The Healer's Touch (29 page)

Lyric dropped another bird into the sack. “What are you two babbling about?”

“We found a wallet one day when we were hunting greens. It didn't have anything in it, no money or anything, but it had a name on a piece of paper. It had a U.S. marshal badge—Joseph isn't a U.S. marshal.”

“We don't know who Joseph is. He could be anyone, Lark! Why didn't you mention the wallet earlier?”

She lifted both shoulders. “I forgot about it. It's in my top drawer if you want to see it.”

Lyric's heart raced.
Don't get too excited. It's a wallet with no identification. It could be any man's wallet, and it was far too coincidental to take seriously.
Joseph's identity had not been sitting in Lark's top drawer all this time. That was improbable.

“I'll take a look at it before we leave for town,” she murmured, determined not to get her hopes up. Or to have her worst fears realized. What if he was a Younger? Would she still adore him? Be totally and hopelessly smitten by his smile and the way little crinkles formed around his eyes when he laughed? The answer came swiftly. She would, and that would leave her worse off than now. There was a chance in a million that the wallet belonged to him. “Right now we've got to catch every single one of these guinea hens.”

“Every single one?” Lark moaned.

“Every last one.” Her mouth firmed. Whoever that was sitting in that jail cell, she planned to fight for him with every last ounce of breath left in her.

The moon slanted, slipping lower in the sky. Tow sacks of screeching guineas littered the field. Holding her aching back, Lyric dropped the last bird into the bag and heaved a sigh. “This should be enough.”

“There are still two down by the creek. Want me to go after them?” Boots tied a knot in one of the sacks.

“Go ahead. I'm going to check on Mother before I hitch up the horse and bring the wagon here.”

The girls struck off toward the creek and Lyric walked the scant half mile back to the house. Funny the Spooklight hadn't been around lately—or she hadn't seen it. Where was it when it could do some good? A showing at the jail right about now wouldn't hurt. There were times when the peculiar phenomenon almost soothed her, made her feel like her life was normal.

She had a deep ache for Katherine and missed her friendly chats. When Lyric left Bolton Holler, she would stop off in Joplin and visit her new friend, maybe stay as long as a week catching up on news. They would have a good laugh—or cry—about what Lyric
was about to do in her attempt to save Joseph. The mood would depend solely on tomorrow's outcome.

When she reached the lane to the Bolton farm, she turned, surprised to see her mother's bedroom light burning. Quickening her steps, she realized that she had been gone a long time. Who had lit the lamp? Mother seldom left the bed these days.

Bursting into the house, she hurried up the stairway. “Mother? Are you awake?”

Only silence met her ears.

When she entered the bedroom she saw the thin figure slumped beside the bed. Was she gone? Compassion swept her and she knelt to feel her mother's pulse.

A thready rhythm fluttered beneath her fingertip. She was alive.

“Oh, Mother.” Guilt overcame her as she managed to gently lift the frail body and slip her back into the bed. How long had she been lying here? Minutes? Hours?

Edwina stirred, eyes fluttering open. “Where have you been? I called and called.”

“I'm so sorry, Mother. I've been away from the house longer than intended.”

“Where's your sister?”

“She's with me.” Lyric tucked the blanket closer. “I'll warm some broth. And run to the spring and get some cold milk.”

Edwina brushed the offer aside. “Go away. I just want to get warm and sleep.”

“But you haven't eaten—”

“Go away,” she snapped.

Straightening, Lyric drew a tolerant breath. “Do you need your medicine?”

“Yes. And don't wander off again, you hear?”

“I hear.” She opened the vial, inserted the dispenser, and placed it in her mother's mouth.

“Ungrateful girls,” Edwina muttered, smacking the last of the laudanum off her lips.

“I'm sorry. I should have been more thoughtful,” Lyric admitted. Her mind had been entirely on Joseph and saving his life.

Picking up the light, she turned and walked quietly to the door, her head spinning. Should she choose duty or love? If she couldn't leave Mother then she couldn't save Joseph at dawn…and she had given her word that she wouldn't leave. Lark could stay here and Lyric and Boots could attempt to divert attention, but the plan demanded more than two people to be successfully completed.

Hot tears coursed down her cheeks as she carried the candle down the stairway.

She had roughly four hours to make the biggest decision of her life.

“Where have you been? We've been waiting and waiting for you.” Lark faced Lyric, her young face flushed with exertion. “Those guineas are going to suffocate soon.”

“I know, Lark.” Lyric wanted to wring her hands and scream. For the past hour she'd paced the kitchen floor, torn by duty but overcome by love. She couldn't let Joseph hang while Edwina slept peacefully in her warm bed; something about the situation seemed perverse. Yet she couldn't abandon her mother and save a man she knew practically nothing about.

Her sister stepped to the water bucket. “Boots can't take care of all those hens by herself. We either have to let them loose or take them to town. You decide.”

Lyric's mind refused to function. Her heart said go, but loyalty said stay. If only she knew Joseph's true identity…Her jaw dropped. Of course! Why hadn't she thought of the wallet earlier?
The questionable evidence was a longshot, but the found item might help. “Lark. Go get that wallet.”

When her sister paused to drink from the water dipper Lyric swatted her hand. “Now.”

Lark muttered as she stalked through the kitchen and up the stairway. Lyric could hear her grumbling as she entered her bedroom. Momentarily she returned and handed the wallet over. “Now can I get a drink of water?”

“Help yourself.” A current shot through Lyric as she held the rich leather—as though she had brushed Joseph's hand.
Please, God, let this be the answer to my prayer.

Unfolding the pigskin, she shuffled through the few papers, coming across the slip that read
Ian Cawley
, followed by an address in Kansas City, Missouri. A shiny tin U.S. marshal badge winked up at her.

Ian
. She tested the name on her tongue.
Ian Cawley
.
Are you the man sitting in jail about to meet an unjust death? The man without whom I'll never be the same?

Softly slapping the wallet against the palm of her hand, she said, “Lark, there's been a slight change of plans.”

Lark gulped water, lifting her brows with anticipation.

“Boots and I are going to have to do this job alone.”

Lark lowered the dipper. “Why?”

“Someone has to stay with Mother. It was careless of us to leave her unattended. I promised her she wouldn't be left on her own again.”

“If
you
promised why do
I
have to stay?”

Turning to face her, Lyric said softly, “You know how much saving Joseph means to me.”

Her sister's features softened. “Means to both of us. You're in love with him, aren't you?”

Lyric nodded. “Nothing will ever come of it, but yes, I love him no matter who or what he is, and I want to try my best to save him
from hanging. And then—who knows?—maybe we'll be able to leave Bolton Holler together.”

“If you ever make me leave Boots, I'll be sad forever.”

“We both love Boots, and we'll save that talk for another time. For now, Boots and I will have to get those hens to the jail by ourselves.”

“Would you let me and Boots try one thing before we drag all those birds to the Holler?”

“We have so little time—”

“It won't take long to see if this works.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Boots and I will take the horse to the jail and spring Joseph. Then he can ride away and hide and they'll never find him.”

“How do you propose to do it?”

“We'll tie a chain to the cell bars and have the horse rip them out.”

“Oh, Lark. That won't work.”

“It'll work. The hero in my ten-cent Western novel did the same thing. A horse is a mighty power.”

“I don't know—wouldn't ripping steel off brick make a lot of noise?”

“Everybody's sleeping at this hour. The sheriff goes home at night and the jail window is in the back of the building. We can try it, and if it doesn't work we'll still have time to come back and use the guineas.”

Lyric's head pounded. If Lark's crazy plan worked Joseph could be well gone by dawn. If the scheme backfired, the younger girls could run much faster than she could. “All right—but you have exactly an hour and a half to get it done. If you're discovered, you come back as quickly as possible.”

“What about the hens?”

“You'll have to have Boots's help. Hitch the horse and bring the sacks back to the house with you. I'll water the birds and be sure they have enough air. Now go. There isn't a second to waste.”

Lark shot out the door, slamming it behind her. When Lyric
stepped to the window she saw her sister racing across the field to Boots's grandfather's home.

Dear God, if this works it would be tantamount to You parting the Red Sea all over again.

Impossible? Of course it was. But her Bible taught her that with God all things were possible.

Awakened from a fretful sleep, Ian stirred as something struck the cell bars. What he assumed would be the shortest night of his life had turned into the longest. His supper sat untouched on the cell floor, a thick slice of uneaten lemon pie mocking him.

Rolling to his side, he wadded the thin ticking beneath his head and tried to get comfortable. The pillow was little more than a cloth napkin.