Magic in Her Touch

by Donna Dalton

  The answer danced on her tongue. Oh, how she wanted to free the words. Let him know exactly who she was and what she could do. She didn’t want any secrets between them. But she had to keep the truth caged. For both their sakes.

  “What do you think I did? You were sitting right there beside me in the buggy.”

  “I don’t know. I’m just so baffled by it all. I don’t know what to think. You were the one holding onto him. Is there more to you than just being an herbalist?”

  Too close. Much too close. She stepped away from the doorway. He could pry the truth out of her with one look, one simple touch. Best to put some distance between them.

  He surged into the room like a locomotive with a full belly of steam. He waggled a finger at her traveling trunk. “What is that?”

  “It’s my trunk.”

  “I know it’s your trunk. Why are there clothes packed inside? Are you leaving, Moira?”

  The anguish in his tone sliced into her. She hauled in a bandaging breath. At least his focus had shifted to something other than Charlie’s miraculous recovery. “I intended to tell you once the Gunderson’s left. This business arrangement between us…it’s just not going to work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m all wrong for the practice.” For you.

  “How can you say that? I thought we discussed this? You want to expand your herbal services. Provide healthier options for folks.”

  She crossed to the bureau and slipped the lid back onto the hat box. Out of sight, out of mind.

  “I do want that. But I can’t do it here in Mineral. These people don’t trust me. They may never trust me. I’m a burden. My presence will only stifle the practice and you.”

  “You are not a burden. Far from it. Whether they realize it or not, the people in this town need you. They will come to trust you.”

  Like he trusted her? The hollow assertion only strengthened her resolve. “What the people need is you. A trained medical profession. Someone they can rely on and trust. You have goals for this practice. I don’t want to be the reason you fail to achieve those dreams.”

  He stepped closer and clasped her upper arms. “Those dreams include you as well, Moira. I’ve come to care for you. A great deal. I want us to succeed together.”

  Her heart stuttered. He cared for her. Wanted her to succeed with him. She wanted that too. But he needed normalcy and honesty. Things she couldn’t give him.

  “I care about you too, Anson. It’s for that reason I must go. You will do much better without me holding you back. I’m poison to your future.”

  Fingers pressed into her skin. “For someone so in tune with others, you have failed miserably to see what’s right in front of you.”

  A commotion blasted through the open window. There was a shout and then another. Something boiled in the street below.

  “Moira Devlin, bride of Satan,” came a heated greeting. “Come out and meet your judgment.”

  Her insides turned to ice. She knew that voice. It had haunted her every waking and sleeping moment for years after fleeing Willoughby.

  She shrugged out of Anson’s grip and rushed to the window. In the street below, dozens of people congregated behind a tall, slender man clutching a Bible to his chest.

  He shook a fist in the air. “Come out, witch. Tell these good people what you did. Bare your evil to one and all.”

  ****

  A stiff breeze plowed through the bedroom window, lifting the curtains. The sheer fabric curled around the woman standing still as a statue, her fingers clamped on the sash. Her breaths were coming in shallow draws. Her skin was as pale as a corpse’s. Whoever was shouting from the street below had her terrified.

  “Moira, who is that man? How does he know you?”

  She stared out the window, shoulders quivering. She scrubbed hands over her arms as if warding off a chill. “His name…is Jack Thacker.”

  “Why is he here? What does he want with you?”

  “He’s here because Edeline Wentworth sent for him.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “In order to tarnish me in the eyes of the townsfolk…” She turned, her tortured gaze spilling over him. “And in yours.”

  “There’s nothing he can say that would turn me against you. I’ve seen your goodness. You care deeply about people no matter what their circumstances. There’s not an evil bone in your body.”

  “I’m not evil. But I’m not ordinary either. There’s more to me than you know. I’ve done things…”

  Her voice trailed away on a quiver. He held out a hand. “Tell me. What hold does this man have over you?”

  She ignored his offer of an anchor and paced to the bureau and back. Pearly teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. A fist gripped his heart. What could she have done that had her so afraid? Steal? Murder? Neither seemed likely. She was too kind to have committed such sins.

  She stopped in front of the window, glanced out, and then faced him, her expression defeated. Tears swam in her eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. But he couldn’t. She clearly needed to purge herself of whatever poison held sway inside her.

  “Do you recall me telling you that I left Tennessee with my mother and grandmother years ago?”

  “Your mother didn’t survive the journey.”

  “You have a mind like steel trap, Anson Locke. Yes, my mother died before we arrived at our destination. My grandmother and I managed to make it to Texas where we settled on the outskirts of a small town. We set up shop in our home and sold potions and administered to the sick. That was where I met Mr. Thacker. I was fourteen at the time. He came to us, begging for our help. His son was gravely ill. Granny Tate had become too frail to travel, so I went alone.” Her arms dropped to her sides. “I tried to help, but the boy was too far gone.”

  Not an unusual occurrence. He’d seen many a patient who didn’t respond to treatment, no matter how vigorously applied.

  Another raspy exhale scraped the air. “Mr. Thacker refused to accept the inevitable. He pled with me to save his son. In hindsight, I should have refused, but I wanted to help. So, I provided a remedy that would only ease the boy’s suffering, not cure him. Little Jimmy Thacker died a week later.”

  And the father blamed her. Nothing new there. People handled grief in different ways. Some retreated from the world. Others condemned it. Most recovered and went on with their lives. Clearly Mr. Thacker had not.

  A shout spilled through the window, calling for the witch to come down. Ebony eyes widened. Trembling shoulders crouched inward. She shoved a hand to her mouth. He wouldn’t get anything more out of her until the source of her torment was removed.

  “This verbal lynching has gone on long enough. That man needs to be sent on his way.”

  As he turned, a shuffling noise sounded behind him, and then her hand closed around his elbow. “No, Anson. This is my fight. I should be the one confronting Jack Thacker.”

  He turned back to her. “You don’t have to do this, Moira. I can send that mob on their way.”

  “No. I have to do this. I’m tired of running from my past. It’s time I faced Thacker, no matter how unpleasant.”

  “Then I’ll come with you. We’ll face him together.”

  A grateful smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you, Anson. Your support means more than you know.”

  He motioned to the doorway. “Then let’s get rid of that rabble, shall we?”

  The soft scent of lavendar wrapped around him as she walked by. He stuffed down the urge to pull her into his arms and let his lips soothe her pain. Rabble first, kisses later.

  He trailed her down the stairs and out the front door. She stopped on the boardwalk, shoulders thrown back, chin thrust up. She had more strength in her than many men he knew.

  A tall, slender man totting a Bible stepped forward. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed his face. “There you are, witch. Tell these good people what you did to my little Jimmy.”

  “You know very well
I tried to help your son, Mr. Thacker. There was nothing more I could do.” Her tone was calm and non-provoking, her stance relaxed. The prophet Job couldn’t have displayed more patience.

  “Bah, you gave him useless potions and laid your hands upon him. You wanted me to believe you were helping him. Wanted me to have hope. But you knew in your black heart you couldn’t save him.”

  Anson fisted his hands at his sides. Weeks ago, he had spouted the same vitriol, hurling accusations when he didn’t know the truth, didn’t know the woman behind the potions.

  He moved beside Moira, unable to remain silent. “Miss Devlin told me she did her best for your son. His illness was too far gone.”

  “And yet she continued to take my money.”

  “She was just a young girl. All she wanted was to ease your son’s suffering. You should be thanking her, not casting stones.”

  A hand settled on his arm. “Please. This is my battle, Anson.”

  He looked down and met ebony eyes filled with sureness. She could do this. He nodded and took a step back.

  “My only mistake, Mr. Thacker,” she said, “was my failure to help you accept the inevitable. For that I am deeply sorry.”

  “All you wanted was to make yourself appear the do-gooder, so you could continue lining your pockets.”

  “My grandmother and I lived in a dilapidated shack and survived only on what we could grow and hunt. Most of our payments came in the form of bartering, a scrawny chicken or a sack of grain. Some couldn’t pay at all. We did what we could for the people of Willoughby, out of the kindness of our hearts.”

  “Hogwash. You pretended to help so folks would come to you with open purses. You’re doing the same here with the good people of Mineral.”

  The crowd parted, and Mrs. Wentworth surged forward. “It’s true. Everyone knows how desperately you wanted to be accepted after Doc Thompson passed on. You traipsed about town, handing out your wares in hopes of luring clients into your lair. It’s not a stretch to believe you would poison the creek and then make yourself look the savior by finding the source.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  Mrs. Wentworth turned to the crowd, a gnarled finger upraised. “Remember Major Allen’s mysterious stomach ailment? His wife had been poisoning him so he would go back East for treatment. She hated living out here. Miss Devlin is doing the same thing. Poisoning us so she can steer us into doing what she wants.”

  “I am nothing like Harriet Allen.” Her voice cracked with the barest hint of desperation. “Any of you who know me know this.”

  “She gave me a potion, but it didn’t work,” a man called out.

  She shaded her eyes with a hand. “Is that you, Mr. Donaldson? I told you to come back if the ointment didn’t cure your rash. Treatments work for some people and not for others. We could have tried something else.”

  “Like a witch’s brew?” Thacker hefted his Bible in the air. “Let’s tie her to a pyre and see if she burns.”

  “Hang her,” another called out.

  Ice filled his veins. He needed to put a stop to this witch hunt before it got any further out of hand. He stepped to the edge of the porch. “Miss Devlin has done nothing to warrant such condemnation. Medicine is sometimes a trial and error practice. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Thacker. But even trained medical doctors know that there are some people you just can’t help.”

  Edeline Wentworth waddled closer. “Are you still taking her side, Anson? You should send her packing before her taint rubs off on you.”

  The only stain would be to allow this farce to continue. It was wrong to accuse someone of something they didn’t do. The guilt of the past two years bolted out of him. Not everyone could be saved. Moira couldn’t save Jimmy Thacker; he couldn’t save Alice. No one was at fault. That was life.

  “Yes, I am taking her side, and I will continue to do so as long as my support is needed. Miss Devlin is not to be harmed or forced out of Mineral against her will. Anyone who attempts this will answer to me. Is that understood?” He gave Edeline a pointed look. “Now, go home. All of you. Look into your hearts. You will see what is right and good.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Her muscles had hardened to rock, her bones to butter. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Thoughts buffeted in her head like vultures riding the air currents. Thacker had come to Mineral. For her. He wouldn’t leave because Anson told him to. The grieving man wanted retribution. And he would do everything in his power to get it, even if that meant bloodying the few supporters who dared to stand at her side.

  Images surfaced of Willoughby, of angry faces and raised fists…of torch-bearing townsfolk whom Thacker had incited. They surrounded the shack where she and Granny Tate lived in the woods on the outskirts of town, demanding her surrender. Her heart thudded now, just as it had back then, a thundering that clawed up her throat and stilled any sound. Panic. Full and unshakeable panic.

  When she failed to come out, the rabble had thrown torches onto the roof. The thatch caught quickly and sent flaming tinders raining down. She tried to rouse Granny, but the ailing woman was too frail to flee. Death seemed certain for both of them.

  Then, two saviors had appeared. Armed with a shotgun, Preston Booth had chased off the mob while Meredith helped her escape from the burning shack. She rubbed the scar at back of her neck. She had survived relatively unscathed. Granny Tate had not. They’d buried her in an unmarked grave next to a creek near the shack. Granny always did love the sound of running water. Said it soothed her soul. Hopefully she rested in peace.

  The lock being thrown on the door clacked into her thoughts. She shook off her melancholy. It was time to put the past behind her. Far behind her.

  She moved deeper into the foyer. Somehow, she’d made it from the boardwalk back into the building. Good. Thacker didn’t need to know just how weak he made her. It would only encourage more fanaticism.

  Gentle fingers pressed into her back. “Let’s go into my office. We can sit and talk. Finish our discussion from earlier. I’ve locked the door. We should have plenty of privacy.”

  Talking was the last thing she wanted to do. Anson wouldn’t let her go without a fight. She just didn’t have the energy for battling. All she wanted was to lay her head on her pillow and sleep for a thousand years.

  The pressure on her back deepened. She shuffled forward. Might as well get this over with. He wouldn’t relent until the well went dry.

  Their footfalls clicked death knells on the floorboards. Even the wall clock joined in the macabre cacophony. Tick. Tock. Out of time. Out of rope. It’s over.

  At the office doorway, she stopped. It was cold and dark inside, a coffin for her dreams. Would the grim reaper come calling again? Was it her turn to meet Peter at the Gate? She glanced over her shoulder. Or would she lose yet another person she loved?

  Anson brushed past her and surged into the office. A second later, golden lamplight flooded the room. The shadows retreated. The coldness warmed. She forced her feet forward. She had to be strong. For Anson. For herself.

  He angled a chair toward her. “Have a seat, Moira.”

  A seat? She needed a train ticket and many miles of track between her and Mineral and that madman Thacker.

  “Sit down, Moira. Before you collapse. You’re white as a bedsheet.”

  His harsh tone slashed into her. She collected herself with a deep breath. Dealing with a shrewd man like Anson required all her focus, else he would see straight through any lies.

  She sank onto the chair and worked at settling her skirts. She was dithering. But she just wasn’t ready for the inevitable clash. Not with him. Not with her last few hours of being near him. She wanted to remember the happy times, the smiles, the laughter. The way his touch lit up her skin. The way his voice rumbled into her soul.

  Anson was having none of it. He paced in front of her, his brow ploughed with thick lines. “Thacker is the reason you were packing to leave.”

  A statement more than a question.
“He is part of it. While at the telegraph office the other day, I inadvertently saw a telegram Mrs. Wentworth had sent to Willoughby, Texas. She told Thacker where he could find me. I knew he would come.”

  He stopped in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. “Why didn’t you confide in me? You had to know I would keep you safe.”

  “I didn’t know any such thing. From the first moment we met, you have questioned everything about me. I wasn’t sure how you would react.”

  His fierce expression softened. He dropped his hands to his sides. “I’m sorry for that. I let anger cloud my good judgment. But I see differently now. I see you. The real you.”

  No. He didn’t see her at all. Because she wouldn’t allow him. “I can’t stay where I’m not trusted. It’s not fair to me, or you, or to any of the patients I may treat.”

  “But I do trust you. And this town will come to trust you.”

  “How can you say that?” She bolted to her feet and wagged a finger at the doorway. “You saw how quickly folks rallied to Thacker’s side. They wanted to believe his rantings, wanted to believe the worst in me. Not an hour ago, you grilled me about my treatment of Charlie Gunderson. I can’t live with such doubts.”

  His hand shackled her arm. “I was wrong to doubt you. Little Charlie survived because of us, because of our devotion and expert medical care. Nothing more.”

  The rip in her heart widened. He was partly right. But the part he got wrong was as scalable as a mountain of ice. And neither of them was equipped for the climb.

  “As for the others,” he continued. “We both know Edeline Wentworth has her own agenda when it comes to you.”

  “Because of you.”

  “Exactly. She knows how much I care for you, and it scares her. The other folks just got caught up in the frenzy. They will see how ridiculous their behavior has been once Thacker leaves.”

  He cared for her. Honeyed words that carried a vicious stinger. Anyone who loved her would be fair game to a fanatic like Jack Thacker. Causing them harm would hurt her. Just like with Granny Tate.

  She shrugged out of his grasp “That’s just it. He won’t leave. Not until he’s had his retribution. I won’t put you or anyone else I love in danger. I have to be the one who goes.”