Fern Page 3

  “I do, and I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  He followed the man through the examining room and into another small room where Mrs. Fuller lay naked on a long table. Pete yanked the blanket from a nearby chair and threw it across the woman’s body haphazardly.

  “Come here and look.”

  Gabe stepped closer to the corpse. He gazed down at Sarah Fuller’s bruised and swollen face. The skin had begun to turn a light shade of blue, and the body appeared stiff.

  “What exactly am I looking for?”

  “Do you see it?”

  Gabe had no idea what in hell the other man was talking about and answered with a growl.

  Pete reached behind him to grab a magnify glass.

  “Here, look through this.”

  Gabe took the piece, and Pete positioned it just above Mrs. Fuller’s mouth.

  “Do you see the faint white line along her lips?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, look to the left. What do you see?”

  “White dots that look like salt or possibly sugar at the corner of her mouth?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “The line on her lips and the white residue are telling us what Mrs. Fuller ate before she passed.”

  “And what is that?”

  Pete took the magnify glass from him and placed it on the table. “Sheriff, have you ever heard of the plant known as doll’s eye?”

  He shook his head.

  “It is a very poisonous plant that does not grow around these parts.”

  Gabe knew where this conversation was going and he didn’t like it.

  “Mrs. Fuller ingested the plant. That is what killed her.”

  “How can you be sure? There are many plants that are used for good. Are you certain this doll’s eye is fatal if ingested?”

  “Quite. I have studied poisonous plants for some time now. It is what has ended Sarah Fuller’s life. When I looked into her throat there was bile on the lining of the esophagus. She also wet herself.”

  He raised a brow. He had no idea what any of this meant.

  “Signs of the heart seizing or stopping caused by a reaction to the plant.”

  He ran his hand down the front of his face and sighed.

  “If you do not believe me ask Miss Montgomery. She was the one who gave it to Mrs. Fuller.”

  “How can you be sure of that?”

  “She grows the poisonous plant within her garden.”

  He ran his back teeth together. He didn’t want Fern to be involved. Damn it.

  “You will have to arrest her.”

  The man didn’t need to tell him how to do his bloody job. He knew what needed to be done.

  “Is there anything else?”

  “You only have to ingest a small amount to kill you. Mrs. Fuller would not intentionally do herself in.”

  Gabe couldn’t be so sure. A life with an abusive husband may have pushed her to do something drastic such as end her own life.

  “You cannot think she’d kill herself?”

  “It is a possibility.”

  Pete slammed his hand down onto the table. The utensils vibrated, offering a high-pitched clinking that pierced Gabe’s ears.

  He cringed. He’d always had sensitive hearing, ever since his older brother Hank blasted a shotgun next to his head when he was seven. He hadn’t thought about his brother in some time, and the memory picked at a nerve. He rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension.

  “Do you know why Doctor Montgomery named his daughters after plants?”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  “Fern, Poppy and Ivy are all poisonous. Those girls have venom in their blood…just as their father did.”

  “You can’t be serious. From what I’ve heard Doctor Montgomery was respected here in Manchester.”

  “You’re not very bright, Sheriff. Fern Montgomery needs to be arrested. She is the one who gave the doll’s eye to Mrs. Fuller.”

  “How do you know it was Fern who gave it to her?”

  “As I stated earlier, she grows it in her garden.”

  He had said that, but Gabe was so shocked Fern could be involved he’d dismissed it.

  The other man narrowed his eyes. The room reeked of his frustration. Gabe didn’t care. It was his job to investigate all matters, and he wasn’t so sure Fern gave Mrs. Fuller the poisonous plant.

  “Do you fancy the herb collector, Sheriff?”

  Gabe frowned.

  “Have you taken a liking to her petite frame, thick mane of chestnut locks and tart mouth?”

  Did the doctor have feelings for Fern? The other man was happily married to Lucy, the schoolmarm. Talk around town was they were trying for a baby and everyone anticipated the good news.

  “My feelings are none of your damn business, Doc. I am doing my job and looking at all aspects of this situation.”

  “I hope so, Sheriff. I’d hate to see you lose your job over bad judgment and lack of skills.”

  Gabe leaned forward. It took all his strength not to wrap his hands around Pete’s wormy neck and squeeze.

  “I don’t take kindly to threats,” he growled.

  “Then I suggest you do your job.”

  “It’s best if you stay away from Miss Montgomery until I’ve finished this investigation. I better not hear of you sending Robby Fuller her way again.”

  “You cannot tell me what to do, Sheriff. I am a law abiding citizen of this town that, may I remind you, sits on the town council.”

  He reached across the corpse, grabbing the other man by the collar of his shirt and pulling him across the table.

  “I’ll not warn you again. The next time you threaten me, I’ll make damn sure you’re the one laying on this table.”

  Pete’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and eyes big and round, he nodded.

  “Leave Mrs. Fuller as she is. I will be back this afternoon with Miss Montgomery.”

  The other man nodded when Gabe realized he still held him by the collar. He released him and watched as the lengthy man fixed his shirt.

  He tipped his hat and walked out of the room just as Lucy Miller was coming in.

  “Ma’am.”

  “Sheriff, what a pleasant surprise.” Her voice was faint and breathy. He’d wondered how she was able to control the children without a stern demeanor and commanding vocals.

  “How was your day, sweetheart?” Pete went to his wife with open arms. She flew into them, her face flushed with love and affection.

  “Wonderful, Pete,” she answered into his neck. “Were you able to find out how Sarah died?”

  “Yes, it was as I figured.”

  “I just can’t see Fern being responsible,” Lucy said.

  “It is as I’ve said all along, dear, the Montgomery girls are poison, and now they’ve killed one of Manchester’s own.” He squeezed Lucy to him. “I can’t abide her ways any longer. People’s lives depend on my intuition.”

  Gabe had to fight to keep from throwing up; the tone in the other man’s voice was enough to make him sick. He tipped his hat to both of them, and walked out into the sunlight.

  “Good day, Sheriff.” Mayor Smith leaned against the brick building.

  He’d been waiting for him no doubt. Gabe was starting to see how Fern must feel being bullied by the two most powerful men in town.

  “Mayor.”

  “I hear Fern is responsible for Mrs. Fuller’s death. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “News travels fast around here.”

  Aggravated at the robust man and his assumptions, he kept walking.

  “I assume you’re going to arrest Miss Montgomery.”

  He stopped to stare at the man. His jaw flexed as he rubbed his molars together.

  “Since there is no room in the jail for her, she can await the judge at my place. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  He bet the bastard would. Gabe didn’t like any of this. The more he got to know the doctor and mayor he was beginnin
g to see things differently.

  “If I arrest Miss Montgomery, she will stay in my care and no one else’s,” he growled.

  “A woman can’t go around figuring she has all of these rights. Fern is a hazard to the wellbeing of those in Manchester.”

  He flexed his fists and picked up his pace, leaving the mayor behind.

  “I hope you’ll be paying Fern Montgomery a visit today,” Smith called after him. “And my offer still stands.”

  Chapter Five

  Fern placed three plates on the table. One fried egg, a sliced tomato and a piece of bread on each. A small meal that would have Poppy complaining she was sure, but it was all they had. Most of her patrons couldn’t afford to pay for the advice and herbs she gave them. Instead, they offered food, milk, or fabric and some nothing at all. She understood how they couldn’t give money, what with some of their husbands not aware they visited. She wished more people of Manchester were as open-minded as the women and few men who came to see her.

  The plants had aided those in need for centuries. It was not some newfangled thing, as Doctor Miller seemed insistent upon portraying. He acted as if she were selling potions and fake remedies. The greenery, flowers, roots and vegetables did the healing on their own. Her customers were proof of that.

  However all of it didn’t hide the fact there was no money. She was desperate for supplies. The barn needed repair, the cabin could use some care, and the lack of meat, eggs and milk were starting to wear on even her.

  She sighed and placed her hands upon her hips.

  “It will have to do for now,” she whispered.

  “No, it will not,” Poppy growled from the doorway.

  Fern rolled her eyes.

  “I am starved, wasting away to nothin’, and you offer me this for breakfast?”

  “It is all we have.”

  “Last night you sent me to bed with little more than greens from the garden. I nearly died of hunger. And now I’ve awoken famished to this?” she shrieked.

  Always drama. Poppy was known for it, and today Fern wasn’t in the mood.

  “Quiet down and eat your damn breakfast,” she snapped.

  “Why won’t you let me go hunt for a rabbit or a deer?”

  “Unless it is on our land…the answer is no.”

  “I am good with the shotgun. Why don’t you trust me?

  “It isn’t a matter of trust, Poppy. It is about safety, and you’re a sixteen-year-old girl out in the forest all by yourself. What if something happened?”

  “Bah! I am capable of protecting myself and this family.”

  She couldn’t argue that, but Fern worried she’d come across a band of Indians or outlaws, and she’d never see her sister again.

  “Anything but more greens and bread,” the girl moaned.

  “We’ve discussed this. If you cannot find prey within the vicinity of our land we will eat what God has provided to us.”

  “But, there hasn’t been anything in my traps for days. If you don’t let me venture soon we will starve!”

  “Quit being so dramatic. We will be fine.”

  “I love tomatoes,” Ivy chirped from the hallway, her golden hair tousled and the signs of sleep still in her eyes.

  Fern smiled. The girl was genuine and sweet, not like their sister.

  “How is your head?”

  Ivy’s blue eyes smiled. “Good as gold.”

  “Wonderful. That means the peppermint tea worked.”

  Ivy had been suffering with awful headaches for the last month. Fern had been searching for something to ease the pain and take them away completely. The young girl had been quiet and withdrawn the past few weeks. Fern didn’t understand why. She’d sat with her a few times, trying to get her to open up, but nothing ever came of the conversations. There was something Ivy wasn’t telling her, but with other problems arising, she couldn’t dwell on the situation and prayed that things would work themselves out.

  Poppy sat down at the table, brows furrowed, and dug into her breakfast. The girl was born sulking. Fern shook her head and took a chair beside Ivy. The sun shone through the window to chase the last of the cool air out of the cabin. The afternoon would bring warmer temperatures typical for a July day, and she’d welcome them while toiling in the garden.

  Poppy jumped up and went for the shotgun by the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’ve got company and it ain’t welcome,” the girl replied as she checked to make sure the weapon was loaded.

  Fern peered out the window, and her stomach dropped. Robby Fuller sat on top of his horse. His unshaven face shadowed with brown whiskers. Bloodshot eyes framed with dark circles. He had a pasty sheen to his skin that showed a night of mourning followed by the bottle and likely more than one.

  She leaned down and whispered into Ivy’s ear, “Stay inside. No matter what.”

  The girl nodded.

  She reached for their father’s Colt .45 and opened the door.

  “You!” Robby lifted his gun and pointed it at Fern.

  “I’d put that gun down if I were you,” Poppy said, coming out from behind Fern. She stepped a few feet to the side, cocked the shotgun and trained it on Robby.

  He fixed his gaze on the girl but did not falter his aim on Fern.

  “I ain’t scared of a little girl.”

  Poppy shrugged. “We’re all the same age when we shoot a gun.”

  “Ha! You ain’t nothin’, with or without that barrel.”

  “We shall see when you’re full of led, twitchin’ and bleedin’ like a gutted pig.”

  “You’re a sass mouthed bitch ain’t ya?” he said and then spat onto the ground.

  “And you’re a sissy bastard hittin’ Sarah the way you did.”

  Fern’s heart stopped.

  Robby’s cheeks flamed red, his bottom lip curled as his eyes emitted revulsion. She glanced at Poppy holding the shotgun ready to fire, and back to Robby, his face distorted and angled.

  “Don’t you talk about my Sarah,” he yelled. “She was precious.”

  “Well you got a funny way of showin’ it, layin’ your fists on her the way ya did,” Poppy said.

  Robby bit down on his lower lip and groaned followed by a loud screech. “You’re both gonna die today.” He pulled another gun from his belt and aimed it at Poppy.

  “You’re as dumb as a castrated bull,” the girl spat.

  He gaped at her.

  “You have two guns aimed on ya, and this one is gonna blast a hole the size of Texas through you. You haven’t a chance.”

  “Shut the hell up, bitch.”

  “Poppy,” Fern warned.

  “You may shoot one of us, but I’ll make damned sure there ain’t nothin’ left of your middle but a gaping hole.”

  Robby growled, and to Fern’s surprise he holstered his guns, swung his horse around and rode away. She turned to leave when out of the corner of her eye she saw him stop.

  He twisted in the saddle, pointed his gun at Poppy, and fired.

  “No!” Fern shouted.

  The sound of the shot bounced off the mountains around them. Robby dug his heels into his horse’s side and the animal cantered away, disappearing through the bush. Her throat tight and dry she swallowed the dusty air. Poppy lay on the ground unmoving a few feet from her, a crumpled heap on the porch.

  She leapt toward her sister. Not Poppy. Please. Fern placed her fingers to Poppy’s neck and felt a pulse. Thank goodness. She spotted the blood on the boards and rolled Poppy over so she could get a better look. There was no telling how injured she was. If the bullet struck an organ she could bleed out in seconds.

  Poppy’s left side was wet with blood, and Fern ripped the seam on her shirt to get a better look. She pushed away the girl’s stay, and exhaled followed by a pitiful cry. The bullet had grazed her sister’s side, leaving a gap in the skin that would need to be stitched. No organs were damaged, and she’d not be digging out a bullet today, thank the Saints.

  S
he scanned the porch behind Poppy and the cabin wall for the bullet. A flash of silver glinted in the back of the bench their father had made for their mother when they lived in Boston. Built from pine, he ordered the carpenter to make the bench sturdy and strong—to last a lifetime. Unfortunately, their lifetime together was cut short. The thick pine had stopped the bullet from going into the cabin and possibly striking Ivy.

  Thank you, Pa.

  Poppy stirred and Fern once again placed her attention on her injured sister.

  “Poppy? Poppy, you need to get up so we can get you inside.”

  The girl shot up and reached for her gun.

  “It’s okay. We are okay.”

  “Where is that son of a bitch?” She winced, the pain in her side causing her grief.

  “Gone.”

  She wiggled, trying to sit up.

  “Slow movements, you were shot.”

  Poppy’s blue eyes grew round. “I was?”

  Fern nodded.

  “Am I dyin’?”

  “No, but I need to get you inside and cleaned up. Your side is open; the bullet caught your skin.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Poppy.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  Fern glared at her.

  “Well, let’s get to it then. My side is achin’ like hell.”

  Fern called for Ivy and the girl rushed out, fear present on her youthful face.

  “Is Poppy okay?”

  “Yes, we are all safe. I need your help getting her inside.”

  “Is she shot?”

  “Of course I was shot, tart. You think I’d be laying here like I am if I wasn’t?” Poppy grumbled.

  Together they were able to get Poppy inside and onto her bed.

  “I’ll need you to boil some water, and grab the yarrow leaves from the shelf, please.”

  The girl hurried to do as she was told.

  Fern removed Poppy’s shirt and denims. She instructed her to press the ripped pieces of cotton to the wound while she searched for her sewing kit and whiskey to disinfect the needle and thread.

  She placed her palms onto the counter, bent her head and said a silent prayer that Robby Fuller didn’t come back while she tended to her sister. She’d have no choice but to protect them and that meant the possibility of killing him. She wasn’t sure she could end someone’s life. Right or wrong, good or evil, she doubted she’d be able to pull the trigger. Her stomach flipped. She rubbed her palms together to dry the moisture from them and shuddered.