Bluebonnet Belle
Lori Copeland

Refreshed version of

ANGEL FACE AND AMAZING GRACE,

newly revised by author.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my lovely high-spirited granddaughter,

Audrey Lauren, who will be every bit as feisty,

charming, ornery, and give some lucky man a merry

chase before she enters the ranks of matrimony.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Prologue

Show me a man who suffers the monthly miseries, and I’ll show you a man bent on finding relief.

Women should show the same gumption when it comes to female complaints. And since April Truitt believed so strongly in her philosophy, she’d made up her mind to do something about it.

Anxiously fingering the printed envelope, she glanced around the general store. It was busy this morning. Faith Lawson was buying fruit jars to put up the remainder of her vegetable garden. Lilly Mason was counting out eggs, the amount to be credited to her account. Lilly had dark circles under her eyes this morning. Poor Lilly suffered unnecessarily.

If only the women of Dignity would listen to Lydia Pinkham, their woes would be over!

Mail the letter, April! Mail it!

Edging the envelope closer to the mail slot, April eyed Ellen Winters, the town postmistress. The silver-haired, robust sixty-year-old was busy sorting mail, glancing up occasionally with a smile.

“Nice morning, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful.”

“I’m always happy to see the heat of August give way to September.”

Nodding, April took a deep breath, shoving the letter into the slot. The missive disappeared into the empty receptacle with a soft whoosh.

Elly glanced up. “Sending off for another catalog, dear?”

Pretending she hadn’t heard her, April hurried out the front door, closing it firmly behind her. Exhaling a deep breath, she started down the walk at a fast pace.

Of course, once Elly saw who the letter was addressed to she would blab it all over town that Riley Ogden’s granddaughter was in cahoots with Lydia Pinkham. But April would deny it as long as she could. Grandpa’s heart was wearing out, and she didn’t want to upset him. She knew the townsfolk believed she was impulsive and didn’t think things through properly, but she liked to describe herself as spontaneous, impromptu—blazing a trail of new, exciting discoveries!

She believed in Lydia’s vegetable compound. Though no one outside the family knew the exact formula, it was said to contain unicorn root, life root, black cohosh, pleurisy root and fenugreek seed mashed up. The compound was touted to be the best thing that had ever happened to women, curing everything imaginable.

And she intended to help Lydia spread the good news about the wonder tonic. She wanted to encourage women to help themselves with their personal problems. She remembered her mother’s distress and tragic death because she’d listened to unsympathetic doctors.

Grandpa, along with most of the doctors, thought Mrs. Pinkham was a quack, but wasn’t that just like a man? Men didn’t suffer female problems, so they didn’t see what all the fuss was about. It was much easier to dismiss the subject with a shrewd wink and send the woman on her way.

Women had been getting short shrift for too long by men who had no understanding of their physical problems, showing little sympathy for complaints about backaches, nervousness and lack of energy. If a woman was happy, peppy and full of fun, a man would take her places, but if she was cross, lifeless and always tired out, well, he just wasn’t interested.

Doctors were too quick to offer surgery as a remedy for women’s functional disorders, invasive procedures that were inadequate, ill-advised, often too late, and usually creating even larger problems for the patient. Medical men thought that by removing the source, the problem would be alleviated.

When faced with irate women, physicians argued they were doing everything possible to find better, more acceptable alternatives, but April had her doubts. She was certain there had to be a better way to treat medical issues of mood problems, heart palpitations and hot flashes in the year of 1876. Some claimed that Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound provided relief for thousands!

April longed to inform Mrs. Pinkham in person about her decision, but Lynn, Texas, was nearly nineteen hundred miles from Houston, so a letter offering her assistance was more sensible.

It was done. Now all she had to do was wait to hear from Mrs. Pinkham.

Crossing the street, April nodded good-morning to John and Harriet Clausen, who were crossing from the opposite side. John tipped his hat pleasantly.

“Morning, Miss Truitt.”

April smiled. “Mr. Clausen. Mrs. Clausen.”

“How’s your grandfather?”

“Very good, Mr. Clausen. Thank you.”

“Give him our best.”

“I will.”

Wagon teams lined the streets of Dignity, Texas, this hot August morning. Truckmen loaded the long wagons, which were balanced on one axle and pulled by two horses harnessed in tandem. The carters wore long, loose frocks of heavy cloth or leather that were gathered on a string at the neck and fell to the calf, an outfit that dated back to the 1600s.

The men unloaded hogsheads of molasses, flour and brown sugar from the wagons they’d driven from Houston. They would haul back produce grown by the local farmers and wooden goods carved by artisans.

In the distance, sunlight glinted off sparkling blue waters in the port. The mercantile and livery were doing a thriving business this morning. The mouthwatering smells of cinnamon and apples drifted from Menson’s Bakery. Many a Dignity housewife would abandon her hot kitchen and buy one of Addy Menson’s apple pies for supper.

Striding past Ludwig’s Pharmacy, April paused long enough to tap on the front window. Beulah Ludwig glanced up, smiling when she saw April peering in at her.

Grinning, April mouthed, “I did it.”

Shaking her head, her friend made a face that clearly expressed her disapproval.

Dismissing the look with a cheerful wave of hand, April walked on. She didn’t care what anyone thought. When April Truitt believed in something as important to womankind, as exciting as Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, then she had to support it.

Period.

She was committed.

Feeling surprisingly confident about the decision, she hurried toward Ogden’s Mortuary, sitting on the corner of Main and Fallow Streets. The funeral parlor had become her home when Delane Truitt, her mother, died seven years ago. Riley Ogden had taken his granddaughter in and raised her with stern, but loving, care.

At times he was prone to throw up his hands in despair, stating, “You, young lady, have too much of your father in you!”

But April didn’t take offense. She knew he thought the world of his son-in-law, Jack Truitt, and had grieved as hard as his daughter when Jack died in a train derailment at the age of thirty.

Someday April would marry Henry Long. Grandpa was finicky when it came to April’s suitors, however, which made telling him a difficult, and as yet unresolved problem.

Maybe Henry didn’t make her feel heady and breathless—not like that arrogant Gray Fuller did—but he was considered a good catch and they shared the same spiritual convictions—and the same philosophies about the Pinkham compound.

Right now, April planned to do what she could to improve women’s lot in modern society.

And the first step was to tell every woman she could about Mrs. Pinkham’s elixir.

Now. If only Mrs. Pinkham would accept her invitation and come to Texas and sell her marvelous product. April breathed a heartfelt prayer, then turned to go home.

Chapter One

Dignity, Texas

August 1876

“Ladies, ladies! Please! May I have your attention! There’s no need to shove! There’s plenty to go around for all!”

As Lydia Pinkham shouted to gain order, April stood behind a long table piled high with bottles of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, eager to sell to those brave enough to try the revolutionary new cure-all for female complaints.

“Sickness is as unnecessary as crime,” Lydia declared as the women pressed closer, trying to get a better look at the small brown bottles. “And if I may be so bold, no woman should be condemned to suffer when there is a curative readily available!”

Eyes widening, the women drew back as if a snake had bitten them.

“Ladies, ladies! Don’t be alarmed. The Pinkham Compound is a special formula of nature’s own elements,” Lydia explained.

Having accepted April’s offer, Mrs. Pinkham and her entourage had arrived late yesterday afternoon. The women of Dignity were about to be catapulted into the modern age. Lydia was clearly skilled in marketing. Offering her product directly to women seemed to be a shrewd sales tactic.

Ladies were hesitant to talk about such things, but the group who’d come today to hear Mrs. Pinkham’s theories on women’s health issues seemed eager to learn what the product would do. April was excited by the response and delighted to be part of the Pinkham team.

Lydia brewed her compound on a stove in the cellar of her home. The rows of brown bottles lined up on the table in front of April had labels detailing all the ailments the tonic could cure.

Lydia was usually too busy making the compound and writing advertising copy to conduct a rally herself, but she’d decided to take the campaign on the road to the Houston area.

April considered today a plus. Since Grandpa was unaware of her involvement, she was relieved when the small Pinkham entourage—Lydia; two of her sons, Dan and Will; Henry Trampas Long and April herself—had left Dignity to conduct sales in a small town closer to Houston.

So far, Dignity residents chose to overlook her involvement with Mrs. Pinkham in order to keep word of her activities from an aging Riley. The town mortician and cofounder was narrow-minded on the subject of Pinkham’s Compound.

“The perfect woman,” Lydia continued, “should experience no pain, but that individual would be rare indeed.”

Lydia Pinkham’s sad but compelling eyes met the gaze of every woman in attendance as she walked the length of the table, holding aloft a bottle of her vegetable compound high for all to see. Tall placards held by Dan and Will displayed copies of advertisements that had run in newspapers in Houston. The headlines decried the major complaints of women of the day. I Am Not Well Enough to Work, one stated, followed by the photo of a contrite woman standing before an angry husband who had no dinner waiting on the table and no clean shirts in the wardrobe. In the descriptive, Lydia E. Pinkham offered her “sympathy and aid,” but reminded readers that there was a ready remedy. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound would, the ad stated, “restore to vigorous health the lives of those previously sorely distressed.”

Another claim boldly stated Operations Avoided; another, I’m Simply All Worn-out, followed by the picture of a woman who had collapsed from fatigue.

Yet another touted Social Tragedy—Women Who Brave Death for Social Honors, detailing how one very socially prominent woman suddenly leaped from her chair with a scream of agony, then fell insensible to the floor. The doctor told the victim’s husband that she was suffering from an acute case of nervous prostration, and hinted that an operation would be necessary.

Fortunately, a friend suggested Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound.

Surgery was avoided.

The din was growing louder, and Lydia raised her voice to be heard above it. April shifted from one foot to the other, wishing she’d worn more comfortable shoes.

The pandemonium only verified how badly women needed the Pinkham cure.

More than once during the brief time she’d been working for Lydia, April had wanted to sink right into the ground when pandemonium broke out. Sometimes containers were knocked over and broken as women clamored for a little brown bottle that would change their lives. Selling to customers who pushed, shoved and made it impossible to conduct business in an orderly fashion unnerved April.

But she believed in what Mrs. Pinkham was doing, so she wouldn’t think of giving up her job. She not only took pride in her work, but was earning her own money for the first time in her life. It gave her a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

As Lydia continued to lecture, Will Pinkham passed out the “Guide for Women” leaflets to ladies who were not as convinced as Mrs. Pinkham that their ailments should be openly discussed in a public forum, even among other females.

The babble was getting louder, and a couple of the attendees were red-faced.

Lydia continued, “I wish every woman who feels dissatisfied with her lot would realize that she is sick, and take steps to cure herself. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound will make you cheerful, happy, eager to meet your husband’s wishes. Ladies! Once more you will realize the joys of your home! You will have found your true vocation—to be a devoted wife and loving mother!”

“It’s hard to believe that a compound could do all that!” a tall, raw-boned woman called from the back of the crowd.

Lydia, thin lips pursed, her face pale except for the two coins of high color on her cheekbones, leveled a look at the individual who would dare to question her claims. “Have you tried the product, dear lady?”

The woman shrank back. “Not yet.”

April readied copies of the four-page “Helps for Women” pamphlet that Lydia and her sons had printed to encourage sales.

Glancing up, April took an involuntary step backward when three women in the crowd voiced their skepticism about the claims, declaring them nonsense.

“It just doesn’t seem proper to talk about female complaints so boldly in the newspaper for everyone to read,” a deep voice interjected.

April mentally groaned when she saw Gray Fuller join the crowd. Having stationed himself conspicuously to her right, he stood, arms folded, a scowl on his handsome features as he listened to the sales pitch.

Dr. Fuller had made quite a stir when he’d moved to Dignity a month ago. Speculation ran rampant about him, and about why he’d chosen a small coastal town to establish a practice.

Then there were his looks.

No kind, comfortable country doctor, this man. Tall and lean, he wore his “city clothes” like one of those men in the catalog in Pearl Mason’s mercantile. Even Beulah said that the rich, dark brown hair that the young doctor wore just a shade too long was outrageously attractive. From what she’d heard, every single woman in a twenty-mile radius was making a fool of herself over Dr. Gray Fuller.

What is he doing here? April thought resentfully, squirming at the expectation that he might recognize her as the woman he’d seen at a distance at the mortuary. He and Grandpa had struck up an instant friendship, and for the past week visited nightly on the mortuary side porch. She purposely steered clear of them during the doctor’s nocturnal visits, preferring to keep a safe distance between her and any doctor. But still, he could have gotten enough of a look at her to associate her with Riley….

Slouching behind the table covered with bottles of compound, April prayed he wouldn’t recognize her.

Standing back from the crowd, Gray listened with growing skepticism as Lydia Pinkham make her sales pitch.

The majority of the women present this morning were older, he observed.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman with honey-brown hair crouched down behind the table stacked with bottles of elixir. Her captivating eyes were the color of bluebonnets growing wild along the roadside, he decided. Studying her for a moment, he tried to place her.

He’d seen her before.

But where? She looked a lot like the elusive woman he’d seen in the shadows when he visited Riley at the mortuary.

Since coming to Dignity a month earlier, Gray had seen a sea of new faces. But this one…yes, he was sure he’d noticed her somewhere before.

Focusing on the speaker, he listened to Pinkham’s outrageous claims. He was relieved that druggists were reluctant to display the Pinkham posters or sell the compound. He was told many women refused to read the pamphlets because the explicit language embarrassed them.

It was a good thing. Women in pain, who had seen family members and friends debilitated by health problems, were vulnerable. Open to all kinds of shysters who promised relief.

It was ridiculous how someone could cook up a batch of weeds on the stove, bottle it and peddle it as a “cure.” More often than not such concoctions worked against normal bodily function.

Still, snake-oil salesmen were often successful. Public trust in the medical profession had dropped so low that women were beginning to abandon doctors in favor of charlatans such as Lydia who promised a non-surgical option.

He regarded Mrs. Pinkham and her kind as overzealous, pure and simple. She, and others like her, was a great part of the reason he’d decided to practice in a rural area rather than Houston.

If he could convince people to trust well-schooled physicians, then he could save lives. That wasn’t always possible, but he was dedicated to eliminating needless death.

Gray suspected that Mrs. Pinkham’s effort to sell her medicine was not born of a need to help the sick. The Pinkhams were victims of the financial panic of September 1873. After the banking house of Jay Cooke failed, credit had frozen, factories shut down, businesses folded and wage workers had faced a winter of starvation. Isaac Pinkham, Lydia’s husband, was one of the thousands who’d seen their speculative ventures fold. When the banking industry fell on hard times, Cooke’s had foreclosed and threatened to arrest those unable to pay their overdue bills.

Isaac Pinkham had collapsed under the threat of losing everything he’d spent his life accumulating. When the bank’s attorney, who turned out to be a distant relative of the Pinkhams, arrived to serve notice of foreclosure, the family had persuaded him to spare Isaac the embarrassment of arrest and jail because of his illness.

Isaac had not improved; Dan, one of the sons, had lost his grocery store and went into bankruptcy; son Will had given up his plans to attend Harvard and was working as a wool-puller.

Charlie, another Pinkham son, was working as a conductor on the horse cars, along with helping the family endeavor. Daughter Aroline, who had just graduated from high school, helped support the family by teaching.

The Pinkhams had given up their grand house in Glenmere and moved to a smaller home on Western Avenue in Lynn, and recently, with what little resources they possessed, begun their vegetable compound effort. Marketing the elixir was now a family venture. Everyone contributed to the enterprise. Dan and Will provided the brains and sinew. Lydia made the medicine. Charles and Aroline turned over their wages to help pay for herbs. And together, Will and Lydia had worked up advertising copy and put out relevant pamphlets. Even Isaac contributed. Sitting in his rocker, he folded and bundled the pamphlets for Dan to hand out.

Gray was told that at first Lydia had made the compound for friends. Before long women were coming from far away to purchase it. Now the family had expanded the manufacture of the elixir, and Gray was worried. Pinkham’s business was growing. More and more women were forsaking a visit to the doctor in favor of self-medicating with the Pinkham compound.

The newspapers were full of ads for remedies like Wright’s Indian Vegetable Pills, Oman’s Boneset Pills, Vegetine and Hale’s Honey of Horehound and Tar.

Natural remedies had gained wide popularity, and Gray wasn’t sure how the growing tide could be stemmed.

Today, looking around at the crowd, he felt his worries were well founded.

“Just try the compound for thirty days—”

“Excuse me,” Gray called out above the growing din, interrupting Mrs. Pinkham’s sales pitch. “Ladies…”

The sound level lessened enough for him to be heard.

“If you believe in potions, you’re placing your health in untrained hands! Your faith is better placed in educated physicians—”

He’s just like all the others, April thought, irritated.

A voice from the back interrupted. “My doctor says I have to ‘put up with pain’ because it’s ‘woman’s lot,’” she parroted. “Is that fair? Aren’t we deserving of more concern?”

That’s what Mama should have done, April thought. Put up with the heavy bleeding until she could find something like Lydia’s tonic. The memory of her mother’s surgery and ensuing death fed April’s anger at the situation in which many women found themselves.

“Of course you are,” Gray stated. “But you must be patient! We’re looking for remedies….”

“He’s as blind as all the others,” April murmured, her hands balling into tight fists. This arrogant man was going to be a thorn in her side, she could see that.

“My doctor prefers to talk to my husband, as if I didn’t have enough sense to know what he’s speaking about!”

“And it was one of those ‘educated physicians’ who let my mother die,” April blurted.

When Gray’s gaze swung to her, she wished she’d kept her temper in better control. Ordinarily she avoided drawing attention to herself, but today she couldn’t help it. He was a rude, boorish…man! She met his gaze, lifting her chin in defiance.

“I say we take responsibility for our own bodies,” a tall, heavyset woman declared. “I’m buying two bottles right now.”

The crowd shifted restlessly, and April watched the onslaught coming toward her with growing alarm. She braced herself, her gaze darting about for a quick escape if things got out of hand. Boxes of compound were stacked to her right, two bramble bushes grew to her left. Mentally groaning, she feverishly searched for an out. She’d have to make a break for the middle, and run straight at…him.

She was sure Gray Fuller would recognize her now. Grandpa might look like a genial old Santa Claus without the beard, but when he was riled he didn’t have that jolly old person’s mild temperament.

Far from it. The rotund octogenarian had a razor-sharp wit and a tongue to match.

April was jolted back to the present as the crowd bore down on her, attempting to squeeze between the table holding the vegetable compound and boxes of the product.

Aware that she wasn’t going to be able to get out of their way quickly enough, she braced herself for the attack.

A robust matron hit her sideways, knocking her into the heavily laden table. Stumbling, her hand flailing for support, April braced again as she was slammed from the other side. When yet another hard bump came from the rear, she fell against the table, knocking bottles of compound over in a domino effect.

Reaching out, she tried to save the batch of tonic from ruin, but the table legs collapsed, and it and the bottles tumbled to the ground with a thunderous crash of splitting boards and breaking glass.

The women kept coming, undaunted.

April was pushed forward onto the splintered table and broken bottles whose sticky contents were draining onto the earth below. She hit the ground with a thump.

Attempting to get up, she was knocked aside, whacking her head on a piece of wood. Pain shot through her temple and everything went blurry as she fell back, clasping her palm to her eye.

Silence fell over the crowd as all heads turned to her wilted figure.

“Oh, my!” a shrill voice exclaimed. “She’s fainted!”

April hadn’t, but she certainly wished she had. Not only had she humiliated herself, she was going to have a whale of a headache.

Moaning, she stirred ever so slightly at the feel of a cool hand on her cheek. She kept her eyes tightly closed, wishing everyone would leave her alone so she could just crawl away, unnoticed.

“Is she injured?”

“Oh, my, my.” A hand gently fanned her face. “Someone bring me a dipper of water!”

“Stand back!” another woman cried. “This man says he’s a doctor!”

April froze when she heard his voice. Drat. Now she’d really done it. Of course Dr. Fuller would offer his services!

“Someone get this table out of the way.” Gray Fuller waded through the crowd, issuing orders. “One of you ladies loosen her collar. Please, the rest of you stand back and give her some air.”

April felt the pressure of four manly fingers rest against her neck for a brief moment. A pleasant woodsy scent drifted down to her, and she wondered why he smelled so good when other men smelled like…like…well, men.

Embarrassed, she groaned in frustration at the situation she’d gotten herself into. Most of the women she knew would give their eyeteeth to draw the handsome doctor’s attention. She might feel the same if the circumstances were different. She’d hoped to be introduced to him at church, or a social function, not while lying on the ground surrounded by broken glass and brown, sticky goo.

Pressing his head to her chest, he pretended to listen for a heartbeat as he whispered, “You’re going to have to groan louder. They didn’t hear you.”

April’s left eye flew open, then quickly closed. “Wh…what?”

Lifting his head, he grinned.

Cracking her eye open once more, April looked up into a pair of startling dark green eyes set off by lashes so thick any woman would envy them.

His smile, focused directly on her, was decidedly wicked. The firm set of his jaw drew her. She had never seen that look on Henry’s face.

She mentally cringed. If they were handing out awards for good looks, Dr. Fuller would take the prize. His practiced masculine gaze ran over her lightly. She shivered, even though the day was blazing hot.

She felt a warm wave of breath in her ear as he repeated, “You’ll have to groan louder. They can’t hear you.”

Embarrassed that he had seen through her ruse, she mumbled through closed lips, “Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

Of course. Trust him. The first thing he was sure to do would be tell Grandpa that she was helping the controversial Lydia Pinkham sell her medicinal elixir. And when Riley heard that, along with what had happened here today, he’d have a fit of apoplexy.

“Moan!” Fuller ordered quietly.

Complying, April rendered a loud, mournful wail.

“Stand back,” he demanded, rising to clear a path through the crowd. The women obediently stepped aside, murmuring approvingly among themselves about the man’s quick action.

“Is she all right, Doctor?”

“She appears to be coming around.”

The women oohed and aahed, their eyes anxiously trained on the young woman lying on the ground like a rag doll.

Assisting April to her feet, Gray led her to a nearby bench. She pretended to still be dazed, and if the truth were known, the good doctor did set her head spinning.

Although uneasy at the sudden physical intimacy, she kept up her pretense, wavering convincingly for the women who watched with open concern.

With the excitement over, the crowd began to break up. Most refused to leave without purchasing a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound.

Henry Long rushed to April’s side, concern on his babyish features. “April, are you ill, darling?”

Patting Henry’s hand consolingly, she assured him she wasn’t, only a bit shaken up.

Lydia stepped over to ask if April had sustained any serious injuries. When told she hadn’t, she made her way back into the crowd, where Will and Dan were selling the compound as fast as they could dole it out.

When the area finally cleared, Dr. Fuller attempted to conduct a brief examination. “You’ve got a bump.” He touched her forehead. “Should make a nice bruise.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered, drawing a deep breath to clear her head. Something else to explain to Grandpa.

“Are you experiencing any pain?”

“No, and you’ve done quite enough, thank you.” April felt like a fool! Not only had she drawn undue attention to herself by speaking up like that, she’d created a scene that was sure to get back to Grandpa and all of Dignity before she did. Still, it wasn’t that unpleasant being administered to by Dr. Fuller. The feel of his gentle hand on her forehead lingered, and she reached to finger the spot.

“Ouch!” It had felt much better when the doctor touched the bump.

Gray’s brows lifted. “I’m trying to place you. Haven’t we met, Miss…”

“I have a common-looking face,” she said, standing up hurriedly. He’d been at the house several times, but she’d managed to evade him. His very demeanor frightened her—and doctors plain scared her. Still, he might have spotted her lurking in the porch shadows….

Regaining her bearings, she straightened her dress, smoothed her flyaway hair, remembered to thank him, and took off in the opposite direction at a hurried pace.

“If you have any blurring of vision, be sure and see a doctor…miss?”

She dismissed him with an absent wave. “I’m fine, really.”

He would remember where he’d seen her, and tell Grandpa. She might as well brace herself for the explosion.

Gray stared after her, watching the sway of her slender hips as she hurried along. He searched his mind, trying to recall meeting her. How could he possibly have encountered such a beautiful woman and not remember?

One thing was certain: the incident today would not be forgotten. It would take some doing to forget this woman.

If he ever saw her again, he’d remember.

Chapter Two

Francesca DuBois didn’t understand the word no.

“Have you not missed me, chéri? It has been too long.” The ebony-haired beauty seated across the desk smiled provocatively.

“It’s difficult for me to get away. I’m the only doctor in town. A lot of people need me.”

“But, my darling, I need you, too.” She frowned. “Are you aware of how difficult it is to explain your continued absence to my friends?”

“You knew when I took this practice I would be in Dallas less frequently.” He tossed a folder on his desk, annoyed that she was here. He’d made it clear that when the time was right—and if he changed his mind and decided to honor the engagement—he would send for her. True to form, Francesca had jumped the gun, and here she sat, looking as though she was here to stay.

Her eyes roamed the small office. “Honestly, Gray. Why would you want to bury yourself in a backward town like Destiny?”

“Dignity.”

As usual, she ignored the correction. Had he noticed this irritating trait before?

“Even more appalling. You had a glowing Dallas practice, more patients than you could handle. Now—” she swept a gloved hand at the Spartan quarters “—this.”

At first she had argued about his decision, but when it became clear he was going to make the move, she’d stopped. Gray knew she thought the forced separation would strengthen their shaky relationship. But just the opposite had occurred.

Gray had realized his calling. Dallas had its share of progressive doctors, and few people who needed, or wanted, them. The rural communities still depended on midwives and herbalists to serve their medical needs—people with no training, who gained what little knowledge they had through information passed down from a grandmother or an aunt.

No, Gray wasn’t needed in Dallas. But he was needed in the countryside. Francesca couldn’t understand that; couldn’t or wouldn’t understand it. Her father wasn’t much better.

Though he was indebted to Louis DuBois for financing his medical internship, he didn’t agree with the older doctor’s focus on medicine merely as a means to make money. Somewhere along the way, Louis had forgotten medicine was a service to humanity.

When Gray announced his intentions to take over Joe McFarland’s practice in Dignity, Louis hadn’t argued with him. Instead, he’d figured it wouldn’t take long for Gray to admit his mistake and return to Dallas, where he would then be taken into one of DuBois’ three clinics as a full partner—a stance Francesca also embraced.

Uncomfortable under the resulting pressure, Gray had broken their tenuous engagement. Only Francesca had ignored that fact. She’d refused to return the ring or to accept Gray’s declaration that the relationship was over. Now here she was in Dignity, sitting in his office and acting as though he should be thrilled to see her.

Louis’ offer was tempting. Only a fool would refuse it. But Gray had dedicated his skill to treating the ill rather than catering to the privileged.

Now that he had been in Dignity for a little over a month, his convictions were even stronger. He wanted to set down roots in the small town and develop a busy practice. Exactly how he was going to convince this woman that his life was here now, in Dignity—without her—he wasn’t sure.

Admittedly she was a beauty, and entrenched in Dallas society. Would she be willing to give up the social whirl and move to Dignity? He doubted it.

She extended an entreating hand. “Why won’t you listen to reason? Move back to Dallas. That is where you belong.”

“I believe Dignity is where God wants me to be.”

“God?” She shook her head. “You always had a streak of religious idealism. I find it hard to believe God cares where you practice medicine.”

Gray shrugged. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

She slapped a hand on his desk. “I do not understand why you feel you must live in this bumpkin town. What is there in Destiny?”

“It’s Dignity. And it’s people. They need a doctor.”

“There are sick people in Dallas, as well. People who pay for a doctor’s service with things other than chickens, produce from the garden and baked offerings from their kitchen.”

“They give what they have. I find it sufficient.”

Sighing, she sat back in the chair, drumming her fingers on the desktop. “Will you just listen? Give up this crazy idea and move back to Dallas. Papa will set you up in a practice with Jake Brockman, Lyle Lawyer and Frank Smith. We can be married in a month.”

Drawing a deep breath, Gray pulled back the curtains to look out on the street. Dignity wasn’t Dallas, and that was what attracted him. He liked the town’s sleepy lifestyle. He liked its people: good, hardworking, God-fearing farmers, their children and wives, town merchants and neighboring families who came from miles around to seek his medical advice. Gray Fuller’s knowledge, not Brockman, Lawyer, Smith and Fuller’s advice, as Francesca would have it.

The area itself drew him; the small community sat near the upper corner of the port. Rail service of both the Houston and Texas Central and Texas and Pacific lines made travel practical. Hired carriages were available to take one anywhere in the city quickly. But out here in Dignity he enjoyed windswept land, trees shaped by gulf breezes, rolling surf…No, he would not abandon his dream. Not for her, not for any woman.

Families strolled around the common on a cool evening, or brought picnics on Sunday afternoons. Dignity was interesting, compelling, and more to his taste than the Dallas Francesca loved.

It was a sense of peace that had drawn him when he first visited here six months earlier. The doctor in him demanded it, the man in him wanted it.

“Papa was asking about you before I left. He worries that you’re being a fool. He asked if you had come to your senses—”

Gray cut her off. “How is Louis?”

“Oh, chéri,” she complained, “someone has stolen your mind in this town! You are surely not thinking clearly!”

He suddenly lost his patience. Francesca was a beautiful, charming, but spoiled young woman who’d been raised in the lap of luxury, a woman who used her position as leverage to get whatever she wanted. Position her father had earned for her.

Louis DuBois had come to the United States from France shortly before Francesca was born. Starting with little more than ingenuity, he’d built a successful group of medical clinics in Dallas. Francesca was his only child, and he wasn’t subtle about his desire for his daughter to marry Gray.

At first Gray had toyed with the idea; what sane man wouldn’t be intrigued by the offer? Then sanity had returned and he’d decided marriage to Francesca was too high a price to pay for what a life of bondage it would in essence be.

He watched as she rose from her chair and sauntered to the mirror. She appeared to be studying her reflection, but he was aware of the intensity of her deep blue eyes.

“Papa is not a patient man,” she mused. “I fear he will soon tire of asking you, Gray, and bring someone else into the clinic.”

Gray heard the veiled threat in her voice. Submit or else. His independent streak refused to compromise.

“You could return to Dallas and never have to work long hours again. There will be three other men to see to your patients when you have better things to do. Papa will furnish everything we would ever want or need.”

She turned ever so slightly to allow him a better view of what he was refusing. “This would be the perfect time.” Her voice took on a husky timbre, as she mistook his silence for conformity. “The old Tealson mansion is up for sale—I’ve always wanted that house. It has been left to molder a bit, but it’s such a beautiful place. I will decorate it, make it the showplace it should be. We will throw the biggest, most elaborate Christmas parties the city has ever seen! It will be so…”

As she droned on about the possibilities, Gray’s mind turned to Dignity, and Lydia Pinkham’s show a few days earlier. The nerve of that woman, claiming her elixir could cure everything from cramps to kidney ailments. And women were listening to the exaggerated claims!

His irritation eased when he thought about the spunky young woman who’d pretended to faint. Surely if she was the girl he had seen at the mortuary, she would have said so. He smiled. She’d felt rather at home in his arms—

“Gray? Gray?”

Francesca’s strident tone drew him back.

“Sorry. You were saying?”

“You’re not listening to me. You do miss me, don’t you?”

“Of course, Francesca, but my work keeps me busy and I get distracted.”

“If you would only return to Dallas, your life would be so much easier. There is no need—”

“Francesca, we’ve talked this to death.”

“You are entirely too practical, Gray Fuller. But I can wait. For you I will wait.”

“Francesca…”

“Oh, I remember that silly declaration, when you said the wedding was off, but you didn’t mean it.” She came closer and kissed him lightly. “I forgive you, darling. You are coming to Dallas on the twelfth? You know Papa is entertaining some very prominent doctors, and he’ll expect you to be there.”

Though Gray would begrudge the time, he would be there. He’d have the next installment on his debt to Louis by then. Though DuBois had assured him many times that repayment wasn’t necessary, Gray was determined to owe him nothing but gratitude before the next year was finished.

“Gray!” she wailed. “You promised!”

“Of course I’ll be there, Francesca.” He jammed his arms into his jacket. “I’ll instruct all my patients that they are under no circumstance to become indisposed on the twelfth.” Suddenly he needed fresh air.

“Oh, wait! I have something for you.” She picked up a small hatbox and carefully opened it. “You’re going to adore this.”

Gray stared at what he had to assume was a hat, though he’d never call it that himself.

Holding it up for inspection, she grinned. “Isn’t it just the most extraordinary thing?”

Extraordinary? Every bit of that.

“Very nice. You’ll look lovely in it.”

“Me? Oh, you silly goose! It’s not for me, it’s for you.”

Gray’s heart sank. Surely she didn’t expect him to wear…that.

“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” She turned the hat around.

“What is it, exactly?”

“A pillbox hat. It’s the latest thing in bicycling attire. You’re to wear it with tight-fitting knee britches, a very tight, military kind of jacket, and when you’re cycling down the street, you carry a bugle to warn pedestrians of your approach. I ordered it from France.”

“I don’t bicycle.”

“No?” She frowned. “Well, you should. It’s the most amazing sport. Daddy bought me one…. Of course, I’ve purchased britches and a jacket for you also, so we can dress alike when we cycle.”

“I don’t have a bicycle.”

Her eyes sparked devilishly. “You do now!”

She smiled as she turned the hat round and round. “Here. Try it on.”

Feeling stupid, he let her settle the navy-blue pillbox atop his head. This was what marriage to Francesca would be like. Manipulated, controlled…Between her and her father, he wouldn’t stand a chance of being his own man. He felt even more certain that God’s plans for him didn’t include this woman and a Dallas practice.

Gray stood before her wearing the ridiculous hat, wondering how much he could be expected to tolerate for money’s sake. If Louis called in his loan early he would have to cease practice; he couldn’t afford to do it. He had to keep peace with Louis’ daughter until the loan was paid in full. But he would not marry her. He rode horses, not bicycles.

Francesca ignored his protest, clapping her hands with delight. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the surface of his glass-fronted bookcase, Gray grimaced. The hat made him look like an organ-grinder’s monkey. All he needed was a tin cup.

“Francesca, I don’t wear hats.” Feelings be hanged; he wouldn’t be caught dead in it.

“Nonsense.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed the end of his nose. “You look splendid, darling. Absolutely splendid.”

He looked like a fool. A splendid one.

“I have to go. I have patients to see.”

“You work much, much, much too hard, Gray.” She tried to wind her arms around his neck. He promptly removed them.

Relinquishing her hold, she sighed. “When will I see you again? I will be waiting,” she promised. She blew him a kiss as he left the room.

As he walked through the lobby of the hotel, he carried the pillbox hat hidden beneath his jacket.

Eyeing the trash receptacle, he pushed temptation aside and walked out the front door. Francesca had an elephant’s memory. She recalled every article of clothing she’d ever purchased for him.

For now, at least, he was stuck with the thing.

Chapter Three

“How much?”

April told her customer the price, folding brown wrapping paper around a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. “And thank you. You’ll be feeling better in no time.”

The past week had been a bonanza. Sales were up, and women were beginning to return for second bottles.

April was starting to relax. Apparently Gray Fuller hadn’t recognized her. At least she assumed he hadn’t. Grandpa hadn’t blown up, and he would if he knew what she’d been up to.

It was enough that Riley wouldn’t approve of her involvement with Henry. Learning about her involvement with Lydia Pinkham would do him in.

April worried about his health, but his lectures bothered her, as well. He was stubborn and easily worked into a tizzy when she did something that went against the grain. It was best to just keep to herself things that would cause Grandpa fits.

“Miss?”

April returned to the business at hand. “I’m sorry. How many bottles?”

“Five. I wouldn’t start a day without a dose of the elixir.”

“Wonderful.” April smiled, counting out the woman’s change.

By the time the rally was over, April’s feet hurt, her back ached and she was thinking about taking a sip of Lydia’s elixir herself. Not a big one, just enough to revive her sagging energy.

“Well, we’ve had a good day,” Mrs. Pinkham commented as she sank into a chair beside April’s table. It was nearing dark now, and the last happy customer had left the meeting hall with a bottle of vegetable compound.

“We made eighteen dollars today,” April told her.

“Eighteen? That’s wonderful.”

April put the money into an envelope and handed it to Mrs. Pinkham, then began placing the remaining bottles of compound into a box. Dan would carry it to the carriage later. She glanced up, smiling when she saw another of Lydia’s sons, Will, busily gathering up pamphlets the crowd had left behind.

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Lydia closed her eyes wearily. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could place a bottle of compound in every woman’s hand?”

“The way sales are picking up, that might not be so implausible.”

“Oh, my dear.” She chuckled. “It’s a very large world, and there are so many, many women who are trying to cope with female problems…. If they only knew there were alternatives.” She smiled at April. “I appreciate all you’re doing, dear. You’ve been a big help. Very dedicated.”

April hesitated, then decided to tell the truth. “I believe in the healing powers of the compound, Mrs. Pinkham, but I also see this as my ministry.”

Her brow furrowed. “Ministry?”

“Yes. I believe God has called me to help women, and he brought us together for that purpose. We’re doing more than selling a compound. We’re providing God-given health to the women of Dignity.”

“My,” Lydia said faintly. “I am indeed indebted to you for your service. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Mrs. Pinkham. Thank the good Lord for taking pity on us women.” April grinned. “And you and your family for making the long journey from Massachusetts.”

“Ready to go, Mother?” Will called.

“Coming, dear.” Getting up, Lydia smoothed back a stray hair. A tall, striking woman, she was imposing enough to compel people to accept her claims. “We’ll not have a meeting tomorrow, dear. Dan is traveling to Austin to look into new market opportunities.”

April tried to conceal her relief. She’d spent three weeks hiding, evading Dr. Fuller. He wasn’t coming to the house as often, yet she had to be on guard every moment for fear something or someone would alert him to the fact that she was Riley’s granddaughter. Very soon the Pinkhams would move on and her covert activities would cease. Every rally she attended left her anxious and full of guilt. If it wasn’t for the community’s concern for their kindly old undertaker, Riley would already know what his granddaughter was doing.

Lydia hesitated a moment at the door. “Is Henry coming for you?”

“Yes, he’ll be here any moment now.” Consulting her pendant watch, she noted the time. Henry was always prompt. If today’s meeting hadn’t ended early, he would be waiting now.

“I’m glad he’s working with us. He’ll be going with Daniel tomorrow. They have sound ideas for getting the compound into stores all over Texas.” Lydia shared a tired smile. “Well, there’s advertising copy for the newspaper to write yet tonight. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Henry was going to Austin with Dan again? Why hadn’t he told her? April wondered. That made the third trip in as many weeks, trips he’d failed to mention.

Checking her appearance by feel, April carefully rearranged her hat on curls that had taken her a full hour to fashion. She hoped she looked pleasing to Henry today. She’d worn the princess-style dress he favored, recalling how he swore its bluebonnet belle color exactly matched her eyes. The dress was outrageously overpriced, but Grandpa was good about letting her purchase whatever she wanted from the mail-order catalogs.

Turning slowly, she glanced down, perusing the cut of the dress. The jacket was fashioned atop a full overskirt. The buirasse bodice was tight and molded to the hips—an effect, if the look in Henry’s eyes was any indication, he appreciated.

Tugging at the close-fitting waist, she wished she could wear the style without a long, tight corset. It was a good thing her job required her to stand, for the skirt of the dress was so tight, she couldn’t have hoped to sit with any semblance of grace.

Straightening the stiff sleeves, she absently reached for her reticule and turned toward the front door of the small meeting hall to see if Henry had arrived.

He had not, but it was still early. She’d told him seven o’clock, and it was barely six forty-five. Yet, she hoped he would hurry. They had so little time together anymore. His involvement with the compound kept him working long hours, sometimes late into the night.

Henry Trampas Long. Yet another secret she was keeping from Grandpa. One that would most certainly give him fits if he ever learned of it. Grandpa didn’t see Henry as she did. Handsome, with flaxen hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to see right through her, Henry was admittedly more a “woman’s man” than a “man’s man.”

Although they’d just begun working together, she’d known Henry all her life. They’d been schoolmates during their growing-up years.

Henry was a natural-born charmer. He got the nickname “Sweet Talker” after he’d persuaded the teacher to end classes a week early one summer. Miss West, clearly enchanted with her handsome pupil, who was a mere two years younger than she, had fallen for his concocted story about spring fever being counterproductive to learning.

As they grew up, April and Henry had had their spats, but after they left school she began to view him differently—less as a former schoolmate and more as a potential suitor.

At first April wasn’t sure how she felt about the gradual change in their relationship, but then she realized how exciting it was to be courted by a man like Henry. Not only did they know one another well, but also he could charm the petals and thorns off a rose.

Grandpa, of course, still saw Henry as the fool who’d turned over outhouses and played pranks on unsuspecting Dignity residents. It was easy for him to consider Henry’s occasional appearances at the front door as innocuous.

But April didn’t consider anything about Henry innocuous. Their relationship was growing closer every day. In fact, he’d been dropping hints recently that led her to believe he was about to propose any day now. If it wasn’t for his precarious health, she would tell her grandfather about Henry. She didn’t like keeping things from him, but she didn’t dare say anything until Henry actually proposed. April prayed the good Lord understood the situation, and while he wouldn’t approve of deceit, he would understand the sensitive issue.

Hearing Henry’s runabout buggy turn the corner, she stepped to the doorway, watching him masterfully bring the bay to a halt in front of the building. Smiling, he climbed down, his wry grin half hidden beneath his flaxen mustache.

April’s heart swelled as she watched him approach. He was indeed a fine figure of a man, resplendent in a navy-blue, double-breasted cutaway coat over a matching vest, with slim trousers in a subtle check pattern. A jaunty tie was just visible beneath the collar of his snow-white shirt.

His hair, thick and full, was tamed somewhat by pomade, his mustache meticulously trimmed. He carried a flat-crowned hat in his left hand, and his gaze was pinned directly on her.

“My bluebonnet belle,” he murmured, reaching for her hand as he approached.

“Henry,” she whispered, embarrassed that he would utter such an endearment in public, though delighted he would be so daring.

Concern filled his face. “Have I kept you waiting?”

“No, we finished early. You’re right on time.”

Assisting her into the conveyance, Henry climbed aboard, and, with a smile in her direction, gently slapped the reins against the horse’s rump.

“I hear we had a very good day,” he commented as the buggy rolled along.

“A very good day. No problems, and we sold a number of bottles.” Turning in the seat, she looked at him. “Henry, Lydia said you were going to Austin.”

Glancing sideways, he smiled. “Didn’t I mention it to you?”

“No…no, you didn’t.”

“Really? I thought I had. Dan and I will be looking for new marketing possibilities.” He glanced her way again. “Why?”

“Well, there’s the Founders Hall event next week…”

The party was an annual gathering everyone looked forward to. April had purchased her dress months ago, a frivolous evening-blue silk.

Meeting her troubled gaze, he smiled. He was merely doing his job. There would be other events, his eyes suggested to her.

“I’m sorry, dearest. It was thoughtless of me not to mention the trip earlier, but I kept hoping it could be delayed until after the Founders Hall celebrations. Alas, it can’t be.”

She ignored the awful sense of disappointment she felt, vowing to conceal it. It would only make Henry’s business commitments more difficult.

Arching his brow in concern, he said, “Forgive me, dearest?”

“Of course, Henry, it can’t be helped.”

“Dan and I will be going to Austin tomorrow. Had I known sooner, I’d have planned something special for us today.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure. A few days.” He reached over to clasp her hand. “Miss me?”

“You know I will.”

“We’ll have a very special supper when I get back.”

He smiled down at her and her pulse accelerated. A “special” supper. Had the time finally come? Was he about to ask her to be his wife? Her mind whirled at the implication. Was that what she really wanted? She suddenly felt a trifle ill.

Henry halted the carriage at the side of the mortuary, where a large mulberry tree grew. April insisted on it, for Grandpa wouldn’t be as likely to see them together here. His eyesight was failing dreadfully.

“I wish—”

“Don’t say it,” she interrupted. “I have to persuade Grandpa that I’m grown-up enough to make my own decisions.” And of course, tell him that she was seeing Henry. Seriously. “He still thinks of me as a little girl.”

Henry’s eyes swept her slender figure. “You’re a lovely young woman now.”

Her cheeks colored. Henry was so bold. So much more exciting than any of the other single men in Dignity.

“He also still thinks of you as that hooligan who tied my sash to the school desk so my skirt would fall down around my ankles when I stood.”

Henry’s grin was irresistibly devilish. “It was one of my better pranks.”

“I was mortified!”

The grin widened. “I know. But your cheeks turned pink and your eyes got so wide with surprise, I was captivated by you from that moment on.” Leaning forward, he stole a kiss.

Henry was a godly man; his youthful pranks seemed uncharacteristic now. Not a foul word escaped his mouth these days except on rare occasions—which she promptly chastised him for. And Henry was always quick to beg her pardon.

She glanced nervously toward the house. “I need to go.” She adored his affectionate gestures, but in private. Not here in public, where someone might catch a glimpse.

Henry settled back with a wry smile. “I’ll see you when I get back from Austin.”

For now she contented herself with the tightening of his hand on hers.

Dignity’s apothecary was midblock between Main and Fallow Streets. The establishment had been there for over twenty years. The sign over the door was faded, the building comfortably weathered.

Inside were shelves of medicinal concoctions, bandages, alcohol for cuts and scrapes, liniment for strained muscles. One corner of the room held potions for farm animals. A long wooden counter stretched along the back, with the pharmacist’s desk behind it, a step or two higher. This was Eldon Ludwig’s throne from early morning to nearly twilight. From it he dispensed medicine and advice for everything from boils to congestion to broken limbs.

At the moment, Eldon’s seat was vacant, and a squarely built figure dressed in a butternut-brown dress stood behind the long counter, explaining the directions on a bottle of headache powders to Judge Petimount’s widow.

April browsed through the store, reading labels on funny-looking bottles while she waited for Beulah to finish with her customer.

Beulah was “Porky” to the town residents—an affectionate nickname she’d been given over the years. April didn’t approve of it, finding it hateful and hurtful. Beulah never complained. She’d smile when someone tossed the name in greeting, but in her large, serious brown eyes April detected pain. She herself would never, ever call her friend the name. Beulah was Beulah. Special—and with a heart the size of Texas.

Mrs. Petimount made her purchase and left.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Beulah grinned at April. “I thought you were busy selling Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound to the enlightened ladies of Dignity and surrounding areas.”

“I’ll have none of your sass, Beulah Ludwig,” April bantered, resting her hands lightly on her hips. “Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound will cure what ails ya.”

Giggling, she came around the corner and grabbed April’s wrists to pull her into a brief hug. “Now tell me, how is the sales job going?”

April settled herself on a worn bench near the counter, and Beulah sat beside her. Beulah had been her friend forever. The daughter of Eldon Ludwig, she spoke with the thick German accent of her parents, who had emigrated to the States before she was born. When the other children had teased her, April had defended her, then taught her to speak with a Texas accent. Instead of “you all” she quickly learned to say “y’all,” which admittedly sounded a little strange with a German inflection.

There was little else April could do to protect her friend from the other children’s cruel barbs. Beulah Ludwig, unfortunately, was the victim of her mother’s good cooking.

In response to April’s friendship, Beulah had appointed herself April’s protector. In grade school, Bud Grady had taken a shine to April, but she hadn’t shared his feelings. Every recess he waited for her by the swings, trying to grab her for a kiss. Once he’d managed to smear his lips across her cheek, and her stomach had rolled.

The day before summer vacation, Bud had apparently sensed that his opportunity to make any headway with April was almost past. He’d waited for her by the water pump and, when she came out, had grabbed her, nearly knocking her to the ground. She’d managed one shrill screech before Bud planted his lips on hers.

Beulah had been waiting for April beneath the big oak in front of the schoolhouse. When she saw Bud pounce, she started running. Before he could get in a second kiss, she’d grabbed him by the collar, whirled him around and tossed him facedown into the dirt.

Turning to April, she’d dusted her hands triumphantly. “There. We’re even.”

The two girls had been inseparable ever since.

Beulah had begun helping her father in the apothecary when she was barely old enough to see over the counter. She’d cleaned the shop at first, then gradually worked her way into sales when she was old enough to make correct change. April, meanwhile, became mistress of her grandfather’s house. She helped at the funeral parlor when needed, making sure the services moved along smoothly, that overwrought family members were comforted, even filling in when a vocalist failed to arrive in time.

April’s slim, delicate frame and light features were a stark contrast to Beulah’s dark features and five-foot, two-hundred-pound frame. Beulah had inherited her father’s stockiness, and April knew it had long ago ceased to concern her. She was happy with her lot, eating cinnamon rolls without apology, while April was still trying to find her purpose in life.

“So, how’s the job?” her friend repeated.

“I wasn’t sure at first how I was going to like it, but I do. I feel I’m doing something important, and I like that.”

“Your grandpa find out what you’re up to yet?”

April shrugged. “No. You know he wouldn’t understand.”

“Your mother was his daughter. He knows she didn’t have to die.”

“I’ll grant you that if men had the same problems as women, there’d be no unnecessary surgeries without some very serious deliberation.”

“Oh, hogwash! You’re getting radical.”

Beulah got up and dusted a shelf of medical supplies as they talked. “I do think you ought to tell your grandpa you’re selling Mrs. Pinkham’s compound. If he finds out what you’re doing—”

Not wanting to hear any more about the subject, April abruptly switched topics. “I’m not going to the Founders Hall event.”

Glancing up, Beulah frowned. “You’re not?”

“No, Henry has to go to Austin on business.”

“Oh.” Her friend’s face fell. “And you bought that lovely blue dress.”

“I know, but I can use it another time. Henry’s work comes first.”

Resuming her dusting, Beulah muttered, “Rather thoughtless of him to plan a business trip at this time.”

“It couldn’t be helped, Beulah.”

“Mmm, maybe.”

“Are you going to the dance?” April asked.

“Of course.”

“Wonderful. With anyone I know?”

“Papa. Mother is still away tending to Aunt Mary.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed. You know no man is going to ask me to a dance.”

“Beulah Ludwig, you stop that!” Crossing the room, April gently took her by the shoulders and shook her. “Don’t ever say that again in my presence. If the men in this town are so blind they can’t see anything but a woman’s dress size, then I say shame on them! Their loss!”

“Dash it all, I don’t care,” Beulah said as the two hugged each other. “My life is full. I don’t need any man to boss me around. Not one like Henry, that’s for sure.”

“I know you don’t like Henry, but you don’t know him like I do,” April whispered.

“I’ve known him as long as you have.”

“He’s so…charming, attentive,” April argued. “Do you know what he calls me?”

“Slave?”

“No, be serious.”

Eyeing her warily, Beulah said, “What?”

“Bluebonnet belle. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard!”

“Simply ducky.”

Just then the bell over the door rang, and aged, nearly deaf Mrs. Faith hobbled in.

“Good day to you, Mrs. Faith.” Beulah greeted the elderly lady loudly. “What can I do for you?”

“Eh?”

“What can I do for you?”

Mrs. Faith leaned on her cane and waved a piece of paper. “Got this prescription, Porky. That young doctor gave it to me and told me to bring it over here and give it to you.”

“Let me see what you have,” Beulah said, reading the prescription. “Yes, we can fill this for you.”

“Eh?”

“We have this!” Beulah shouted toward her less-deaf ear.

“You sure? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong thing. Doctor says it would help my gout.”

“I’m sure it will. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Well, hurry up. It’s been paining me something awful lately.”

April motioned to Beulah, who excused herself from her customer, saying she’d be right back.

“Give her some of Mrs. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound.”

“What?” Beulah demanded in a hushed whisper.

“Give Mrs. Faith some of the compound.”

“Are you out of your mind? She’s got the gout, not the monthlies!” Glancing at her customer, Beulah smiled. “Just take a minute, Mrs. Faith!”

“Eh?”

“Some of the compound, Beulah. Pour some in a bottle and tell her to use it in addition to the prescribed medicine.”

“Never. The compound is not going to help her gout, and Papa would have a fit. Do you know the consequences of dispensing medicine without the proper authority?”

“It isn’t medicine. It’s just an herbal compound. But it will really perk her up. You’ll see.”

It was the perfect answer. April had been trying to think of a way to boost sales and get the word out about the compound, and the solution was right under her nose!

“The compound is for female problems,” Beulah argued in a quiet tone, glancing at Mrs. Faith again.

“Oh, come on, do the woman a good deed and give her some of the compound.”

When Mrs. Faith glowered toward them again, Beulah waved. “Be right with you, ma’am.”

“You do have some, don’t you? You didn’t pour it out?” April had brought her friend a sizable jugful a few weeks ago, thinking she might use it.

“I have it,” Beulah snapped. “I intended to throw it away, but Papa’s always around when I think of it.”

“Then do it.” April took her arm, urging her toward the back room. Mrs. Faith looked up again, glowering.

April and Beulah waved, grinning.

“I can’t tamper with Papa’s prescriptions,” Beulah whispered.

April made sure she kept smiling as she led her friend to the back room. “What tampering? There’s nothing in the compound to hurt her. I want to see if it really does what Lydia says it will.”

“I can’t.”

“Come on, come on, please. I need to know how good this tonic really is.”

It would make her decision to help Lydia Pinkham in her endeavor to improve women’s health so much easier if she knew for certain the compound worked. Not to mention make her feel less guilty about keeping her activities from Grandpa.

“Then take it yourself.”

“I don’t have any problems—except the wicked monthlies.”

“Mrs. Faith doesn’t even have the wicked monthlies. She’s got the gout!”

“And female problems, I bet. She has to. She’s old as dirt. At least offer her some, and see if she agrees to take it.”

Dragging a chair to the shelf, Beulah climbed up on it, balancing her bulk as she reached for a gallon jug well hidden behind a row of bottles. “If Papa ever gets wind of this he’ll take a belt to me.”

“Just tell him the truth. In addition to filling Mrs. Faith’s prescription, you suggested a mild tonic that one of your customers makes and uses herself.” April helped lower the gallon jug. “That isn’t a lie.”

“Well…we do sell and ship a lot of nettle tea to Mrs. Pinkham.”

Reaching for a funnel, Beulah poured some of the compound into a small brown medicine bottle. “See what you’re making me do?”

“You’ll be glad you did it when you see how perky Mrs. Faith becomes.”

When the bottle was full, Beulah stuck a cork in it and hurriedly shoved the jug of compound back on the shelf.

The two young women emerged from the back room, smiling. “I’ll fill your prescription now, Mrs. Faith.”

April browsed the small pharmacy, keeping an eye on her friend as she attended her duties.

“Here you are, Mrs. Faith,” Beulah said a few moments later, as she came down the steps carrying the medicine.

“Humph. High time,” Mrs. Faith grumbled. She dug in her purse for a coin. “How much, Porky?”

“Twenty-five cents.”

“Twenty-five cents! Where’s your gun? Does that young whippersnapper doctor think I’m made out of money?”

“Papa’s working hard to get the prices down.”

“Does he believe money grows on trees?”

“I don’t think so.”

Handing her the coins, Mrs. Faith turned to leave.

Shooting a warning look, April motioned to the bottle of compound Beulah was still holding. Her friend’s face screwed into a stubborn mask.

April held her gaze, daring her to back down.

“Oh, Mrs. Faith?”

The old woman paused in the doorway. “What is it?”

Clearing her throat, Beulah grinned. “Would you like to try some tonic?”

She frowned. “Some what?”

“Some tonic. It will give you get up and go.”

The old woman glared indignantly. “Are you saying I don’t have get up and go?”

“No, of course not. You’re in fine shape…for your age…”

Mrs. Faith’s frown turned menacing.

April quickly stepped in. “Oh, you mean that wonderful tonic everyone is talking about? Do you have some?”

Beulah nodded halfheartedly. April could see she wasn’t in the spirit of the sale.

“Well, I’d love to try some. Wouldn’t you, Mrs. Faith?”

“Don’t need it.” She started out the door again.

“Wait!” April hurried over to take the bottle out of Beulah’s grasp. Handing it to Mrs. Faith, she smiled. “Just take a couple of spoonfuls a day for the next week and see if you can tell any difference in how you feel.”

“I feel fine.”

“I know, but you’ll feel even better.” April confidently tucked the bottle into the small basket the woman habitually carried on her left arm.

Mrs. Faith studied the bottle. “Don’t think I’m going to pay for it.”

“Certainly not—you wouldn’t think of charging her for it, would you, Beulah?”

Shaking her head, Beulah busied herself dusting the foot powders.

“Well, guess it can’t hurt.” The old woman eyed the two girls sternly. “Porky Ludwig, does your papa know you lollygag around, whispering and giggling, when he’s not here?”

“Yes, ma’am, he does, and he’s warned me about it,” Beulah assured her. April held the front door open as the woman hobbled out.

When the door closed, Beulah flew into her. “I hope you know what you’re doing, April Truitt!”

April laughed. “She’ll be swinging from the rafters this time next week.”

Returning to her dusting, Beulah fretted. “Dr. Fuller will tell Papa if he finds out I gave her Lydia Pinkham’s compound.

“He won’t know it’s Lydia’s compound.”

“Dr. Fuller caters to Mrs. Faith, you know. Tells her she’s beautiful. She laps it up—but then, most of the unmarried women in town and half the married women suddenly have a ‘problem’ now. Have you noticed?”

“That he’s single?”

“That he’s handsome, silly.”

“I’ve noticed.” April brushed an imaginary speck of dust off the counter.

“Now, there’s a man I’d like to kidnap.”

“Well, he is nice-looking, but he isn’t my type.”

“Meaning he doesn’t agree with your opinion of Mrs. Pinkham’s compound?”

“You should have seen him at the rally the other day. I don’t know why he was there. Standing there in the midst of all those women, arms crossed, looking as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Spoke right up about how females should trust doctors. Nearly started a riot. He saw me, and if looks could kill, I’d be lying in Grandpa’s front parlor right now.”

“Golly.” Beulah’s eyes widened. “Does he know who you are?”

“No. He visits on the porch with Grandpa occasionally, but it’s dark and I keep well-hidden. He hasn’t seen me, I’m almost certain, or he would have told Grandpa about the compound. He’s a snitch.”

“How do you know?”

April shrugged. “He’s too good-looking to be honorable.”

“Well, if the compound’s everything Mrs. Pinkham claims it is, the good doctor would be out of business in a week.”

April snorted. “I don’t think he’s threatened either by the compound or by me.”

Beulah paused, her dust cloth suspended in midair. “You didn’t make a scene.”

“No…well, sort of. I fell over my table of elixir.”

“Accidentally?”

“No, on purpose. The crowd was out of control, coming at me. I backed up, fell over the table, cracked my head, then pretended to be unconscious.”

“And it worked?”

She blushed, recalling how Gray Fuller had seen right through her little ruse. Undoubtedly he had had a good laugh at her expense.

“You should have seen me. It was humiliating. The table collapsed, making a horrendous scene. I would’ve been smarter to let the crowd trample me.”

Beulah laughed. “And Dr. Fuller saw you?”

“Saw me? He rushed over to help. Naturally, I pretended to faint, but he knew what I was doing.”

Her friend’s hand flew to her mouth. “He knew?”

“Without a doubt, but he went along with me. Actually, he was rather charming about the whole thing.”

April knew his kind. All charm, certain his diploma gave him all kinds of rights—including meddling, if he could.

“I don’t know, April. Eventually he’ll know who you are. Maybe you should go to him and explain about your grandpa’s heart, and why you don’t want him to know you’re working with Lydia.”

“No. It’s none of Dr. Fuller’s business.”

“After your mother’s unfortunate death, your grandpa might understand why you’re working to help save other women from the same fate,” Beulah mused.

“Grandpa refuses to talk about Mama.”

The loss of his only daughter during a routine hysterectomy seven years earlier had traumatized him. Riley had never fully recovered. When Delane’s name was mentioned, he refused to discuss her.

“Any man who takes in a fourteen-year-old girl to raise—a pigheaded fourteen-year-old, I might add—can’t be as close-minded as you paint him to be.”

Sighing, April went to look out the pharmacy window. “I saw Mama die. And she didn’t need to. If that doctor had known more, if he’d had something like Lydia’s vegetable compound to at least try before surgery, my mother might still be alive. That’s why I do what I do—not to torment Grandpa, but in the hope that someone else won’t lose their mother or daughter to needless medical procedures.”

“Then why wouldn’t your grandpa encourage you to sell a product intended to help women?”

“He thinks the compound is nonsense, and it wouldn’t help anyone.”

“He told you this?”

“He doesn’t have to. I’ve heard him talking. He thinks women are silly for taking it.”

“Still, I think you should tell Riley what you’re doing.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion. Just make sure you don’t let it slip when Grandpa comes in to buy sundries.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Beulah told her as April opened the door to leave.

“And you don’t have to worry about me.”

That was the nice thing about best friends; they didn’t have to worry about each other.

Chapter Four

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.”

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