Chapter 3 - Five Minutes to Prove It
Dr. Lucian Voss entered Callaway Lodge like a man who believed every door would open for him.
He was fifty-two, silver-haired, clean-shaven, and dressed in a dark wool coat far too fine for ordinary mountain work. His medical bag swung from one gloved hand.
“Ethan.”
His smile vanished when he saw Martha.
“And you are?”
“Martha Boone.”
Recognition appeared.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Martha noticed.
“So,” Dr. Voss said. “You finally came.”
Ethan stepped between them.
“You know her?”
“I know of her.”
Martha’s eyes remained on the doctor.
“How?”
“Your reputation travels.”
“My reputation barely leaves Hollister.”
Voss smiled thinly.
“Ruth mentioned you.”
“When?”
“Some months ago.”
Interesting.
Ruth had told Ethan almost nothing.
But apparently she had mentioned Martha to her physician.
Voss removed his gloves.
“I understand Ruth had another difficult night.”
“Who told you?” Ethan asked.
“Caleb.”
“Caleb hasn’t been here.”
“He stopped at my office yesterday.”
Before Ethan could continue, the doctor looked toward the staircase.
“I should examine her.”
Martha moved first.
“No.”
Silence.
Dr. Voss stared.
“I beg your pardon?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“I am her physician.”
“And she is finally resting.”
Voss gave Ethan an incredulous look.
“You’re allowing this woman to prevent medical care?”
Ethan’s eyes moved between them.
Yesterday he would have apologized to the doctor.
Today he said, “She stays.”
Voss’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Then the pleasant expression returned.
“Very well.”
Upstairs, Ruth barely woke during the examination.
Voss listened to her heart.
Checked her eyes.
Felt her pulse.
“Her condition is deteriorating.”
“No,” Ethan said.
The doctor looked up.
“She ate today.”
“How much?”
“Broth.”
“That means little.”
Martha almost smiled.
The exact phrase she had used.
“What did you give her yesterday?” Martha asked.
Voss straightened.
“Excuse me?”
“Ruth remembers bitter tea.”
“A medicinal infusion.”
“What was in it?”
“A standard preparation.”
“Then you won’t mind telling me.”
“I do mind being interrogated by someone without medical education.”
Martha closed her journal.
“Then don’t answer me. Answer her son.”
Voss turned.
Ethan waited.
The doctor exhaled.
“Willow bark, mint, several restorative herbs.”
“And the powder?” Ethan asked.
“What about it?”
“Did you order it from Blackridge?”
That produced the first real break in Voss’s composure.
Only half a second.
But Martha saw it.
“So that’s where this is going.”
“Did you?”
“I purchase supplies from several towns.”
“Why is the powder different from what you prescribed six weeks ago?”
“Different manufacturers.”
Martha lifted the jar.
“The color changed.”
“Plants vary.”
“The smell changed.”
“Again, plants vary.”
“And Ruth’s condition worsened after the change.”
Dr. Voss looked directly at Martha.
“A coincidence is not evidence.”
“No,” she said. “But a pattern can become evidence.”
The doctor snapped his bag shut.
“I have practiced medicine longer than you have been alive.”
“And yet Ruth is getting worse.”
“That sometimes happens to elderly people.”
“Between spoonfuls?”
The question visibly irritated him.
Ethan noticed.
“So what do you recommend, Doctor?”
Voss looked at him.
“Continue the treatment.”
“No.”
Everyone became still.
Ethan’s voice was calm.
But final.
“No more powder. No more tonic. Nothing unless I know exactly what it is.”
“Ethan, that is dangerous.”
“Then explain what’s in it.”
“I already have.”
“Write it down.”
Voss hesitated.
“Why?”
“So Martha can compare it with her notes.”
The doctor laughed.
“You would trust an amateur over me?”
Ethan looked at Ruth.
“I trust what I can see.”
Voss closed the medical bag.
“Very well. If you choose to interfere with treatment, the responsibility becomes yours.”
“I’ve carried heavier things.”
Voss passed Martha on the way out.
He stopped close enough that only she could hear.
“You should have stayed in Hollister.”
Martha looked at him.
“Why?”
He smiled.
“The mountains are unforgiving.”
Then he left.
Ethan had heard enough to understand the tone.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing useful.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“No.”
Martha walked to the window.
Voss climbed into the carriage.
A second man sat inside.
She caught only a glimpse.
Gray coat.
Black hat.
Gold watch chain.
Ethan came beside her.
“Who is that?”
His face darkened.
“Silas Crowe.”
“Blackridge?”
“The company’s land agent.”
Martha watched the carriage disappear.
“So the doctor who ordered your mother’s powder from Blackridge arrived in a carriage with the man trying to buy Ruth’s land.”
Ethan said nothing.
“He also knew I was coming.”
“I noticed.”
“How?”
“That’s what I intend to learn.”
That evening Ruth ate again.
Eight spoonfuls.
Then a little bread softened in broth.
No vomiting.
No sudden shaking.
By midnight, she slept comfortably.
Ethan stood in the hallway watching Martha close the bedroom door.
“Five minutes,” he said.
She looked at him.
“What?”
“That’s what you asked for this morning.”
“And?”
“You’ve been here twenty hours.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Both noticed.
Ethan cleared his throat.
“At least not until we know what’s happening.”
“Then I need somewhere to sleep.”
“I’ll give you the guest room.”
“Near Ruth.”
“It’s across the hall.”
“Good.”
He started away.
“Ethan.”
He turned.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For listening before it was too late.”
His expression shifted.
“You haven’t proved anything yet.”
“No.”
“But you were right about one thing.”
“What?”
“Ma is better without that powder.”
Martha nodded.
“It’s a beginning.”
She entered the guest room.
Ethan went downstairs.
But neither slept long.
At two in the morning, Martha heard glass break.
She ran into Ruth’s bedroom.
The old woman was awake.
Terrified.
The window stood open.
Cold wind blew snow across the floor.
A stone lay near the bed.
Wrapped around it was a piece of paper.
Martha picked it up.
Four words had been written in black ink.
LEAVE BEFORE SHE TALKS.
Ruth stared at the message.
Then at Martha.
And whispered a name.
“Silas.”
Martha’s blood went cold.
“Silas Crowe?”
Ruth shook her head.
“No.”
Her fingers clutched Martha’s sleeve.
“Silas… knows…”
“What does he know?”
Ruth’s eyes filled with fear.
“The grave.”
And downstairs, Ethan opened the front door to discover something waiting in the snow that neither of them could explain.
A shovel.
May you like
Covered in frozen earth.
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