The Healing Season by Ruth Axtell Morren Read Free Book Online

his side as Jem and the other actress moved in front of them with the children.
    “What do you have there?” Mrs. Neville gestured to the bag in his hand.
    “Cardamom seeds,” he answered. He held out the bag to her, wondering if she would find the gesture unrefined.
    Instead she removed her glove and took one. She chewed on it and smiled. “It’s spicy.”
    He felt captivated by that smile, revealing such purity and sweetness. “I got in the habit of chewing on them when I was first apprenticed to my uncle. His apothecary was a treasure of spices and sweet-tasting lozenges for a kid. He told me to eat these instead of the sweets. Better for my teeth and breath, he advised.
    “During the war, they helped alleviate the boredomon long marches across the plains of Spain and fooled the stomach into thinking it had been fed.”
    “You were with the army?”
    “As surgeon.”
    Jem stopped in front of a booth with a dartboard. The hawker immediately challenged them to try for the prizes. The children clamored for Jem and Ian to win them one.
    Jem was unsuccessful after three attempts. Ian paid the man in charge and took his three darts. Like Jem’s, his darts landed far from the bull’s-eye. He turned to the children with a shrug. “Sorry, no prizes today.”
    Mrs. Neville gave him a coy smile. “I hope your stitches in surgery are better than your aim.”
    Her silvery-gray eyes were looking up at him in teasing challenge, and it occurred to him she was flirting with him.
    He was accustomed to receiving unwanted attention from the many street women he attended in his practice, but they were derelict and only incited his pity. The heartfelt gratitude he received from other female patients or mothers of children he’d treated humbled him and made him all the more aware of the sacred trust between physician and patient. The only other women he dealt with were at the mission or chapel, modest and respectful in their comportment toward him.
    Mrs. Neville’s behavior was different. It was direct and demure at the same time, elegant and playful in one.
    “Mr. Russell is the finest surgeon.” Jem defendedhim immediately. “You wouldn’t want anyone else if you were going under the knife.”
    She chuckled, a sound rich and charming like warm caramel. “I’ll try to remember that when I need someone to cut me open and stitch me up. Now, I’ll show you how to win a prize.” She turned to the children. “Let’s see, how many are there of you?” she asked the children as if she hadn’t seen already. “Three only? That means one prize for each.”
    They yelled in excitement. Calmly, she turned to the man at the booth. “I shall need three darts, if you please.” She gave him a coin and received her three darts.
    The children began hopping up and down, pointing to the things they wanted to win.
    “Now, you must hush.” She put her finger to her lips and bent toward them. “Be very, very still so I can concentrate and win your prizes for you.” Wide-eyed in wonder, they promptly fell silent. Ian couldn’t help smiling at the immediate obedience Mrs. Neville’s words invoked in the children. At the same time he wondered if it was wise getting their hopes up.
    She turned to the dartboard and hefted the three darts in her hand, as if determining their weight. She chose one and brought it up level to her face, pointing it toward the round board. The crowds behind were forgotten as the attention of their party was focused on the black center of the dartboard.
    Breaths held, they watched as, after an interminable few seconds, she threw the dart.
    It arced, then descended and, with a soft thud, landed firmly within the bull’s-eye. The children erupted in shouts of triumph.
    She paid them no attention, as her hands once again toyed with the remaining darts.
    “Beginner’s luck! Beginner’s luck!” the owner of the booth chanted. “Let’s try for two in a row. Can’t make two in a row.”
    Other patrons, waiting