Fern Read online

  “Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.” ~Henry Ward Beecher

  FERN

  The Montgomery Sisters # 1

  KAT FLANNERY

  FERN: The Montgomery Sisters # 1

  Copyright © 2018 by Kat Flannery. All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. And any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.katflannerybooks.com

  SECOND EDITION

  April 4, 2018

  ISBN: 978-0-9811056-4-2

  Cover designed by Carpe Librum Book Design

  Table of Contents

  FERN

  Copyright

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Novels by Kat Flannery

  Message from the Author

  About the Author

  “Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.”

  ~ Henry Ward Beecher

  Chapter One

  Wyoming Territory, 1880

  Fern Montgomery was desperate. She slapped the reins onto Nelly’s brown back.

  “Faster! Faster!”

  The old mare couldn’t go any quicker. The horse was all she had. A lack of money and other necessities were a priority. A Thoroughbred hadn’t been in the budget, but at this very moment a stallion was what she wished for.

  She snapped the reins again. “Damn it, Nelly. Get going.”

  She didn’t like to swear. Her younger sister did plenty of it for both of them, but today she’d make an exception. She glanced behind her at the woman lying beaten in the back of the wagon. Sarah Fuller had come to her on more than one occasion. Fern had used the remedies taught to her by her father to mend the cuts and bruises Sarah’s husband, Robby, had given her.

  Today was different. Sarah had arrived slumped over her horse and unconscious, her face so badly bruised and swollen she was almost unrecognizable. But when Fern tried to wake her there was no response. Without a second thought she’d left her sisters and headed into town.

  She needed to get Sarah to Doc Miller’s. There was something wrong beyond Fern’s abilities, and she wasn’t qualified to assess her to determine what it was. She knew her plants and the vegetables within her garden well. She also knew how to use them medicinally. Her father, a doctor, had believed in using the landscape and what it grew in aiding the sick. Not everything could be cured with opium or morphine, he’d say. When he passed away two years ago, Fern had continued to help those who came to her. It was her passion and how she supported her younger sisters. She loved toiling in the soil, caring for her plants, and she enjoyed helping those in need.

  She pulled on the reins to slow Nelly down as the wagon rounded a corner on the dirt road. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, and she wiped a bead of sweat from her brow as she passed the creek. Had there been time she would’ve stopped to soak her handkerchief and lay it at the base of her neck to cool her off. Instead her heart thumped rapidly in her chest causing her face to flush. Tiny black dots danced before her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision. She fanned her face and slapped the reins with the other hand. Please God, let Sarah be okay.

  She blew out a long sigh when she saw the church on the outskirts of town.

  “Almost there, Sarah,” she whispered more for herself than her unconscious friend.

  Main Street was busy with women and children shuffling along the boardwalk. Men lined up outside the livery waiting for supplies while several elderly men puffed on their pipes a few feet away.

  She passed Mayor Smith standing in front of his office. She shivered. He repulsed her. Refusing to meet his glare, she stared straight ahead. The rotund man wanted Fern for his wife. After many polite declines he turned bitter, siding with Pete Miller in his charge to stop her from selling the natural medicine. There was no way she’d agree to such an absurd demand, and her choice resulted in a one-sided feud with the two men doing everything in their power to stop her.

  She pulled on the reins and halted the wagon in front of the doctor’s office. She hiked up her skirt and jumped from the seat. There was no time for etiquette. She was sure the uppity women of Manchester were tipping their noses at her now. Well she didn’t care. If any one of them came near her, she’d blast them.

  Fern pulled on the door and nearly took her arm off. It was locked.

  “Doc’s gone to lunch,” a deep voice said from behind her. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Not unless you’re a doctor,” she replied, ignoring him to climb into the back of the wagon and assess her friend.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She showed up at my place beaten and unconscious.”

  He jumped into the back of the wagon. She had no choice but to acknowledge him then. Wide shoulders fitted within a denim shirt displayed thick arms and a wide chest. Her gaze moved upward to a square jaw, high cheekbones and dark brown eyes. A jagged scar cut up the left side of his face to pull the corner of his eye down just a bit. It looked to be from a knife, but she couldn’t say for sure.

  He coughed.

  Her cheeks grew warm, and she focused on her friend.

  Brows furrowed, he inspected Sarah’s arms, legs and back.

  “Why did she come to your place?”

  “She visited often.”

  He brushed the hair from Sarah’s face and inhaled sharply.

  “What the hell?”

  “She’s been beaten. I told you that.”

  “Did you do this?”

  “Of course not.”

  His eyes locked with hers.

  “Do I look like I could do something like this? She was my friend.”

  He shrugged.

  She bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from going off on the oaf.

  “How long has she been in your care?”

  “Half an hour. The length of time it took me to get here.”

  He placed two fingers to her neck.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s dead.”

  “She can’t be. I checked her pulse before we left my place.”

  Fern looked down at her friend and nudged her shoulder.

  “Sarah. Sarah, wake up.”

  The girl’s wheat colored hair fell across her face, and Fern watched for a faint movement, a waving strand from her breath, anything to hint there was life. There was nothing. No even rise and fall of her chest. No pink cheeks. She reached for her hand; it was cold and limp within her own. She brushed the hair from Sarah’s swollen face and knew she was gone. A sob slipped from her lips as she leaned down to wrap Sarah in her arms and hold her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered past her tears. It wasn’t fair. She was so young, so full of life and she was taken so tragically. She’d been dealt horror after horror at the hands of her bastard of a husband. Fern squeezed her tighter, pulling every memory from their short friendship closer to her. The poor thing never had a chance to live.

 
“Why didn’t you listen to me? Why didn’t you leave?”

  “Ma’am?”

  Fern pressed herself away from Sarah and wiped her eyes. She’d forgotten he was there.

  He was staring at her, his dark gaze scrutinizing.

  “I need to ask you some questions,” he said again.

  “I don’t have time. I need to find the sheriff.” She moved toward the back of the wagon.

  “I am the sheriff.”

  That explained his inquisitive nature.

  “Where is Sheriff Bell?”

  “He took a job down in Texas a few months ago.”

  Had it been that long since she’d been to town?

  “Gabe Bennett.” He tipped his Stetson. “We need to talk.”

  She nodded, followed him out of the wagon and onto the street.

  “What about—”

  “Arrest that woman,” Pete Miller shouted from the street.

  Oh boy.

  Doctor Miller walked toward them, his tall lean frame dressed in tanned slacks and a cotton dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. He was handsome and he knew it.

  “What have you done now, Miss Montgomery?”

  “You want me arrested, yet you know nothing of why I am here,” Fern said.

  “I presume it is because of the woman in the back of your wagon.”

  “That woman is my friend, Sarah Fuller.”

  “And she’s dead,” Sheriff Bennett added.

  She pressed her lips firmly together.

  Pete turned narrowed eyes toward her.

  “You’ve done it now, Miss Montgomery. I knew all along you were an imposter pretending to help the innocent people of Manchester with your elixirs.”

  “I’ve done no such thing and you know it. I am not responsible for Sarah’s death,” Fern said matter-of-factly.

  “We shall see. After all, I am the one with the degree in medicine.”

  “My father had a degree in medicine too, but also knew the benefits from using what the earth grew to help those who were ill.”

  “Doctor Montgomery is dead.”

  She flinched.

  “He should’ve stuck to the use of opium and what he studied in school instead of teaching you about such rubbish as herbs and plants.”

  “He was a good doctor. The people of Manchester adored him. He saved many lives.”

  “He also lost some.”

  She didn’t miss the ominous look flash within his eyes.

  “You and I both know some things cannot be controlled.”

  He came close, leaning into her side.

  “Unless you want me to tell the good people of Manchester about Adam Montgomery and his skills, I suggest you keep quiet,” he whispered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sure they’d be interested to know why a doctor of such high prestige, sought after even, would leave a prospering practice in Boston to come to Manchester, Wyoming.”

  Fern ran her back teeth together and met his sinister gaze with a glare of her own. How he’d known of the accident surprised her, but she refused to let him see that.

  “I hardly see how it will do any good. My father has been passed for almost two years. His reputation will stand by whatever rubbish you spout.”

  He smiled.

  “Ahh, but will yours?”

  She had nothing else to say to him. She loved her work and even more so loved helping those in need. He’d found out secrets, ones better left buried with her father. She refused to push him further. If the people of Manchester took him at his word, she’d have no more clients—which meant no income and means to support her sisters.

  “Good girl.” He smiled and motioned to two men. “Carry the deceased inside.”

  “She has a name.”

  He gave her a sideways glance.

  “Sarah Fuller. You should know that.”

  “Should I?”

  “Yes,” she growled.

  He leaned over to take a look at Sarah.

  “She does seem familiar, but I see so many patients it’s hard to keep track.”

  He was a liar. Manchester had a population of a little over a thousand, including the farmers on the outskirts of the town. Her father knew every patient’s name. Doctor Miller irked her, and she wished for half the brass her sister, Poppy, had so she could slug him.

  “Now, kindly move aside,” he said.

  She stepped back and allowed them to take her friend. All eyes were on her, and she wanted nothing more than to go home. She didn’t fit in here. She wasn’t her father. She wasn’t a man.

  A few of the women who used her roots and herbs sent her shy smiles of reassurance, while their husbands glared at her. Lucy Miller grasped Fern’s hand, giving it a light squeeze before she followed her husband into his office. The doctor’s wife was a kind woman who never used Fern’s herbs, but didn’t judge her either. Once the door closed to Doctor Miller’s office, she decided to take her leave as well.

  “Miss Montgomery, I need to speak with you.”

  “Robby Fuller. He killed her.” She was tired, hungry and devastated.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because Sarah was my friend. I’d given her witch hazel many times to help with the bruises and swelling he’d left on her body.”

  “I am assuming her husband used his hands on her often?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he killed her.”

  She spun around to face him. Anger filled her body and spilled from her lips.

  “Of course he killed her. Anyone who’d beat a woman as badly as he did is capable of murdering them.”

  He crossed his arms, and the sun glinted off the silver star pinned to his chest. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before.

  “True, but you cannot rule out all possibilities.”

  “There are no other possibilities, Sheriff.”

  “There is one.”

  “What is that?”

  “You.”

  Gabe paid close attention to her reaction. Her face turned a bright shade of red, blue eyes burst into flames and she pulled her lips into a tight smile. He’d riled her, which is what he’d intended. Most people confessed or said something out of turn when they lost their temper, and he was hoping she’d do the same.

  “What kind of elixirs do you sell?”

  She lifted her chin.

  “You’re a medicine woman?”

  “Some would say so. I chose to be called a gardener.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you are. Do you give herbs and other homemade elements to the sick or injured?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are a suspect.”

  She locked her eyes with his in a stealthy glare.

  “Sarah was not poisoned. She was beaten to death.”

  “I never said anything about poison, but now that you’ve mentioned it I will need to investigate that notion.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Wish I was, but the sad fact is that Mrs. Fuller was murdered, and someone did it.”

  “Yes, her blasted husband!”

  “Seems to be the logical answer, but I need to rule out everything.”

  “Very well, until you have some evidence, which I am sure you won’t, I am going home.”

  “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  “Don’t count on that,” she called over her shoulder before climbing into the seat of the wagon.

  He’d heard many things about Fern Montgomery and wondered if any of them were true. Was that little bit of a female capable of killing her friend?

  Chapter Two

  Fern unharnessed Nelly and led her into the stall before pulling the rope over the gate to fasten it closed. She scooped a handful of oats and gave them to the mare.

  “Good girl.”

  The small barn needed repairs. The walls were rotting, the wood broken and split. There had been no extra money to fix things properly. She’d
enlisted her sisters to nail up the boards as best they could. It looked terrible, but it kept the coyotes and other animals out.

  She went to the small table to inspect her seedlings. She’d started most of her plants within the barn, and as they matured she transplanted them outside or moved them to the garden room off of the cabin. The small room her father built before he passed had a glass roof that let the sun in and helped her plants flourish, especially in the colder months.

  She fingered a tiny stem of rosemary and released a long breath, still unable to believe Sarah was gone. She was Fern’s age and over the last few months they’d become friends. She begged her to leave Robby countless times, but Sarah loved him, an emotion Fern didn’t think she’d ever get to experience. Men out west expected a lot from their spouses, and she’d seen the effects their rough treatment had on them. She wasn’t sure she’d ever find a man who would understand her love of plants. Most saw it as a gross waste of time, when instead she should be having babies or working in the fields until her fingers bled.

  She wasn’t afraid of hard work, she’d done her fair share on their homestead, but she’d die a spinster before she’d allow a man to dictate her every move. She’d held onto her beliefs, and because of them, it was mostly women who came to see her to ask for advice on menstruating, pregnancy and any other ailment they had. A handful of men used her remedies, but on strict instruction she was to keep the business to herself.

  She thought of Sheriff Bennett, and her stomach twisted. How dare he accuse her of killing Sarah? Poisoning her even! If he had half a brain in his head he’d see it was that spineless Robby Fuller who’d done her in. She straightened, refusing to think of the arrogant lawman anymore, and left the barn to check on her garden.