The Secret Touch of Mary Kincaid
by
Sarah Jae Foster
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Copyright © 2013 by Sarah Jae Foster.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Editing by Valerie Susan Hayward.
Manufactured in the United States of America.
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Books written by Sarah Jae Foster
Broken Identity
Soiled Dove Series
The Heart of a Soiled Dove
Lincoln County Series
Three Hearts, One Town
A Challenge of the Heart
A Heart for Love
A Heart Worth Redeeming
***
Chapter One
Graham Hatchett had overstayed his welcome for tea and she aimed to drop any further pleasantries. Mary Kincaid stood irritably, snatched the teacup and saucer from his place at the rickety table and set them into a metal tub. All the while a smile settled upon his roughened features—cocky-like.
Slowly he rose from his seat. She worried his stout frame would break her last good chair once and for all, and sighed with gratefulness when it didn’t crack. However, now he towered over her and crossed his arms in his fatherly way. “Liang Ho has been gone three months and you still look like a city urchin!”
After several moments of a defiant stare down, he finally moved to grab his hat from the hook near the front door. She could tell he was not finished with her. A lecture stood at the tip of his tongue, ready to take a plunge she was sure. And she was right.
His piercing eyes made her conscious of the dress she had on, forcibly bringing her own eyes to travel down its length. She decidedly held back her emotions as best she could, but the memory of its acquisition was still fresh and seemed like yesterday. Smoothing down the silken dress with its drooping pearly-pink flower buds, she stuck up for herself—and the dress. “It’s the only pretty thing I ever owned…I know it’s not quite…not quite appropriate to wear on a farm but…”
“Not appropriate? It’s downright ridiculous, Mary Kincaid!” Under his breath he mumbled a few unintelligible words. “You’re one and nine and dressing like you’re one and two ain’t gonna get you a husband.” He spared her a glance. “Ain’t you ever growed out of it anyway?”
Her face heated furiously. She was not about to tell him that over the past few years she’d had to let it out here and there. “That is not your business.”
In clear frustration, Graham shoved the hat onto his head. “Well I don’t aim to allow you to keep living here on my property all alone. If you don’t land yourself a man, or move to the ranch, you best be looking for a place in town, the boardinghouse in particular.”
“That’s not right!”
“It is. I promised Liang that I’d look after you. I’ve allowed you to grieve for three whole months, I know it’s a tough thing to hear, young one, but it’s time for you to grow up.”
Reaching deep for tears to fall, hoping hysterics might make her guardian less stubborn, she made herself downtrodden and sniffled. Instead of offering pity, she heard him bellow out a laugh. “It’s a good thing you took to massaging folk the way you do—even though it’s not acceptable—‘cause you sure make a poor actress.”
“Oh!” She grabbed the dish cloth hanging to dry and took after him as he laughed himself out the door.
Once upon his horse and safely out of her pathetic reach, he went back to his sincere kind old self and said protectively, “My nephew will be here next week and being that I have round up, I’ll send him out this way to check on you.”
After gathering her dropped jaw she hollered after him in the most unladylike way possible. “I don’t need no youngin’ getting in my way, Graham Hatchett!” She stomped back inside her cabin and slammed the door, whereupon she heard one of its hinges snap.
*****
Mary perused the wall of the barn where Liang kept his carpentry tools. Untouched for months, they hung loosely by nails in a haphazard fashion. Liang had never been one for order. Her hands lingered upon the saw he’d used to create the special cot for her patients. A pang of longing for his companionship hit her in a barrage. When she was near six years of age, Liang plucked her orphan self off the streets of New York and had loved her as his own since that day. Would time ever soften the loss of her mentor and friend?
She found the tool with a heavy metal head and settled a few nails into the pocket of her apron. Passing by the noisy chicken coop, she marched up to her broken door and did what she could. When she stepped back to view her work she stifled a giggle. Although attached, the rusty hinge was nailed tight to the door and very crooked. Had Liang been beside her, the twinkle in his eyes would have been one of approval for her attempt. Oh how she missed him.
Moving along with the rest of her day, Mary finished the chores around the farm, feeding chickens and harvesting a handful of vegetables from the small garden. When she’d finished the simple supper of sliced smoked ham, which Graham had earlier brought over, and a hearty chunk of cheese, she went to the small hill behind the cabin to visit Liang’s grave.
The heartache of loneliness seemed to be her constant. She planted herself onto the grassy knoll, facing the cross reading Liang Ho. Even on his deathbed he’d protected her from his fever by taking himself to Graham’s, who’d procured a nurse for him. She hadn’t been allowed to visit. It had taken weeks to get over the anger at not being there by his side. Graham and his stubborn ways had not allowed her to step beyond the threshold of his property, his ranch hands blocking her. She had been heartbroken when Graham rode to her home in the early morning hours to share news of Liang’s passing. Liang was the only one who had poured out unconditional love, showing her how she was precious to God. He had faith, and he’d passed it down to her, which she easily grabbed hold of.
She nestled deeper into the soft earth and contemplated Graham’s words. He’d meant what he said…find a husband, or move to the boardinghouse in town. He was highly unreasonable and she aimed to set him straight one way or another—she could take care of herself!
***
Chapter Two
Going to town was Mary’s least favorite thing to do in the whole world. But she had eggs to trade for other goods and so she pressed onward with her gentle horse and unsteady buckboard. Earlier, as she fixed a bonnet atop her head, she’d thought of Graham. It was a known fact that he played the caregiver, and to that end she would represent him the best she could. And that meant leaving her too-small-city-dress at home. It was a fine justification anyway, as it needed a good scrubbing. The heavy muslin skirt she now wore was lifeless, its gray color somewhat depressing, but she did it for Graham. He didn’t need any more verbal assaults coming his way on account of her.
Landing her feet to the hard packed dirt below, she tied the horse’s reins on to the log post in front of Frederick’s Mercantile and sucked in a deep breath. Every week was the same and she was the brunt of wagging tongues and senseless gossip. She peeked inside, wanting to know in advance who she’d have to deal with. Relieved to have set eyes only upon Frederick and a few non-threatening others, she was grateful Louise, Frederick’s wife, was nowhere in sight. The woman’s hard, judgmental gaze could tur
n a body to stone if they looked at her long enough. Louise did not like Mary Kincaid and that was all there was to it. With the goal of not turning into Lot’s wife, she would avoid the woman’s haughty stares.
Frederick smiled, one of the few who ever did in her presence. “How does it fare your way, Mary?”
With carefulness, she placed the basket of fragile eggs onto his counter. “It goes, that’s about it.” She shrugged.
“Some of these are nice-sized. I’d say your hens are happy.” He held a pale green egg toward the sunlight for examination.
She didn’t bother to answer. She knew her hens were the best in the area. “I’ll take five pounds of flour and two of sugar, if you have it this time.”
“I can spare you one pound of sugar, still a shortage going on.”
A pound was all she needed, she asked for two knowing he’d give her half of her request. While he scooped the ingredients into canvas bags, she toured the store. Her eyes fell onto the most beautiful fabric. Daring a touch, she felt its silky smoothness and admired the vibrant color.
“It’s what they call violet,” he said, standing near. He offered the basket back, now filled with flour and sugar.
She hooked it over her arm, not taking her eyes from the fabric, its color that of a rich jewel. “It’s beautiful.”
“I will discount it for you.”
He was a kind man but Graham would surely not approve. She was about to decline the offer when she heard the cackle of his wife’s voice. “Frederick, that material is not going to be discounted. It is all the rave this season and surely Miss Kincaid has no use for it.”
Believing he was flushed with embarrassment—and she was the improper one?—Mary let herself out, but only for his sake. Near the door stood two gawking female customers she knew from church. They provided a wide berth for her exit, as if coming into contact with someone of her character might tarnish them. It was such a common occurrence that it no longer had effect. She’d once been an orphan, so rejection from busybodies hardly affected her. After depositing the basket into the buckboard, Mary climbed aboard.
*****
The moment she turned the bend in the direction of her home, she saw a couple of figures on her porch, seated on the bench that Liang had painted white, just before he died. She couldn’t wait to make them out, and as she drew closer, she noted that a man stood upon her arrival, but was unsteady on his feet. His companion was little Susanna Sullivan.
Susanna met her and explained, “My pa hurt his back real good. I know you can fix him!”
The girl was worried, which caused Mary to seek out his face, riddled in pain. “Can you walk?”
“Barely,” answered Susanna. As if she’d been doing it a million times over, Mary eased herself beneath his arm, where her body evolved into a crutch.
Leaving the basket behind, Mary opened the door and set up the special cot. “Your pa got a name?” she said, hoping to lighten the mood.
“It’s Theo,” he ground out.
Susanna said grimly, “I made him come. He didn’t want to but…”
“Girl, that’s enough!”
Mary took pity on them both. Clearly no man wanted to set down his pride to come see her. Only a desperate man did, and Theo was desperate, he could barely move.
“Come now, you’re almost there. Just ease down on the cot the best you can. Then face down.”
For the pain he was enduring his head sure shot up fast upon her. His distrust was evident. She laid a piece of material over the stretched canvas and patted it down. “What do you believe I can do for you, sir, sitting upright like you are?”
“Pa, it’s all right, I’ve seen her heal people.”
She wanted to correct Susanna but didn’t want to lend to his doubt. She was no healer, but folks sure felt better after a visit on her cot. Liang had taught her every stroke and pound necessary to see that a body relaxed and took back to its proper place by the time she was done with them.
Still skeptical, Theo looked at the cot.
“Go on now,” Mary encouraged.
Leaving Susanna to get her pa situated, she pumped water into a kettle, placed it on the cook stove and added six smooth stones. After giving enough time for Theo to settle, she made her way back to him. His pride kept him from hollering out in pain while his daughter helped lift his feet and got him to comply with facing the floor.
“I realize it hurts, but I hope to help you.”
She knelt to his level so he could see her, and although his eyes had a glaze of pain seared across them, he blinked hard to focus. “Now you need to trust me.”
Her answer was a slight nod of his head and eyelids closed in resignation. Susanna backed away, looking as if her life depended upon her healing her father.
“Susanna, why don’t you go on outside and feed the chickens? They are probably hungry enough to eat you too so be careful,” she teased. Susanna looked grateful for the opportunity to be out of the cabin. Mary turned toward her patient and rubbed her hands together, back and forth, until heat entered both palms.
“This will hurt at first, I won’t lie. But as the minutes go by, you will begin to feel less anxious and hopefully better.”
Again a brief nod. She bit back her smile. The poor man, depending upon a mere woman to put him back to rights. “Now, I’m going to loosen your shirt and lift it a bit.”
His entire body stiffened, as she knew it would.
“I can already tell you, Mr. Sullivan, that I am well aware of the questionability as to this being proper. It bothers me not.”
Despite his intense and rock hard body, she began to peel up his shirt enough to see the lower half of his naked back. Although she had compassion for him, she was unmoved by immodesty. She did smile now. He would soon feel better, in due time…in due time.
***
Chapter Three
As expected, several minutes into her kneading his bare back like dough, Mary sensed her patient’s body melting with ease. A slight moan of complete satisfaction escaped him. The second it happened, he tensed again, as if to control any urge to entirely capitulate.
“That is a normal response, Mr. Sullivan,” she assured him.
His reaction to her words of encouragement was to remain silent, which told her he was in denial of the pleasure had, and about to come. She finished for the moment with two long strokes of her elbow from his neck, following the edge of his shoulder, to end at the base of his lean back. “Hold still,” she warned, knowing he’d get up if she were no longer working on him.
Using tongs, she eased the river stones from the kettle, and after testing them to her own flesh, placed them one by one upon his skin.
He sighed at the heavenly sensation. “What is that?”
Finally, he spoke.
“Hot stones. They will release their heat into your muscles, and my hope is they will loosen them.”
After setting the last one in place she hovered her fingers over his neck. This is where she asked permission—no need to frighten him and have stones all over her floor.
“I want to pay a bit of attention to your neck…may I?”
An apprehensive nod came from his dark head.
Gently, and with the expertise of her mentor, Mary put pressure to specific targets she knew would bring everything together. Soon, Theo would move without restriction. This time he moaned freely, unable to help himself. It was the same thing every time she treated someone new. Apprehension. Guilt. Pain. Pleasure. Without a doubt she would question herself if it did not happen in that order.
Before he died and couldn’t be present with her during sessions of therapy, Liang cautioned her with incredible conviction. When treating a male, always be in control of the situation and keep a rifle within reach. She could see that some men might not understand that this was a purely medical treatment. To the day, she hadn’t had to chase anyone away by the nose of a loaded rifle, but she was not naïve enough to discount it ever being a possibility.
; Done with his neck, she removed the stones. Lightly, she pulled down Theo’s shirt and had him inhale oil fragranced with dried mint leaves. It was soothing, even if odd by a patient’s standards.
It was time to test her work.
“Mr. Sullivan, let’s have you sit up and see what happens.”
Still, after the hour they’d just been through, he pierced her with a look of doubt. Which quickly altered as he cautiously rolled onto his side. Realizing there was no hindrance, he proceeded to get his long legs over to the floor and stare at her in astonishment.
“I don’t understand…”
“Along the way of your hard labor, you pulled something in your back. I see it all the time.”
He stood, immediately placing a hand upon his back as if to see for himself. Then with as much speed and modesty as possible, he tucked his shirt into his trousers.
“It will be tender for a time, but you should be able to function fully.”
So…he could smile. He was pleased, which filled her with joy.
“What do you require for payment?”
“I could use some beef for stew.”
“I’ll have Susanna bring some tomorrow.” He reached for his hat upon the peg at her door. “If it weren’t for Susanna nagging me so, I would still be in pain. I believe you get a raw deal, socially speaking, in our town.”
Though there was no promise to stand up for her in the future, his acknowledgment meant something. “I’ve lived through worse,” she said automatically. There was no hint of pity in her words, they were simply true.
“Well, I’m obliged, ma’am.”
Susanna was twirling in circles near the barn when they emerged. She saw that her pa could walk upright and hurried over, breathless. “See, Pa, I told you she’d fix you up real good.”
After they departed, Mary was immediately encased in loneliness. She drew up some wildflowers near the well and headed to see Liang, wishing with all of her heart that he was not in the ground, but above it.
***
Chapter Four
“Come here, you!”
Mary struggled with the unruly chickens. Feathers floated down upon her like snow as she determined to catch and eat Ornery Sam, if that was the last thing she did. Sam mocked her and zigzagged throughout his cohorts, who seemed to be helping him. Why, she didn’t know, because whenever they helped him get away it was one of them who landed on her chopping block. But they were chickens, not real privy to being wise.
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