by Dallis Adams
“I am,” he said and then realized he was agreeing to her assessment that he was handsome. Of course he was, but he didn’t want to acknowledge the compliment from anybody but Uma. “Sheriff Jack, that is,” he emphasized, internally shaking his head at her boldness.
The word bold brought Uma to mind. Uma was bold. But Uma’s boldness was spurred on by a strict moral code, one that frequently got her into trouble. This woman was crass, whiny and self-serving. Angela might be alright to look at. But she was rotten inside, which marred her outer appeal. She didn’t hold a candle to Uma. “I couldn’t help but overhear your comments about Doc Elroy.”
Angela shrugged and gave a dramatic sigh. “Please, dear sir, don’t hold our silly gossip over our heads,” she said, her tone innocent-sounding. “I love Doc Elroy. I’ve known him since I was eight years old, when he lived with me and my mother in New York City. He’s practically a father to me, at least more than my real pa. Cyril and I are merely worried about his health. The poor dear is trying to hide his heart condition.”
Jack contemplated her, purposely stretching out his scrutiny, enough to have her squirming. “So you aren’t going to kill Doc Elroy?”
“Goodness, no!” she replied, holding a fisted hand to her chest and flapping the other one at her face, as if shocked by the suggestion. “Like I said, I love the man, as if he’s my own blood-related father.”
Jack turned toward Cyril. “And you? Are you going to do something to harm Doc Elroy?”
“No. Sheriff, we were just blowing off steam. But, in truth, Doc is everything to me. Not only is he my great-uncle and the only living relative I have left, but he’s also my mentor.” Cyril smoothed a swathe of hair back from his forehead, his pomade obviously not working to keep the lock in place, since the lock flopped back over his forehead. “Doc rescued me from living in the muck on the streets of San Francisco, and has taught me everything I know about pharmaceuticals. I know he’d old, and so does he. He’s been sentimental lately because he’s in his twilight years. That’s why he’s been so diligent in his teachings to me. Because he wants me to be able to make a living once he’s gone. I’m sort of his legacy. I would never do anything to harm him.”
Jack cocked his head, considering Cyril. “If anything happens to Doc Elroy, you’ll both be the first ones I consider as suspects.”
Angela bit her lower lip. “But what if he suddenly dies of a heart attack?”
“Then I’ll make sure his heart failure was from natural causes.”
Cyril frowned. “How?”
“I have my ways. Now, go about your business. And you better be thinking nice thoughts about Doc Elroy. Otherwise, I’ll know.”
“You can read minds?”
“No, but I know a couple of fortunetellers who can.”
At their incredulous faces, Jack almost chuckled, but he didn’t give in. He maintained what he hoped was a severe expression.
The threat he’d issued was the sort of random intimidation that Uma would issue, just to get a rise out of somebody. Once he turned away from the pair, he allowed himself to grin at the realization.
Yes, he was satisfied to admit that his wife’s antics were rubbing off on him.
Seven
Uma passed the first row of caravans and wondered what in the heck she was doing. Nervous energy swept through her. If it wasn’t for Jack’s insistence to hear what Doc had to say to her, she never would have accepted the invitation.
The caravans were a hodgepodge of different sizes and shapes — all painted with various designs and images. Even the wheels were different sizes, with various decorative spokes. She walked by Lala’s caravan. The side and backend of the vargo had intricately painted leaves and limbs to portray the Celtic Tree of Life, outlined with gold filigree.
Uma stopped for a moment to admire the painted side, remembering what Lala had said about it. The tree represented all life on the planet, born of the Earth and sustained by the power of the Universe. When she’d questioned Lala further about it, she’d said that the twisted roots, trunk and limbs depicted the intimate and unbreakable bonds between each soul and the nature’s elements.
Although the idea was lovely, it sounded like a bunch of mystic flimflam to Uma. Magical symbols had been recently painted above Lala’s door. When Uma had asked about them, Lala said they were to protect her home from intruders … especially since she’d heard about how Uma’s mother’s caravan had been invaded. On the edges of her caravan, Lala had also added symbols about truth and clear vision, which she’d claimed would help her give accurate readings during her fortunetelling sessions.
Uma found the four vardos, Doc Elroy’s personal caravan and the one he used for his medicines — to prepare them and then sell them. The other two vardos belonged to his assistants, Angela and Cyril. The four were set apart from the others, near the Redwoods.
Why would he do that? Probably because he didn’t want anybody to know about the nefarious activities that occurred, like his nefarious treatments for feminine hysterics that Jack had forbidden him to do. She recognized the caravan he had parked earlier in front of Thistle Do Nicely earlier.
Suddenly skittishness overcame her. Doc Elroy had known her mother, considering the daguerrotype he’d left for her via nine-year-old Rush. Would that sway her? Weaken her resolve to do right by Tiffany? Obviously Doc Elroy thought so. Which is why he’d given her the picture. She glanced around, procrastinating.
Beside the vardo grazed a horse that had seen better days. It was black with dark gray streaks on its flanks. She’d always adored horses. At the orphanage, her other sisters would often find her in the stalls, grooming the horses or feeding them a favorite nibble — a carrot or an apple. One of the horses loved nuts.
Jack had gifted her with a sweet palomino. The mare sported a dark golden coat that contrasted with her creamy mane and tail.
But the Doc’s horse looked really old. Socks that used to be white, had grayed with age. Its back seemed to sway. The animal looked up at her and flared its nostrils, nodding as if to say hello. Charmed, she approached the old gelding and stoked its velvety nose, then scratched behind its ears. “You are a majestic old king, aren’t you?”
The horse arched its neck and pawed the ground as if agreeing.
“I’m here to visit your master. For years I blamed him for my sister’s death. And now he wants me to forgive him. Should I? Is he worthy of forgiveness?”
The paint rubbed its neck on Uma’s shoulder, nearly knocking her over in the process, and then nickered as if laughing. “You are certainly cheeky. I’ll give you that. Alright, I’ll give him a chance.”
She gave the gelding one last pat on its neck and then slowly turned back toward the vardo and the man who resided inside. Her promise to Jack that she would talk to Doc Elroy chafed her. But she must do it. Stiffening her spine, she strode up to the dutch door and knocked on the top half. He answered immediately. “Come in, Uma.”
“No. If you want to talk, come out.”
“Very well.” He dragged two folding chairs out from his caravan and set them up. “Please. Sit.”
“Don’t waste your time,” she said, motioning at the chairs. “I won’t be here that long so I prefer to stand. Too, don’t think you can fob me off by relegating stories of my mother. Also, before you say anything, tell me your real name.”
He hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s Elroy Slaughter.”
The laugh came out of nowhere. “Really? You’re jesting, right?”
As he unfolded the chairs, he grimaced. “Unfortunately, no. Nobody would trust a doctor with a surname like that.”
She shook her head and then pressed her lips together. “Nope, they wouldn’t.”
“To be fair, I tried to stick to a surname in my lineage. Hancock was my great-grandfather on my mother’s side.”
Dark thoughts of Tiffany swamped her mind. “But the name Slaughter goes to show that nobody should trust you. You were named appropriately.”
Hands clasped together, he held them up, as if in prayer to her. “Please. Uma. Give me a chance.”
“Not when you have somebody like Angela Wicket fabricating tales about you saving her, and hamming it up with her theatrics.”
Doc shrugged. “I didn’t think her performance would do any harm because I did save her. But she wasn’t living on a farm. She was in the slums of New York. Not a good place for a child to grow up. In fact, her mother was a … shall we say, a lady of the night, and Angela is as ashamed of that. Which is why she fabricated the story about an idyllic life on a farm. And I tried to be there for her when I lived with her and her mother for about three years. But I’ll talk to her. Get her to tell a version that is more accurate.”
“Maybe she can tone down the theatrics,” Uma said, relenting, suddenly feeling sorry for the girl who was raised in the squalor by a mother who was a prostitute. Uma had seen the poorer streets of New York City. She wouldn’t wish that cruel, menial life on her worst enemy. No wonder Angela embellished her tale and avoided the real story. “And quit trying to get me on your side by saying you knew my mother.”
She hated the fact that she knew next to nothing about her mother. Oh, Celeste, her step-grandmother, had told her some stories about her mother — and Uma believed them to be true because Celeste had nothing to gain by fabricating tales. But Doc Elroy had everything to gain — his reputation, which would affect his business one way of the other. He could tell her stories about her mom and she wouldn’t know if it was the truth or something far from it.
Doc Elroy sighed. “But I really did know your mother. Didn’t you get the daguerrotype I sent through Rush?”
“I did,” she agreed as she halted in her pacing to give him a pointed stare. “But that doesn’t mean you knew her. You might have met her that day and then seen her performance, taken a photo with her, and then went on your merry way.”
“I might have. But that wasn’t how it went,” he replied, shaking his head. “I was twenty-two and Suzette, your mother, was eighteen when I met her. I courted her for nearly a season by following Cojocaru’s Carneytown before your father stepped into the picture, and I was pretty much kicked to the boardwalk after she met him. But I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for her. It was your mother who advised me to change my name and pursue my love of medicine. She always encouraged me to study the practice. I’m sorry I didn’t heed her advice earlier by studying formally. Because I made the mistake of using a particular concoction on Tiffany Wigg.
“There was something in little Tiffany’s constitution that reacted negatively to the medicine. Now, after my studies and internship at the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries, I’m certain she had a severe allergic reaction to the echinacea in the elixir. Her airways swelled and her blood pressure dropped. It happened fast. There was little I could do before she died.”
Uma paced, considering all she’d learned from Catalina Navarra. “Echinacea is good for boosting the immune system according to our herbalist.”
He bobbed his head. “That’s right. In fact, I learned about several herbs and their properties from a woman very much like Catalina. Granted, I am not as familiar about them as Catalina is. And I’m thinking of visiting her to compare notes. Because I’m sure I can always learn more.”
Halting to stand in front of him, Uma frowned. “What could you have done to discover whether or not a person is allergic to a particular herb?”
He sighed. “I could have tested a very small amount on her skin to see if she developed a rash. If so, I would have known not to have her ingest echinacea. That was something I learned in Scotland.”
Reluctantly, Uma considered the possibility that perhaps she’d been wrong about Doc Elroy. Using echinacea in the elixir that Tiffany ingested had been a mistake, but an honest one.
He blinked, his eyes full of sorrow. “I’m sorry about your stepsister. That was the unfortunate tragedy that convinced me to travel to England and Scotland to hone my learning about the medical field.”
She took a deep breath. “I understand. Not that I was wrong for blaming you and inciting Madam Wigg and her powerful cronies to run you out of New York. Even though I was nine years of age, I still realized that Tiffany was recovering before you gave her that elixir.”
“I know.” Doc nodded. “You were right. I was brash and full of pride. I thought I knew how to hasten her recovery.”
“Instead, you hastened her death.” Anger still pulsed through her over his past mistakes. And she still didn’t know if he had changed. “You were show off, and just had to try to rush her toward good health, but it failed.”
“That, too. I admit it.”
She cocked her head, considering him. “You still are a show off.”
Doc scrunched his shoulders and hung his head. “You’re right. But I’m not as pompous as I used to be. At least I am legitimate now. Perhaps because of my years of study I have a right to be a little bombastic?”
“No,” she emphasized. “You don’t have a right to be high-and-almighty. You only act that way to hide the fact you’re a reprobate,” she countered, thinking about his immoral behavior toward women.
Lifting his head, he blinked at her. “Why do you say that?”
Uma stomped toward where he was sitting. “Because of your so-called treatments for feminine hysteria. No man who is not the husband should be stimulating a woman’s erogenous areas of the body. You are shameful for that.”
Holding up his hands, he leaned back in his chair as she loomed over him. “I know not to perform the procedure again … at least, not in Cryptic Cove. Jack warned me not to, and I’ll abide by that.”
She flicked her middle finger and hit him between the eyes. “Not anywhere.”
Surprised, he jerked back and rubbed the spot. “Alright, alright. I promise to not perform the treatment. Not anywhere. Instead, can I instruct husbands on what to do? Counsel couples?”
With a tilt of her head, she considered the suggestion. “Yes, that would be much more appropriate. But have Angela be with you when you do. That way she can monitor you and be a witness in case you’re accused of impropriety. If you know what’s good for you, you’d better cease and desist,” Uma retorted.
“I swear to never perform the treatments again. But I’m not the only doctor who instigates the procedure.”
“Then you better warn all doctors that if I hear they are performing the practice, I’m going after them. And I’m going to complain to the governor of California. They might very well be shut down.”
He held up his hands as if in surrender. “With you on the warpath, I’m sure the practice will fall to the wayside.”
She frowned at him for a while as he sat on the backless folding chair and studied his fingernails. “Did you know I was Suzette Stark Kincaid’s daughter when you came to the Wigg Foundling Home?”
Straightening his back, he met her gaze. “Yes. I admit, I wanted to meet you, to tell you about your mother. In fact, the first time I saw you was when you were in the stables, caring for the horses. I watched you, and marveled how much you loved horses, and the animals loved you, even as a small girl. You probably still have an uncanny way with them.”
Uma shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise she saw in his gaze. “What happened? Why didn’t you let me know you were there?”
“Because Madam Wigg refused to allow me to visit you. She said you weren’t ready to learn of your background. And you weren’t ready to leave the orphanage; that your mother’s killer was still a mystery. I’m glad the mystery was finally solved, and that you are safe.”
If Doc Elroy had told her about her father’s family, at least she could have met her grandfather. She swallowed down the bitter regret she always felt when thinking about her biological family. Nobody on the Kincaid’s side was alive except for Celeste and Chuck, both related by marriage, not blood. And the Starks? Her mother’s family? She had heard she had distant relatives in Montana. Someday she planned to
find them.
In the long run, Madam Wigg had been right to keep her hidden, to prepare her. For Uma would never have been able to defend herself if it hadn’t been for Wiggie. “How did you discover my true identity? Uma asked, curious. “Jack’s father kept the secret from everybody, even Jack, until he was on his deathbed.”
Doc Elroy leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “One night when I visited Jack’s father — Sheriff Dan — he let it slip. We got drunk in Sheriff Dan’s office and he told me he was leaving for New York the following week to visit Wigg Foundling Home. I asked him why, and he said it was a secret. Then he started talking about your mother’s death and how he couldn’t figure out who had weakened her trapeze rope that made her fall to her death. And how he would protect any offspring of your mother’s. I put two-and-two together.” Doc Elroy straightened his back and looked at her. “I always suspected you weren’t dead like the rumors implied. I don’t think Sheriff Dan ever recalled his slip.” He rose from his chair and rubbed his palms down the sides of his waistcoat.
That explained a lot. Suddenly antsy to leave, she decided she wanted to be alone to mull things over. “Well, I must be off.”
“Wait. I wanted to give you some more daguerreotypes of your mother that you might enjoy.” He passed the medicine vardo, and went toward the second vardo. Please. Come inside my living quarters, just for a moment.”
“I … very well.” Grudgingly, she complied by following him inside his caravan. His living quarters had a small table with two wooden chairs on one end. The far end had a small sofa that folded out into a bed. Built-in benches were on either side.
“How do you travel with two caravans for you when your assistants have their own vargos?”
Doc glanced over his shoulder. “I hire a driver. This time, one from Sacramento, where we were doing some side business. I had the driver take my personal vardo to Cryptic Cove a few days ahead of time. When I do that, I just sleep in my medicinal caravan. As for the others, Angela drives her vardo, and Cyril drives his. I drive the commercial one.” He lifted the seat of one bench and retrieved a small book. “Here.”
