“Go on,” Mr. Johnson said. “I got a few things I need to say to you.”
Willa wrapped an arm around Papa and helped ease him into a sitting position.
“Thank you, daughter,” he said, smiling at her as if nothing was amiss. As if this man with the gun were simply a customer at one of their shows.
Willa didn’t let go of his hand, choosing instead to hold on to it as she took her place by his side again.
“Now, Mr. Johnson, how may I help you?” Papa asked.
“I . . . Your elixir,” the man said, clearly thrown by Papa’s demeanor. He recovered quickly, though, and nodded toward the bottle on the night table. “It don’t work. You told me it would cure my will to drink spirits, and it’s done no such thing.”
“Ah.” Papa inclined his head, as if he was thinking about what Mr. Johnson said. “I’m sorry to hear that. Well, I’m happy to return your money.”
“I’ve done that,” Willa said, trying to keep her voice as even as his.
“Good,” Papa said, clearing his throat. Surely he hadn’t missed where the man now stared greedily at the case on the desk. “I’d offer to see you out, sir, but as you can see—”
“I’m not leaving. Not yet. You’re nothing but a thief, taking good men’s money and skipping town with it. I bet you’d be gone already if you wasn’t sick.” The man’s tone had turned as icy as the frost outside the window.
Willa gripped Papa’s hand. He held on to her, not as strong as before, but still her father. Still wanting to protect her. If Mr. Johnson wasn’t here, she would’ve thrown her arms around him and sobbed in relief. He was here. He was alive. Nothing else mattered, not right now. They’d talk through everything else later.
But another part of her heart ached for someone else. Nick. Would she get the chance to talk with him again? To find out why he’d acted the way he had? To see his smile again, and feel his arms holding her the way they had when they’d danced at the Matchmaker’s Ball?
“Well? You got anything to say to that?” The man shook the revolver at Papa.
“You’re right,” Willa said. She didn’t know where the words had come from, but there they were. Papa looked at her, his eyebrows knitted together.
“Willa,” he said.
“Please, Papa.” She held his gaze, those familiar brown eyes, ones she loved and trusted in her whole life, still there. Still caring for her, despite the lies he’d told. “I know.”
He didn’t move, his eyes searching her face. Finally, he nodded. “I see.”
Willa turned back to Mr. Johnson. “My father has made claims he shouldn’t have. The elixir isn’t what it’s purported to be. And he was wrong to take money for it.” She looked at her father who, to his credit, didn’t look away from Mr. Johnson. “But he is a showman. He entertains people and he gives them hope. Were you entertained, Mr. Johnson, when you came to our show?”
“I— What sort of question is that?”
Willa dug her free hand into her skirts for courage. “I asked if you were entertained. Did you enjoy Leroy’s shooting? The music? Amos’s feats of strength? My father’s stories?”
Mr. Johnson frowned at her. “I did, but that’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Did it make you forget your troubles for a while?”
The man swallowed visibly. She was making him uncomfortable.
“Papa ought not to have sold those medicines, but he did nothing wrong in entertaining the people of this town, day after day.”
Papa’s gaze moved to her. She feared he might be angry with her, but when she finally looked away from Mr. Johnson, she found something entirely different.
Pride.
“Thank you, my Willa,” he said, his words barely audible under his breath.
Willa didn’t dare say anything to him, not while Mr. Johnson still held that pistol. Instead, she took a breath in, a breath out, and she waited.
Finally, he looked back to her father. “That’s a pretty story, but it don’t help my situation. Where do you keep your money, Doctor?”
Willa’s heart sank. It hadn’t worked.
