Chapter Sixteen
NICK STRODE PURPOSEFULLYtoward the livery at noon. He’d paid a visit to Dr. Rousseau earlier that morning as Willa stood by. The man was still fevered, though not as badly as the night before. But more concerning were the sounds Nick heard in the man’s lungs. That, combined with the amount of weight he’d lost and the cough Willa told him had been ongoing for nearly a month, made Nick suspect something worse than a passing illness. But he didn’t know enough yet to draw that conclusion. Only time would tell if this was a passing illness—or not.
He entered the livery and spotted the medicine show wagons immediately, sitting where they’d been for a week now without moving outside for the shows. But neither Mr. Sterling nor Mr. Taunton was visible, which was odd. The men were almost single-minded in their determination to keep guard over their livelihood, even when one of them would have been much better off recovering at the hotel. Nick peered into each wagon, in case one of the men had chosen to lie down for a nap. Finding no one, the glint of a row of bottles caught Nick’s eye in the second wagon. Each was labeled asDr. Rousseau’s Miracle Elixir.
Curiosity overtaking him, Nick stepped inside the wagon and picked up one of the bottles. Uncorking it, he took a whiff of the purported cure-all. It didn’t smell unpleasant. In fact, it had a soothing mint scent and . . . Nick took another whiff. Was that basil? He pulled off a glove, tilted the bottle, and placed a finger near the lip. When the amber liquid touched his finger, he raised it to his mouth. It tasted strongly of mint, basil, and something else he couldn’t quite identify. But under all of that was the unmistakable burn of whiskey.
He’d been right all along.
Nick replaced the cork in the bottle and surveyed the dim interior of the wagon. He could make out a few trunks, all of which were locked. Near the front, he spied baskets of dried herbs. There was mint and basil, but also something that looked like rosemary and a couple of other pungent herbs Nick couldn’t recognize by sight or scent.
One thing hedidknow for certain was that if he looked inside those trunks, he’d find bottles of whiskey.
Uncertain what to do with this information, he jumped out of the wagon. Willa ought to know, and he’d told her he’d find proof. It wasn’t right that she believed so wholeheartedly in her father’s deception. She deserved to know that she was helping to peddle a bottle of doctored-up whiskey. But now that he knew for certain, how could he be the one to tell her?
As Nick pondered these thoughts, Mr. Taunton, the accordion-playing sharpshooter, returned to the livery carrying two boxes. He greeted Nick, and then furrowed his brow as he searched the vicinity for Mr. Sterling.
“I haven’t seen him,” Nick said as the man set his boxes down on one of the chairs that rested outside the wagons.
Mr. Taunton shook his head. “He’s likely off speaking with Otto or visiting the horses. He always insists on keeping watch, then wanders off.” He shook his coat from his arms and laid it over the back of one of the chairs. “I’m sorry, were you wanting to check Amos’s shoulder?”
“I thought I might since I’m here, but my main purpose is let you know about Mr. Rousseau’s condition,” Nick said.
“Oh?” Mr. Taunton stood, his pale eyes fixed on Nick.
“I’ll be honest—he isn’t well.”
“Willa said he was improving.”
“She may have thought so, but I fear this may be more than a simple illness.”
Mr. Taunton pressed his lips into a line. “Be frank with me, Doctor. Please.”
Nick drew in a deep breath. “I haven’t mentioned this to his daughter, and I don’t know for certain, but if he doesn’t improve, I suspect the doctor may have tuberculosis.”
Mr. Taunton was silent for a moment. He gripped the back of the chair and looked out across the livery and nodded. “You don’t know for sure yet?”
“I hope it isn’t. But we won’t know for several days.”
“Let’s pray he improves quickly.”
“For the sake of precaution, you and Mr. Sterling should refrain from visiting the doctor,” Nick said.
Leroy paused, then shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t. Dr. Rousseau is too good a friend to me. I imagine Amos will feel the same way.”
