Bluebonnet Belle (6 page)

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.”