Healing Hearts

by Sarah M. Eden

  “And me?” Andrew came around the far corner of the building, his gun drawn and pointed at Dr. Blackburn.

  “No matter the number of bullets, you’ll not be fast enough for me.” Cade stood not far distant, his gun drawn as well.

  “You cannot aid a fugitive,” Dr. Blackburn insisted. “It is against the law.”

  “Too bad you ain’t the law,” Cade said.

  Someone took Miriam’s hand. Her first instinct was to yank free, but then she saw it was Gideon. He pulled her into the growing crowd. Before she could say a word, she was enveloped by a rush of townspeople and tucked out of sight.

  “Hand her over,” Dr. Blackburn growled.

  “Lower your weapon,” Cade instructed. “I’ve shot men for far less than this.”

  “All I need to do is tell the judge I was attempting to apprehend her because none of you would. No charge will ever stick.”

  “But a bullet will.” Cade could be terrifying when he needed to be. “Hard to tell a judge anything when you’re dead.”

  Through gaps in her wall of protectors, Miriam saw Dr. Blackburn shoved against the wall. Paisley took his gun. Cade handcuffed him.

  “You’ll lose your badges over this,” Dr. Blackburn hissed. “And she’ll still be coming with me. You can’t stop that.”

  “A man who threatened the life of a deputy marshal is hardly in a position to simply waltz away from town.” Cade yanked him away from the wall. “That’ll have to be sorted out before anyone goes anywhere.”

  Dr. Blackburn turned his threatening glare on Miriam as he was dragged past. Gideon set his arms around her, a gesture of protection she needed in that moment. That had been too near a thing. If the townsfolk had not stepped up, the doctor would have killed Paisley. And then he likely would have killed her.

  “If we’d known he was waiting for you, we never would have risked moving you,” Gideon said.

  “He was going to kill her,” she whispered.

  “He was going to kill you,” Paisley said, having made her way through the crowd to where they stood. “None of us would have let him. Not without a fight.”

  Gideon kissed Miriam’s temple, keeping her in his arms. “Your father’s waiting in the jailhouse.”

  She looked up at him, fear flooding through her. “He’s going to send me away?”

  “I doubt that.” He kept his arm around her back and led her toward the narrow alleyway between his house and the jail.

  She received looks of encouragement from the people she passed. She hoped they could see her gratitude despite the worry she felt.

  Dr. Blackburn was in the jailhouse, still roundly denouncing Cade, Paisley, and the town. When Miriam stepped inside, he turned his venom on her. “You will be coming with me, and you will answer for this. Mark my words.”

  Gideon led her to the desk, but his gaze focused in the other direction. “Does that sound like someone who has only her well-being in mind?”

  Miriam followed his gaze. Her father sat at a round table, watching the events with wide eyes. Mr. and Mrs. MacNamara sat at the table, along with Mr. Larsen. Miriam’s sketchbook lay open on the table in front of them.

  “How did they get that?” she asked.

  “You created quite a case against Blackburn in the pages of that book, Miriam,” Gideon said. “Your father is hearing the details.”

  “The word of an imbecile cannot be trusted,” Blackburn spat from his cell.

  “Another outburst, and I’ll cuff you to the banister outside,” Cade said. “The town’s still out there, and they’re spittin’ mad. It’d be a shame if there were too many of them for me to stop them from . . . expressing their disapproval.”

  Mrs. MacNamara stood and crossed to them, looking them both over. “We heard this monster pulled a gun on you, my dear Miriam.”

  “He did,” Gideon said. “Murder, it seems, is well within his wheelhouse.” He looked over at Miriam. “But, then, you’ve known that for a while, haven’t you?”

  Her father held up the sketchbook. “Is all of this true, Miriam?”

  “Does it matter?”

  The answer clearly surprised him. “This indicates he was killing people.”

  “People sent to him to be forgotten,” she countered. “We all knew why we were there. No one wanted us. What did it matter if he killed people whose own families wanted them to disappear?”

  “I never—You needed help.” It was the same argument Dr. Blackburn had used again and again.

  “I needed someone to care what happened to me. I needed someone to recognize that a mind is like nearly any other part of the body. It doesn’t have to be perfect to be good.”

  Gideon slipped his hand around hers.

  “I needed you to see that I was more than this illness. That there was ample reason to be proud of me instead of ashamed. But you never saw any of that. You locked me up with a murderer, and even now that you know, I still have no confidence you won’t insist upon returning me there.”

  Gideon, still holding her hand, stepped over to the table, bringing her with him.

  “Miriam is a gifted nurse, quick to identify and address issues, able to look at illnesses from multiple angles, and devoted to finding the right answer, not just an easy answer.” Gideon faced her father directly. “The fact that she recorded in that book exactly the information needed to begin building a firm case against the man who was terrorizing her speaks to a whole and fully functioning mind. She could not do all she has done, nor survive all she has survived, if she were truly as mad as Dr. Blackburn has claimed.”

  Her father’s eyes returned to the sketchbook. He didn’t speak. He steepled his hands in front of him. His mouth pressed in a tight line.

  “My other son, Ian, has already spoken with several ­people at the government agency that oversees asylums,” Mr. Mac­Namara said. “An investigation into Blackburn Asylum will likely begin immediately. This information will, I am certain, be confirmed.”

  Dr. Blackburn grabbed the bars of his cell. “You can’t do that.”

  Cade held up the handcuffs. “Are you wanting to be cuffed outside?”

  Dr. Blackburn stepped back into his cell, pacing around the small space.

  Mr. Larsen spoke next. “As Miss Bricks’s legal counsel, I have drafted a very detailed letter, arguing that her diagnosis was made in error and with prejudice. Dr. MacNamara has assembled testimony from multiple colleagues denouncing that same diagnosis. That, coupled with the soon-to-be verified evidence that Dr. Blackburn is far from unbiased in this situation, might be enough to have her legal status reinstated.”

  Was that true? She looked to Gideon, but his attention was solely focused on her father.

  “She doesn’t belong in an institution,” he said quietly. “You know she doesn’t.”

  “But the seizures,” Father said. “They’re unpredictable. They can’t be cured.”

  “There is a woman here in town who has a persistent cough, a man whose knee aches him at unpredictable intervals,” Gideon said. “I have a brother whose reliance on spectacles ‘can’t be cured.’ None of those things negates who they are or what they can accomplish.”

  Miriam pulled her hand from Gideon’s and took the chair Mrs. MacNamara had vacated.

  “I know that you worry what people will say and think and do if they ever witnessed one of my episodes,” she said. “But I have no intention of ever returning to New York. No one there, no one who matters to you, will ever know of my condition. If you choose, no one need ever know of my existence. I can change my name, not speak of my early years to anyone, not even hint at having ever lived east of the Mississippi.”

  He met her eyes. “You would hide your identity?”

  “To avoid returning to an asylum or dying in that man’s ­custody”—she motioned to Dr. Blackburn—“I was ready to face the cru
elty of the world alone, to abandon my nursing skills and the respectable employment it offered me. Pretending that I have no family would hurt, but I am ready for that.”

  “I saw your drawings of your brothers and sisters, of your mother and me,” Father said. “You never drew yourself with us.”

  “I knew I wasn’t considered part of the family after your first attempt to have me institutionalized,” she said. “That didn’t mean I didn’t miss all of you, that I didn’t wish things were different, that I didn’t wish you weren’t ashamed of me.”

  “It wasn’t just about embarrassment,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know how to help you.”

  “But you can help me now.” How she prayed he would. “Let me stay here in this town where the people love me and care about me. Let me be free.”

  Chapter 39

  “We have testimonials from twelve different doctors who are in complete agreement with Dr. MacNamara’s opinion that Miss Bricks’s diagnosis of madness is unjustified,” Mr. Larsen told Judge Irwin. “Three of the testimonials denouncing the diagnosis outright are from doctors for whom Miss Bricks previously worked.”

  Miriam wasn’t sure she would ever grow accustomed to hearing herself discussed so impersonally. But, if the day went well, this would be the last time she would endure this.

  Mr. Larsen held up the written testimonials, emphasizing his words with flicks of the papers. “These men of medicine who know her personally, who are aware of her medical condition, do not, as a matter of professional opinion, believe she is mad.”

  “But Dr. Parnell, as a matter of professional opinion, believed she was.” Judge Irwin had shown himself hard-nosed. But he had opened the hearing with the promise that, if they presented sound arguments, he would listen with an open mind.

  Mr. Larsen was unshaken by Judge Irwin’s rejoinder. “Dr. Parnell sent four different patients to Dr. Blackburn. That is a higher number than any other admitting physician. The same investigators who are looking into the possibility that Dr. Blackburn was involved in both fraud and murder are also investigating Dr. Parnell.”

  Miriam hadn’t heard that. Could Dr. Parnell have been part of the scheme from the beginning?

  “The only physician corroborating Dr. Parnell’s diagnosis is Dr. Blackburn himself, who is currently in the custody of the US marshal over Wyoming Territory on account of his having held two law enforcement officers and several people in town at gunpoint while repeatedly threatening lives. Is his word to be given equal weight in this matter as those of physicians without his very questionable history?”

  The judge didn’t have a ready response.

  “We must, Your Honor, bear in mind that the case against Dr. Blackburn relies heavily upon evidence Miss Bricks uncovered, casting further doubt about his motivation in keeping her in his asylum.”

  Judge Irwin nodded ponderously.

  Mr. Larsen was quiet as a rule, withdrawn, and more than a little mysterious, but he was inarguably good at what he did. Miriam couldn’t account for his decision to settle in a place where he couldn’t possibly make a living, when he might have worked for any number of prestigious firms back East, but she was deeply grateful that he’d chosen the life he had.

  “Sheriff Cade O’Brien and Deputy Andrew Gilbert, along with US Deputy Marshal Paisley O’Brien, have all testified that Miss Bricks is an invaluable and contributing member of this town. US Marshal John Hawking, who has interacted with a good number of criminals who were violently unstable by anyone’s estimation, has testified that Miss Bricks in no way resembles those individuals, and has staked his reputation on his belief that she is not a threat to anyone, including herself.”

  Miriam sat at the table with Mr. Larsen, facing the judge. Her friends and supporters were behind her. Gideon sat among them. She wished she could see them all, gauge their reaction to this final argument. As it was, her only barometer was Judge Irwin’s reaction, and he played his cards too close to the chest for any reliable evaluation.

  “You set us a difficult task,” Mr. Larsen said, “and for good reason. This is not a decision which ought to be made in haste, as the consequences of making a mistake are enormous. Your Honor, Miss Bricks has already spent two years paying the price of an incorrect diagnosis, an unwarranted incarceration, and an unjustified stripping away of her legal rights. It is time she was given back her life.”

  What would that be like? Her illness and its subsequent complications had controlled every aspect of her life for years.

  “Marshal Hawking.” Judge Irwin eyed Hawk over his spectacles. “You are certain Miss Bricks presents no safety concerns?”

  “I’ve not a single doubt,” he answered.

  “Dr. MacNamara.” Judge Irwin’s gaze shifted. “You are certain Miss Bricks is in full possession of her faculties?”

  “I am certain,” Gideon answered.

  “Mr. Larsen, I am charging you with providing a detailed accounting of all the evidence you provided today. I do not wish for this day’s decision to ever be called into question.”

  “Of course, Your Honor,” Mr. Larsen said.

  “Miss Bricks, would you please approach?”

  Miriam took in a deep breath and rose. She moved with slow, slightly unsteady steps around the table and to the space directly in front of Judge Irwin.

  “You have some fierce champions, Miss Bricks.” The judge took off his spectacles and laid them on the desk. “The law is not kind in matters of lunacy, which makes this a difficult case.”

  Was this his way of telling her the appeal had not been successful?

  “I will confess, I came here having already heard testimony on your behalf,” Judge Irwin said.

  “I don’t believe I know anyone in Laramie.”

  Judge Irwin shook his head. “From a stage driver, who, upon hearing that Savage Wells was my final destination, praised to the heavens a Nurse Bricks who had helped save his wife’s life. Apparently, he now has enough money to take her for a surgery you discovered she needed.”

  “Mrs. Driessen.” She breathed out the name. “They are going for the surgery?” She spun around to look at Gideon with a happy smile. “The Driessens are going to get the surgery.”

  “Oh, hallelujah,” Gideon answered with a matching smile.

  “Miss Bricks.” The judge’s tone was both impatient and amused.

  She turned back to him. “My apologies, Your Honor.”

  He nodded. “Mr. Driessen spoke at length of your thoroughness, your competency, the depth of your understanding and effort. I found myself wondering how someone with the degree of your supposed madness could manage all of that.”

  Gruff and difficult Mr. Driessen had helped her without even realizing it.

  “Then I arrived, only to be accosted by an almost constant stream of people pleading your case, telling me how much you are valued and needed here.” Judge Irwin tapped his fingertips together. “I was particularly moved by the pleadings of one Rupert Fletcher. None of their arguments are legally binding, of course, but they do paint a very vivid picture of you.”

  “This is a wonderful town,” she said. “And these are wonderful people.”

  “And Mr. Larsen, as it turns out, is wonderfully thorough,” the judge said. “He’s made an excellent argument, one that even the disproportionate leanings of the law cannot dismiss out of hand, both in the matter of your particular circumstances and the situation at Blackburn Asylum, which is already being addressed in Nebraska.”

  “The other patients at Blackburn Asylum,” she said. “What will happen to them while the matter of Dr. Blackburn’s behavior and violations is decided? I am worried for them.”

  An unexpected softness entered the judge’s expression.

  “I realize that matter is not in your hands,” she continued, “but do you have any indication that their welfare is being considered, that someone re
liable and compassionate and capable is looking after them?” She had fought for those poor souls for two years; she would not abandon them.

  “It is my understanding, Miss Bricks, that the state, now made aware of the ongoing abuses there, has appointed a new doctor. In addition, someone from the state and an observer from Washington will take over the supervision of the asylum.”

  She took a shaky breath. “They will be cared for? Someone will advocate for them?”

  “I have every confidence they will be,” Judge Irwin said.

  Relief rushed over her.

  “Likewise,” the judge said, “based on the testimony I have heard and the sound legal arguments made by Mr. Larsen, I can, with confidence, revoke the legalities connected to your diagnosis and return to you the rights stripped from you because of it.”

  He was overturning her diagnosis. Shock made it almost impossible to even comprehend.

  “I spoke with Mr. Bricks before this trial,” Judge Irwin continued. “He said that if I were presented with enough evidence to revoke your diagnosis, then he would revoke his authorization.”

  Father would release her if the judge deemed her not mad? Was that what had just happened? Had she just been given her freedom? She did not dare believe it.

  “Your Honor?” Mr. Larsen pressed.

  “Miss Bricks’s legal status is returned to what it was before her diagnosis. And Mr. Bricks’s agreement to withdraw his confinement authorization means she is free to go.”

  Her heart leapt to her throat. “Truly?” She nearly choked on the word.

  Judge Irwin smiled, the first time she’d seen him do that. “Truly.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  He nodded once, then looked over at Mr. Larsen. “We’re done here.”

  Miriam’s sigh of relief was drowned out by the chorus of hoorahs and shouts of triumph from the people gathered behind her. She returned to Mr. Larsen’s table. He was sitting down, gathering papers.

  “Thank you,” Miriam said. “I could not have hoped to succeed in this matter without you.”

  He silently nodded, not meeting her eye, not looking up from his papers. Gone was the eloquent man who’d so expertly pleaded her case.