burst appendix. Why, Iâve buried a half dozen women just this yearââ
âNot from taking the compound!â April interrupted. âAnd if Ginny Grimes, Mary Wazinski and Bertha Dickens hadnât listened to some overzealous doctor, but tried to find other ways to treat their problems, they just might be alive today!â
âHogwash! Not one of those women died from a doctorâs neglect!â Rileyâs face was as red as the bowl of beets he was holding. âYoung lady, you are to resign from the Pinkham âcircusâ first thing tomorrow morning! Do you hear me?â
âGrandpaââ
âTomorrow morning, April Delane!â 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.
âApril Delane Truitt! You come back here, young lady! Iâm not through talking to you!â
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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 Pinkhamâs Vegetable Compound. Why, Henry had told her that a Connecticut preacher was actually murdered by his wife after sheâd suffered for sixteen years with female complaints. That could have been averted if the poor woman had only had the elixir!
Mrs. Pinkham wasnât trying to lift Eveâs curse, she was only trying to ease a few miseries. April believed with all her heart that God wouldnât object to those poor women getting help. Heâd given the formula to Mrs. Pinkham, April was sure of it. And she, herself, had felt His calling. She wouldnât be going behind Grandpaâs back if she didnât 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. Sheâd gotten to the point where she couldnât appear in public for fear an âaccidentâ would leave her red-faced with shame. In desperation, sheâd 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 Delaneâs death in a train derailment as he was returning from New York. âDignity doesnât have anything good enough for my wife and daughter,â heâd say, so off heâd go every December in search of the perfect gifts.
That December, he never came back.
April was obsessed by the thought that Mrs. Pinkhamâs compound might, just might, have saved her motherâs life.
That hope was what fired her crusade.
If she could spare one woman her motherâs 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 hadnât come by her trade easily. Sheâd been one of twelve children, her father a cordwainer and farmer. Twice married, heâd been a Quaker, but left the Friends because of a conflict over the slavery issue.
Lydia had
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