Klondike Medicine Woman. Linda Ford

but she could not tell what he did. She closed her eyes and imagined him touching the men’s wrists, pressing that little instrument to their chests. Why did he do those things? What did he learn about illness in doing so? What did he give Donald for pain? Did it work better than what she used? Why?

      Margie and Frankie hammered away at the rising walls. The noise made it impossible for Teena to hear Dr. Jacob. God, the Creator, Mr. McIntyre said You would listen to me, even if I am a Tlingit. Hear my prayer. Let me learn from this man. Would He truly listen to a Tlingit woman—a superstitious healer, as Dr. Jacob described her?

      “Burns,” the doctor called. “I need your help.”

      Burns reluctantly ducked inside as Teena watched in longing frustration.

      A few minutes later, the tent flap parted and Dr. Jacob and Burns shuffled out, the man who had lain without moving between them. He blinked in the sunshine and drew in a long breath, then murmured, “The sun feels good.”

      Dr. Jacob settled him against a roll of canvas and handed him a cup of water. “Can you tell us your name?”

      “Name’s Emery Adams.” He sounded weary, but at least he knew his name.

      Teena slid a happy glance toward Jacob and caught her breath at the look he gave her. “It is good he knows his name,” she murmured.

      “It is very good.” His gaze held hers, silently rejoicing. She couldn’t force her eyes away. Couldn’t think of anything but the shared gladness of this good news. At that precise moment, something happened she was at a loss to explain—a connection she’d never felt with anyone else, a spiritual experience almost as profound as when Mr. McIntyre told her about Jesus.

      She would never again feel the same inside.

      Jacob turned away first. “How did you injure yourself?”

      Emery snorted a bitter laugh and grabbed at his head. “Oh, it hurts.”

      Jacob touched the man’s shoulder. “Take it easy.”

      Emery closed his eyes a moment. “I was attacked. Someone sneaked up and hit me. I heard them coming. Guessed what they had in mind but didn’t have time to defend myself.” He glanced about. “Don’t suppose you found any of my belongings with me?”

      “I didn’t find you.” Jacob didn’t look toward Teena for two heartbeats. “This woman did.” He nodded toward her. “Did he have anything with him?”

      She stepped forward and faced the man. “Nothing.”

      Emery’s eyes narrowed. “’Course not. Indians believe in finders keepers. No respect for a man’s belongings.”

      Teena felt his dislike of her. Knew it was based on her being a Tlingit and no other reason. Little did he understand that a Tlingit’s honor would never allow them to touch the belongings of another.

      Nor would there be thanks from this man. Not even for saving his life. She moved away, out of his sight.

      Frankie edged closer. “Did you get a look at your attackers?”

      “’Fraid not.”

      “Can you remember anything at all? A word? Their boots? Anything at all?”

      Emery squinted. “I seem to remember one of them saying Harmon. I don’t know if it’s a name or what.”

      Frankie squatted to eye level with Emery. “Can you describe any of your belongings? Something that makes them unique?”

      Emery patted his vest pocket. “My watch. It was a gift from my father.” He described it.

      “Good. That’s something to go on.” Frankie stood. “I’ll trot on over to the sheriff’s office and let him know.”

      She returned shortly with Sheriff Ed Parker, who made a few notes.

      “I’ll pass the information along. Someone will likely spot the watch. We’ll do our best to find it and the men who robbed you.” He touched the brim of his hat and left.

      “That’s enough for one day. It’s time to get you back to bed.” Jacob signaled to Burns and they helped the man back into the tent.

      Teena and the Tuckers returned to work.

      Teena knew the moment Jacob stepped out of the tent, even though she couldn’t see him. She didn’t need to. Her heart felt him with every beat.

      He poked his head around the wall she worked on.

      The hammer hung in midair—halfway between her nose and a nail she intended to pound. But she couldn’t move. He was too close. And he watched her.

      “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Emery had no right to accuse you of stealing. Please forgive him.”

      Her gaze sought his. He looked so regretful it stung her heart.

      “It’s not your fault. Why should you be sorry?”

      He shrugged and gave a crooked smile that melted every remnant of resentment at Emery’s accusations. “I just feel I should apologize for his behavior.”

      His smile widened and the inside of her head felt washed with honey. “Apology accepted.” She knew her smile was as wide as his.

      Suddenly his lips flattened, his expression darkened and he turned away.

      She hit the nail as hard as she could.

      He might apologize for others, but it didn’t change how he viewed her. Why did she think it would?