Fern Page 4
She blew the dark strand of hair from her face only to have it come back to the exact same spot. Tucking the errant hair behind her ear, she peeked out the window. If Robby lurked outside Fern would need to defend them whether she liked it or not. She glanced at the shotgun propped up beside the door. With Poppy injured she’d need to take on the girl’s shooting skills and the thought was unsettling.
Fern pulled the bandage snug against Poppy’s side. The girl was out thanks to the strong chamomile tea she’d made. Her sister was tough, but she wasn’t so sure the girl could handle the ten stitches Fern had sewn into her side.
She sat back and assessed her work. It would do and keep infection from setting in. She’d need to check on the wound every few hours, maybe apply some more yarrow if the skin looked red and puffy. She glanced at the jar on the small table beside the bed. Green yarrow leaves lay inside. She’d placed them directly onto the wound. If that didn’t work she had a jar of ground yarrow as well.
Chapter Six
Fern exited the garden room off of the kitchen and closed the door behind her. She’d retreated to the tiny room after mending Poppy, not comfortable with going outside and plucking away at the garden there. She enjoyed inspecting the garlic, thyme, rosemary, lavender and mint she grew within the wooden walls. The job calmed her nerves and after this morning she needed it.
She looked at Poppy still asleep beneath the heavy quilt and wondered when she’d wake. It’d been hours since she’d stirred, and the beet soup simmering on the stove was ready to eat. Poppy wouldn’t be pleased with the vegetable soup, but it would assist in making her feel better. Reluctant to wake her, Fern went and sat beside Ivy, who was practicing her numbers at the table.
“How are things going?” she asked.
Ivy blew out a loud breath.
“Still struggling?”
“Yes.”
She placed her hand over the girl’s and squeezed.
“The practice will help. Soon you’ll be able to solve all those problems without writing things down first.”
A soft knock on the door stole her attention from Ivy. She glanced at the Colt lying above the door. Robby. Heart hammering against her ribcage, she fingered the curtain, pulling it back an inch to peek through. Blue calico was all she needed to see to know they weren’t in any danger. She released the breath she’d been holding and hurried to the door.
A wide brimmed sunbonnet shaded May Hansen’s flawless skin and sable eyes.
“Good afternoon, May.”
“Hello, Fern,” she said. Her voice, unusually deep for a woman, held a hint of pleasure and temptation to it. She’d often wondered if the woman had been ridiculed when she was young because of it. Widowed two years ago, May had been left with three children to care for.
“Please, come in.” She stepped aside to allow her to pass.
Fern didn’t need to say anything to Ivy; the young girl quickly cleaned up her mess at the table and went to sit with Poppy, who was still asleep.
She pulled out a chair and motioned for May to take a seat, before sitting across from her. She smiled at the other woman, but sensed something was off. May was usually demure, quiet even, but was always friendly. Today she held herself at a distance, her shoulders rigid and mouth straight.
“What can I help you with?”
May removed her white gloves and placed them on the table in front of her before meeting Ferns eyes.
“I’m in need of some…something to help with my cycle.”
She smiled.
“Sure. What exactly is the problem?”
“I…I have not bled.”
“It is common for the cycle to be delayed due to lack of sleep, over exertion or worry.”
“No, it is not that. I’ve been without it for three weeks.”
“You have not expelled at all this month?”
She shook her head.
“What is your age, May?”
“I am thirty-three this August.”
She was bewildered at how the widow could not be menstruating, and yet be far too young for her body to start the cycle of menses.
“Have you fallen, or injured yourself in any way?”
“I am not ill, Fern. I am…” May leaned in. “I am with child.”
“How is that possible?” Fern couldn’t help her reply and slapped her hand over her mouth. “My apologies,” she mumbled.
“It is okay. I do not wish to discuss the how or why of this incident, but instead the ending of this pregnancy.”
Ferns throat grew thick. She loved helping people with her plants, but these requests were most difficult for her to do. Her stomach turned.
“Are you sure?” she asked, placing her hand on May’s.
The corner of her mouth lifted in a small smile. “I am not sure of anything.”
“Let me put on some tea and we can talk.”
“No, I…I left the children at home and cannot stay.” She raised pleading eyes toward her. “I don’t want to do this, but you need to understand I cannot have a child out of wedlock. I will be an outcast. The town will shun me. I cannot place that kind of ridicule upon my children.”
“I understand your concern. Is it possible for your gentleman friend to make an honest woman out of you?”
“It cannot happen.”
“Surely he will offer for you once he knows of the child.”
“He was the one who sent me here.”
That changed everything. Fern understood May’s desperation. She may not agree with her decision, but she’d help her…it was what she did.
“Let me see what I have in the garden room.” She left to go search out the parsley she grew for flavor in their foods, ailments, and to bring on a missed or late cycle. The green leafed herb would cause the cervix to contract thus forcing the body into its regular rotation.
She grabbed her scissors off of the makeshift counter and snipped a few leaves from the plant. She wrapped them in brown paper and brought them to May.
“Boil water to make tea. Place all of the leaves into the cup of steaming water and let steep. Once they’ve been steeped sip the contents until it is all gone. By morning you will bleed.”
May took the contents from her and held them to her breast. Tears shone in her red-brown eyes and she stood.
“Thank you, Fern.”
She placed an arm around the other woman’s shoulders and walked her to the door.
“I am here if you ever need anything.”
“Please…if I could ask you to keep this between us?”
“Of course. I adhere to a strict privacy rule when it comes to those I see.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled.
May opened the door to leave, but before exiting she turned toward Fern. “I almost forgot to mention it. On my travels here, I saw Robby Fuller watching your place from on top of Blue Hill. I’m assuming he’s heard of poor Sarah and blames you.”
“Your assumption is correct.” She glanced back at Poppy. “He’s already paid us a visit.”
May’s eyes expanded when she noticed Poppy sleeping in the far corner of the room.
“Oh my, what happened?”
“He shot Poppy this morning. The bullet tore into her skin good, but did not lodge itself inside and it was a clean tear, thank the Saints.”
“Will she be all right?”
“She will as long as infection doesn’t set in.”
May nodded and gave Poppy one more look before leaving to head home.
Fern closed the door and leaned against it, her forehead resting gently on the wood. Robby was waiting up on Blue Hill for a reason, and Fern had an awful feeling it was for nightfall. It was easier to sneak up on someone in the dark. She’d have a hard time seeing him until he was right at their door. She swallowed past the fear that grew thick in her throat. She’d need to remain on watch all night to make sure that didn’t happen.
A loud knock shook the door and vibrated against her forehead. She jump
ed back, lungs cold with panic. With a trembling hand she reached for the pistol above the door.
The gun felt foreign in her grip, and she dropped her arm to her side unsure of what to do with it. She motioned for Ivy to climb up the ladder to her room. Once the girl had disappeared, she faced the door once more. She slid one booted foot forward when another knock startled her and the pistol almost slipped from her fingers. The weight of the gun pulled her shoulder down, and she shifted her weight to her left leg.
“Who’s there?” she called.
“Sheriff Bennett.”
She relaxed her stance, but not yet comfortable placing the gun onto the table she clutched it tight within her trembling hand. The brass door handle seemed heavier than usual as she turned it. Instead of waiting for her to open the door, he pressed a thick arm across it and the wooden door swung open. Sheriff Bennett’s wide shoulders filled the entrance and blocked the afternoon sun shining bright behind him.
She stumbled backward; the gun slipped from her hand and fell onto the floor. The impact with the hardwood floor caused the Colt to discharge. The bullet whizzed between Sheriff Bennett’s legs, landing somewhere outside.
His eyes grew big before turning downward into a frightening glare. He advanced on her, his broad chest heaving. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Instead, they planted themselves to the floor. He was coming closer. There was nothing left to do, but squeeze her eyes shut and wait for the blow. She felt his breath upon her face, and the cold as her blood froze with fear.
When he didn’t strike her, she opened her eyes.
He picked up the gun, placed it on the table and turned toward her.
“You should learn how to use that,” he said, his voice calm.
She was sure he’d do her harm. The anger upon his face told her so. But as she stared at him, and then examined herself, he’d not laid one finger upon her. Admiration pressed on her heart, filling her eyes with tears. He was the enemy, just like all the others. She blinked, disguising the emotion she suddenly felt for him and walked toward the table. She picked up the Colt and placed it on the ledge above the door.
When she could trust her voice to speak without quivering, she said, “I can shoot just fine.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“Why are you here?”
He sighed, crossed his arms, unfolded them and crossed them again.
He was nervous and that meant one thing. She inhaled slowly trying to ease the twisting in her stomach…he’d come for her.
“Can we sit down?”
She motioned to the table and chairs a few feet away.
“I just came from Doc’s.”
She waited.
“He was able to find out how Mrs. Fuller died.”
“You came here to tell me what I already know? That her husband killed her?” Frustration clawed at her voice and it sounded pitted.
“It wasn’t her husband, Fern.”
“Well then who was it?”
“Doc seems to think it was you.”
“Of course he does. Mayor Smith too I suppose?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t do it. She was my friend.”
“I have to ask you some questions, and I’ll need your honesty in answering them.”
“I’ve not lied to you thus far, Sheriff, and I won’t start now.”
“Please, call me Gabe.”
She wasn’t comfortable with calling him anything. He was here to put Sarah’s murder on her. Robby Fuller killed his wife and it was quite obvious she’d need to prove it.
“Do you grow doll’s eye within your garden?”
“No. It is grown in two pots in my garden room.” She pointed to the room behind him.
“Why do you grow it in there?”
“Because it is not from around here and would die if planted outside.”
“Is it poisonous?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you have it then?”
“My father brought it from Boston. Although toxic, the plant in small doses can aid in childbirth, menstruation, headaches, colds and coughs. I’ve only used it a few times for birthing. At the time it was the only remedy that worked.”
“How can a plant so poisonous be used for those things?”
“It is how you prepare it, such as with all of my herbs, plants and vegetables.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The doll’s eye has berries, leaves, a stem and roots all of which are toxic. I harvest the root for use in a tea. I take small amounts and place them into boiling water. Once steeped I remove the root and allow my patient to drink the liquid, thus relieving them of their discomfort while of course not poisoning them.”
“You do not give them the berries directly?”
“Heavens no. That would kill them within an hour. The berries are the most potent part of the plant.”
“How do you know this?”
She repositioned herself in the chair, and pulled her eyes from his scrutinizing gaze. She’d seen what the berries could do, and she’d not tell anyone of it either.
“Fern, how do you know the berries are the most poisonous part of the plant?”
“I just know.”
“That is not a good enough answer.”
“It will have to do.”
“It doesn’t, and unless you want to spend your days in jail, I suggest you answer me.”
“Jail? You’d lock me up without any evidence, without any cause?”
“I have plenty of evidence that suggests you killed Sarah.”
She bristled. “Such as?”
“You’re the only one within a hundred miles who grows doll’s eye which is what Mrs. Fuller was poisoned with. You admitted to giving it to patients, and Sarah’s last known place before she died was here.”
“I did not give Sarah the plant,” she growled. “You forget my father was a doctor, who was advanced in the healing remedies of what the earth grows. He taught me.” She wasn’t lying. Pa had taught her, but she didn’t divulge more.
“I see. It still doesn’t explain how Mrs. Fuller got the doll’s eye and why she ate it.”
She tapped her fingers on the table, trying to keep her composure when all she wanted to do was lunge at him. How could he think she’d kill anyone, especially her friend? She was not a murderer. She wouldn’t harm a soul. She wanted to help those in need, offer a different way of getting well instead of opium, morphine, amputation and infected wounds.
That she was not welcome in Manchester was evident, but to accuse her of killing Sarah was absurd. Acceptance by the townsmen was not going to happen, she could see that now, but she wasn’t about to give up. It was her calling to work with the herbs and plants. Like her father, she felt pride at being able to help those in need, and she wouldn’t let Sheriff Bennett, Doc Miller, Mayor Smith or anyone take that from her.
“How did you know I grew doll’s eye here?” she asked. She hadn’t told anyone she grew it and in fact when using it on Penny Williams last year, she’d not said what it was.
“Doctor Miller stated it this morning while I was in his examining room.”
“Did he say how he knew I grew the plant here?”
“I didn’t ask him.”
“Maybe you should.”
“He hasn’t come out here?”
“Yes, a few times, but never within my home and definitely not inside my garden room where it is grown.”
“What has he come for?”
“To accuse me of using fake elixirs, and to scare me into leaving Manchester mostly.”
“He hasn’t searched the garden or inspected the grounds?”
“As I’ve told you it wouldn’t matter if he did. The plant is grown in the garden room not outside.”
“This doesn’t bode well for you, Fern.”
She could see that, but she’d stand her ground. “I did not give the doll’s eye to Sarah.”
“Has anyone been in your garden room?”
“Have you shown the doll’s eye to anyone?”
She shook her head. “Even if they saw it, they wouldn’t know what it was. The plant doesn’t grow here.”
“And Pete Miller has not been in your home?”
“Never.”
He eyed her.
“This is my land, and just because I am a woman, does not mean I am weak.”
“Never said that, but I do see how three young females can be taken advantage of.”
“Not with Poppy wielding a gun at them.”
At the mention of her name, the girl moaned, and Fern left him at the table to tend to her.
Chapter Seven
Gabe hadn’t noticed Poppy asleep on the cot in the corner of the room. He followed Fern to where her sister lay. He watched as she pulled back the blanket covering the girl and carefully removed the fabric wrapped around her middle.
At first he’d assumed she was sick, but when Fern began unraveling the linen from Poppy’s side, he’d known it was much worse.
“What happened to her?”
Fern ignored him while she let the fabric fall into a pile on the floor. A large gash, stitched and sparsely covered in blood soaked leaves stared up at him. He glanced at Poppy’s ashen face and knew infection had set in.
“When did this happen?”
“This morning.” She placed her palm to Poppy’s forehead.
“Does she have a fever?”
She nodded, and her blue eyes crinkled with worry.
“I don’t understand this. I cleaned the wound, disinfected the needle and thread. I even placed yarrow leaves across the gash to protect it from infection.”
She pulled the damp leaves from Poppy’s side and placed them onto the table beside the bed. The skin around the stitching was swollen and red.
“How did she get the wound?”
“Robby Fuller shot her this morning.” She said the words so calmly he wondered if he’d heard her right. He’d been here for a half hour and she hadn’t uttered a damn word about the incident this morning.