32

The following Friday morning, Rosemary stepped onto her porch holding Bodie’s leash. Sheriff Cooper waited astride his horse at the hitching post, as he’d done every day for the past week.

She had learned that protests were futile, so she smiled at him as she opened her gate. “Good morning, Sheriff. Another lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Going to be a hot one.”

She leaned over the gate and fastened the bolt, then turned west toward Elijah’s office. The horse snorted and sidestepped when she passed close to his nose. She shied out of the way, her fear of the large animal prickling her skin.

The sheriff chuckled. “He ain’t going to bite you.”

“I hope not.” Embarrassed, she picked up her pace. A steady clop, clop on the dusty street told her that her escort was following a step or two back. When she reached the office, she paused before entering.

“Thank you, Sheriff. Have a pleasant day.”

“Hope it’s quiet.” He tipped his hat. “See you this evening.”

Shaking her head at his persistence, she pushed open the door and unhooked Bodie’s leash. He trotted across the room, settling on his rug beneath her desk.

Elijah left his private office as soon as he saw her and strode across the floor to take her in his arms. “I wait for this moment every morning.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “If it weren’t for early patients, I’d walk you over here myself, but Thaddeus offered to step in.”

“I must confess to feeling comforted by his presence.” She smiled up at him. “But yours would certainly be welcome.”

The doorknob rattled, and they sprang apart. She scooted behind her desk as the first patient of the day entered. She recognized Mrs. Fielder, the cook at West & Riley’s. Elijah had pointed her out on the day in April when she’d stopped in the restaurant seeking Jacob.

The woman wore an unadorned gray dress, with a straw bonnet tied under her double chin. She held her left arm close to her ample waist.

“Mrs. Fielder. How may I help you?” Elijah crossed the room, stopping a few feet in front of her.

“Burned myself right bad with bacon fat. Hurts something fierce.” She held out her hand, palm up.

Rosemary could see the extent of the burn from where she sat. Blisters covered the woman’s fingertips. Her crimson palm telegraphed pain.

Elijah turned to her. “Would you please assist me, Miss Saxon?”

She rose and opened the door of the examining room. “Mrs. Fielder, I’ll wait in here with you while Dr. Stewart looks at your injury.”

“You’re the one folks are talking about, aren’t you?”

Rosemary’s smile died. “Yes.” She jutted her chin in the air. “If you’d prefer me to keep my distance, please say so.”

“Just curious, is all. I don’t believe a speck of what I overheard. Mr. Bingham was getting up in years. No surprise to me that he passed.” She tipped her head in Elijah’s direction, pinning him with a stern glare. “Don’t take too long. I got a dinner to cook.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” Once inside, he studied the wounds left by the hot grease. He touched each blister with his fingertip, then sighed. “You’d better get one of your daughters to take over for the next few days.”

“Can’t do that. I need the money I get from Mr. West. My daughters have husbands. I don’t.”

He shook his head. “If you break open the skin, you could get an infection. I’ll give you a beeswax balm for the pain, but you mustn’t use that hand.”

The woman sniffled. “That all you can do?”

Rosemary cleared her throat and mouthed “comfrey” at Elijah.

“Miss Saxon here can make a comfrey poultice for you. It may help you heal faster.” He turned to Rosemary, smiling. “Would you mind taking the time to do that now? You could deliver the poultice to the restaurant when you’re finished.”

Hope spread over the woman’s face as she looked at Rosemary. “You’d do that for me? I’d be purely grateful.”

“I’ll be glad to. The process takes about an hour.”

“That’ll give me time to go get one of my daughters to help me and be back at work in time to get the chops a-fryin’.” She shot a defiant glance at Elijah. “I can still use my right hand.”

Rosemary retrieved Bodie’s leash from a peg near the door, bending in front of her desk to fasten the leather strap to his collar. He licked her nose while she fumbled with the buckle. Holding the leash in one hand, she joined Mrs. Fielder. The woman chattered all the way to the corner of King’s Highway, then headed west, and Rosemary turned toward home.

Comfrey grew in one corner of her front yard. By now the plant should be mature enough so that she wouldn’t need to use dried roots. As soon as she changed her dress, she’d harvest a basketful of the broad, hairy leaves.

She smiled with pleasure at the prospect of spending a bit of time in her garden on such a glorious morning. Imagine. Elijah had recommended comfrey to a patient—again.

Bodie wandered around the kitchen, his toenails clicking on the wooden floor, while Rosemary waited for the stove to heat. Humming to herself, she dumped crushed comfrey leaves into a pan and added a few spoons of water. Once the mixture came to a boil, she’d spread a portion on a clean rag and take the poultice to Mrs. Fielder.

When Bodie whined to go out, she hurried to the back entrance with light steps. “Good boy.” She rubbed the fur at the scruff of his neck, then opened the door. He bolted down the steps as soon as he was free.

The pan on the stove made bubbling sounds as the green paste came to a boil, and she turned to stir her project. The wet leaves smelled like the rotting compost heap behind her greenhouse. Wrinkling her nose, she pulled the pot off the stove. Clean pieces of cloth waited on her worktable. She swung around and placed the mixture on a trivet, then scooped a spoonful onto one of the strips of muslin.

A piercing howl, followed by cries of an animal in distress, broke into the silent kitchen. Bodie. Rosemary dropped the spoon and raced for the door.

She tore down the back steps, her gaze sweeping across the yard for a sign of her dog. His cries had stopped.

“Bodie!”

Movement inside the greenhouse caught her attention. Questions spun through her mind as she raced toward the building. Had he stepped on an overlooked piece of broken glass? But how would he get through a closed door? Her second question was answered when she saw the door standing ajar. Bodie—she was sure it was Bodie—whimpered from inside.

She flung the door wide open, then stopped dead. A shadowy form crouched against the rear wall with his back to her. He held Bodie with one arm around the dog’s neck. When the dog struggled, the man tightened his hold.

She glanced toward the house next door. On Sunday, her neighbors had left for Hartfield to visit their grandchildren. No one would hear if she screamed for help.

With a swift motion, Rosemary grabbed the mattock from the wall and held it like a club as she stepped around a potting table. One more table stood between her and the intruder.

“Release my dog. Now. Or I’ll bring this down on your skull.” She kept her voice low and steady.

He turned his head slightly, his face obscured under the floppy brim of a grimy hat. “You ain’t got the gumption.” His voice rasped as if he were the one with an arm around his neck. “Git away from me and I’ll let the mutt go.”

“I’m not moving. You’re trapped in here. Sheriff Cooper will be passing by any moment.”

“Ha. You’re lying.”

She moved a step toward the next table. Her heartbeat threatened to choke her. “You’re the one. You wrote those messages and damaged my property.”

“So? What’ll you do? Cast a spell on me?” He cackled.

Bodie’s breath wheezed as he fought the man’s grip.

She took another step between the two tables. “Let him go. You can leave. I won’t stop you.” She gripped the handle of the mattock.

In one blurred motion, he dropped Bodie and shoved the potting table over against her side. Plants crashed to the floor and she fell with them, dropping the mattock as she went down. She felt a blinding pain in her midsection, then nothing.