Lynn, Texas, was nearly nineteen hundred miles from Houston, so a letter offering her assistance was more sensible.
It was done. Now all she had to do was wait to hear from Mrs. Pinkham.
Crossing the street, April nodded good-morning to John and Harriet Clausen, who were crossing from the opposite side. John tipped his hat pleasantly.
“Morning, Miss Truitt.”
April smiled. “Mr. Clausen. Mrs. Clausen.”
“How’s your grandfather?”
“Very good, Mr. Clausen. Thank you.”
“Give him our best.”
“I will.”
Wagon teams lined the streets of Dignity, Texas, this hot August morning. Truckmen loaded the long wagons, which were balanced on one axle and pulled by two horses harnessed in tandem. The carters wore long, loose frocks of heavy cloth or leather that were gathered on a string at the neck and fell to the calf, an outfit that dated back to the 1600s.
The men unloaded hogsheads of molasses, flour and brown sugar from the wagons they’d driven from Houston. They would haul back produce grown by the local farmers and wooden goods carved by artisans.
In the distance, sunlight glinted off sparkling blue waters in the port. The mercantile and livery were doing a thriving business this morning. The mouthwatering smells of cinnamon and apples drifted from Menson’s Bakery. Many a Dignity housewife would abandon her hot kitchen and buy one of Addy Menson’s apple pies for supper.
Striding past Ludwig’s Pharmacy, April paused long enough to tap on the front window. Beulah Ludwig glanced up, smiling when she saw April peering in at her.
Grinning, April mouthed, “I did it.”
Shaking her head, her friend made a face that clearly expressed her disapproval.
Dismissing the look with a cheerful wave of hand, April walked on. She didn’t care what anyone thought. When April Truitt believed in something as important to womankind, as exciting as Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, then she had to support it.
Period.
She was committed.
Feeling surprisingly confident about the decision, she hurried toward Ogden’s Mortuary, sitting on the corner of Main and Fallow Streets. The funeral parlor had become her home when Delane Truitt, her mother, died seven years ago. Riley Ogden had taken his granddaughter in and raised her with stern, but loving, care.
At times he was prone to throw up his hands in despair, stating, “You, young lady, have too much of your father in you!”
But April didn’t take offense. She knew he thought the world of his son-in-law, Jack Truitt, and had grieved as hard as his daughter when Jack died in a train derailment at the age of thirty.
Someday April would marry Henry Long. Grandpa was finicky when it came to April’s suitors, however, which made telling him a difficult, and as yet unresolved problem.
Maybe Henry didn’t make her feel heady and breathless—not like that arrogant Gray Fuller did—but he was considered a good catch and they shared the same spiritual convictions—and the same philosophies about the Pinkham compound.
Right now, April planned to do what she could to improve women’s lot in modern society.
And the first step was to tell every woman she could about Mrs. Pinkham’s elixir.
Now. If only Mrs. Pinkham would accept her invitation and come to Texas and sell her marvelous product. April breathed a heartfelt prayer, then turned to go home.
Chapter One
Dignity, Texas
August 1876
“Ladies, ladies! Please! May I have your attention! There’s no need to shove! There’s plenty to go around for all!”
As Lydia Pinkham shouted to gain order, April stood behind a long table piled high with bottles of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, eager to sell to those brave enough to try the revolutionary new cure-all for female complaints.
“Sickness is as unnecessary as crime,” Lydia declared as the women pressed closer, trying to get a better look at the small brown bottles. “And if I may be so bold, no woman should be condemned to suffer when there is a curative readily available!”
Eyes widening, the women drew back as if a snake had bitten them.
“Ladies, ladies! Don’t be alarmed. The Pinkham Compound is a special formula of nature’s own elements,” Lydia explained.
Having accepted April’s offer, Mrs. Pinkham and her entourage had arrived late yesterday afternoon. The women of Dignity were about to be catapulted into the modern age. Lydia was clearly skilled in marketing. Offering her product directly to women seemed to be a shrewd sales tactic.
Ladies were hesitant to talk about such things, but the group who’d come today to hear Mrs. Pinkham’s theories on women’s health issues seemed eager to learn what the product would do. April was excited by the response and delighted to be part of the Pinkham team.
Lydia brewed her compound on a stove in the cellar of her home. The rows of brown bottles lined up on the table in front of April had labels detailing all the ailments the tonic could cure.
Lydia was usually too busy making the compound and writing advertising copy to conduct a rally herself, but she’d decided to take the campaign on the road to the Houston area.
April considered today a plus. Since Grandpa was unaware of her involvement, she was relieved when the small Pinkham entourage—Lydia; two of her sons, Dan and Will; Henry Trampas Long and April herself—had left Dignity to conduct sales in a small town closer to Houston.
So far, Dignity residents chose to overlook her involvement with Mrs. Pinkham in order to keep word of her activities from an aging Riley. The town mortician and cofounder was narrow-minded on the subject of Pinkham’s Compound.
“The perfect woman,” Lydia continued, “should experience no pain, but that individual would be rare indeed.”
Lydia Pinkham’s sad but compelling eyes met the gaze of every woman in attendance as she walked the length of the table, holding aloft a bottle of her vegetable compound high for all to see. Tall placards held by Dan and Will displayed copies of advertisements that had run in newspapers in Houston. The headlines decried the major complaints of women of the day. I Am Not Well Enough to Work, one stated, followed by the photo of a contrite woman standing before an angry husband who had no dinner waiting on the table and no clean shirts in the wardrobe. In the descriptive, Lydia E. Pinkham offered her “sympathy and aid,” but reminded readers that there was a ready remedy. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound would, the ad stated, “restore to vigorous health the lives of those previously sorely distressed.”
Another claim boldly stated Operations Avoided; another, I’m Simply All Worn-out, followed by the picture of a woman who had collapsed from fatigue.
Yet another touted Social Tragedy—Women
