The Healer's Touch (7 page)

Stepping closer to the long row on display, Lyric scanned the assortment of horrors. Every last man looked like he'd shoot his grandma for a stewing hen. Her eyes moved down the row. It was so hard to tell. Most of the men wore beards and had missing teeth. The man in her parlor was a clean-looking sort, except for his injuries, and the swelling made it hard to make out his true features. After a bit, she turned away. “None of them look like the man in
my parlor, but I heard Jim Cummins was seen in the area yesterday. Perhaps the man isn't a Younger but a Cummins.”

“Could be, but I don't know much about Cummins,” the man admitted. He stepped to the board and ran his gaze the length of the posters. “This here is Bud Pence. Does the man you got resemble him?”

She stared at the faded image. “Not really—but I can't say for certain. When he went through the barn door he got banged up pretty bad. I didn't think he'd make it through the night, but he did. He passed earlier today.” Sighing, she turned away. “I don't know who he is but maybe he has kin in the area. Is it possible for someone to come and identify the body? Surely someone knows the hoodlums that plague the area.”

Gunshots often shattered the stillness, and she could hear the ruckus clear up on the hill. Those gangs sure liked to cause trouble. The men rode through town, whooping, hollering, tearing down clotheslines of clean wash, shooting out windows, and terrorizing anyone in their path. A stray bullet had caught Wilson Brown three years past, and the town clothier was still in a wheelchair.

“There's several who'd know if it's Cummins, though you got one problem.”

“Only one?” She laughed lightly. If only this were her one problem.

“You're not going to get a soul to come up to your house and identify him. You up to bringing him to the jail?”

Put a dead body in her cart and drive it all the way into town? She shook her head. “Can't you do this?” The very idea that a young, strong man like him couldn't get past his superstitions was plain silly. If he couldn't muster the courage to cross the Bolton threshold, how was he ever going to control the Holler's outlaws?

He removed his hat and laid it across his chest. “Ma'am. That spooklight—that there does something to me I can't explain.”

“Don't folks see it down here?”

“Not as often. I haven't and I don't intend to if I can keep from it.”

“My family has nothing to do with that light,” she snapped. “You are surely a man of common sense.”

He nodded. “Common sense tells me to stay far away, ma'am.”

Shaking her head, she lifted the light scarf around her hair. “I don't see how I can get a dead man to the jail, but I'll try. Will you be here tomorrow morning?”

The delay would mean that she and the girls would have to carry the body from the parlor to the wagon. Were the three up to moving his bulky weight again? Lark and Boots wouldn't relish the task, but she couldn't allow the deceased to turn back to dust on Mother's sofa. And she wanted him out of the house—and out of her life.

“Yes, ma'am, I'll be here in the morning, and I'll have someone here who can tell you for certain who your man is.”

“He isn't my man—and once he's identified I pray there's a bounty.” The dead man on her mother's sofa was not only
not
her man, he wasn't her problem—but that seemed beside the point. The barn door was the real problem. Rosie wasn't likely to wander off, but wild animals could easily get to the cow and the chickens without the door to stop them. And if anything got the cow or chickens there would be no fresh butter, milk, cream, or eggs in the Bolton household.

The acting sheriff nodded. “If he's any part of the Younger gang, there'll be a reward. And a nice one.”

“Then I will return early tomorrow morning to collect that prize.” With a nod she turned and left, closing the door firmly behind her.

A balmy sun shifted to the west as Lyric reached the top of Bolton hill. Winded, she paused to catch her breath.

The Bolton house did resemble a house of fear.

Two stories, sagging shutters, warped paint. The all-weather
spring-fed creek filled with limestone slabs gurgled alongside the path that led over the hill to the barn. Water poured from the spring, cascading over the bluff. When the wind blew, the old house creaked with noises even Lyric couldn't identify. The woodstove was enough to heat the downstairs but the upstairs bedrooms were cold and drafty in the winter and hot and stuffy in the summer.

The repugnant thought of moving the deceased rested heavily on her mind. It was hardly fair to involve Lark and Boots again, but she had no choice. He must be moved one final time in the morning, and then she could hand him off to the sheriff and be done with him.

A more repugnant thought crossed her mind, one that made blood rush to her head. What if there was no bounty? What if the man the sheriff brought in to identify the body couldn't make a positive match?

Visions of the few coins she kept in a jar in the pantry danced before her eyes. There were barely enough there to see them through the winter and a new spring planting.

Lifting her head, she let the slight breeze cool her thoughts and calm her fears. The Lord always provided.

Her eyes caught sight of a young woman coming down the back path carrying a dish covered with a red and white checked cloth.

Katherine Jennings.

Waving, Lyric hailed the visitor. Surely she was on her way somewhere and a mere wave wouldn't offend her.

The woman smiled and turned in her direction. Dumbfounded, Lyric watched her slowly make her way toward the Bolton back door. Breaking into a run, she raced to meet her.

“Afternoon,” she called when her neighbor was within hearing distance.

“Good afternoon!” A breathless Katherine arrived with the most warming smile. For a moment Lyric couldn't find her voice. Visitors were a rarity—especially female visitors—and she mentally
prepared to wish her new acquaintance well and watch her walk on. But Katherine continued toward her with a purposeful stride.

Extending the pie, the young woman said, “I came to apologize for my earlier behavior. I'm not usually the weepy, frightened sort.”

Offering a welcoming smile, Lyric took the dish and sniffed the pleasant aroma. “Lemon?”

“The only kind that turns out right for me.”

“Thank you—but there's no need to apologize. Your fright is completely understandable under the circumstances.”

“Oh, Lyric—may I call you Lyric?”

Lyric nodded, her smile widening.

“When Levi and I married, I was so disturbed to think there wouldn't be any women my age around, but when you showed up this morning I felt much better.”

“Katherine, I am delighted to see you. Come—let's sit a moment on the porch.”

“I'd like that.”

The two women crossed the porch and Lyric stopped dead in her tracks. The pie in her hand wavered. Sitting on the left side of the porch, big as life, was the Younger.

Peering closer she noticed he wasn't sitting; he was slumped—with a rope coiled around him. Eyes closed in death.

Turning on her heel, Lyric bumped into Katherine. “Let's sit on the other side. It will be warmer there.”

“What…? Okay. Well, as I was saying….”

Words faded and Lyric's mind raced with possibilities. Lark and Boots must have wanted the body out of the house pretty badly if they'd been willing to carry him themselves. That was fine—he could stay there until properly identified. Then the sheriff would have to deal with the remains until kin arrived to claim him.

Taking a seat in the sunlight, Katherine said, “I can't stay long. Levi is expecting a roast for supper and I haven't put the meat in the
oven yet.” She glanced down the road. “And I certainly don't want to go anywhere alone after dark.”

“I'm so glad you stopped by.” Lyric took the chair opposite her, not sure where to put her hands. She'd never had a real conversation with a peer and she wasn't sure what to say. The spooklight certainly wasn't fodder for friendly chatter. “So you're newly married? How long?”

“Almost a month now.” Katherine extended her right hand, where a tiny gem sparkled on the third finger.

“It's very lovely.”

“It was Levi's grandmother's.” Katherine drank in the jewel, pride shining in her eyes.

“You say you hail from Joplin?”

“Yes. We've been there since the boom started. Papa's mined for just about everything there is in these parts. Raised his family digging for ore and zinc.”

Smiling, Lyric tried to keep up with the conversation, but her mind was on the body sitting not twenty feet away on the opposite side of the porch. She prayed Katherine wouldn't notice. Little did her friend know that the spooklight wasn't her only problem.

She managed to respond to the woman's friendly chatter calmly. “I've never been to Joplin. I hear it's very nice.” She'd never been farther than the small settlement that sat at the foot of Bolton Hill: a general store, blacksmith, livery, jail, and a man who worked on teeth when he was sober. Someday she planned to leave this all behind. Someday she would visit Joplin and places far beyond—maybe even Oklahoma. She shifted, her eyes traveling to the corner post. Katherine couldn't see the Younger from where she was sitting, and there was no need to unduly alarm her. They'd chat for a while longer and the young woman would be on her way, none the wiser.

“Joplin nice?” Katherine sat back and her expression turned thoughtful. “Not really. The folks are friendly enough, but it's a typical boom town. Saturday nights are the worst. Drunken cowboys
and miners crowd the saloons with dust from the mines still on their clothing. There's a lot of brawling—mud—” She turned to trace Lyric's gaze. “Is something amiss?”

“Nothing.” Lyric smiled. “The town sounds interesting. Perhaps if I ever go there you'll go with me and show me around.”

“I'd love that! It's pretty normal, I suspect, but I have family and good friends there. Levi assures me we'll visit often.” She bent closer. “Are you and your mother close?”

Lyric wasn't sure how to answer. Close like mothers and daughters who shared secrets and smiles and hugs? No. Edwina had always been the strict authoritarian, not a nurturing mother. Lyric couldn't remember a single time she had ever felt close to her. “Mother's been ill for a long time…”

“Oh, of course. How insensitive of me. She hasn't been able to do much, has she?”

“Not much.” Her manic fits had mostly passed, and now Edwina spent most of her days in bed. At the moment Lyric couldn't think of a single thing that made her more of a daughter than a caregiver.

Katherine leaned forward, lowering her voice. “About that strange light.”

“The light won't hurt you,” Lyric repeated. “But it is a bit unnerving.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Many times—but not as closely as you have.” Lyric had dreaded the question. The two women seemed to be off to a good start, but she might as well come clean about the rumors. “There are various speculations about its source. Katherine, you should know that—well, that people think my mother has something to do with it. They don't understand her sickness, you see—and they've heard her say some crazy things. But I can assure you she has nothing to do with the light. If you want my opinion the light can be explained. I just don't have that knowledge.”

“Yes…you mentioned your…family earlier this morning. And
truthfully Levi and I have heard the stories, and we thought long and hard about building so close, but the land was exactly what Levi wanted. I won't say I wasn't a bit hesitant to meet you but now you seem…well, normal.”

Lyric cast an eye toward the porch and wondered if she'd feel the same if she knew who was sitting with them. Could she share her deep need for friendship with this kind lady? The two had only met this morning and yet she had taken an instant liking to Katherine Jennings.

Katherine leaned in closer. “Do you think we're nearing the end of the world? The New Testament mentions ‘signs and wonders' that will precede Jesus when He comes again. Do you think that's what this light represents?”