The Healer's Touch (12 page)

She stood on tiptoe and peered out the window, hoping to see the wounded stranger. She had spotted him all the way down at the barn shortly after dinner and marveled at his slow but determined steps. He was still a very sick man, but he appeared to be overcoming his injuries far sooner than most.

A second knock sounded at the open back door and when she glanced up she saw Katherine Jennings in the doorway holding a small basket. “Katherine! Come in.”

The young lady stepped into the room and took a deep breath. “What smells so heavenly?”

“Peach pie. I'm baking one for dinner.” Now that the stranger would be sharing a few meals she wanted the fare to be satisfying.

“If only I could smell cream and hot coffee to go with it.” The girls laughed and Katherine removed her light wrap. “I hope you don't mind an uninvited guest, but Levi is working such long hours and I get lonely. Do you have time for a visit?”

Did she have time? Time was her only commodity. “Please, sit down. I do have coffee.” It was the one thing Mother never refused, though she only sipped the hot brew.

“Any sign of the light?” Lyric asked.

“None, thank goodness. But then Levi and I haven't ventured out at night. I don't want to tempt it.”

Sobering, Lyric pulled up the second chair and invited her to sit. “Katherine…you do know that you may see the light again. Over and over.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I believe it feels like it lives here. I've heard it's been seen as far as Oklahoma and Indian Territory, but that's not that far away. If you and Levi plan to spend your life here then you should be aware it most likely will be around.”

“Oh, dear.” Katherine apparently had to give that matter serious thought. “But it doesn't bother you?”

“It doesn't bother me. I can't say that I enjoy the showings and I'd be lying if I said they didn't unnerve me a bit, but I'm not afraid of it, whatever it might be.”

“It must be something explainable.”

“Surely it is, but so far nobody's found an explanation.”

“Do you believe in…in ghosts?”

Lyric laughed. “Just the Holy Ghost.”

Making light of the subject now, the women chatted, spending a few minutes catching up.

A tap at the door interrupted them. The stranger came in with an armful of kindling.

“Thought you might need some, since you've been baking,” he said quietly. Before Lyric could answer, he slipped back outside and headed toward the barn again.

Katherine's eyebrows lifted. “I thought you lived with only your mother and sister.”

Lyric sighed. How could she explain the bruised and battered outlaw to her new friend? “He showed up here injured; I'm letting him stay for a bit.”

That explanation seemed to suffice, although Lyric caught Katherine shooting an occasional curious glance out the window.

When Lyric got up to take the pie out of the oven, Katherine looked awestruck. “It's so beautifully brown.”

Lyric recalled how Katherine had said pie making wasn't her gift, but she suspected the young woman hadn't made many. “Would you like me to show you how to bake a pie other than lemon?”

Katherine's eyes widened. “I've never had any luck with anything other than lemon, and truthfully, Levi gets tired of the same flavor.”

“Then I'll teach you.” She stepped to the pantry and got the flour and salt. A large tub of lard sat next to the cooking stove. Within a few minutes, Katherine had washed her hands and was preparing to do battle with the dough. The ingredients mixed easily and after a few more minutes Lyric stood beside the young woman and guided her hands on a rolling pin. The dough rolled out smoothly and evenly. One would have thought it was a holiday by the sounds of the young bride's squeals as she carefully laid the dough in the pie pan and then turned to assemble the peach mixture.

Katherine would never know what a gift she received; they almost never had sugar in the house and sharing a cup with a neighbor would mean one less pie for Lark, but having a friend was worth the price of a cup of sugar and one more precious jar of fruit.

Cans of peaches were opened, sugar, flour, and butter added, and the ingredients poured into the shell. Katherine rolled out the top crust without Lyric's help. After a moment the dough was set into place and Lyric showed her how to flute the crust and make tiny slits to vent the soon-to-be bubbling mixture. When the pie pan slid into the hot oven it was pretty as a picture.

While the treat baked, time flew by. The girls' laughter floated from the kitchen as they exchanged stories until soon Katherine removed a delectable looking pie from the oven and proudly stood back to survey the work. “Levi will not believe this.”

“But he will most certainly enjoy it,” Lyric promised.

As the afternoon lengthened, Lyric leaned on the back stoop and watched Katherine walk happily down the road, holding the wicker basket with the steaming hot peach pie tucked safely inside.

Her gaze was drawn to the barn, where she saw the stranger
currying the horse. She focused on his slow but methodical movements. His hand paused, and he took deep breaths. Even from here she could tell he was struggling to remain upright and her heart went out to him. Did he recognize the horse? He didn't appear to have any particular feeling for the animal as he worked.

Her gaze focused on the animal. And what was she supposed to feed him? Rosie needed the available grass and there was no extra hay in her loft. If that animal didn't belong to the stranger she needed to sell it and its gear. The saddle alone would bring a nice price. The rich mahogany leather, the pommel, fender, and cantle all rubbed with saddle soap to a high sheen…it would bring a handsome price. Outlawing must pay very well.

An awful feeling swelled inside of her when she watched the wounded man painfully bend to run the brush over the animal's right fetlock. From this distance she saw that it took every ounce of strength he possessed to do the small chore. It would seem that the stranger was a man of great fortitude and determination.

She mentally shook her head. All of this effort and grit to recover, only to be hanged by the neck until dead.

Lord, it hardly seems fair.

6

L
yric stirred when a crack of thunder shook the house sometime during the night. Rolling to her side she sank deeper into her pillow. The cloud bank must have moved in.

Drowsy, she realized it wasn't light yet. She should check on Mother. Storms ordinarily didn't bother Edwina, but if she awoke and couldn't get out of bed…Fat raindrops lashed the window and she stirred again, aware that the drops were extremely large. The intermittent peppering on the windowpane grew more persistent and in her drowsy state the word came to her:
thunder snow.
It was a peculiar event most likely to happen in midwinter. Lightning illuminated the bedroom and a second thunderous clap rattled the house. She particularly dreaded this kind of snow because it usually meant severe icy conditions for a few days or weeks to come.

Slipping from the bed, she lifted the curtain and looked at the
landscape already white with icy pellets. A bobbing light appeared, and she pressed her nose closer to the pane. The stranger was carrying a lantern and slowly making his way to the barn, occasionally losing his footing on the icy surface.

Pulling on her stockings and then her dress, she wound a wool scarf around her head and reached for a heavy coat.

Downstairs she lit a lantern and quietly let herself out the back door, braced against the blowing sleet. The white ground lit the darkness as she started off, slipping twice before she gained solid footing.

The stranger's light bobbed in the distance, drawing closer to the barn. He planned to take the horse and ride off while he thought everyone was sleeping. She hated to thwart his plans, but he would have to be a little more discreet with the next escape he planned. The pelting storm would awaken the whole house.

The light disappeared into the barn and she quickened her steps, slipping again. Brushing ice off her dress, she steadied her gait and trudged on. Cold, wet snow stung her face and she drew harsh air into her lungs. The temperature must have dropped forty degrees from the afternoon's unseasonable warmth.

The light inside the barn suddenly went out.

He must have chosen the lantern she had forgotten to fill before going to bed last night. The man's timing seemed as poor as his judgment.

As she approached the busted door, she paused when she heard him speaking to the animals. “It's okay. Nothing going on but a thunderstorm.”

Rosie and the horse shuffled restlessly in their stalls.

He was speaking to the animals in the darkness. Calming them. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the doorway. “May I help you with something?”

His voice returned through the black void. “A light would come in handy, if you have one. Mine went out.”

“I know.” She stepped inside, trying to close the broken timbers. Ferocious wind battered the shelter. “I meant to fill the lamp earlier but I forgot.” Shaking sleet off her coat, she shivered. “What are you doing out here this time of night—or early morning?”

“The storm woke me, and I had a feeling the animals would be nervous.”

She glanced at Rosie. The cow usually didn't mind storms too much, but the buckskin did seem a bit nervous. He stomped in the stall, shying away when the man approached. The stranger reached out and rubbed his ears and the animal settled.

“That's the reason you're here? You've braved the storm to check on the animals?” When
he
could barely walk?

Shrugging, he threw a blanket over the horse's back and then added one to Rosie's broad width. “You seem to think I'm wanted for something. Maybe I shoot people but love animals.”

At the moment only the latter seemed probable. He didn't appear to be dangerous or even mildly threatening, but then he wasn't himself. Heavy sleet pelted the tin roof as Lyric moved to the hay bin and grabbed a couple of handfuls. “I think you should have a name. I can't keep calling you…
You
. Or
Hey there
.”

“Pardon?”

“A name. I can't keep calling you ‘the stranger.' ” By now he didn't feel so “strange” to her. More like a distant relative she hadn't seen in years and had never really known.

“Don't see how a name will make a difference at this point.” He knew she'd be taking him to town tomorrow morning; he wasn't deaf. Lark spoke of the trip in whispers but he'd no doubt heard the plan.

“Well,” she said, offering Rosie the unexpected treat, “I believe the storm will make it unlikely that I can either get you to the sheriff's office or that the authorities can get to you.” She glanced over at him, smiling. Funny, the unexpected delay was as welcome as rain in July. “Sometimes these storms last for days and the effects long after.”

He remained silent, gently brushing the horse's ears back with his hands. She eased closer and offered the animal another fistful of hay. “Can I call you Joseph?”

“Joseph? Why would you call me Joseph?”