The Healer's Touch (40 page)

Her eyes were drawn to a tall, straight pole situated halfway down the avenue. How odd that the builders would leave a single tree stripped of its branches standing in the middle of town. When she looked again, she realized it was not a tree at all, but a tall post, as though someone had planted a ship's mast in the ground.

As they neared, she saw that its surface had been carved and painted. The pole stood in front of a wide building that sat back from the others, fronted by a grassy area. Evangeline's Café, the sign said. She barely gave the place a glance, intent instead on studying the painted carvings as the wagon rolled past. They were nicely done, though somewhat primitive. Images of a bear and howling wolf were detailed and beautifully proportioned. The wood had been furrowed to look like animal fur. The people, though, were inexpertly carved. Disappointment dampened her momentary enthusiasm. No DaVinci did this. Certainly the work of an amateur, though a talented one. Ah, well. What did she expect in a backwater town like Seattle?

Carter brought the wagon to a halt in front of the building beyond the restaurant. The placard suspended from a post beside the door read Faulkner House, Rooms for Let. At last. With approval she inspected the wide porch, chairs placed to one side in an inviting display. Two stories tall, topped with a steeply pitched roof and rows of double windows with frilled curtains visible behind the multipaned glass. The immediate surroundings looked a bit austere, especially compared to the restaurant next door, which had no glass in the single wide window but boasted planters overflowing with colorful winter blooms on each side of the doorway. The paint on the Faulkner House could use refreshing too. In a few places the whitewash had worn thin on the porch posts. Perhaps she could suggest the idea to her cousin.

After she had settled in, that is. She certainly couldn't go suggesting changes the moment she met her relative for the first time. A rush of nerves invaded her stomach. What if she and Cousin Mary Ann didn't get along? They may not be compatible. After all, what kind of woman would voluntarily move to a remote and backward town like Seattle? Mr. Gates had rudely pointed out one kind. Papa had known little more than the bare facts about his distant cousin—that she had married an older, ailing man and spent her youth caring for him in a small town in Kansas Territory. With her husband's passing she had moved West to manage a boardinghouse for one of her father's friends, Captain Faulkner, in order to support herself. That sounded like a determined woman, one who knew what she wanted and set out to accomplish her goals. A woman Kathryn could admire.

Carter secured the mule's lead rope around a post in front of the porch. “This here's it,” he announced as though they couldn't read the sign for themselves. “The Faulkner House.”

He rounded the wagon and approached the bench, arms extended to assist Miss Everett in climbing down. Mr. Gates went round the opposite side and lifted his oddly shaped carton from the bed. He shot a worried glance toward the sky and strode quickly to the protection of the covered porch, where he took great care in leaning the crate against the wall beside the lodging house's entrance.

Fat raindrops fell with increasing speed to splat against her thick black cloak. Kathryn waited while Miss Everett turned to retrieve her valise from the bench and then hurried toward the porch, clutching Carter's supporting arm. A breeze kicked up and whipped a smattering of rain beneath the brim of Kathryn's bonnet. She froze, momentarily stunned at the sensation of being slapped in the face with cold water.

And then the downpour began in earnest.

Water dumped from the heavens as though a divine dam had burst directly overhead. Within seconds her cloak was drenched, her
thin gloves sopping wet, and the ends of her hair, not protected by her sturdy bonnet, clung to her neck in dripping ringlets. The wind whipped water into her face with a hundred shocking, chilly slaps.

“Oh!” She stood paralyzed while buckets poured from the sky.

The others watched from the shelter of the porch, their expressions as startled as hers. Miss Everett's hand rose to cover her opened mouth, and even Mr. Gates's eyes bulged as he stood frozen, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her standing in the deluge.

Only Carter displayed any emotion at her predicament. He laughed uproariously, bending double and holding his stomach. “Why, wouldja look at that? We hardly ever get a gully-washer like this one here. Seems the good Lord has decided to give you a proper greeting, missy,” he called over the roar of the rain. “Welcome to Seattle.”

He guffawed at his own joke while Kathryn stood stranded on the wagon, too surprised to be angry at his ill-mannered humor. If this is how the good Lord chose to welcome her to Seattle, things did not bode well for her stay here.

Mr. Gates sprang into action. He leaped into the weather and waded the few steps through the quickly thickening mud, his arms outstretched to her. She didn't spare the time to think but tumbled forward, trusting that he would catch her. He did, and carried her to the porch with no more effort than if he were toting a bucket of goose down.

The minute her stylish boots, which were only partially soaked by virtue of being shielded beneath her heavy skirt and petticoats, touched down on the wooden porch, he released her. She wavered on her heels for a moment, grateful for the shelter. Within seconds, the deluge lightened and the rain returned to its previous steady drizzle. Never in all her days had she seen a rainstorm arrive and leave so quickly. The weather in San Francisco was far more predictable.

Before she had recovered her composure enough to thank Mr.
Gates for rescuing her, or to deliver a scornful reprimand to Carter for laughing at her predicament, the door behind her was flung open. The voluminous form of a woman filled the doorway. Kathryn had the impression of pudgy red cheeks, steel gray hair, and a truly impressive bosom that strained a row of pearly buttons on the bodice of a cotton blouse. In the next instant, a coarse voice assaulted her ears.

“Finally here, are you? That Captain Baker will be late for his own funeral, mark my words.” Beady eyes peered at them from sweaty folds of flesh. They fixed on Miss Everett. “You've paid in advance, so I'll see you to your room first.” She switched to Mr. Gates. “If you're Jason Gates, Yesler was looking for you yesterday. He'll have seen the ship, so I expect he'll be around shortly.”

In the few seconds it took for the piercing gaze to roam in her direction, Kathryn's stomach tightened. Surely this loud, forward woman could not be Papa's cousin. But the beady eyes fixed on her and swept her from bonnet to boots.

“You'll be Philip's daughter, then.” The fleshy lips curled upward. “Not much to look at, are you? Still, maybe when you're dry and cleaned up you'll show some improvement.”

The insult jolted through Kathryn like a spear. Her mouth gaped open, and her chest heaved with outraged breath in search of words on which to explode. “I beg your pardon!”

The woman waved a dismissive hand. “Don't go getting huffy right off the bat. You'll find I'm a woman who speaks her mind. No use taking offense at plain truth.”

Miss Everett and Mr. Gates averted their gazes politely, but Carter seemed unfazed by the woman's blatant rudeness.

“I'll jest get them bags.” Heedless of the weather, the man hopped off the porch and sloshed five muddy paces toward the wagon.

Cousin Mary Ann cupped a hand aside her mouth and shouted at Carter. “Leave them on the porch. I don't want puddles inside.” She turned a stern look on her guests. “See those hooks?” Her
gesture indicated a row of pegs lining the wall to the right of the door. “Those are for your coats so you don't drip all over the entry hall.”

With that, she disappeared inside without a backward glance.

Kathryn stood staring after the woman, her jaw slack. Imagine demanding that her guests disrobe and leave their things outside. Had she no inkling of hospitality, of common courtesy, even?

Well that, at least, was a quality Kathryn could offer. Since she was temporarily forced to stay here and “help out around the place,” as per Papa's arrangement, at least she could lend an air of gentility.

Kathryn extended a hand toward Miss Everett, who had already obeyed the command to shed her cloak, though of the three of them, hers was by far the driest. “I'll take that,” she offered. “You go on inside and get settled.”

With a quick smile and a quiet “Thank you,” the lady handed over the garment. When she had followed Cousin Mary Ann through the doorway, Kathryn hung the garment on one of the pegs and then shrugged out of her own. Rivulets ran from her saturated cloak to pool on the wooden slats. She turned to take Mr. Gates's coat, but he had left the shelter of the porch to help Carter unload the baggage. Good. Offering courtesy to a quietly dignified woman like Miss Everett was one thing, but a man who flung insults at women? Let him hang his own coat.

About the Author

L
ori Copeland is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books' Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, and their three children and seven grandchildren.

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