“Thank goodness,” she said, placing the cork back in the bottle. “If they’re all better, do you mind if I take this for a bit? I’m trying to get to the bottom of something.”
“Of course not, as long as you promise to make me more if anybody else gets sick. There’s nothing like your tonics, Sage. Nothing at all.”
“Hello, I’m Clint Jackson,” Clint said as he handed the other twin to Sadie, who was now doing a double balancing act and couldn’t shake his hand.
“Oh, nice to meet you. You must be Mr. Jackson’s son. How is he doing? I’m so sorry he’s taken ill.”
Clint nodded as Sage pulled him toward the door.
“He’s fine, much better, thank you,” he said as Sage tugged him down the stairs.
“Are you all right?” he asked as they headed for the door.
“Yes, but I’ve got to make sure everyone’s safe.
She opened the door and took a step back when she almost ran into her sister, Saffron.
“Saffron, what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same, sister.” She held a large casserole dish and studied her sister’s face. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I need to get to Mr. Chapman’s house right away. I’m sorry I can’t chat.”
“Oh,” Saffron said. “I was going to take this casserole to him as he’s feeling poorly and his wife is exhausted. Might you take it?”
Sage looked blankly at her sister. Who could think of food at a time like this?
“Yes, of course,” Clint said, taking the dish from Saffron and ushering her inside. “We’d be happy to take it.”
“Nice to see you both,” Saffron said as Sage climbed into the buggy, not even waiting for Clint to help her up. There was no time to waste on manners, not when somebody’s life could be at stake. She didn’t think that whoever did this was exchanging all of her tonics—she would have heard complaints—but Mr. Chapman was one person in particular that had been doing very well in the beginning and taken a turn for the worse, and she wanted to check as soon as possible.
“Who do you think could possibly do this?” Sage asked as she raced toward the miners’ house.
“I have some thoughts, honestly, but I’d like to see Mr. Chapman first,” Clint said, his voice tense.
Sage glanced over at him and slowed down at the sight of his white knuckles wrapped around the edges of the buggy.
“Please don’t slow down on my account. I’m in just as much a hurry as you,” he said, gripping the sides more tightly as she smiled and pushed forward.
“Mrs. Chapman. Mrs. Chapman?” Sage knocked loudly on the door and shifted from foot to foot as they waited. Clint held the casserole dish, but she couldn’t wait to get inside and check the tonic.
Mrs. Chapman opened the door and leaned against the door jamb, dark circles under her eyes.
“Oh, Mrs. Chapman, how is your husband?” Sage asked, brushing past her.
“Uh, here’s a casserole for you,” Clint said. Mrs. Chapman took the dish and followed them into the parlor.
Clint sat down beside the miner, pressing his hand to his forehead.
“He has a fever,” he said quietly to Sage. “And his rash hasn’t abated. Seems to be getting even worse.”
Sage searched for the tonic and her stomach dropped when she laid eyes on it. It wasn’t her bottle, nor her cork. She pulled the cork out and took a big whiff, turning away as she smelled the sumac and the absence of elderberries washed over her.
She met Clint’s gaze and shook her head.
“Mrs. Chapman, where did this tonic come from? It’s not the one that I gave you weeks ago. When your husband was doing well, it smelled like elderberries, didn’t it?”
Mrs. Chapman plopped into the rocking chair by her husband.
“I don’t remember, Miss. I think it was delivered from the doctor’s office. I know we had the first bottle, and my husband was doing better. Then somebody delivered another bottle, and it didn’t smell so good, but we tried it. And he’s been nothing but bad off since.”
Sage reached into her pocket and took out the tonic she’d retrieved from Sadie.
“Promise me that you will give him this one from now on. I’ll take the other bottle with me so you won’t get them mixed up. But please, give it to him three times a day. Even tonight, when you serve the casserole.”
Mrs. Chapman swept the hair back that had fallen into her eyes.
“Certainly, Miss. Will do. And thank you for the casserole. I’m too tired to cook. Very kind of you.”
“Don’t thank me, thank my sister,” Sage said as she headed for the door and Clint followed.
On the porch, she stopped for a moment and turned to him.
“What does this mean? Who could be doing this?
Chapter 25
Clint held his tongue all the way back to the funeral parlor. Sage appeared both frightened and furious, and he sensed that it wasn’t the right time to tell her of his suspicions.
He’d honestly been curious in some way ever since the first visited the miner and his wife. The rash had been unusual, especially confined to the two patients, and when Sage was talking to the miner’s wife, he’d sniffed the tonic—a horrible smell—and noticed that the bottle at the miner’s home looked like the odd one in his father’s room once Mrs. Allen pointed it out.
She’d radiated fury all the way back, and it wasn’t until they were safe inside the funeral parlor that he decided to try to talk to her.
“Sage, can you come with me for a moment?”
“What is it?” she asked, her voice tense. “I’d like to check on your father.”
“We will, we will. Come sit down here beside me.”
He pulled her into the viewing area—an odd venue, but one where they could have privacy. He wanted to explain to her what he thought—that the doctor had been trying to make tonics, and had delivered them to his father and the miner to replace hers.
He wasn’t sure how she’d take his speculation. The doctor had been horrible to her, but she still seemed to have the man on a pedestal in her mind.
“Have you given any thought to the possibility that Dr. Folsom might have tried to replicate your tonics?”
She recoiled and stood, taking a step away from him.
“What are you saying?”
“Listen to me, Sage. I’ve been thinking about it for days. He had bottles delivered the day I was there, you’d shown him how to make tonics long ago, someone from the doctor’s office delivered the new tonics...who else could have done this?”
“He’s a doctor, Clint. He’s taken the Hippocratic oath just like you will do, and that I have done in my heart. He couldn’t possibly take such a risk and experiment on patients without experience and without their knowledge.”
Clint ran his hands through his hair. He wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but she certainly at some point had decided that Dr. Folsom was much more than he was—which was a mere mortal.
He stood and tried to reach for her hand, chagrined when she pulled away.
“Sage, think about it. Who else could have done this? No one.”
“But...but why would he?”
Clint reached for her hand, this time successfully. He took a step closer.
“It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn he’s actually jealous of you.”
“Jealous?” she whispered, repeating his accusation.
“Yes, jealous. Everyone I’ve talked to here in Tombstone says that you’re the binding that holds his practice together. People want your tonics more than they want him. And he loses patients every day.”
He was left empty-handed as she pulled her hand away.
“I don’t believe you. He may not think I’m worthy, but he’s a fine doctor. An outstanding doctor. He wouldn’t do this. Your father’s recovery doesn’t prove anything at all.”
Clint sat down on the bench and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t kn
ow how to convince you. I have seen men like this—arrogant—who believe that they know all and can do all, dash the risk. I believe he is one of those men.”
“No.”
“Sage, you can’t discount that changing back to your tonic has helped my father profoundly. And it will do the same with Mr. Chapman, I’m certain of it.”
“Yes, your father is better, and yes, somehow a different tonic was given to both your father and the miner, but I refuse to believe that the doctor would do this to—would do this. Please turn your attention elsewhere and leave the doctor out of this.”
He sighed as she stormed from the room, pulling back the curtain on her way out and slamming the door behind her. He walked slowly to his father’s room, meeting both Mrs. Allen and his father with curious expressions.
“What was that about, son?” his father asked as Mrs. Allen laid down four aces on the tea tray.
Clint explained the entire predicament to his father and Mrs. Allen, and they both listened with rapt attention.
Mrs. Allen drummed her fingers on the tea tray as Mr. Jackson picked up the cards.
“I see what you’re doing, sir. I did win that hand.”
Mr. Jackson flushed, and Clint was glad he was back to his old self, even if he wasn’t completely well.
“Not to dismiss your concerns, Clint, but I can’t let your father get away with cheating. It just won’t do.”
Clint sighed. Clearly, these two were friends and it warmed his heart.
Mrs. Allen continued.
“I happen to agree with you. From what I’ve seen of Dr. Folsom, he is utterly and completely capable of such chicanery, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. In fact, I’d bet my bottom dollar on it.”
“Son, are you all right?” his father asked. “You look a little pale.”
Clint sat down, his elbows on his knees. He knew in his heart that the doctor had done this, but he had no idea how to convince Sage. And he was surprised how much it mattered to him that she know this, that she know that the doctor wasn’t the fine man he purported himself to be. And it mattered deeply what she thought of him—and she’d stormed out when he’d tried to help.
“Yes, Father. It’s just that Sage is very upset—upset with me, in particular, at the moment.”
The room fell silent for a bit. His father leaned forward and cleared his throat.
“Son, when you love someone, you just have to keep going until you can make things right.”
Clint stiffened. Had his father said love?
“Father, I certainly don’t think—I don’t know—I’m not sure—”
“Good grief, boy. I know love when I see it.” He reached over and picked up the painted mirror and handed it to his son.
“Look in there. That’s love. And I know you can make it right.”
Clint set the mirror on the vanity.
“She told me to leave her alone,” he said, the sorrow deep in his heart. “And nothing can possibly change until I can prove that Dr. Folsom is responsible for this, and Sage can be proud of her tonics—and herself.”
Mrs. Allen reached for her coat and gloves, a twinkle in her eye.
“You just leave this to me. I have an idea.”
Chapter 26
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve gotten dressed for supper,” Mr. Jackson said as Clint stood behind him and straightened his tie. The smiled at each other in the mirror and Clint reached up to straighten his father’s hair.
“You look very handsome, Father.”
“And I would say the same to you, son,” Mr. Jackson said, turning and embracing his son. “Thank you for taking me out to celebrate.”
Clint had made reservations at the Occidental restaurant at Mrs. Allen’s behest. He’d made reservations for six, as she’d asked, not knowing who would be joining him. His stomach lurched a bit at the hope that one of the guests would be Sage. He couldn’t imagine that she’d forgiven him, or accepted his theory about the doctor being responsible for the switched tonics, so he tried to squash that hope as they headed to the restaurant.
His father was still a bit wobbly, relying on his cane, and Clint gingerly helped him up the steps to the restaurant. It was only across the road from their house, and the traffic had abated by this time of night, but it took them a full fifteen minutes to cross.
By the time they’d been seated by the cheerful Sadie, his father was winded.
“My, I guess this is a lot of commotion for an old man. I need to get out more often. Maybe Mrs. Allen will take me to one of the saloons after supper,” Mr. Jackson said as he winked at his son.
Although his heart was heavy as he hadn’t been able to talk to Sage, Clint reveled in his father’s good health and good humor. He asked questions about the menu—what were smoked oysters doing on the menu in the middle of the desert? His father explained that as the town had swelled from a thousand souls to over fourteen thousand in the previous two years, many people with money coming from the East coast, they’d brought their tastes with them and expected delicacies, even in the hinterlands.
Clint shook his head and gazed about the room. It was true that Tombstone shattered his previously-held beliefs about what the frontier would look like, and he knew it wasn’t the common experience. But here, the rough and ready miners rubbed elbows with the financial elite of the day—all hoping to make it rich.
He was torn from his thoughts as he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He stood and turned to see Mrs. Allen, her arm looped through Mr. Archer’s, smiling at him.
“Mrs. Allen, so kind of you to join us for this celebration. And you, as well, Mr. Archer.”
“Happy to be invited,” Mr. Archer said, his strong voice bouncing from even the high, copper ceiling of the lovely restaurant.
“I was hoping—well, is Sage—”
His heart studded as Sage stepped from behind her father. Her eyes shone as she looked at him, and the teardrop earrings peeking out from under her lovely blond hair sparkled in the low candlelight. He thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight, and he hurried to pull her chair out for her as the others were seated at the table.
One empty chair rested across from him, and his eyebrows rose as Dr. Folsom swept into the restaurant. He took off his coat and held it out to seemingly no one, and a waiter swooped in to take it from him before he dropped it.
He tugged on his bow tie and spotted their table from across the room, striding over and bowing to the group.
Clint stood and shook the doctor’s hand as Sage noticeably studied her menu. He glanced at Mrs. Allen. She looked like a cat who’d swallowed a canary and she leaned over to him and whispered, “Trust me.”
“Mr. Jackson, it’s such a relief to see you in such fine fettle,” the doctor said. He sat down next to Mr. Archer, who seemed to lean in the opposite direction toward Mrs. Allen.
Clint turned to his left and said, “Yes, it’s quite a relief,” before he, too, turned to study his menu. He dearly wanted to say more, but held his tongue as Mrs. Allen nodded in his direction.
“It’s such a marvelous thing you’ve done, Dr. Folsom. To allow Sage to dispense her tonics and deliver such healing—well, you’re a remarkable man to allow a woman to show her skills and abilities. Let’s all toast to Dr. Folsom.”
They all followed her lead and lifted their glasses in the doctor’s direction. Clint couldn’t help but notice that the doctor squirmed a bit at that.
“Well, yes, Sage had delivered her tonics, but I also provided relief to the patients in the form of treatments,” the doctor said, leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied grin.
“Oh, no doubt. But clearly, it was Sage’s tonics that brought about such change, don’t you agree? Let’s all toast to Sage—may her wisdom and tonics forever hold Tombstone in good stead,” Mrs. Allen said, again raising her glass, even as she cocked her eyebrow at the doctor.
The group looked up as the Widow Samson stopped by the table.
“I couldn’t h
elp but overhear. I would like to join you all in toasting to Sage—her tonic helped me greatly. Look, I’m even using my cane this evening. It’s a miracle.”
“Hear, hear,” Mr. Archer toasted, raising his glass once again, seeming to revel in Mrs. Allen’s encouragement.
The doctor shifted again in his seat, looking wholly uncomfortable. His face reddened as he looked about the table.
Clint glanced at Sage, her cheeks crimson. He turned at the sound of Mrs. Chapman’s voice and turned, his jaw falling open at the sight. Mr. and Mrs. Chapman, dressed in their finest, passed by the table and stopped.
“I second that,” Mr. Chapman said. “Sage’s tonic saved my life, and I’ll tell anyone I see.” His wife, whose dark circles had disappeared, squeezed her husband’s elbow as they followed Sadie to their table.
“Sage, you’re a miracle worker,” Mrs. Allen said, leaning toward Sage and tapping her cheek. “Truly gifted, and we’re lucky to have you.”
Clint glanced at the doctor, and was certain that if steam could be coming out of his ears, it would be.
He shook his head at what came next. His father wobbled to his feet, lifting his glass as he turned to Sage.
“Sage, my dear girl, thank you for saving my life. I am forever in your debt.”
The doctor had clearly had enough. He threw his napkin on his p late and stood, waving wildly about the room.
“Surely, good people, you don’t credit this little bit of a girl with saving people’s lives, with—miracles.” He said the word as if it was distasteful, practically spitting it out. “She is nothing. She’s a dabbler in plants. I am the doctor here, and I am the one who saved these people.”
Silence fell over the table until Mrs. Allen spoke.
“You certainly do have your credentials, sir, and they are not to be doubted. But in these cases, it was clearly Sage’s tonics that did the trick.
Clint glanced at Mrs. Allen, her steely eyes trained on the doctor as she reached for Mr. Archer’s hand.
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