The Healer's Touch (36 page)

Boots buried her head in a blanket on the floor.

Lyric jabbed her sister. Lark stirred, murmuring something, and drifted off again.

The light moved slowly, creeping along. Glowing brighter, it skipped to the top of the casket and appeared to sniff the fresh violets, then inched along the top of the roughly hewn box—momentarily disappearing inside. Eyes focused on the spectacle, Lyric watched in spellbound fascination.

When the brilliance emerged seconds later, it bounced up and down, up and down—higher and higher with each joyful bounce.

Then slowly it shifted in her direction. Pressing back in her seat, Lyric tried to avoid the encroaching radiance, for the first time in her life frightened by the object.

The dazzling ray adjusted speed and moved her way. In seconds she realized it was perched on her head. Not daring to move, she sat transfixed as it bounced, very softly, as though patting her head, offering tender sympathy.

This was
completely
insane. A light did not offer sympathy.

The light was some crazy phenomenon that had grown to
inhuman proportion in people's minds. Yet she couldn't deny that a vivid object now lit the room, as though restoring happiness and life in this old house.

Then it was off, disappearing like a vapor behind a black-draped window.

Dry mouthed, Lyric tuned to see if Ian had witnessed the spectacle. His resonant snores filled the hushed room.

The light could be an angel. After all, God sometimes used strange means to send comfort to His children. Like the ravens who brought food to Elijah or the shining light at the Mount of Transfiguration. Lyric sat back and smiled.

21

D
aylight spilled through the clouds and rays of warmth covered the earth. Lyric, Ian, Lark, and Boots carried the wooden casket to the waiting travois and then followed as Ian led Norman down past the barn a couple of hundred feet to a freshly dug grave.

As sunlight spread over the fresh green earth, Edwina Bolton's remains were lowered into the ground. Lyric had picked a few early blooming flowers on the way to the gravesite and now tossed them lightly into the yawning hole.

“You girls go back to the house while I cover the grave.” Ian straightened, meeting Lyric's gaze.

“You need help.”

“I've done this many a time. Go back to the house, Lyric.”

Nodding, she turned hesitantly.

“It will take a while to complete the job,” he said.

She left, realizing that she was dry-eyed and had remained so during the whole tragic ordeal.

That simple fact didn't seem respectful.

“Shouldn't we say one final word?”

Ramming a shovel in the mound of fresh dirt, Ian paused for a while and then recited the words he had once spoken to Edwina. “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.”

They were both quiet for a long moment. Then Lyric nodded slowly. “Thank you, Ian. That's just right.”

Joy bubbled in Lyric's throat and for the first time she felt almost hopeful as she removed the heavy drapes from the windows and black crepe from the front door. The clocks were set into motion, mirrors and picture frames uncovered.

It was finally over. Edwina was gone. And Lyric was free to pursue love, true abiding love.

Lark came into the room and started folding the mourning items. “We're free to go now, aren't we?”

Lyric nodded, almost bursting with happiness. “We're finally free to leave.”

Lark's gaze roamed the cracked ceilings and warped walls. “We're going to just close the house and never come back?”

They could
leave
. The heady feeling swallowed her—and yet she couldn't leave without Ian.

Lark ripped a piece of crepe and flung it to the floor. “I don't
want
to leave.”

Lyric paused, turning to face her sister. “Lark, please. Don't spoil
this joyful occasion. We're free—after years and years of misery—to leave this holler. I know that you love Boots like a sister, but you can write, and one day when you're old enough I'll let you come back for a long visit.”

“I don't want to leave, Lyric.” The young girl's eyes filled with raw emotion. “Don't you understand that I love it here? This is my home. I know you don't feel that way, but is it fair to make me live the life you want?”

“Don't be silly—are you suggesting that you stay here, alone? You can't do that.”

“I could stay with Boots and her grandpa.”

Lyric shook her head. “Unthinkable. I couldn't do without you.”

“But you could. You'll have Ian.”

“I don't know that for certain.” She wished it with all of her heart, but Ian hadn't spoken a single word on the matter since she'd returned to find Edwina dead.

“You do know it. You know he's in love with you and he won't leave unless you go with him.”

Stepping off a stool, Lyric paused. “Lark…”

“Please.” Lark crossed the room. “Please. Boots has already asked her grandpa and he said I'd be welcome to stay with them as long as I like. Just let me stay until you and Ian settle somewhere.”

“I don't know that Ian—”

“He loves you, Lyric, and you two deserve time alone. I would only be underfoot and nagging you to move back here. You don't want that. I can't leave Boots and I can't leave Murphy. If you make me go I'll only run away and come back here.”

For a long moment Lyric studied her. Her little sister was so much like her—determined, headstrong, and independent as an old billy goat. “I love you, Lark and I want the best for you, but I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“You won't be without me that long. I think someday you'll come back to Bolton Holler.”

“Never.”

“You can't ever say never. And in the meantime, I'll live with Boots and help her take care of her grandpa.”

“And annoy Murphy until he puts a warrant out for your arrest.”

“I'll keep my distance.”

“Lark—this is insane. For years we've planned this day—”

“
You've
planned it. I haven't.”

Lyric shook her head, her argument fading. Lark spoke the truth. Lyric looked forward to her new life, but she really had no cause to plan her sister's. In another three years Lark would have the right to do what she wanted regardless.

“If Ian asks me to go with him I'll be both happy and sad. I don't want to leave you behind.”

“I'll write every day, I promise.” Lark stepped to take Lyric into her arms. “And three years is nothing. Time will fly past like—
whiff
.”

“Lark, I won't come back. I want to close the house and never think about it again. Nobody in their right mind would buy it, not with its legacy and the condition it's in.”

“When I marry Murphy we'll live here together.” She turned to fling open her arms to the bare walls and patched ceilings. “Some sweet day this old house will be filled with love and laughter and babies—lots and lots of babies.”

“Oh, sweet Lark. You are such a dreamer.”

Whirling, Lark grinned. “I can stay?”

Nodding, Lyric forced the dreaded words out. “You may stay—but you have to write often and—”

Squealing with joy, Lark flung her arms around Lyric's neck. “Thank you! I love you, I love you, I
adore
you!”

“Let's hope you can claim the same thing in three years.”

And God have mercy on Murphy.

“I'll write twice a day!” She whirled and raced toward the door. “Wait until I tell Boots. She is gonna have a
calf!
”

Leaving the house, Lyric set off in a hurried run toward the gravesite, feeling as though everything had fallen into place. Now an invisible thread drew her to the man she loved. Over two hours had passed; the grave would be properly covered by now.

When she arrived at the fresh mound of dirt, Ian was nowhere to be found. The shovel lay at the foot of the grave. Her heart tripped. Had he ridden off? No, he wouldn't. She had seen the look in his eyes, experienced the way he'd comforted and held her earlier.

He was in love with her as madly as she was in love with him. Somewhere he waited for her to come to him. She considered the places they'd spent their best hours. And then, as though a voice beckoned her, she knew. Knew exactly where he waited for her.

She veered to a road that was overgrown, rocky, and hard to maneuver. At the end of her climb he would be waiting for her.

He'd want to pick a place free from reminders of tragedy in which to declare his love. Life offered more than misery and hurt. Their newfound relationship—if there was one—would be built on trust and faith in the future. She doubted that the marshal wanted any part of Bolton Holler and she didn't blame him. Wherever Ian wanted to go she would follow. If only he would ask.

He will
, her heart sang. For the first time in her life she was willing to take a risk and find love. For too long she had steered clear of giving her heart to anyone, steeling her emotions to taunts and ridicule, but when this man forcefully rode into her life he had conquered her unwilling heart without lifting a hand.