dread disease.

  Outside, he helped Kelsey into the passenger side of the buggy, which stood ready and waiting, courtesy of Billy, next to the stables. Kelsey’s hands were folded in her lap, her gaze trained on the Garrett property which stretched toward the Cascade foothills on the other side of Silver Stream, the dividing line between Garrett and Danner land.

  It was a peculiarly sedate and feminine pose for his bride-to-be, Harrison realized. The oddness of it pierced his worry-fogged mind.

  “You’re dressed pretty grandly tonight,” he observed as the horses pulled the buggy down the lane and toward the Garretts’.

  Kelsey half-smiled. “I was tired of Emerald scolding me for not being a lady.” She shot Harrison an amused glance. “She said that’s why you stood me up at the altar.”

  Harrison winced. “The woman’s got a mean tongue. I don’t envy Jace.”

  “Neither do I.” She drew a deep breath. “Of course, later we thought you didn’t show because you were dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Kelsey. I would have been at the church if I could’ve been.”

  “Would you have?” she asked, half turning to stare solemnly at his face.

  He was shocked by her directness – and the fact that she’d apparently sensed his ambivalence about their upcoming wedding.

  “Yes,” he answered quite truthfully.

  “That woman, Miracle Jones,” Kelsey said slowly. “How did you end up with her?”

  Harrison didn’t want to talk about Miracle right now. Just thinking of her made him feel uncomfortable. He could scarcely focus on her image in his mind without a most embarrassing physical reaction taking place.

  “Would you mind if I told you about her later?” he asked as they turned into the long and winding Garrett drive.

  “No.” She smiled faintly and turned her face away. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Now why, Harrison wondered, did the way she said that make it sound like a prophecy of doom?

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  By the time he returned to his parents’ house, Harrison was bone-weary and his stab wound was throbbing something fierce. He thought he might just spend the night here, but as soon as he entered the foyer he realized he’d made a mistake. Lexie and Tremaine were in the parlor. Hearing his footsteps, they both came out to greet him.

  “All right,” Lexie said fondly, wrapping her arm through his. “Tell us all about your exploits. Tremaine was about to murder Jace Garrett. He was certain Jace had left you to die. I, however, have more faith in Jace. I said he would only leave you to die if there was a darn good reason.” She smiled at him, only the smudges beneath her eyes testimony to the worry she’d endured over both his disappearance and their mother’s illness.

  “He did have a darn good reason,” Harrison drawled, clenching his jaw a little at the pain. “Money.”

  “Is your shoulder bothering you?” Tremaine asked, his astute medical eye focused on the way Harrison held himself.

  “I’m just tired.”

  Mrs. Mead appeared from the dining room and exhaled on a humph of displeasure. “Cook says dinner’s ready,” she declared. “And I suppose you should be tired, young man. That dirty half-breed told me you’d been stabbed. Wouldn’t be surprised if she stabbed you herself!”

  “You were stabbed!” Lexie repeated, staring at Harrison in amazement.

  “Where were you stabbed?” Tremaine demanded quickly.

  But Harrison’s eyes were chips of green ice as they glared at the bustling Mrs. Mead. He was so furious he could scarcely see straight. “That dirty half-breed,” he repeated, biting off each word, “stayed with me for three days making certain I didn’t die. The reason she’s dirty is the same reason I’m dirty. We slept on dirt!”

  His voice had risen with each syllable, and when he finished his echo boomed throughout the house. Unearthly silence followed, but apart from the faintest hesitation in the course of her work, Mrs. Mead appeared not to have heard. She disappeared back to the kitchen, ostensibly to help Cook.

  “Who stabbed you?” Tremaine wanted to know.

  Harrison shook his head. “I’m taking a bath,” he growled. “I’ll tell you more at dinner. How’s Mother?”

  “The concoction your friend Miracle suggested made it past Eliza’s lips,” Tremaine said by way of an answer. “She’s resting easier than she was.”

  “You sure that’s not the effect of laudanum?” Harrison suggested wryly.

  “She wasn’t given more laudanum,” Lexie put in quietly. “Whoever this Miracle is, she seems to know her remedies.”

  Harrison stared into his sister’s brilliant green eyes, then moved his gaze to Tremaine’s more wary blue ones. “You don’t seriously believe Miracle can help her, do you?” he asked incredulously. Tremaine and Lexie had been staunchly against Belinda’s cure-all elixirs.

  “Miracle didn’t suggest anything out of line, and you know how Eliza is,” Tremaine added, grimacing. “She wants to think there are secret remedies which will cure everything from snakebite to cancer.”

  Harrison, who had been standing with one foot on the bottom step, shook his head in frustration. He refused to believe in quacks and medicine women, but he couldn’t deny that Miracle had saved him. “If Mother finds out there’s a faith healer named Miracle about, we’re all in for trouble,” he predicted wryly.

  He strode slowly up the stairs to the elegant bathroom his father had installed the year before. Hot water poured from the pipes, heated by an electric generator. Harrison frowned at his reflection in the steamed mirror. There was a nasty cut on his chin he didn’t remember getting, and as he swiped off the road grime, he saw his face was pale beneath his beard.

  Twisting, he examined the knife wound on his back. The small slit was red but not inflamed. It was just a matter of time before it was completely healed. He sighed and lifted his right arm as far as he could, examining the white scars. The knife wound added one more scar to a body already crisscrossed with them.

  He thought of Miracle, and it took a painful force of will to keep from feeling that now familiar lust. Scowling, he wondered how to get the little savage out of his system.

  An hour later, dressed in some of his father’s clothes which were too short in the arms and tight across the chest, Harrison checked in on his mother, who was sleeping, then returned downstairs. Lexie and Tremaine were already seated in the dining room, as was his father, but no one seemed to have touched their food. They were all absorbed in serious and dismal thoughts, judging by the looks on their faces.

  “Where’re the boys tonight?” Harrison asked, referring to Lexie and Tremaine’s children.

  “With Annie. She’s staying at the house with them until Mother gets better,” said Lexie.

  If she gets better. Harrison didn’t voice his thoughts as he scooted in his chair.

  “Lexie and Tremaine say you’ve been stabbed,” Harrison’s father said with concern.

  “I’m fine, Pa,” Harrison answered shortly.

  “Who stabbed you? Jace?”

  “No, not Jace.” Harrison almost smiled. “How is Jace, anyway? His carriage wasn’t at the Garretts’ when I dropped K
elsey off.”

  “Jace is as lily-livered as ever,” Lexie said, picking up her wine glass. Her mouth was fixed in a firm, angry line. “He didn’t tell us he’d left you at the barn, and then, when he did, we all thought you’d burned to death.”

  “He was probably afraid you’d blame him,” Harrison pointed out.

  “We did blame him!” Lexie declared. “We do blame him!”

  “So who stabbed you?” Tremaine asked.

  “I got stabbed trying to rescue Miracle, who’d been kidnapped and trussed up and was being sold to the highest bidder.” Harrison drank some wine, and it went straight to his head. Food, he remembered belatedly, was what his body needed most.

  “You mean they were auctioning her off?” Lexie said in a quietly dangerous voice. Her expression was a mixture of fury and horror.

  “Don’t worry. She fended them off,” Harrison muttered dryly.

  “So how did Jace get out of there?” Tremaine demanded. “He didn’t stay to help you?”

  “I won the hand and Jace didn’t have the cash to pay me, so a few of our fellow card players escorted him outside. I assume they put him in his carriage and brought him back to Rock Springs.” He lifted a questioning brow.

  Tremaine nodded. “From what Jace says – and you never can trust him to tell the truth – he went straight to the Half Moon, and was in his office when these gunmen showed up and insisted he open the safe. Jace argued and stalled and managed to somehow let Conrad know that he needed help. Conrad summoned Sheriff Raynor, but not before Jace was – er – coerced to open the safe and pay them off.”

  Harrison nodded. Conrad Templeton was the Half Moon’s bartender and business manager. “They didn’t just show up. They were with him.”

  “I imagine they offered to shoot off parts of Jace’s anatomy unless he gave them what they wanted,” Lexie said primly, smoothing her napkin. “Something I threatened to do once and wish I’d gone through with it.”

  Harrison threw Lexie an amused glance. “Did Raynor see the men?”

  “Not really.” Tremaine shrugged. “And Jace didn’t seem to want to lodge a complaint.”