The Healer's Touch (25 page)

A glass of buttermilk and a piece of chocolate cake would make him sleep better.

He got up and pulled on his trousers. When he crept into the hallway he paused. Edwina's bedroom door was wide open.

Perhaps Lyric's mother was having trouble sleeping?

He should check on her. He only needed to poke his head in. Lyric wouldn't want her mother to be uncomfortable.

Stepping inside the room, he quietly moved across the floor to her bedside. The woman was sleeping fitfully, tossing her head back and forth. She moaned quietly in her sleep.

Ian reached out a cool hand to touch her forehead. It was warm and damp. Edwina opened her eyes at his touch.

“Who are you?”

He saw no reason to lie to her. Why perpetuate a falsehood? Why tell a deliberate untruth to a woman whose mind was already lost?

“Ian Cawley,” he said. “I'm a U.S. marshal.”

“Are you here to harm us, Mr. Cawley?”

“No, ma'am. I mean you no harm.” Stepping back toward the hallway, he quietly closed the door and then returned to her bedside. Whispering now, he said, “Hear me out before you call for Lyric.”

He proceeded to tell his story, starting with the accident. When he finished, Edwina shook her head.

“So you're not an outlaw.”

“No, ma'am, I'm not. As I said, I'm a U.S. marshal. I make my home in Kansas City.”

She shifted, her breathing slow and laborious. “Why the secrecy?”

“You've heard what the authorities plan to do to me.”

“I hear things. I'm mad, not deaf.”

He straightened and glanced toward the closed door before he continued. “I'm working on a plan to avoid the noose and help all of us, but I can't let anyone know that I've regained my memory until it's time to put the plan into motion.” His gaze returned to her. “Will you allow me a brief time before you tell Lyric?”

“Who said I would tell Lyric?”

“I assume that since she's your daughter and she's a lovely, trusting young woman you'll want to tell her.”

The woman closed her eyes and struggled for breath. When the spell passed, she said, “I'll keep your secret.”

He nodded.

“But only because Lyric has bigger things to worry about.”

He stepped closer, barely able to hear her soft reply. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lark and Boots have run away. I heard them leave earlier.”

“That's not possible. They were giggling in the front room not two hours ago. Where have they gone?”

“Away. Lark refuses to leave Boots and she knows Lyric has fancy dreams for once I'm gone. Dreams to leave this house I built for them.”

Fancy dreams? A longing to be free of this woman's legacy didn't seem out of place.

Edwina looked up though faded, haunted eyes and gave a maniacal laugh. “Fools—they are fools.” The mirth faded to a dry cackle when the cough overcame her. Managing to speak, she whispered, “Laudanum…I need my laudanum.”

He focused on the small vial sitting on the table. Unscrewing the cap, he drew a small amount into the dropper and placed it under her tongue. He turned when he heard Lyric's voice in the hallway. “Mother? I'm coming.”

Stepping away from the bed, he quickly moved to the door to meet Lyric.

Lyric paused in the doorway, wearing a puzzled expression. “I'm sorry—did Mother wake you? It's those dreams again. They make her restless.”

He took her by the arm and led her back into the hallway. “But Mother…” She glanced over her shoulder.

“She's fine. I gave her a dose of laudanum. She'll be asleep shortly.”

“But I should check on her—perhaps some warm tea would help…”

Gently taking her by her shoulders, he asked, “Where is Lark?”

“Why…in bed, of course. I was reading and just about to go up and join her. Why do you ask?”

“I think we'd better check.” Together they moved to the rear of the house and the small room Lark claimed. When they opened the door, Ian noted it was clean, everything in place but for evidence of a teenage girl's hurried escape. A drawer half open. Empty chiffonier.

Lyric held the light higher, her jaw agape. “Where is she?”

“I'm afraid she and Boots have decided to run away.”

“Run away!”

“I'll fill you in on the details later. Right now, throw some clothing on and I'll saddle Norman. They can't have gotten too far.”

14

H
eavy wind and rain rocked Lark as she held the lantern higher, trying to shield the flickering flame. “Drat this rain!” The pillowcase containing her belongings dangled around her waist where she'd tied it earlier.

“I told you we should have waited.” Boots's red cowboy boots sank deep into mud. The cold spring rain was soaking both the girls through. “We'll never make it to Hornet tonight.”

“We have to get out of the weather!” Lark called. “We can't spend the night in this!”

“There's a cave up the road, remember? Ordsman's Cave?”

“Oh, I hate that place. It's so big and scary—and has all those bats.”

“We don't have a choice.” Hail began to pepper the girls as they walked. “We'll be beaten to death!”

“Okay, run!” The girls set off, dodging deep puddles and clutching their hoods over their heads. Boots dropped her valise and ran back to pick it up. Mud dripped from the bottom. “Oh…this was my mother's.”

“We can clean it later. Come on, these hailstones are getting bigger.”

It took a while to maneuver the muddy road and climb through rushing gullies and thick blackberry briars. Holding tightly to each other's hands they forded a creek and climbed a jagged limestone bluff to the cave opening. Crawling inside the crude shelter, Lark fell on her back. She tried to catch her breath and saw Boots was gasping for air as well.

The thought Lark most dreaded surfaced, of hundreds—maybe thousands—of bats hanging upside down on the ceiling. If she closed her eyes she would hear the sound of fluttering wings. The lantern burned so low it barely gave off enough light to make out their immediate surroundings. As she watched, the light went out and the cave went pitch black.

“Oh, dear,” Boots said.

“I hate caves.”

“Maybe we should have waited until tomorrow morning to leave.”

“Probably, but the weather was fine when we left. I thought we'd have plenty of time to make it to Hornet.”

“Yeah,” Boots sighed. “Me too.”

Only the sound of their ragged breath met Lark's ears.

The hail passed and a gentle rain fell on the limestone bluffs. “Most likely we'll have to spend the night in here,” Lark said. “Are you up to it?”

“I…well, sure. If you are.”

“Oh, I am. Totally up to it.”

“Then we stay here.”

After a bit, Boots said, “Are you sure we're doing the right thing?”

“Now, why would you ask that? We've got a plan and we're
sticking to it. We hide out for a while, and then when Lyric gives up and moves on without me, we'll be free to go back to the old house—leastways I will.”

“I would stay with you, but Grandpa really needs me, Lark. Honest. Caroline can barely boil water and I've been thinking I'm a big help around the house.”

Lark shifted and rolled to her side. “I understand. If I had a grandpa like yours I would never leave. I'd just marry and move my husband into the house.”

“That's what I plan to do—when I marry. Maybe four or five years from now.” Boots turned the opposite direction, lying back to back with Lark. The two fell silent, but after a moment Boots admitted, “Grandpa and Caroline are really going to be worried about me. I left a note—but they'll worry anyway. Grandpa especially. He's like that.”

“Lyric too—in fact, she'll get one of her headaches that won't go away for weeks. I hate to do this to her, but she'll make do without us, Boots.”

“Yeah, I know. It can't be helped.”

Lark raised her eyes at the sound of soft fluttering overhead.

Yawning, Boots said sleepily. “When we marry, we can do all sorts of things together with our husbands. Go on picnics, attend church on Sunday, do our shopping together.”

“You'll probably marry before I do,” Lark confessed. “Since you're a little older.”

“Yes…you're right. Do you think there are any rich men in Hornet?”

“Does a man's financial state matter to you?”

“No, but I wouldn't want him to be dirt poor,” said Boots.

“Why not?” asked Lark. “It's the heart that counts, and the fact that he would be a God-fearing man would make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams.” She sighed. “It's such a shame Lyric won't ever marry.”

“Bet she does,” said Boots. “I bet she'd marry Joseph in a minute if he wasn't going to hang soon.” Boots rolled to her back.

“Could be—can't say I haven't noticed the way those two eye each other, like one was pancakes and the other was warm maple syrup.”

“I've noticed that too. Shame he has to die, even if he is an outlaw. Could be if he met the right woman he would settle down and give up his wayward life.”

“Seems like he's got good sense,” Lark agreed.

“And he's a fine-looking feller,” Boots said.

“Really fine-looking. Wish he had several brothers.”

“Maybe he does.”

Boots rose on one arm. “Maybe, and if he was your brother-in-law and he had brothers, then you could introduce me and we could still have husbands about the same time—if the brothers were close to our age.”

“That's a thought.”

“'Course, rumor has it the Youngers aren't real well suited for matrimony. I don't think any of them live long enough to really settle in.”

“True, and I'd want a man who could buy me a new dress at least once a year.”

“Once a year?” Boots said. “Well, that wouldn't be asking a whole lot.”

“It would for a Bolton.”

Rain pattered softly on the soaked ground. The fresh-scented air drifted through the cave. The rain appeared to have passed but Lark was just plain too weary to walk back home.

“Guess we might as well stay here tonight.”

“And then what? Continue to Hornet in the morning?”

“Let's sleep on the thought.” If making a new life was this complicated maybe they should wait until warmer weather. “Right now I'm too cold and wet to think about anything but a fire and a mug of Lyric's hot tea.”

“Me too. Maybe we should just go back in the morning.”

“Maybe.”

“You're not worried about the bats?”

“If I can't see them they won't worry me.”

Lark just hoped the good Lord made her sleep like a log.