Free The Law and Miss Penny by Sharon Ihle Page A

touch, that familiar tightening grew to uncomfortable proportions. Cain lifted Mariah's hand from his knee and dropped it between their bodies. It was a snug fit; her knuckles pressed up against his thigh. The change of position didn't do much to relieve the tension coiled in his gut, but he went ahead with what he had to say. "Black draught. Isn't that just—"
    "It's a purgative known to clean you out and then some. That's why Zachariah's Compound is so popular. We make it with black draught, Epsom salts, a little cake coloring, and a healthy dose of Zack's old moonshine. It's supposed to perk a body right up."
    "Moonshine, huh?" He shook his head. "I think you just made my point for me, Mariah. I don't seem to have it in me to go around selling worthless 'medicine' to folks who barely have enough money to put shoes on their feet. I just can't hawk this... this glorified moonshine the way you want me to. I think it'd be best for us all if I, well, if maybe I just... you know."
    She did. Cain didn't have to say the words. Mariah could almost finish the sentence for him. She saw it in his expression and in the nervous way he'd linked his fingers, tenting and flattening them over and over. He was thinking of parting company with the medicine show. Forever. And at that moment, Mariah didn't know which disturbed her the most: his low opinion of her family's business, or the fact he wanted to move on.
    Calling her carefully prepared elixirs "glorified moonshine" brought out her fighting side, but the thought of Cain's leaving the show made her heart kind of freeze up and then resume beating with a vengeance, bumping against her ribs with what felt like enough force to crack them. Maybe, she reasoned, if she could explain her medicines to his liking, both of her problems would be solved.
    Mariah reached across the aisle to take a tin of her father's Magic Corn Salve from the lower shelf. "Zack makes this ointment with collodion, camphor gum, sassafras root, and a couple other ingredients known only to him. More often than not, it works, but even when it doesn't actually help to remove the corn, it at least soothes the pain to a more bearable level."
    "Selling me on the worthiness of your father's salve isn't going to—"
    "Please," she said, cutting him off. "Let me finish what I have to say. I understand some of your doubts, especially if you've had occasion to run across a few of the less-than-honest operations roaming the countryside these days." She glanced at the tin of salve, and then tossed it in Cain's lap. "Did you know that better than half of the farmers who think they have corns have nothing wrong with their feet but dirt calluses from wearing boots with cracks and holes in them?"
    "No, I can't say that I did know that."
    Catching the sparkle in his eye and the levity in his voice, she relaxed and went on. "I don't mean to go into the whole spiel, but I do want you to understand how hard we try to be a legitimate troupe. A lot of traveling medicine shows do sell these poor farmers nothing but boiled-down soap wrapped up in little papers with a label glued to it. But if a fellow actually follows instructions—-soak your feet for ten minutes and rub this bar of salve on the corn—well, he'd be cured for life."
    Laughing, Cain said, "Oh, Mariah; I wish you could see the color of your face right now. If you can just keep it that shade for a few more hours, you won't be needing your greasepaint today."
    She blushed, deepening the rosy hue that swept over her cheeks. "I'm sorry for getting so worked up. I suppose the whole family has been a little defensive since we quit working for the Healy and Bigelow Kickapoo Indian Medicine Company and went off on our own. I'm not saying that organization is crooked exactly, but they have close to a hundred troupes touring the countryside in their name from here to the East Coast, and they can't watch over all of them. Let me just say that several of those operations are a little on