Fern Page 7

  “On people?”

  “Goodness no.” She went to the armoire beside him, slid open a drawer and pulled a thick mass of papers tied together with twine. She handed them to him.

  “What is this?”

  “His journals.”

  “On the one plant?”

  “Yes. He researched with mice and other rodents.”

  “It’s how you know how much to give and what is the most potent part of the plant.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your father was very smart.”

  “It consumed him along with the alcohol.”

  “I’m sorry.” He placed his hand on hers.

  “I used to tell myself one more week of studying; one more bottle of whiskey and that would be it. He’d return, our loving, laughing father…but he never did.”

  “Sometimes we cannot change how losing a loved one affects us.”

  “I realize that, but we were here and he forgot about us.” She couldn’t help the anger in her voice.

  “It must’ve been tough on you.”

  “I am not asking for your pity,” she said, annoyed for allowing herself to lean on him.

  “And I wasn’t giving you any. I stated a fact. I bet it was damned hard.”

  She grabbed the cloth from Poppy’s forehead, dunked it into the basin, wrung it out and ran it along the girl’s arm.

  “Is Pete from Boston?”

  “He grew up here in Manchester.” She continued to bathe her sister’s skin with the cool cloth. “He came back from medical school shortly before my father passed away and opened up his practice in town.”

  “How did he know of your mother?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Your father didn’t confide in anyone that could’ve possibly told Pete?”

  “My father never spoke of my mother after she died.”

  He frowned.

  Once done, she dropped the cloth back into the basin, leaving it there for when she’d need to do the ritual all over again.

  “Is it possible he might’ve had similar acquaintances in Boston as your father?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  He nodded.

  “There is something else.” She folded her arms around her middle and squeezed. “A stem was pulled from the doll’s eye in my garden room.” She hadn’t the time to think about how anyone knew of her doll’s eye growing in the room off of the kitchen, or how someone could’ve gotten into her home and taken it. But that is exactly what had happened. When she checked on it this morning, a long stem was missing from the plant, pulled right from the root. She was baffled at who it could be. She wanted to question her sisters to learn if they’d seen anyone around their homestead while she was gone, but with Poppy ill and Ivy helpless with worry, she had to wait.

  “When did you notice this?”

  “This morning. I’d meant to ask the girls about it, but Poppy was shot, and well, you know the rest.”

  Gabe sat back in his chair, taking in what he’d just heard. All fingers pointed to Fern as the one who killed Sarah, but the ache at the base of his neck told him otherwise. If she’d done it, what was her purpose, and why would she tell him all of this? And if it was an accident, he believed she’d confess, unable to live with harming her friend.

  The woman hadn’t fired a single shot at Robby Fuller, who tried to kill Poppy. How was it she’d be able to poison another person, accidentally or not?

  “You’re sure you haven’t told anyone of the doll’s eye you grow?”

  “The only ones who know are my sisters.”

  He took a drink of his now cold coffee. Pete Miller knew of the plant. He’d told Gabe of its whereabouts. Someone was lying. He didn’t know if it was Fern or Pete. He wanted to trust Fern, but he couldn’t excuse all the facts either. He rubbed his tired eyes. He’d need to piece this puzzle together. The only problem was there were too many missing pieces.

  Chapter Ten

  Gabe sat at his desk, his head lolled forward, and he propped a hand under his chin to keep from smashing his face onto his papers. He hadn’t slept in almost two days and his body was suffering the consequences. He never fared well with little sleep, and he wasn’t going to get any until tomorrow. It was his turn to guard the prisoners until the judge came through. The man was expected today but still hadn’t shown up. He hoped it had nothing to do with Tommy’s gang.

  He hated to admit it, but he missed the coziness of Fern’s cabin and the company that came with it.

  Poppy’s fever broke this morning and by late afternoon she’d woken, weak, but hungry as a bear after hibernation. He chuckled remembering the foul-mouthed girl and her demands. Poor Fern, she’d be running after the girl until she was well.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about his conversation with Fern. Someone had taken a piece of the poisonous plant. She didn’t know who had stolen it, and denied any involvement, offering him little to go on. This left his inquiry into the murder at a standstill. Who was to blame? Whoever took the plant was aware of its lethal nature, that much he was sure of. What baffled him was the reasoning behind it all. Had this person intended to frame Fern, or to murder Sarah for their own benefit?

  Bill walked into the office, bathed and shaved. “Thought you might be interested to know Robby Fuller is drinking at Hal’s”

  He grabbed his Stetson off the desk, slapped it on his head and headed toward the door. “Thanks.”

  “Need any back up?”

  “No. I’ll need you here if the judge comes through.”

  Bill nodded.

  He hadn’t seen Robby Fuller since before his wife’s death. He hoped the spineless bastard would’ve stopped by Fern’s while he was there, but the coward hadn’t shown his face. One thing he was certain of; Robby was going to jail tonight for the attempted murder of Poppy Montgomery.

  Gabe walked through the swinging doors of Hal’s saloon. The clinking of glasses and low murmur of men’s voices mingled with the occasional woman’s squeal. Not one for liquor, he only visited the saloon to place order, or see Hal.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff.” Hal walked toward him, an empty bottle in each hand.

  “How are things today?”

  “Quiet, but I ain’t complain’n.”

  The Saturday before Gabe had to wrestle Ralph Palmer to the ground. The farmer had drank too much whiskey and lost at cards. Looking around the place, he noticed that Hal had boarded up the shattered window, and removed the two broken tables.

  “What can I help you with?”

  “Lookin’ for Robby Fuller.”

  “I heard what happened to his wife.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame. Talk is Doctor Montgomery’s crazy daughter did it.”

  “Don’t listen to everything you hear.”

  He spotted Robby leaned up against the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He swayed to the left, then to the right, having a difficult time keeping his balance.

  He tipped his hat to Hal and walked toward Robby.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Gabe said.

  The drunken man swiveled to face him and brought the smell of stale liquor with him. Gabe took a step back and inhaled the smoke filled room instead.

  “What do you want?”

  “You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Poppy Montgomery.” He gripped the other man’s arm and wrenched it behind his back.

  “That bitch shot at me first.”

  “I have witnesses that say you fired first.”

  “Fern is a killer. She poisoned my Sarah.” Robby’s bloodshot eyes welled up with tears.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Doc Miller.” The man struggled while Gabe escorted him out of the saloon and onto the wooden boardwalk.

  “Your wife died from poisoning, but I’m sure the beatings you gave her didn’t help.”

  “I never hit her hard.”

  “You broke one of her arms a few months back.” He wanted to smash his nose, busting it into a dozen pieces. Inst
ead he settled for yanking hard on Robby’s arms. He was satisfied when the man hollered.

  “She fell. I didn’t do that.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  They left the front of the saloon and walked across the street. The sun beat down on them and intensified the smell coming from Robby. He marched him up the two steps and into the office.

  “Well, that didn’t take long.” Bill held a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth.

  “It helps when the bastard can’t keep his own balance,” he replied.

  “I suppose it does.” Bill hurried to open the heavy wooden door leading into the jail.

  Gabe pulled the keys from his belt and unlocked the cell holding Ralph Palmer. The portly man didn’t look too pleased with having to share his living quarters with the drunkard.

  “Sorry, Ralph, you have a cellmate.”

  “How long until the judge comes through?” Ralph asked.

  Gabe couldn’t blame him for wanting to get home and back to his farm. He’d been locked up for three days. He studied the man.

  “If you promise not to break the law again, and I get in writing that you will pay Hal back for the damages you caused at the saloon, I will let you go today.”

  Ralph jumped up from the stool he sat on.

  “Sure thing.”

  “Bill will draw up the paperwork and then you’ll be free to go.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  He nodded and shoved Robby into the cell, locking it behind him.

  “You got nothin’ on me, Sheriff,” Robby snarled.

  Gabe turned toward him. “I’d say the hole you shot into Poppy Montgomery’s side is all I need.”

  “She should’ve shut her mouth.”

  “Is that your confession?”

  Robby’s face lost all color, and he narrowed his eyes. “Did I kill her?”

  Gabe couldn’t tell if he was hopeful he’d taken the girl’s life, or if he was upset that he might not have. Either way the man made his stomach turn. Robby wasn’t all there.

  “No.”

  “Ha. Wish I would’ve and her witch of a sister too. She killed my Sarah.”

  “You sure it wasn’t all the beatings you laid on her?”

  “Go to hell!”

  “Is that all you’ve got?”

  Robby spat through the bars at him.

  Gabe dashed his arm through the rods and grabbed the man by the collar. He yanked him close, smashing his face into the metal poles. Blood dripped from his nostrils to mix with the sweat on his upper lip.

  “I don’t take kindly to being spit on. Don’t do it again.” He gave Robby a shove and walked away.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” Tommy Rainer whined from the other cell, “I need to piss.”

  “Use your pan,” Gabe said.

  “It’s full.”

  “Piss in your damn pants.” He closed the wooden door before sliding the two by four across and into the metal hangers.

  “Damn you, Sheriff!” Tommy screamed. “Buzzards will feed off your carcass when I’m through with you. My men are comin’. You’re no match for ’em either.”

  Gabe listened to the threat. He expected Tommy’s gang to come. The outlaw was their leader, and they’d risk their lives to free him.

  “You think he’s right?” Bill asked from the desk.

  “He’s been locked up four times, and they’ve come for him each time.” He poured himself a cup of coffee. “Can’t see how this time will be any different.”

  Bill nodded.

  “Where the hell is the damn judge?” He needed a verdict to hang Tommy. Without it he was a sitting duck, and the damn Rainer gang knew it.

  “I’m beginning to think he ain’t going to show.”

  “I hold the same sentiment.”

  Bill pulled his .45 from his belt and checked the bullets. “What’s the plan?”

  Gabe leaned against the wall. He didn’t have one.

  Chapter Eleven

  “This tastes like cow shit.”

  “Poppy Montgomery, watch your tongue,” Fern snapped throwing her hands into the soapy water to grab a dish and scrub it clean.

  “Ah, hell. I’m tired of sippin’ this broth. My stomach needs real food,” Poppy whined from her bed.

  “You cannot risk getting sick and tearing open those stitches.”

  “I’m not going to get sick. Just give me some damn vegetables and meat.”

  Fern wiped her wet hands on her apron and stared at her abrasive loud-mouthed sister.

  “Poppy you’re almost seventeen.”

  “What’s that got to do with anythin’?”

  “No beaus have come to call. Do you think it has anything to do with the vulgar way you speak?”

  “There’s nothin’ wrong with how I speak. I say what it is I want to.”

  “That is the problem.”

  Poppy sat up straighter. Her bright blue eyes flashed with hot anger. “Why, because they can’t take a strong willed woman? I am no different than you, Fern.”

  She laughed.

  “We are plenty different, Poppy.”

  “You are independent and rely on no man. You work your garden and help those in need, not giving a damn what others think.”

  “You honestly believe I don’t care what they think of me?”

  “If you did, you’d stop all of this,” she motioned to the garden room, “and act like a young lady wanting a husband.”

  Fern thought about what her sister had said. She had no gentleman callers, other than Mayor Smith, but she refused to consider him. It wasn’t like she’d intended to portray an uppity mistress. She wanted all the things the other women had; a loving family and children of her own. Over the years of fighting for her freedom she’d built up a wall to ward off unwanted suitors. Men who didn’t see things the way she did. In the process she’d exiled herself to this land and her garden—afraid to venture too far for fear of what she might encounter. For goodness sakes she went to Manchester less than a handful of times a year.

  Poppy was right. She was no different than her sister. In fact, she was probably worse. She thought of Gabe, and her stomach fluttered. He’d never give her a second look. She was a gardener, an outcast, who had been accused of murder.

  “You are right, and I’m sorry. I’ve taught you to be strong, independent, and although that may be a bad thing for husband fetching, it is a good thing when living on your own.”

  “To hell with what anyone thinks,” Poppy said, and Fern knew her sister was just trying to cheer her.

  “I’m not going to chase any of my suitors away,” Ivy chimed in from the kitchen table.

  “You’ve got a little bit of time yet, tart,” Poppy replied.

  “I think that’s great, Ivy,” Fern said, trying to encourage the girl. Two Montgomery spinsters were enough.

  “I don’t care what you say, I plan on marrying a wealthy farmer with lots of land,” Ivy said.

  “You should marry for love and nothing else,” Fern told her.

  “Love can be cruel, it’s better to marry for money,” Poppy grumbled.

  “How would you know?” Fern asked.

  Poppy’s brows furrowed. She tossed the red hair from her face. “Ryan Young, that’s how.”

  The young man who they bought their meat from? He was a good two years older than Poppy and lived with his Pa. They ran the cattle ranch a few miles north of their place. Fern searched her mind for any signs she might’ve missed that the rancher had courted Poppy.

  “When did this take place?”

  “The who’s and what’s aren’t important…besides, it wasn’t meant to be. Leave it at that.”

  Fern could see the sadness in Poppy’s blue eyes and knew her sister was full of it. She cared for Ryan, but it was clear the feelings weren’t returned.

  “I’m sorry, Poppy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “There was nothin’ to tell.” A tear slipped past her lashes, and she wiped it away. “Marry for money, it will get you
further,” she said to Ivy.

  Fern didn’t reply, instead went to her sister, leaned down and placed a light kiss on her forehead. No words were exchanged. The sisters had a quiet understanding that had gotten them through many tough times.

  A harsh knock shook the door and echoed throughout the room. She turned toward Poppy when she heard the click of a gun.

  “Put that thing away,” she scolded.

  Poppy ignored Fern, holding her Colt .45 aimed at the door.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  “Mr. Davenport.” The man’s German accent was difficult to understand at most times, but today his voice seemed strained—weak.

  “Now can you put the gun away?”

  Poppy grumbled something Fern couldn’t understand and placed the pistol under the blankets.

  Once the gun was out of sight, she rushed to open the door.

  “What can I help you with?” she asked, stepping aside so he could enter.

  Ivy sat at the table working on her numbers and she decided to leave her there, instead leading Mr. Davenport to the two chairs by the fire.

  He shook his grey head when she motioned for him to sit.

  “Mine Angela ist zick.”

  It was odd he’d come to her at all since he’d made it quite clear he didn’t believe in her way of thinking.

  “Why haven’t you gone to see Doctor Miller?”

  “No time. You’re closer.”

  Angela must be in a bad way if he’d risk her health to come here instead of going into town.

  “What are her symptoms?”

  “Chezt painz, dizziness,” the old man said. His face wrinkled with worry.

  “Let’s head on over to your place. I will have a look at her.”

  He nodded.

  She grabbed her bag and shawl.

  “Poppy—”

  “We’ll be all right here. Go and help Angela,” Poppy said.

  She smiled and mouthed a thank you before closing the door behind them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fern took one look at Angela and knew the young woman was in distress. Her pale complexion showed red blotches on her cheeks and neck. The hair around her face was damp, and her lips were a light shade of blue from her struggles to breathe. Fern grabbed a tongue compress from her bag and placed it in the girl’s mouth to see if the airway was blocked. She couldn’t see anything, which meant Angela wasn’t choking, and there was something else ailing the young woman.