Her Healing Ways (16 page)

Mercy got up and hugged her daughter. “If we have to go, we will leave word for Pierre as best we can. We have each other, daughter, and I will not give in so easily. I'll telegraph Boise and hire a lawyer. You won't go into court without legal counsel. This law is wrong and we must fight it.”

“Why do we always have to fight things like this?” Indigo's tone was plaintive. “Other people don't.”

“Other people don't see things the way we do.” Mercy straightened, but rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder. “We believe men and women are equal in God's sight and that God loves all tribes and nations equally. Since we refuse to agree to the popular way of thinking, we will always face opposition, here or elsewhere.”

Indigo was wiping away her tears with her white handkerchief. “I don't like it.”

I don't, either.
“Indigo, this world is not our home. We're just passing through.” Mercy spoke the words of a spiritual she'd heard slaves sing in the South during the war.

But it's hard, Lord, never fitting in.
She thought of leaving Idaho, leaving her friends, leaving Lon Mackey.
He's still fighting You, Lord. Please look after him.

As Mercy comforted her daughter, she steeled herself for the fight ahead. And for the possibility that she might lose Lon Mackey, just when she was starting to find him.

A
nother busy day at the mine past, Lon stalked around Tarver's storefront to the rear alley, his anger over Mercy's unjust treatment still simmering. Light from the lamp shone out into the alley. Mercy was indeed in her office. Was she alone? He'd stayed away from her for the past twenty-four hours because he wanted to calm down before he spoke to her. But peace had not come near his reach. He had to talk some sense into her. Then maybe he'd calm down.

The incident with the firecrackers and the soaped message on her office window, plus the scene in the café the night before, played over and over in his mind. He had said and done little of benefit to Mercy and Indigo in either uncomfortable situation.

He must speak to her, reason with her. He must convince her that he had the solution to her problems. Anger had ridden him with its spurs for years now. If he persuaded Mercy, would his lightning-quick
temper calm and recede? Would he once again be able to think and act with measured prudence?

Lon approached the door and turned the knob. He stepped inside and felt the warmth from the Franklin stove in the corner of the small office. He had rarely seen Mercy like this in a private moment. She had taken off her bonnet and her soft hair fell around her shoulders. She sat at her desk, writing in her ledger. She looked up. “Lon, is something wrong?”

The fact that her first thought was one not about her own troubles but one concerned for him blasted his self-control to shreds. He reached for her, lifted her from her chair and kissed her. For a moment, she clung to him, but then she tugged free. “Thee is kissing me again, Lon. Why?”

Her hair gleamed, catching the golden lamplight. With one hand, he lifted a handful, letting it fall through his fingers—silken, enticing, irresistible.

“Lon,” she scolded, “this is my office. Someone might see us.” She stepped back and tried to gather her hair into its usual knot at the nape of her neck, blushing and looking delightfully flustered. How could he not want this woman in his life?

“I've decided that we should marry.” He blurted out the unexpected and audacious words in the most blunt, unromantic manner possible. He cursed his clumsiness.
What am I saying?

She gaped at him, her lips parted in shock.

That sparked his irritation anew. “Don't look so surprised. Do you think I go about kissing women
indiscriminately? You are the one woman in this world I trust, the one woman in this world I must care about.”

She stumbled down in her chair, facing him. “Lon, thee does not sound very confident of thy feelings for me. Thee ‘must' care about me? That does not convince me. What has caused thee to propose marriage to me?”

“Why do you always have to talk everything to death?” He began pacing. Voicing the proposal fired his determination. He would never be free until he and Mercy left this town behind them. “I want to marry you. I know that you'll be faithful and honest.”

“I do not talk things to death.” She continued fiddling with her hair.

His fingers twitched, urging him to reach again for her hair, to let it flow over his palm. He grimaced at himself.
I must concentrate and convince her.

“I only speak when there is something I must communicate or learn,” Mercy said. “If thee cannot tell me plainly why thee wants to marry me, I cannot marry thee.”

He turned his back to her and continued pacing in the space near the door. The small office felt like a box. “I want to go to California.” These words shocked him. But his mind was suddenly very clear. “I want to marry you and then the three of us will go to California.”

“Why?”

Her incredulous tone jabbed him. He turned to
glare at her. Why didn't she understand what was going on here? “Because you aren't wanted here, that's why. That Boise doctor is not going to stop bothering you till you leave the territory. So let's go. There will be sick people in California who need you, too.” How could she argue with that?

She looked directly into his eyes—as she always did. He read the concern for him there and looked away.
This isn't about me, Mercy.

“Lon, I believe I am wanted here. I have been accepted as a doctor by most of the people in town. Why should I let one foolish word soaped on my window and one nasty, ill-natured man make me turn tail and run?” Her voice strengthened with each word. “I am not a coward. And neither are thee.”

He ignored her last sentence. “Of course you're not a coward. But we could be happy in California—”

She gave up trying to control her hair, her hands dropping to her lap. “I suppose,” she said, looking up at him and speaking in a wry tone, “thee will spend thy nights gambling and I will practice medicine?”

“Of course not.” Her words and sarcasm tightened his forehead. He rubbed it, trying to ward off a head ache. “I'll find gainful employment. I'm educated. I could read law there.”

“Why can thee not do that here in the Idaho Territory?”

Her cool question drew the headache nearer. “I've had it with this place.” He struck his open palm with
his other hand. “I was stabbed here. Now this doctor is harassing you. Let's go. Start fresh in California.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I will not run.”

He wanted to lift her out of her chair and shake her. “It isn't worth the fight.
Now
some of these townspeople accept you. But wait and see—if a male doctor comes to town, they'll drop you like a hot rock. You can't count on them. The people here will let you down.”

“I don't think so,” she said slowly.

“You don't know that for sure. And there's worse coming. Have you considered Indigo? Do you want to put her through the indignity of a trial? To make her go through that public humiliation?”

“I hope it won't come to that.” She wouldn't meet his eyes.

“What's going to stop it from coming to that— I've just proposed marriage to you. Isn't that of more importance to you than Dr. Drinkwater?”

Mercy gazed at him, mouth open and wordless.

“Do you love me or not?” Lon asked.

“Thee has not spoken of love—”

“I will,” he cut her off, enjoying the sensation of at last leaving her without much to say, “if that will persuade you to leave with me. Do you love me?”

Mercy fussed with papers on her desk.

The door opened and Ma Bailey walked in. “Oh!” she exclaimed, looking back and forth between the two of them with palpable curiosity
and glee. She must have seen him heading here and followed him.

“What can I do for thee, Ma Bailey?” Mercy asked in a colorless voice, blushing.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything…private,” Ma said, thick innuendo layering her words.

“No, we were discussing this business with Indigo,” Mercy responded with aplomb and a lift of her chin.

“That Boise doctor sure has his nerve,” the older woman agreed, her face darkening. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know my daughter and her man arrived in town today.”

Lon gritted his teeth to keep from sending the woman away with a few choice, pithy words he'd long wanted to unleash upon her.

“Well, that is good news.” Mercy smiled. “I'm sure thee is glad to have her safely here with thee.”

“I am.” Ma glanced at both of them. Her eyes spoke volumes of nosiness.

Lon paced again, sure that this private tête-à-tête would be broadcast through the community within hours. The headache began throbbing right under one eyebrow.

“I'll leave you two alone then.” The older woman left with a wave and a self-satisfied grin.

Lon halted in front of Mercy and leaned toward her. “If for nothing else, come with me and get away from that snooping, meddlesome woman.”

Mercy grinned but then grew somber. “No matter
where we would go—” she reached up and touched his hair, smoothing it back from his face, soothing the pounding of his headache “—there would be a Ma Bailey there, too.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and hovered over Mercy, willing her to agree with him. “I want to leave this town. And I want you and Indigo to go with me.”

She gazed up at him with maddening calm. “I must not leave till I know that is what God wants me to do. Until then I will stay and fight.”

Lon gritted his teeth. When was this woman going to realize that their lives were
their
lives and they must live them their own way? He tried to put this into persuasive words.

He couldn't. He made a sound of disgust and walked out into the brisk evening. Why couldn't she see that she was setting herself and Indigo up for indignity and scorn? Could he bear to stand by and watch?

 

Mercy woke to a knock on her door. “Who is it?” she called.

“It's me, Sunny. My time's come.”

Mercy quickly opened the door. “Come in. How long has thee been having contractions?”

Groaning, Sunny entered and halted, clutching the back of a chair. “For most of the night. I finally decided—” Sunny paused, wincing “—I didn't want
to have the baby in my room over the saloon so…I decided to come here.”

Mercy reached for her robe on the end of the bed. Indigo sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Indigo, Sunny will need the bed. Will thee prepare it for her?” Indigo yawned and nodded, rising.

Mercy helped Sunny sit on the chair. Then she turned to hang the full iron kettle on the hook over the fire. She added some more wood to the fire and stirred the coals. Soon Indigo had the bed ready. And then Mercy started walking Sunny. The contractions came closer and closer and stronger and stronger.

Dawn was just breaking at its fullest when Mercy helped Sunny's little girl into the world. The exhausted woman wept and laughed, touching her little one gently.

Watching Sunny hold her newborn daughter brought tears to Mercy's eyes. Every baby was a gift from God. Would she ever hold a newborn of her own? It was a startling idea—one she'd never had before. Lon, of course, or kissing Lon was what had put this in her mind. How would this all turn out in the end? She knew she didn't have the power to change Lon's mind and heart. Only God could heal the pain of the past. Then Mercy noticed tears streaming in Indigo's eyes. Because Pierre had not returned.

Mercy drew in breath, pushing all these concerns aside. She'd received a letter from Felicity saying that she would send someone by train to get the child. But
Mercy hadn't heard from her parents, who lived so much farther east.

She decided she would telegraph them today. She couldn't leave Sunny to bring her child—though unwillingly—into the life Sunny had been born into. Sunny obviously didn't want that. And Mercy was absolutely certain God didn't want that, either.

 

Later the next day, Mercy stood at the front of the church for her latest venture in teaching public health practices. On the table beside her were the items needed for smallpox vaccinations. The scent of freshly sprayed carbolic acid hung over them. Seven mothers had lined up to receive the vaccinations. Mercy tried to keep her mind on this—not on Sunny, who was recovering in her cabin, not on the troublesome Boise doctor, and absolutely not on Lon Mackey.

Mercy smiled, hoping to reassure the women; each looked back at her very anxiously. “Now, Indigo is going to allow thee to see her smallpox mark so thee will know what to expect after the vaccination. Please go one by one behind the screen—” Mercy pointed to the screen set up behind her “—and Indigo will show thee.”

The women took turns. As Mercy watched this procession, Lon Mackey's words ribboned through her mind. His visit to her office had tangled her emotions into a terrible knot. She knew she could
do little to alter her feelings for Lon. What a predicament she was in.

Lon had changed so much over the past few months that she had let herself hope that he would at last put the past behind him and find peace with God again. And, yes, that they might have a life together. She admitted this to herself now. Lon was angry, and she knew that it had to do with what he'd gone through in the war. He was angry at himself, and at God.

The four bloody years had been dreadful enough to live through. Why would someone as intelligent as Lon hold on to the horror and grief and regret? Of course, perhaps Lon didn't see it that way. Perhaps he didn't believe he had the right or the power to release the past. How could he expect her to leave with him when his life and his faith were so unresolved?

Finally, all seven mothers had seen the vaccination mark on Indigo's upper left arm. Most of them looked determined. A few looked frightened. Mercy took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. “Now, if thee is not certain that thee wants to do this, thee doesn't have to.”

“This really will protect us from smallpox?” Ellen asked, gazing at the needles and the small brown bottle of vaccine.

“Yes, it will,” Mercy said firmly. “But remember that thee may experience redness and swelling at the site of the vaccination. Thee may run a slight fever for a few days. Thee might actually get some of the symptoms of the disease, such as a mild rash. When
I was a child, my parents had all of their daughters vaccinated in Philadelphia. Each of us had a combination of those side effects, except for my sister, Felicity, who had none. But we were fine after a few days.”

Her mind kept calling up the image of Lon pacing in her office. Had she made the right decision, not accepting Lon's proposal? The answer came quickly: she couldn't say yes to Lon until he had broken free of the past. Until he'd allowed God to make him whole again, and had acknowledged God once more. If she consented to become one with him before that had taken place, it could stunt his healing and leave him wounded longer still. She felt this unpalatable truth like a stiff rod up her spine.

Mercy cleared her throat. “These vaccinations have been given for the past seventy-some years. And I know that they do work. I myself was exposed to smallpox several times during the war and did not fall ill.”