by Nancy Bush
Grabbing her hair brush from her satchel, she dragged it savagely through her long trusses. She was here in Rock Springs to find her father (and stay out of trouble with the law), and by God, she wasn’t going to think about Harrison’s promise to come and see her, or the fact that he seemed unusually interested in her, or that he kissed her last night and paid for her lodging. No, it was best to put Harrison, and the events that had brought them together, aside.
With her future firmly focused in her mind, Miracle ran downstairs to the washroom, then hurried up again and knocked on Uncle Horace’s door. She heard a snort and a groan from within and grinned. “Serves you right if you’re paying for your misdeeds with a hangover,” she called to him cheerfully through the panels. When he didn’t answer to repeated knocking, she went back downstairs to find help.
“I need someone to do some barbering,” she told the clerk at the desk. “And I need a bath made ready for the occupant of room thirteen.” The added cost ticked up in Miracle’s mind, but she pushed the thought aside. She would pay Harrison back somehow, sometime soon. For now, first things first: Uncle Horace needed to be made presentable so that they could go about their business and earn some money.
“I’ll send someone right up,” the clerk assured her. Grinning, he added, “Welcome to Rock Springs, ma’am!”
¤ ¤ ¤
An hour and a half later Miracle was standing in the doorway of Uncle Horace’s room, looking at a transformed man. Gone was the dirt and grime and ragged beard. Before her stood her beloved Uncle Horace, who, with Aunt Emily’s help, had taken in an orphaned half-breed whose only possession was a tin box full of money – a possession they’d never touched for their own.
“I suppose you ordered all this?” Uncle Horace declared crankily. He swept his arm to include the barber, who was packing up his gear, and the still steaming tub of water in the center of the room.
“I did.” Miracle placed her hands on her hips and grinned.
Uncle Horace shook his head and straightened his brown wool jacket. The jacket was one Aunt Emily had made ten years before, and Uncle Horace only wore it on special occasions. Occasions such as when he didn’t know where the rest of his clothes were.
“You didn’t use your inheritance money to pay for this, did you?”
Inheritance money was a kind name for the tin box of cash Miracle’s father had left for her mother. “No,” she said truthfully.
He relaxed, and she saw affection in his eyes before he glanced away. Uncle Horace was not one for big displays of emotion, unless he was drunk. She had no doubt that he would be utterly mortified when he learned of his behavior these past few days.
“Glad to see you again, Miracle, my girl,” he added gruffly. Unable to help herself, Miracle flung her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. He squeezed her back, then held her at arm’s length, his blue eyes twinkling. “I swear, it’s hard to keep a Jones down!”
“The only way to stop us is to kill us,” Miracle replied in a time-honored response.
“And then we might haunt you anyway,” Uncle Horace returned right on cue.
Miracle laughed. “I’m so glad to see you! I was so afraid that you were – that they had –” She shuddered, remembering Jeb’s sightless eyes staring toward the heavens.
“We got a lot of catching up on, Miracle, my girl,” he said, understanding. “Now,” he added briskly, “if you have any extra money, let’s scratch up a meal and talk things over.”
Miracle didn’t know how to tell him she didn’t have any money any longer. After the joy of finding him alive, a part of her had hoped he might somehow have saved the money, too. Unfortunately, they were flat broke and desperately short of inventory to boot.
“We can eat in the hotel restaurant,” Miracle said, purposely refraining from adding that one Dr. Harrison Danner would be picking up the bill. There would be more than enough time for the truth later.
¤ ¤ ¤
“…and then I found myself hanging from a branch by the back of my collar,” Uncle Horace said, sopping up gravy with his biscuit. “I’d been snagged, and it was the only thing that kept me from drownin’. No, that doesn’t sound right.” He chewed on the biscuit thoughtfully, then declared with reverence, “It was like the hand of God, reachin’ for me, tellin’ me it wasn’t my time yet!”
Miracle regarded him with a mixture of affection and exasperation. For the last hour she’d been listening to Uncle Horace’s accounts of what had happened to him – the truth, and several more colorful versions. He was going to milk this adventure for all it was worth and enthrall his would-be customers as soon as they opened their wagon for business this afternoon.
“I thought you said you washed ashore.”
“I did.” He nodded solemnly, then twinkled at her. “But Romeo and Juliet’s just a tale of two silly folks who killed themselves for no good reason if’n you don’t add in the fun. I’ve got to make this good, Miracle, my girl.”
Miracle had told him most of her own escapades, leaving out the night she and Harrison had made love. Uncle Horace had been horrified and shocked and relieved all over again that she’d come through the ordeal safely. Now, however, since he’d had some time to think over what she’d said, his bristly gray brows pulled into a frown.
“You say you gave this Dr. Danner some of my special elixir?”
“He was in pain. I thought it would help, and it did.”
Uncle Horace rubbed his jaw, regarding Miracle speculatively. “Think he hallucinated?”
“Some,” she said. “Why? Shouldn’t I have given it to him? Will there be after effects?”
“Oh, no, no,” he assured her with a wave of his hand. “It’s just that that particular brew is…”
Miracle waited patiently.
“Well, it’s got some interesting properties. Sometimes they can stir a man’s – um – interest in women, if you know what I mean. I knowed one family who got a passel of young’uns that way ‘cause whenever her husband’s rheumatics flared up, he guzzled my elixir.”
The blood ebbed from Miracle’s face. Children. Pregnancy. Too many events had transpired for her to even think clearly. She could be pregnant. Just like her mother!
“Miracle?” he asked in concern.
Miracle tried to pull herself together, but her soul felt torn in two. What for her had been a shatteringly beautiful experience had been drug-induced for Harrison. She’d believed, naïvely, that in his delirium he’d still wanted her – her, Miracle Jones – even though he called out Kelsey’s name. But Harrison had known nothing except that he’d been sexually stimulated by Uncle Horace’s potent tonic. Any woman would have done as well. Any woman.
“Miracle?” Uncle Horace asked again, this time thoroughly alarmed.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” The shame of what she’d done made her want to bury her face in her hands. She was angry at herself, and downright incredulous, that she – sane, good (well, almost good), intelligent Miracle Jones – could be so swept away by emotion.
How did it happen, Lord? How did it happen?
“Are you ready to go back to the wagon?” she asked a few moments later, her voice strained. “We need to check and see what we should order. Then we’ve got to earn some money.”
“How’re we payin’ for this?” He gestured to the silver plate with the check on it.
The young man who’d helped Miracle the night before chose that moment to walk past their table. Overhearing Uncle Horace’s remark, he said cheerfully, “Oh, don’t worry about the bill. Doctor Danner said he’d pay for everything.”
“Doctor Danner?” Uncle Horace turned to Miracle and remarked sardonically, “Generous of the man.”
Miracle pinned a smile on her face she hoped wasn’t as sick as it felt. In lieu of an answer, she pushed back her chair and left the room. She had a lot to think about, and she couldn’t bear to do it under Uncle Horace’s unnervingly w
atchful eye.
The wagon was just where they’d left it. Miracle unlatched the back doors and climbed inside. A faint aroma met her nose, spicy and pleasant, filled with some indefinable something that made her want to draw the air deep into her lungs. Harrison’s scent, she realized with a start. He’d been here yesterday, and his own particular seductive odor still lingered.
She tried to drive thoughts of him from her mind, but when she pushed Harrison’s image aside, she envisioned his mother’s. How was Eliza doing? Miracle hoped her illness wasn’t as serious as she and all the Danners suspected.
Uncle Horace appeared and took control of the reins. He planned to move the wagon to the center of town and hawk his wares. Miracle, who believed in his remedies, nevertheless felt slightly self-conscious about setting up shop in Rock Springs. Her father lived here somewhere. It would be nice to find him in a less conspicuous way.
“It was the hand of God that saved me,” Uncle Horace murmured to himself as Miracle settled in beside him and he clucked his tongue at Tillie and Gray. Glancing at Miracle, he grinned, his gold tooth sparkling in the late-morning light. “The hand of God and a touch of my own special blood-warming tonic” – he held up an imaginary bottle – “which I’ll make available to the first five customers for only a half-dollar!”
Miracle inwardly sighed. Uncle Horace’s fast-talking flim-flam tended to sell his products at most rural towns, but Miracle wasn’t sure Rock Springs was going to be the same. “There’s a doctor in this town,” she told him. “Doctor Danner.”
“Thought you said he was a horse doctor.”
“His brother’s a medical doctor. And from what I’ve seen, he’s a good one.”
“Just how close are you to these Danners?” Uncle Horace wanted to know as Tillie and Gray lurched the wagon to the center four-corners of Rock Springs. Uncle Horace pulled up in front of Garrett Mercantile.
“I’ve met most of them.” Miracle climbed down from the seat. A fat raindrop slid down her neck, and she gasped. “Oh, that’s cold!” Glancing upward, she saw a heavy black cloud approaching from the east. Summer was truly over. A rainstorm was about to hit, and the wind was rising.
Uncle Horace unlatched the side of the wagon and hooked it up so that it provided a sheltered awning for anyone who cared to see their wares. Besides elixirs, they sold other products – cooking ware, blankets, trinkets, books – but health remedies were certainly the most popular, and lucrative, items.
Miracle climbed over the seat to the back of the wagon and began stacking bottles on the shelf behind the open window. She peered out through the gathering gloom and saw Rock Springs residents scurrying down the boardwalks, seeking shelter. She didn’t blame them. The rumble of thunder promised a healthy shower.
“Come on over, folks!” Uncle Horace boomed out. “The rain’s a-comin’, so you’d better stock up. We’ve got lotsa items that you won’t be able to live without! Come on over!”
His voice was nearly drowned out by the sudden tattoo of raindrops beating into the dusty ground. Within seconds he was soaked and forced to stand under the awning while the dirt roads darkened beneath the torrent.
Miracle leaned an elbow on the shelf, cupping her chin in her hand. Her heart wasn’t in Uncle Horace’s performance. Though his sales techniques sometimes amused her, she’d gotten over the fascination with his circus sideshow tactics years before. In truth, Miracle could have done without all the balderdash and settled for honest, herbalist treatment. But so much of Uncle Horace’s makeup was acting that she couldn’t bring herself to criticize him.
Within ten minutes the streets were clear of people and filled with rising mud and deep puddles of water. Uncle Horace climbed in the back of the wagon and slammed the doors.
“And then the sky opened up and God poured a bucket of water down on His children,” Miracle declared in her orator’s voice. “It was a warning. God said, ‘No, my children. Do not buy any of Uncle Horace’s Tinctures and Elixirs for Uncommonly Good Health.’”
“That is not funny, Miracle, my girl, while we are facin’ abject poverty. And no, before you offer, I’m not askin’ for your money. You should know that by now.”
Miracle sighed. “I don’t have my money anymore. It was stolen by the men who kidnapped me.”
Uncle Horace’s expression turned as dark as the clouds overhead. “What?” he thundered.
Miracle explained about the missing tin box, adding gently, “We have to sell something fast. We need to order more herbs, and we need to pay Harrison back.”
“How long does he plan to foot the bill at the hotel?”
“He didn’t say.” She sat on the end of a wooden crate, not meeting Uncle Horace’s eyes.
“Hmmm. Well, as long as this weather has sent the good citizens of Rock Springs to their homes, we might as well use the time to buy more inventory. We’d better post some letters and orders some special herbs and tonics from my man in Minnesota.”
Uncle Horace’s man in Minnesota was a Chippewa Indian who had learned the advantages of selling special mixtures to the white man long ago. Uncle Horace was a regular mail-order customer.
“How long do you think we should stay in Rock Springs?” Miracle asked
“well, now, you want to find your father, don’tcha?”
Miracle was silent. For years she’d burned to know who her father was, but if her quest meant staying in Rock Springs, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to find him. How could she stand it, to be in Rock Springs when Harrison and Kelsey decided to wed again? The whole town would turn out. It would be the event of the season.
She couldn’t bear the thought of living through that awful day. Yet she couldn’t bear the thought of packing up and never seeing him again, either!
“What if I said I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay?”
Uncle Horace set down the bottle he’d pulled off the upper shelf and sat down heavily on the end of the cot, directly across from Miracle. “I’d sure want to know why. And I’d be thinkin’ it probably had somethin’ to do with that blond horse doctor you’re so all-fired worked up over.”
“I stabbed that blond horse doctor,” reminded Miracle tightly. “I’m lucky he didn’t turn me into the sheriff!”
“And you gave him some of my elixir.”
“Yes?” Miracle challenged, bristling for a fight.
“I was just thinkin’ that was a mighty dangerous move.”
Miracle snorted. “I can take care of myself. Honestly, you’re as nosy and suspicious as an old woman!”
“What happened those nights you spent with Dr. Danner?” Uncle Horace asked, unrepentant. “You didn’t go and fall in love with him, did you?”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Then what are we arguin’ about?” He smiled with Uncle Horace charm and added, “Miracle, we both escaped a terrible fate. In fact, the wonder of that has turned me near religious. I think it’s time to make a change, settle down a bit.”
Miracle, who was still getting over the way he seemed to know exactly what had happened to her and with whom, asked suspiciously, “What do you mean?”
“We need some respectability, Miracle, my girl. I believe we should set up shop here. That way you can look for your father, and I can take care of business in one place while I wait for my order to come through. Now, is your heart really so set on leavin’?”
Miracle stared at him. What could she say? The thought of setting up shop in Rock Springs was singularly appealing, but not because it might help her find her father.
“I think I’ll go over to Garrett Mercantile for a while,” Miracle answered, sidestepping the issue. “Maybe someone there will know something about my father.”
“Or about that handsome horse doctor.”
She refused even to answer him as she grabbed a rather sorry-looking bonnet with a drooping quail feather and smashed it on her head.
¤ ¤ ¤
The rain lasted for two days. Miracle, who had intended to check out of Garr
ett’s Hotel once and for all, found herself unable to take such drastic measures, especially with the rain sneaking through the wooden ceiling of the wagon and dripping into little pools on the floor. She already owed Harrison money for one night, she reasoned. What difference did it make if she had to pay him back for a few more?
Her spirits sank with the dismal weather. She told herself Harrison’s promise of seeing her again had been merely his way of saying good-bye. He’d expected to see her around town when he came through Rock Springs again. He hadn’t meant that he would actually look for her.
Still, it was depressing. And with Uncle Horace’s comments about having a “passel of young’uns” still ringing in her ears, Miracle had plenty to worry about. She tried not to. She couldn’t bear to think she was following the same wretched path of doom as her mother had. With the force of her considerable will, she pushed those thoughts out of her head and, like Uncle Horace, concentrated on plying her trade of herbs and folk medicine. Her success with the wary residents of Rock Springs was fairly limited, however.
“They’re happy with Dr. Tremaine Danner,” she said to Uncle Horace on the afternoon of her third day in Rock Springs. “We don’t have a lot to offer them.”
“If we opened our own store we would,” he answered back, undeterred.
Miracle wondered. “Drugstore doctors” weren’t the rage they’d once been. People wanted physicians with credentials, like Tremaine. Uncle Horace’s circus sideshow techniques didn’t impress like they used to, and unless he and Miracle could get people to try their products and realized how truly effective they were, Uncle Horace’s Tinctures and Elixirs for Uncommonly Good Health would remain on the shelves forever.
“I’ve been checkin’ around,” Uncle Horace went on. “With what little money we’ve taken in, we still have enough to rent that empty store around the corner for a week. By that time, we’ll have enough for another week, and there’re a couple of rooms up above for us to stay in.”
“What about paying back Dr. Danner?”
