Читать книгу Bluebonnet Belle - Lori Copeland - Страница 9

Datha Gower had kept house for Riley Ogden for over five years. Since she was eleven years old she’d polished floors, hung wash, cooked and cleaned.

Ogden’s Mortuary was a towering, two-story landmark with a large, wraparound front porch that caught the sun in the morning, and a roomy back porch that offered a cool breeze in the afternoon.

It took a powerful lot of work to keep it all clean.

A screened-in porch on the north side of the house allowed Mr. Ogden privacy after a long, trying day. He was known to sit for hours, drawing on his meerschaum pipe while watching the foot traffic that passed in front of the mortuary, knowing that one day, like as not, he’d be burying every last passerby. Why, he could guess within an inch how tall anyone was and what size coffin it’d take to put them away.

Riley lived with his granddaughter in six big rooms above the main parlor. The place had been tastefully decorated by Riley’s deceased wife, Effie, who had favored overstuffed chairs, cherrywood and a passel of worrisome trinkets that needed dusting.

Wisteria vines trailed the length of the white porch railings shaded by large, overhanging elm trees. Datha and Flora Lee, her grandmother, lived in servants’ quarters behind the main house. Flora Lee had been with the Ogden family all her life. Flora Lee’s daddy, Solomon Tobias Gower, had served the Ogden family during the Civil War, refusing to leave them when the Emancipation Proclamation was effected. The Gowers thought themselves lucky to serve such a fine, upstanding family.

When Flora Lee had gotten too crippled to do much around the house, Datha took over. She’d lived with Flora Lee since her mama died in childbirth. On good days Flora Lee still came to the main house to help clean, but most days her rheumatism kept her home. Comfortably lodged in nice quarters, the two served the Ogden family with humble gratitude and tireless loyalty, counting their blessings that April and Riley were kind, caring people who were more family than employers.

In Flora Lee’s youth, long before the dead were taken to funeral homes for eulogies, long before the Ogdens had turned their private home into a mortuary, Flora Lee had helped Owen Ogden, Riley’s papa, to prepare friends and neighbors for burial.

Datha loved to hear stories about how her grandma had cried along with distraught wives and inconsolable mothers as they bathed and dressed their loved ones, then laid them out in the front parlor. Folks would come from miles around to view the body, offering words of comfort. Flora Lee liked to tell how she’d curl up in a corner, pulling her legs up beneath her, out of the way, but there to serve if anyone needed her.

Friends, in an effort to share the grief, brought overflowing baskets of food, arriving throughout the day to mourn the deceased. The yard would fill with buggies and neighbors standing outside visiting as the deceased lay within.

Datha hummed now as she dusted the mortuary entryway, remembering Flora Lee’s stories.

Neighbors had ridiculed Owen for taking a personal interest in his household help, but anyone who’d known him would tell you that he was a good man. Gossip had never bothered Owen Ogden, God rest his soul. He’d gone about his business, serving the citizens of Dignity in their time of need, reading the Good Book and following its teachings.

Never one to judge others, he’d made it clear that he didn’t intend to be judged by anyone other than himself and his Maker. When his health began to fail, Owen had turned the funeral business over to Riley, then up and died.

Just like that.

One minute he was sitting on the porch enjoying his nightly smoke, and the next he’d keeled over dead as a doornail.

But things went on like always. Riley had the same goodness in him that Owen did. Datha knew the senior Ogden only through her grandmother’s memories, but Flora Lee said that when Owen passed on, Riley hadn’t treated them any differently. He’d told her that this was her home and Datha’s as long as they wanted it, and that’s how it was going to be. Datha could hold her head high, proud as could be because she wasn’t ignorant. No, sir. Mr. Riley Ogden had seen to it that she was schooled as good as or better than most folks.

Grinning, Datha realized that she had just about everything she wanted, with the exception of Jacel Evans. Jacel was a fine black man who, because of Riley Ogden’s generosity, was about to go off to Boston to attend a university. Harvard, Riley called it. Real fancy school somewhere up there in Cambridge.

Jacel’s family was dirt poor. The rich folks the Evans family worked for owned the sawmill, but they didn’t share their good fortune with others. Certainly not with their black help.

Ellory Jordan provided meals and shelter for his servants, but that was all. If they needed more, they could just do without.

Most did without.

There was one young man determined to do more than just “make do.” He’d decided to pull himself out of that rut, and one man in the community saw potential in him. Jacel Evans, youngest son of Tully Evans, was a tall, powerfully built man who did more than his share of work in the sawmill. On his dinner break he read books, while other boys his age lay in the shade and dipped cool water over their sweat-drenched bodies.

Pride nearly suffocated Datha when she thought about her man. Why, her Jacel could saw more logs than any two men put together. Work harder than a team of Kentucky mules.

And he was smart. Real smart. Thought about things most folks never thought about. Things like how it wasn’t fair one man should be treated more poorly than another just because he had a different color of skin. Jacel would lie for hours, looking up at the sky, and say to her, “Datha, why is it the rich get richer and the poor get poorer?”

Or he’d ponder why some folks were born with good fortune, while for others if it wasn’t for bad luck, they’d have no luck at all.

Why did some suffer with bad health and others rarely see a sick day? Why did the good die young and the evil prosper?

Why were death and senseless tragedy deemed to be the will of a loving God?

Why did some work hard, only to go to bed at night with a hungry ache in their belly, while others made gluttons of themselves?

Why were innocent children mistreated because of someone else’s rage?

All questions to which she didn’t know the answers. But Jacel worried them about, turning them over and over in his mind—a fine mind hungry to learn.

Her Jacel was going to be a lawyer someday. An upstanding lawyer who wanted to undo some of the injustice he saw in the world. Once his practice was established, they were going to get married.

Datha smiled as she flicked a cloth at a spot of dust she’d missed on the foyer table. Yes, someday she was going to be Mrs. Jacel Evans. Her heart nearly burst from the joy of it. She and Jacel, holding hands, would “jump over the broom.” What a fine day that would be!

Once Jacel had his law office, they could have their own place. But until then Datha planned to stay right here, taking care of Riley, April and Flora Lee for as long as they needed her. Jacel said that was only right, seeing how good the Ogdens had been to him and to her.

April would marry someday, and not far off, if Datha guessed right. April was bound to hook a man soon, pretty as she was. Chances were it’d be that Henry Trampas Long, the handsome, no-good swain she’d had a crush on lately.

Riley had never liked the young scamp, and he would be having a fit if he knew April was interested in Henry. It wasn’t Datha’s place to say anything, but rumor had it that April was seeing Henry more than socially.

Of course, Mr. Ogden was blind as a post when it came to April. Anytime Henry’s name was mentioned, he’d change the subject, saying he had better things to talk about. Datha didn’t have any trouble seeing that Miss April had a powerful crush on Henry Trampas Long, so why couldn’t her grandfather?

The gossip mill predicted that Henry would be asking her to marry him soon; then he’d whisk her off to some high-falutin city, and they wouldn’t see much of her after that.

Datha could either take Henry or leave him. He was too smooth for her liking, but she could see why April would be caught up by his youthful good looks. Words poured out of him like honey, words that sounded nice but didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

But Datha knew her place, and she kept it. If April wanted to waste her life on the likes of Henry Long, it was hers to waste. Datha only worried for Mr. Ogden’s sake. What with his heart acting up, she sure didn’t want him finding out that April was selling Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound with Henry Long. Law sakes, it would be like waking up a nest of snakes, and no one wanted to do that. Certainly not Datha.

Humming to herself, she dusted around a lamp.

When she heard April coming in the front door, she hurriedly stuffed the dust rag in her pocket and called out, “Supper’ll be on the table in ten minutes, April girl.”

“Thanks, Datha. I’ll tell Grandpa.”

The cloying scent of gladioli permeated the air as April passed the open parlor doors. Clarence Deeds was laid out in his best blue suit, awaiting services in the morning.

It was sure to be a big funeral.

Clarence had been town mayor, and friends and business associates from neighboring communities would turn out in droves to pay their final respects.

Proceeding to the side porch, she found Riley sitting in his rocking chair, staring off into space. He’d been sitting like that when she left the house early this morning, and she was starting to get concerned. It wasn’t like him to just sit and stare at nothing.

“Grandpa?” When he didn’t respond, she pushed open the screen door. “Are you all right?”

“Right enough,” he said.

“Supper’s ready.”

Riley got slowly to his feet and followed April to the dining room table, which was set with fresh flowers and white china. Taking his place at the head, he reached for the butter, silent as a mouse.

Shaking out her napkin, April noticed his hand was trembling as he buttered a piece of cornbread. Perusing his pale features, she frowned. He hadn’t had a spell with his heart for weeks now. Was he ill again and not telling her?

Picking up a dish of Datha’s watermelon pickles, she offered it to him. “You’re awfully quiet today. Don’t you feel well?”

He was bad about not telling her when he felt poorly, thinking to spare her unnecessary worry. But she worried anyway. Grandpa wasn’t young anymore, though the way he worked like a harvest hand around the mortuary, lifting bodies and moving heavy pine caskets, you’d never guess it.

“I feel fine, thank you.” Riley’s face flushed with color as he snapped open his napkin.

“You look odd. Is the heat bothering you?”

It was insufferably hot for fall. Muggy, as if a storm was waiting just off the coast. A good rain to settle the dust and cool dispositions would be appreciated.

“Nothing wrong that a little dinner won’t take care of. Pass the preserves, please.”

They waited in silence for Datha to bring the main course.

“Clarence looks nice. I’m sure Edith is pleased.”

“Hmm,” Riley muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

Datha carried in a large platter of roast beef, boiled potatoes and carrots. Dishes of cooked cabbage, brown beans, plump ears of corn, festive red beets and thick brown gravy followed.

April’s distraught gaze swept the heavily laden table and she sighed. Datha cooked enough to feed an army of foot soldiers, but April had given up complaining. It didn’t matter what she said. Having learned at her grandmother’s side, Datha couldn’t seem to cook meals for fewer than twelve people.

Now the two of them just let her cook to her heart’s content, resigned to share leftovers with neighboring shutins.

Serving herself potatoes and meat, April smiled. “This looks delicious.”

“Thank you, April girl.” Smiling back, Datha returned to the kitchen.

The two of them ate in silence, until Riley suddenly cleared his throat and laid the butter knife aside.

April, knowing some kind of pronouncement was forthcoming, put down her fork.

“April Delane, I’ve mulled this over all afternoon.”

Her pulse jumped. Grandpa never used her middle name unless he was upset with her. By the thundercloud forming on his face, he was more than upset. He was furious….

Oh, no! He knew she was working with Lydia Pinkham. Someone—some blabbermouth doctor—had told him! Dr. Fuller had recognized her, after all!

Dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin, she steeled herself. Riley Ogden was a patient man, but when he was angry, he was just like Great-grandfather Owen. Impossible to reason with.

Managing to keep her tone light, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“April.” Riley’s voice held a rare hint of authority as his faded blue eyes pinned her to the chair.

Swallowing, she feigned unusual interest in the bowl of potatoes. “Yes, Grandpa?”

“Young lady, you’re old enough to do what you want, but how can you think of selling that Pinkham woman’s poison?”

April’s knife clattered to her plate. “Who told you?”

“Never mind who told me!”

“I know who it was! That snoopy doctor told you, didn’t he! That interfering, sanctimonious—”

“Never mind who told me!” Riley thundered. “Doctoring’s best left to doctors! No silly brew concocted by that Pinkham woman is going to fix women’s ills. No vegetable compound is going to cure what ails them. People get sick and die, April. Living in a mortuary, you should know this. Mrs. Grimes died in childbirth. Mrs. Wazinski from influenza. Bertha Dickens from a burst appendix. Why, I’ve buried a half dozen women just this year—”

“Not from taking the compound!” April interrupted. “And if Ginny Grimes, Mary Wazinski and Bertha Dickens hadn’t listened to some overzealous doctor, but tried to find other ways to treat their problems, they just might be alive today!”

“Hogwash! Not one of those women died from a doctor’s neglect!” Riley’s face was as red as the bowl of beets he was holding. “Young lady, you are to resign from the Pinkham ‘circus’ first thing tomorrow morning! Do you hear me?”

“Grandpa—”

“Tomorrow morning, April Delane!” A vein in his temple throbbed.

She knew better than to argue with him; it would be like barking at a knothole. He was such a stubborn old man!

Shoving her chair back, she pitched her napkin on the table and stormed out of the room.

Riley got to his feet, his hand automatically going to the left side of his chest.

“April Delane Truitt! You come back here, young lady! I’m not through talking to you!”

Entering her bedroom, April threw herself across the bed. Flipping onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, cursing the Fates that had brought Gray Fuller to Dignity. It had been a nice, quiet town until he got here.

Lydia Pinkham was helping women, and instead of working hand in hand to find solutions to problems, Gray and other doctors like him were doing everything they could to hinder her progress.

Women needed Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. Why, Henry had told her that a Connecticut preacher was actually murdered by his wife after she’d suffered for sixteen years with female complaints. That could have been averted if the poor woman had only had the elixir!

Mrs. Pinkham wasn’t trying to lift Eve’s curse, she was only trying to ease a few miseries. April believed with all her heart that God wouldn’t object to those poor women getting help. He’d given the formula to Mrs. Pinkham, April was sure of it. And she, herself, had felt His calling. She wouldn’t be going behind Grandpa’s back if she didn’t believe that she was on a mission. Now, thanks to Gray Fuller, she had to choose between Grandpa or disobeying God. Life was so unfair.

It was a crime the way doctors routinely removed healthy ovaries, as they had done to her mother. Far too many women were dying from the process.

Rolling over, April buried her face in the pillow, recalling how her mother had died an untimely, unnecessary death.

Delane Truitt had been in the prime of her life when she was beset by female problems. A heavy menstrual flow put her to bed two out of four weeks a month. She’d gotten to the point where she couldn’t appear in public for fear an “accident” would leave her red-faced with shame. In desperation, she’d finally consented to let the doctor remove her ovaries and uterus. The procedure had taken her life.

April was glad her father had not been around to witness the tragedy. He had died three years before Delane’s death in a train derailment as he was returning from New York. “Dignity doesn’t have anything good enough for my wife and daughter,” he’d say, so off he’d go every December in search of the perfect gifts.

That December, he never came back.

April was obsessed by the thought that Mrs. Pinkham’s compound might, just might, have saved her mother’s life.

That hope was what fired her crusade.

If she could spare one woman her mother’s fate, then her cause was justified, no matter what Grandpa thought.

Lydia Pinkham, far from being the quack Dr. Fuller called her, was truly a pioneer. She hadn’t come by her trade easily. She’d been one of twelve children, her father a cordwainer and farmer. Twice married, he’d been a Quaker, but left the Friends because of a conflict over the slavery issue.

Lydia had graduated from Lynn Academy, then served as secretary of the Freeman’s Institute. She was a schoolteacher when she married Isaac Pinkham, who had a daughter by a previous marriage. Their union produced five more children—Charles, Dan, Will, Aroline, and a baby who died.

Lydia confided that Isaac was a dreamer. Though he’d tried various real estate promotions and other business ventures, nothing had worked out. That’s when the money problems began.

Unable to stand idly by and watch everything they had be taken from them, Lydia had decided to market her elixir. She chose botanical bases for the compound because she had so little faith in orthodox practitioners. She considered their medical treatment to be far too harsh.

And over and over again her skepticism proved to be sound.

Rolling onto her back once more, April stared at the ceiling, blinking back hot tears.

Grandpa had forbidden her to sell the compound. All because of Dr. Fuller.

April beat the sun up the next morning, anxious to tell Beulah about the doctor’s betrayal.

Adjusting her hat as she entered the kitchen, she smiled at Datha, who was turning hotcakes at the stove.

“April girl! What are you doing up so early?”

After helping herself to a piece of sausage, April licked her fingers. “I wanted to get an early start.”

“Well, breakfast is ready.” Datha dished up three steaming hotcakes on a plate. “Sit down. I’ll pour the milk.”

It was just past seven when April left the house. On her way to Ludwig’s Pharmacy she smiled at Fred Loyal, who was busily sweeping the sidewalk in front of his store, and called a greeting to Miss Thompson, the dressmaker and milliner.

Neldene Anderson was just unlocking the schoolhouse as Reverend Brown meandered slowly down the sidewalk, obviously rehearsing his Sunday sermon.

Crossing the street, April spotted Gray Fuller’s office, and started a slow burn.

Dr. Grayson Fuller, General Practitioner, the script on the window read.

It should have read Dr. Busybody.

A pulled shade prevented curious passersby from looking in to see who might be seeking the doctor’s advice.

April hurried past, determined to avoid a confrontation with him. It was early, and chances were he wasn’t up yet.

Righteous indignation caused her cheeks to heat when she thought of what he’d done. The nerve of the man going straight to Grandpa, as if what she did was any of his concern!

Walking faster, she told herself to settle down. If his actions at the women’s meeting were any indication, he’d want her to confront him, so he could tell her how foolish and misguided she was for working with the Pinkhams.

Well, just let him try to tell her anything. She walked faster. She’d give him a well-deserved piece of her mind!

Prompted by a sudden urge to throttle him, she stopped dead in her tracks, whirled around and started back. She could not let him get away with this. Other women might overlook his antagonistic attitude, but not April.

To her surprise, the door of his office opened easily, and she stepped inside.

The interior was freshly painted, but the furnishings were deplorable. A wooden coat rack stood in a corner. Hanging on it was the strangest hat she’d ever seen.

A medicinal scent and some other substance she couldn’t identify were strong in the air.

The door to the examining room was closed, so she sat down on one of the half-dozen straight-back wooden chairs scattered throughout the room.

Tapping her fingers together, she waited.

She wasn’t at all certain what she was going to say to him, but she would give him a piece of her mind. Someone needed to put him in his place, so it might as well be her. If he thought his good looks and arrogant manner could intimidate her, he was wrong.

The moments stretched. There were no sounds coming from behind the closed door.

He’s probably in there asleep, she thought, and considered getting up and shutting the door again, with a loud slam.

Drumming her fingers, she shifted her gaze to the strange-looking hat on the coat rack.

Pfft, she thought. His, no doubt.

She studied the odd hat a moment or two, then curiosity drove her to get up and examine it more closely.

Silliest-looking hat she’d ever seen in her life. No brim. No shape to the crown. Just round and flat. What would possess a man to buy such a frivolous thing? She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. Why, it looked like a navy-blue, oversized pillbox!

Glancing up, she focused on the closed door of the examining room. Maybe it belonged to his patient.

No.

No self-respecting man in Dignity would be caught dead in this, nor anyone from Dallas, for that matter.

On impulse, April stepped in front of the small, gilt-framed mirror on the wall and removed her hat. Perching the foolish-looking thing on her head, she studied her reflection. The hat teetered atop her curls like a loose cap on a medicine bottle.

Utterly ridiculous.

Turning it first one way, then another, she laughed out loud at the picture she presented. Wouldn’t you know that he’d wear something this absurd? Why, if the local men saw him, he’d be run out of town on a rail—

“Can I help you?”

“Oh!” She jumped, sending the ludicrous hat flying.

Dr. Fuller stood in the doorway, staring at her as she scrambled to pick it up off the floor.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

His gaze slowly traveled the length of her sprigged cotton dress. For some insane reason, she was glad she had worn blue this morning. Henry said it was most becoming to her.

“It’s you—the woman who sells Pinkham’s compound?”

“You know very well who I am, Doctor.” How dare he play innocent with her! Did he think he could tell Grandpa about her activities and expect her to roll over and play dead?

His implacable expression showed no indication of betrayal. “Do you want something?”

She did, but his unexpected appearance drove all thoughts from her mind. There he stood, leaning against the door frame as if he’d been there all the while observing her. His jacket was off, his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders in a distracting fashion. His hair was mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it.

Studying her with heavy-lidded eyes, he waited.

What was it about this man that made rational women lose their minds? It was infuriating, that’s what it was. Simply infuriating.

When she realized he was waiting for her to state her business, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Is this your hat?”

His gaze was unwavering. “Yes.”

A smug smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “I thought so.”

She hung the hat back on the rack, embarrassed that he’d caught her making fun of it. Now what she had to say to him wouldn’t carry the same impact.

“Is there something you wanted?” His eyes refused to leave her, bringing a rush of color to her cheeks. “Other than to make fun of my hat?”

“Actually, I’m here on a personal matter.” She adjusted her dress, repositioned her own hat on her head, then smoothed the sides of her hair, trying to bolster her courage. She hated confrontations, but this man inspired them. She could not, would not, allow him to think he could interfere in her life and get away with it.

Awareness dawned in his eyes, and he straightened. “Oh…I see. Step into the examining room, please.”

She didn’t have all day, and this wasn’t a social visit. She could state what she had come to say out here just as easily. And she was about to do so when he took her by the arm and ushered her into a small room lined with cabinets and reeking of rubbing alcohol.

Wrinkling her nose, April glanced around the place, uneasy with his close proximity. “Aren’t you with another patient?”

“No, just catching up on paperwork. Are you in pain?”

She met his gaze curiously. Do I look like I’m in pain? If I am, mister, you’re the cause of it!

Reaching for a chart, he cleared his throat. “I’ll step out while you disrobe.”

Her gaze darted around the room to see who he was talking to.

They were the only two people in the room.

“Disrobe?”

“Yes. Take off your clothes, cover yourself with that white sheet, and I’ll be back in a moment.”

Her eyes narrowed. Disrobe? Why, the knave!

“You’re not only a blabbermouth, you’re disgusting!”

Already halfway out the door, he stopped and turned. “I beg your pardon, miss?”

“Disrobe?”

Wait until Grandpa heard what his precious Dr. Fuller had just suggested! Why, he would have him thrown out of the community! Dignity didn’t hold with the likes of crude, ungodly men.

“Before I can examine you, you’ll have to take off your clothes.”

She stiffened. “I did not come in here to take off my clothes.”

“If you have a female complaint, I’ll have to—”

“Female complaint?” She stopped. Oh, yes, a female complaint. She couldn’t have a simple ache or pain, no, it had to be a “female complaint.”

“Yes, I do have a complaint and I am female, but the last thing I would do is disrobe for you.”

Calmly closing the door, Gray returned to his desk and sat down. “Let’s start over. Exactly what is your ‘personal’ problem?”

Planting both hands on the edge of his desk, she leaned close, glaring at him as she clearly enunciated each word. “What I do with my life, or what I take up as a profession, is absolutely none of your business!”

Leaning back in his chair to keep space between them, Gray frowned.

“And I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, Dr. Fuller.”

It was his turn to look over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t speaking to someone else.

There were still only two of them in the room.

“It’s bad enough,” April continued, “that I have to contend with your archaic views on the female population, but now you’ve really done it.” Her tone dropped menacingly. “You’ve dragged Grandpa into this, and I cannot emphasize strongly enough that it is not your place to be telling Grandpa what I do, just because we do not see eye to eye on certain subjects!”

Pulling herself up to her full height, she felt weak with relief. This hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected.

Readjusting her hat, she expelled a deep breath. “I believe I’ve made myself clear.”

That said, she headed for the door and slammed it soundly behind her.

Gray’s framed medical certificate fell to the floor, the glass shattering.

The doctor stared at the rubble, mystified. Getting slowly to his feet, he walked to the outer office in time to see the hem of her skirt whipping out the front door.

He opened the door and watched her flounce down the sidewalk and enter Ludwig’s Pharmacy, slamming that door, as well.

What was that all about?

Stepping onto the sidewalk Gray peered at the closed door of the pharmacy, muttering under his breath.

More to the point, who was her grandpa?

The woman was an infuriating mystery, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to unravel. She had a temper; the shattered glass of his medical certificate was proof. But she was angry because he’d told her grandpa what she was doing with Lydia. The question puzzled Gray. Who was her grandpa?

He narrowed it down to three possibilities, with Riley Ogden at the top of the list. Could she be the “April” his friend talked about? It was more than possible, since Riley described her as stubborn, but beautiful. And if she was April, Gray couldn’t argue with either description.

“A man, Beulah. That’s what he is! A pigheaded, obstinate man! Doesn’t that say it all?”

April was still fuming over Gray Fuller. The fact that she hadn’t let him get away with it didn’t help. The nerve of that man to expound about “modern medicine” at Lydia’s rallies, when so many doctors still inflicted their obsolete opinions on women! The fact galled her.

“A most good-looking man,” Beulah mused. “But not good enough for you to nearly break the glass out of Papa’s front door.”

“Handsome? I don’t think so.”

“Better have your eyes checked.”

“Not all women are blinded by meaningless appearances,” April reminded her. “There are some of us who judge a man for his character, which, if you recall, Dr. Fuller is sadly lacking.”

“Dr. Fuller really gets under your skin, doesn’t he?” Beulah carefully counted out fifteen pills before taking a knife and scooping them into a bottle. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. From what I can tell, the women in Dignity don’t take every word the doctor says as gospel. They seem open enough for alternative help to their problems. Mrs. Pinkham is garnering her share of their attention when it comes to health issues. Our laudanum sales have dropped off since she started selling her compound.”

“Mrs. Pinkham cares about women,” April said. “That’s why she’s so believable.”

“Believable? Well, I didn’t say that.” Beulah set aside a bottle. “I just hope she knows what she’s doing. I am, after all, taking my life into my own hands for you, you know. If Papa finds out I’m handing out Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound to customers, I’ll be lying in your grandpa’s parlor, surrounded by baskets of stinking gladioli.”

Turning around, April sobered. “How is your father feeling? I haven’t seen him in the pharmacy this week.”

“Papa has a frightful cold, and I made him stay home.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll have Datha bake him one of her chocolate cakes. That should have him feeling better in no time.”

“He’d love that,” Beulah agreed.

April’s eyes lit with interest as she edged closer to the counter. “Has anyone said how the compound is working?”

“I haven’t had any complaints, but the women I’ve handed it to don’t know that’s what they’re taking. They think it’s a tonic. So…” her friend leaned closer “…are you going to stop?”

“Selling the compound?”

“Isn’t that what your grandfather told you to do? Stop working for Mrs. Pinkham immediately?”

April frowned, hating the thought. “Yes…that’s what he said.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“I guess.”

“April,” Beulah said warningly, “are you going to quit selling it or not?”

“Selling it, yes. Helping Mrs. Pinkham, no. I’m going to see if there isn’t something I can do to promote the compound without blatantly going against Grandpa’s wishes.” She couldn’t give up her cause. Grandpa might not believe in the tonic, but she did, and she had to help some way.

“Oh, brother,” Beulah groaned. “Knowing you, this means trouble.”

“I can’t stop helping her now, not when Lydia is on the brink of success. Dan and Henry are at this very moment in Austin, trying to expand the market.”

“When are they coming home?”

“In a couple of days,” April said with a sigh. “I miss him.”

“Dan?”

She swatted her friend playfully. “You have no reverence at all for love.”

“For love I do. It’s infatuation I have no patience for. And I, simple-minded cretin that I am, can clearly see that what you feel for Henry is nothing more than infatuation, pure and simple.”

“No, it isn’t. I care deeply for him. Besides, isn’t it ‘infatuation’ you have for Dr. Fuller?”

Beulah ignored the question. “You’ve clearly lost your mind. You know what kind of man Henry T. Long is? He’ll steal a woman’s heart, then run off like a rabbit. It escapes me why, all of a sudden, you think that you’re in love with him. You’ve known the knave since childhood, and until six months ago hadn’t given him a serious thought. What happened?”

“I’ve recognized how charming, how utterly caring, he really is.”

“He’ll break your heart, then wonder why you’re angry with him.”

“He’s wonderful, and I think he’s on the verge of asking me to marry him.”

“Deliver us all.” Beulah pulled her apron off. “First you were worried about your grandpa finding out about the Pinkham compound. Now he knows, and his heart withstood the shock. But wait until he hears that you’re actually entertaining the idea of marrying Henry Long—not that I think Henry will ever ask you to marry him, mind you. Henry isn’t husband material. Never has been and never will be.”

“Henry respects women,” April said defensively.

“I know Henry likes women. All women, April, my dense but lovable friend. Open your eyes and be healed!”

“Henry enjoys the fairer sex, yes, but I know he’s falling in love with me. Grandpa will just have to adjust to the fact, and he will, once he gets to know Henry, really know him.”

“April Truitt,” Beulah chided as she picked up her dust cloth. “If you believe that, and Lydia’s compound cures insanity, you, dearest, should drink a full bottle of the stuff.”