Bluebonnet Belle (11 page)

“A spittoon?”

“Jackson Myers initiated it, and I nicely took it back inside. I don't think the doctor has any idea what a vase like that costs. I found a place for it in his office, and in the course of the conversation he told me that the lady's name is Miss Francesca DuBois from Dallas. And while I was there, she brought in a bunch of paintings and plants. You can hardly get a live body in that waiting room now.”

Removing her apron, her friend hung it on a hook. “Wouldn't you love to know what she's done to his personal quarters?”

“No.”

“You would, too.”

“I would not, Beulah. Stop being so nosy.”

“She went back to Dallas this afternoon.”

“Who did?”

“Miss DuBois.”

“How do you know that?”

“Thought you weren't interested.”

“I'm not. Just idle curiosity.”

“Mmm-hmm. You know what curiosity did.”

“Killed the cat. How do you know Francesca left today?”

“I saw her. She rode out of town in her fine black buggy, preening like a peacock. Want to know what she did to his bedroom?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You do, too,” Beulah insisted.

“Do not.”

“Liar.”

“All right.” April surrendered. “What is the new decor?”

“No. You're not interested, and far be it from me to bore you with the details. Ready to go?”

“Beulah!”

She laughed. “Well, since you've twisted my arm. The rumor is, and it's from a very reliable source, that the doctor's fine lady has redone his quarters in a shocking shade of lavender! Can you imagine? Little frilly curtains at the windows. The sofa is lavender with lacy pillow covers. And I understand his collection of fine furniture now includes a dressing table complete with silver brushes and a ‘charming' little chair with a lavender seat cushion. Can you just imagine Gray Fuller perched on that tiny chair?”

They broke out in giggles, and April felt foolish. They were acting like schoolgirls. She cringed when she thought about what Beulah would say if she knew how she'd reacted to a mere touch by the doctor. Of course, she wouldn't admit to acting like an adolescent, and give Beulah more fuel for her fire.

“And,” her friend continued, “he has a fine table with a complete new set of bone china dishes. Plus, I'm told, with silver plate flatware. There's also a magnificent china hutch, the bottom of which now holds the finest linens money can buy. Irish linen, it's suggested.”

“You can't be serious. I've noticed the wagons coming into town…Why, in order to accomplish so much in so little time, she would have had this planned all along.”

“True. The woman is a shark.”

“Beulah, that's judgmental.”

“All right, a land predator, then. It's shameless the way the doctor is letting her take over.”

“Hmm…yes, shameless, but maybe he can't stop her.” April was sure Henry would never permit such a thing, and if Gray Fuller had any gumption about him, he wouldn't, either. The scandalous talk starting to pop up would hurt his business and his personal reputation. Last Sunday, the reverend had looked straight at him when he'd preached on sin.

“I suspect Dr. Fuller doesn't mind.”

“Why, Miss Beulah! How you do go on,” April drawled dramatically, laughing while ignoring a sudden, irrational spurt of jealousy.

“She is a beautiful woman,” Beulah admitted. “Beautiful, rich, sure of herself.”

“Yes,” April concurred, sobering. “Perfect.”

She sighed.

T
he frightful heat that imprisoned the town slowly began to dissipate. Fall brought more bearable temperatures to Dignity. But the promise of rain was yet to be fulfilled; a good soaking would wash everything clean and fresh by morning.

A round harvest moon bathed the woodshed in light as Datha paced back and forth, worrying that Jacel couldn't get away to meet her, and praying he wouldn't come about the time Flora Lee woke from her evening nap and came looking for her.

Peeking between the cracks in the door, she nervously chewed her fingernail as she looked out. Her grandmother would tan her hide if she knew she was meeting Jacel almost every night. At the mere mention of his name Flora Lee flew into a tirade, preaching about “uppity folk” and how they ought to have enough sense to know their place.

Jacel wasn't uppity. He had big dreams—dreams of being a lawyer someday and helping people who needed him. Why was that so hard for Flora Lee to understand and respect?

It wasn't as if Jacel hadn't already done more than most men his age, black
or
white. He'd read every book in town, and ordered books from Boston whenever he had enough money.

Mr. Ogden loaned him books from his own library and even promised to get Jacel into law school and pay his tuition when he was accepted. But that hadn't convinced Flora Lee that Jacel wasn't uppity.

Datha had learned to ignore it when Flora Lee's aches and pains made her unreasonable, but sometimes it made her downright mad that her own grandmother disapproved so much of the man she loved.

“Uppity, he is,” Flora Lee said far too often. “And ain't no good gonna come of it. He'll hurt you, girl. Hurt you powerful bad with his fancy ideas.”

Datha was tired of hearing her complain about Jacel and his dreams. He had a right to dream; what eighteen-year-old didn't?

It wasn't much comfort to know Jacel's folks weren't happy about the situation, either. While Flora Lee had her strong opinions about him, the idea that Jacel's parents might have bad thoughts about Datha didn't sit well with her.

Truth was, the Evanses thought Flora Lee had lived with rich white folks too long.

“Nothin' good will come of you two seein' one another,” Flora Lee said again and again. “Mark my words, girl, that boy's gonna get you in trouble someday.”

Well, Datha loved Jacel, and he'd die before he saw her hurt. Why, she loved him more than life itself, and she'd do anything to see that he got a chance to go to law school. Even if it meant they couldn't think about marrying for years.

A rap on the shed door pulled her from her litany of worry, and she hurried to open it. “Hi, baby,” she whispered.

“Datha, honey,” Jacel murmured. “I've waited all day to see you.”

“I missed you, too.” She nestled in his strong arms. “I wish we didn't have to slip around like this.”

Jacel chuckled. “We're like Romeo and Juliet. If it were just you and me, we'd be fine.”

Her fingers traced his features lovingly. “Why can't our families leave us be? My grandmother's forgotten what it's like to be young and in love.”

“No, she's not forgotten,” Jacel said, a smile in his voice. “She remembers, all right, and that's why she's worried. But she's got no reason to be afraid. I'd never hurt you, Datha. I know we're young, but there won't ever be anyone else for me. I'm going to take good care of you, always.”

It was all right to let him love her—God would understand. Once they were married no one would ever separate them. God loved them. He would forgive them….

 

Riley lingered at the supper table as April finished putting away the remains. They'd decided to eat in the kitchen tonight. For the past week, Datha had cooked fresh vegetables and roast chicken for their evening meal. Grandpa complained that the chicken wasn't fried and the creamed gravy was missing, but April noticed the bland fare hadn't affected his appetite. He ate like a harvest hand.

“I'm glad to see you're adjusting without a lot of fuss,” April said.

“My belly thinks my throat's been cut, but I guess I'll live.” Striking a match, Riley lit his pipe. “I'm surprised at you, though. You're not putting up a fuss over the doctor's orders. Why not?”

“I don't disagree that it's a sounder way of eating. It doesn't take a doctor to know all that grease and sugar isn't good for you.” Dipping a skillet in hot water, she added, “Even a doctor can occasionally come up with sound advice.”

Chuckling, Riley pushed back from the table. “What have you done all day?”

“Oh, visited with Beulah. And I stopped by to chat briefly with Mrs. Pinkham—”

“April…!”

“I only visited, Grandpa. I haven't sold an ounce of the compound. I promise.” She quickly changed subjects. “Beulah says hi.”

Drawing on his pipe, he grunted. “Don't know why your friend doesn't insist everyone use her real name.”

“Everybody's called her Porky so long, she thinks that
is
her real name.”

“She'll never get a husband if she doesn't put a stop to it. What man wants a woman called Porky?”

“A smart one. Someday the right man for her will come, and he won't care about her dress size. He'll see how her eyes shine like black agates, and he'll notice the way she lights up like a Christmas tree when she laughs, and makes you feel good all over.”

“Humph. How many men want a Christmas tree for a wife?”

“Well, obviously not many,” April conceded, thinking of her friend's noticeable lack of male companionship. The last man who'd courted Beulah was married now and had two children.

A smile curved April's lips when she thought about her friend's crush on Dr. Fuller. April purposely hadn't teased her about it. Not much, anyway, because she hoped the infatuation would pass. And she didn't want to hurt her feelings. Gray Fuller had his pick of every single woman in Dignity, not to mention Francesca DuBois.

To Gray's credit, he did nothing to encourage Beulah's affections, or any of the other women's. But the last thing April wanted was for her friend to be hurt. She was good as gold. There wasn't another woman in Dignity as caring or as giving as Beulah Ludwig, but she wouldn't stand a chance against Dr. Fuller's wealthy French lady.

Grandpa glanced around the empty kitchen. “Where'd Datha disappear to?”

“She asked to be excused early tonight. I told her I'd clean up.”

Smoke formed a wreath around his head as Riley chuckled. “She off with Jacel again?”

Storing a tin of flour in the pantry, April answered over her shoulder, “I didn't ask.”

When the kitchen work was finished, April retired to the back porch, taking her book with her.

Lying back in her chair, she breathed deeply of the evening air. Fall was her favorite time of year. Yet loneliness filled her when she thought about Henry. She missed him. But his work was important, as was hers, though she couldn't be as open about it as he could.

Her visit this afternoon with Mrs. Pinkham had been inspiring. April felt useful and productive in Lydia's company. Advancing the cause of something she believed in so completely was satisfying. It was so very gratifying to know she was serving God by helping others.
Keep me humble, Father, the better to serve You
. She hesitated.
And if it's not too much trouble, show that stubborn doctor that he's wrong about Lydia Pinkham and her compound.

Resting her head against the back of the chair, April thought about the new flyers they'd designed this afternoon on bright blue paper printed in black ink.

Well, maybe not the “greatest remedy in the world,” April silently admitted, but it did help women in a variety of ways.

Opening her eyes, she stared at the darkening sky, thinking about how Dr. Fuller had prescribed a proper diet and exercise for Grandpa.

She wondered if the doctor recognized the similarity between his advice and her convictions. The two of them appeared to agree on some things, at least.

But despite Lydia's claims that her compound produced amazing results, sales were not good. The Pinkhams were expanding the advertising campaign. In order to create a consumer demand and to convince Texas druggists to carry the compound, Dan, Will and Henry would be distributing hundreds of thousands of pamphlets to potential customers as well as pharmacists.

Newspaper ads were effective, and many daily journals, hungry for advertisers, accepted merchandise in payment for advertising space. More than one such firm had a good supply of Lydia's compound lying around the office. The newspaper publishers acted as a sales force. They took the product and turned it over to local wholesalers and druggists, who accepted it because they could count on a retail demand stimulated by the newspaper ads. With Henry's marketing ability, the next few months should prove more successful, April mused.

Voices from the side porch interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she sat up as Gray Fuller's voice drifted to her. He and Grandpa were playing checkers.

Opening her book, she took out the letter she'd received from Henry late this afternoon. Spreading it on her lap, she reread the untidy script. Henry, charming rake that he was, had handwriting that would do credit to a physician.

Love
. Closing her eyes, April rested her head on the back of the chair. What, she wondered, did Henry want to discuss with her when he returned? Matrimony, perhaps? She caressed the missive as if touching it would bring her closer to him.

“Letter from an admirer?”

She jumped, her eyes flying open in surprise. “Oh! I didn't—” She sat up in concern. “Is something wrong?”

Gray Fuller stood in the doorway. “Wrong?”

He had taken her completely by surprise. She'd thought he was on the side porch with Riley. “With Grandpa?”

“No, he's fine.” The doctor's gaze moved questioningly to an adjoining chair. “Mind if I sit a moment?”

Why would he want to sit with me?
she wondered, but politely nodded her consent.

“Riley says you're starving him to death. Vegetables, fruit, baked chicken. Says he'd really like a plate of biscuits and gravy.”

She shrugged, relaxing. “He complains too much. I assure you, he still has a healthy appetite.”

“Good. Has he been walking?”

“No, I'm not a miracle worker.”

Gray glanced at the letter in her lap. “Mail?”

Refolding it, she put it back in her pocket. “News from a friend.”

Dr. Fuller's presence unnerved her. She had been deep in thought about Henry, but since Gray had sat down she couldn't even picture Henry's face.

“Someone special?”

He had the hands of a doctor, long fingers, nails neatly trimmed. Manly looking hands. She couldn't explain the effect he had on her. She didn't like him, of course. The man was stubborn, hardheaded, ignorant of women's complaints, just like all doctors, but…there was something about him. Not even Henry affected her the way Gray Fuller did.

“Why do you ask?”

“The way your hand lingered on it.”

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. “Well, he is…rather special.”

“Someone from here?”

“Yes.”

“Serious?”

“I don't think that's any of your business.”

“It is, if it affects my patient.”

April frowned. “Your patient? Grandpa? Why would my relationships affect him?”

“Because he worries about you.”

She studied the doctor's face a long moment. “He's discussed something with you? Something about me?”

Leaning back in the chair, Gray studied the sky. She thought he looked tired tonight, as if he'd worked long hours. “He was very upset when he learned you were selling the tonic.”

“That's your fault.”