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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