Helen rolled her eyes and read through the words quickly. “‘Duty laid, drives fear away, safe by the Lord I stand. Amen.’”

The big door opened with a creaking sound and shot spears of orange light into the woods. Behind the door was a short man with thick eyeglasses.

The man observed Marigold with squinty eyes. Then he smiled his few teeth at her. “You’re the lady healer.”

Marigold didn’t answer him. She only directed her gaze to the floor.

“Heard what you did, straightening Bill Lorman’s back. I went to school with Bill. He’s been crooked his whole life. No doctors could help him.”

Ever since claims of the healing had spread, people had been visiting the railcar for Marigold’s touch. She obliged them, though she wasn’t sure why. Sometimes her hands got hot and people got what they were looking for. Other times nothing happened.

“My cousin came to see you about his daughter’s skin problem,” the man said. “Said it went away in two days flat.” Then he looked both directions and reduced his voice to a whisper. “What in tarnation are you doing here?”

“What do you think we’re doing here, Dale?” said Helen, stepping forward.

He pointed toward Marigold’s belly. “You . . . you mean you’re . . .”

“No,” said Helen. “Not her. Me. And I’m getting cold waiting out here. Now c’mon, let’s hurry this thing up.”

They followed him into a plain wooden room with sawdust on the floor. It was a terrible room, where terrible things happened. Marigold could feel this.

On the other side of the room was a man. He had slicked hair and sat in an easy chair, reading a newspaper. A table lamp sat beside him. He didn’t lower his paper but only said in a clear voice, “Get their money up front, Dale.”

The small man held out his hand. “You can pay me, ladies.”

Helen dug into her jacket and removed a wad of bills the size of a baseball. The small man counted it and whispered, “My cousin says her skin problem just up and disappeared. She’s had it ever since she was a toddler. Now it’s gone.”

“Well, hallelujah, brother,” said Helen. “Can we hurry this up?”

The small man showed the women to a private room. He handed Helen a white nightgown that was open in the back.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked the man.

“Put it on.” Then he left the room.

“Helen,” said Marigold. “I don’t like this place.”

“Oh, pipe down,” said Helen.

“I’m serious, Helen.”

“Aw, hush. Doc Maler does all the uppity girls in town. You wouldn’t even believe how many girls visit this place if I told you.”

“I don’t care. We shouldn’t be here.”