Amethyst (8 page)

Mrs. Grant rubbed the leftovers into the backs of her own hands. “Have you ever thought of making this to sell?”

“Oh no. I just make enough for my patients. That little bit of extra caring helps them get better more quickly. I use the mint for men. They don’t take to smelling like a flower garden. It helps when someone is in bed so long they get bedsores.”

“I think you should make it to sell. I know many women who would purchase a lotion like this.” Mrs. Grant sniffed the back of her hand again. “Delightful.”

The next day Mrs. Grant was again sitting by the bed. “Would you like me to read to you?”

“Oh, would you? No one’s read to me since Ma did when I was a little girl. How she found time to read to us, I’ll never know. Mostly it was in the winter around the fire, when Pa was gone.” She didn’t add that her pa had frequented the saloon more often than was good for him, or for them either, for that matter. She thought back to her home, wondering if he was taking proper care of the livestock. You couldn’t be ailing when the animals needed to be fed.

“I’m reading from Hawthorne. Do you mind if I don’t go back and start at the beginning?” The older woman held up her book so Amethyst could see its cover.

“No, not at all.” But no matter how hard she tried to stay awake, she lasted for only a couple of pages.

The next day Amethyst was the one in the chair by the window, feeling the sun on her back, the draft on the floor around her ankles, and the joy of being strong enough to feed herself. She glanced up when the door opened and the doctor walked in.

“Good afternoon, Miss O’Shaunasy. It appears to me that you’ve been a fine patient.”

“Your wife is a fine nurse.”

“Yes, she is. Knows enough to be a doctor in her own right.” He listened to her heart and lungs and took both her hands in his. “Squeeze.”

She squeezed as hard as she could, but even she could tell it was rather a puny effort. “At least I can sit in a chair now. I never thought of sitting in a chair as taking effort. I’ve always been grateful for a moment or two to sit down.”

“Mind if I ask you some questions?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Were you feeling sick earlier that day?”

“No, I was fine. We left our train, had a meal at the station, and boarded our westbound train. All of a sudden I could feel some cramping in my belly, and then everything came up. Don’t know what I would have done without Mrs. Grant.”

“The conductor would most likely have put you off at the next stop.”

“Oh, my land. God certainly has taken good care of me. When do you think I’ll be able to continue my journey? I was supposed to be home again in time for Christmas.”

The doctor stroked his gray-shot beard between fingers and thumb. “Heard tell there are intermittent blizzards and heavy snows across the west. It’s already the nineteenth. Medora is only a day from here if there aren’t any problems. Winter isn’t a good time to cross the prairies.”

I tried to tell my father that, but walls are more biddable than he is when he gets a wild idea
. “I see. Well, I just need to find my nephew and get back on the return train.” Considering how difficult this trip had been so far, anything would be easier.

Three days later, still needing frequent rests, she and Mrs. Grant stood at the door waiting for the buggy to arrive. “Mrs. Sampson, I don’t have much, but I will send you money as soon as I am able. You need to tell me how much I owe.”

“Why, don’t you worry, dearie, the bill has been paid.” Mrs. Sampson patted her hand and handed her a paper box. “Here are some sandwiches and cookies to tide you over.”

“But I…” Amethyst turned to look at Mrs. Grant.

“Never you mind. It’s my money, and I can spend it the way I want. I have no one but God himself to hold me accountable, and that’s the way I like it.” She turned to Mrs. Sampson. “I’d like you to consider selling your lotion. We could take that receipt and turn it into a thriving business. My husband always said I had a nose for new things and the good sense to invest wisely. I’d be honored to be your partner in this endeavor.”

“Why, I…I can’t believe this.”

“You think on it, and I’ll write to you. Perhaps I’ll stop by when I’m heading back east.”

Amethyst almost collapsed when they found their seats on the train. “I’m weak as a kitten. Hard to believe.”

“You could have died, you were that sick.” Mrs. Grant settled her bags underneath the seat and leaned back with a sigh. “Now, that was most certainly an interesting interlude.” She dug in her reticule and pulled out the paper the doctor’s wife had given her. “Such simple ingredients, but that is often the case. The most simple are the most effective.” She bent over and opened her carpetbag to pull out a medicine bottle with a cork stopper. “I would use little pots. Make a pretty label. Alvia’s Lotion.”

“How could she make enough to sell in stores?”

“We’d start small. I’m sure I can find some company to manufacture the product in Chicago when we’re ready for that.” She uncorked the stopper and sniffed, then with a smile stoppered it again and put it back in her bag. “We could probably make a whole line of ladies’ sundries. Have you heard of the lead poisoning that happens when women use that awful white powder on their hair and faces?”

Amethyst didn’t mention that where she came from no one put anything on their faces except for some melted fat on chapped lips and hands in the winter. “No, I’d not heard of that.”

“I read about it in the newspaper. What women will do to be beautiful.” She shuddered. “I’m glad I never did more than pinch my cheeks and bite my lips to make them pink. Mr. Grant always said he didn’t have much patience for such folderol. ‘Women are more beautiful as God made them,’ he used to say.”

“He sounds like a wise man.”

“A prudent one. Secretly I wondered if he just didn’t want me spending his hard-earned money on such things.” Her chuckle made the feather on her hat bob.

When they left Dickinson for the final leg of their journey, Mrs. Grant leaned forward and took Amethyst’s hands. “I wish I could convince you to come west with me. I’d like my son to meet you, and I will so miss your company.”

“Some company I’ve been, getting sick like that and now falling asleep at the drop of a hat. I would like to pay you back some for all I’ve cost you.”

“You keep your money. You might need it worse than I do before you get home. And besides, I might want you to come help with this new company we’ll be forming. Three heads are better than two.”

“You really think Mrs. Sampson will go along with your ideas?”

“I pray so. I need to convince her she could use the money to help her patients. Such a dear lady.” Mrs. Grant handed Amethyst her calling card. “I’ve written my Chicago address on the back, but I most likely will get a letter off to you that will be at your home before you are.”

“No, no. Please wait. My pa opens all the mail, and—”

“I see. Well, I wish I were going to be in Chicago when you go through there again. You and your nephew could come visit me for a few days.” She squeezed Amethyst’s hands and let them go, sitting perfectly straight on the edge of her seat. “You promise to write to me?”

“Yes, I promise.” The thought of getting off in a strange town, knowing no one and not even where she was going, made Amethyst feel like throwing up again.

When she stood on the platform watching the train chug on west, she blew out the breath she must have been holding. Her white breath reminded her how cold it was. Although there was no snow falling, the clouds above her looked pregnant.
Lord, what do I do now?

CHAPTER SIX

Amethyst stared down the track one more time. Loneliness echoed like the wind that tugged at her skirts.

“Ma’am, you better get on in here out of that cold.” The voice came from behind her.

Amethyst turned with a nod. She picked up her carpetbags and headed for the station door being held open by the man who had called her. His green eyeshade proclaimed him the telegraph operator as well as the stationmaster.

“Thank you.” She stamped the snow off her feet on the mat and glanced around the very utilitarian room, the main focus right now being the cast-iron stove with a kettle boiling on top. The steam caused her stomach to rumble in anticipation. Right now, beef soup smelled more like perfume to her than simple food. Ever since she’d started on the road to recovery, she’d felt hungry every time she turned around. “My, that smells good.”

“Where you going?” The man inserted another chunk of wood in the door with red glowing glass, closed the door, and gave the kettle a stir. He turned to look at her, waiting for an answer.

“Here. Medora, I mean. I’m searching for my nephew.”

“Plenty of folks lookin’ for someone come through here. As if we know where all those who want to start new lives either went or live.” He shook his head. “Best tell me about him.”

“His name is Joel O’Shaunasy. He’s eight years old and came west with a man named Jacob Chandler. I have information that they live near here somewhere.” Her stomach rumbled loud enough for him to hear.

“How long since you ate? You’re welcome to some soup here. It’s nothing fancy but it’s filling.” He indicated the steaming kettle.