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  If he could convince people to trust well-schooled physicians, then he could save lives. That wasn’t always possible, but he was dedicated to eliminating needless death.

  Gray suspected that Mrs. Pinkham’s effort to sell her medicine was not born of a need to help the sick. The Pinkhams were victims of the financial panic of September 1873. After the banking house of Jay Cooke failed, credit had frozen, factories shut down, businesses folded and wage workers had faced a winter of starvation. Isaac Pinkham, Lydia’s husband, was one of the thousands who’d seen their speculative ventures fold. When the banking industry fell on hard times, Cooke’s had foreclosed and threatened to arrest those unable to pay their overdue bills.

  Isaac Pinkham had collapsed under the threat of losing everything he’d spent his life accumulating. When the bank’s attorney, who turned out to be a distant relative of the Pinkhams, arrived to serve notice of foreclosure, the family had persuaded him to spare Isaac the embarrassment of arrest and jail because of his illness.

  Isaac had not improved; Dan, one of the sons, had lost his grocery store and went into bankruptcy; son Will had given up his plans to attend Harvard and was working as a wool-puller.

  Charlie, another Pinkham son, was working as a conductor on the horse cars, along with helping the family endeavor. Daughter Aroline, who had just graduated from high school, helped support the family by teaching.

  The Pinkhams had given up their grand house in Glenmere and moved to a smaller home on Western Avenue in Lynn, and recently, with what little resources they possessed, begun their vegetable compound effort. Marketing the elixir was now a family venture. Everyone contributed to the enterprise. Dan and Will provided the brains and sinew. Lydia made the medicine. Charles and Aroline turned over their wages to help pay for herbs. And together, Will and Lydia had worked up advertising copy and put out relevant pamphlets. Even Isaac contributed. Sitting in his rocker, he folded and bundled the pamphlets for Dan to hand out.

  Gray was told that at first Lydia had made the compound for friends. Before long women were coming from far away to purchase it. Now the family had expanded the manufacture of the elixir, and Gray was worried. Pinkham’s business was growing. More and more women were forsaking a visit to the doctor in favor of self-medicating with the Pinkham compound.

  The newspapers were full of ads for remedies like Wright’s Indian Vegetable Pills, Oman’s Boneset Pills, Vegetine and Hale’s Honey of Horehound and Tar.

  Natural remedies had gained wide popularity, and Gray wasn’t sure how the growing tide could be stemmed.

  Today, looking around at the crowd, he felt his worries were well founded.

  “Just try the compound for thirty days—”

  “Excuse me,” Gray called out above the growing din, interrupting Mrs. Pinkham’s sales pitch. “Ladies…”

  The sound level lessened enough for him to be heard.

  “If you believe in potions, you’re placing your health in untrained hands! Your faith is better placed in educated physicians—”

  He’s just like all the others, April thought, irritated.

  A voice from the back interrupted. “My doctor says I have to ‘put up with pain’ because it’s ‘woman’s lot,’” she parroted. “Is that fair? Aren’t we deserving of more concern?”

  That’s what Mama should have done, April thought. Put up with the heavy bleeding until she could find something like Lydia’s tonic. The memory of her mother’s surgery and ensuing death fed April’s anger at the situation in which many women found themselves.

  “Of course you are,” Gray stated. “But you must be patient! We’re looking for remedies….”

  “He’s as blind as all the others,” April murmured, her hands balling into tight fists. This arrogant man was going to be a thorn in her side, she could see that.

  “My doctor prefers to talk to my husband, as if I didn’t have enough sense to know what he’s speaking about!”

  “And it was one of those ‘educated physicians’ who let my mother die,” April blurted.

  When Gray’s gaze swung to her, she wished she’d kept her temper in better control. Ordinarily she avoided drawing attention to herself, but today she couldn’t help it. He was a rude, boorish…man! She met his gaze, lifting her chin in defiance.

  “I say we take responsibility for our own bodies,” a tall, heavyset woman declared. “I’m buying two bottles right now.”

  The crowd shifted restlessly, and April watched the onslaught coming toward her with growing alarm. She braced herself, her gaze darting about for a quick escape if things got out of hand. Boxes of compound were stacked to her right, two bramble bushes grew to her left. Mentally groaning, she feverishly searched for an out. She’d have to make a break for the middle, and run straight at…him.

  She was sure Gray Fuller would recognize her now. Grandpa might look like a genial old Santa Claus without the beard, but when he was riled he didn’t have that jolly old person’s mild temperament.

  Far from it. The rotund octogenarian had a razor-sharp wit and a tongue to match.

  April was jolted back to the present as the crowd bore down on her, attempting to squeeze between the table holding the vegetable compound and boxes of the product.

  Aware that she wasn’t going to be able to get out of their way quickly enough, she braced herself for the attack.

  A robust matron hit her sideways, knocking her into the heavily laden table. Stumbling, her hand flailing for support, April braced again as she was slammed from the other side. When yet another hard bump came from the rear, she fell against the table, knocking bottles of compound over in a domino effect.

  Reaching out, she tried to save the batch of tonic from ruin, but the table legs collapsed, and it and the bottles tumbled to the ground with a thunderous crash of splitting boards and breaking glass.

  The women kept coming, undaunted.

  April was pushed forward onto the splintered table and broken bottles whose sticky contents were draining onto the earth below. She hit the ground with a thump.

  Attempting to get up, she was knocked aside, whacking her head on a piece of wood. Pain shot through her temple and everything went blurry as she fell back, clasping her palm to her eye.

  Silence fell over the crowd as all heads turned to her wilted figure.

  “Oh, my!” a shrill voice exclaimed. “She’s fainted!”

  April hadn’t, but she certainly wished she had. Not only had she humiliated herself, she was going to have a whale of a headache.

  Moaning, she stirred ever so slightly at the feel of a cool hand on her cheek. She kept her eyes tightly closed, wishing everyone would leave her alone so she could just crawl away, unnoticed.

  “Is she injured?”

  “Oh, my, my.” A hand gently fanned her face. “Someone bring me a dipper of water!”

  “Stand back!” another woman cried. “This man says he’s a doctor!”

  April froze when she heard his voice. Drat. Now she’d really done it. Of course Dr. Fuller would offer his services!

  “Someone get this table out of the way.” Gray Fuller waded through the crowd, issuing orders. “One of you ladies loosen her collar. Please, the rest of you stand back and give her some air.”

  April felt the pressure of four manly fingers rest against her neck for a brief moment. A pleasant woodsy scent drifted down to her, and she wondered why he smelled so good when other men smelled like…like…well, men.

  Embarrassed, she groaned in frustration at the situation she’d gotten herself into. Most of the women she knew would give their eyeteeth to draw the handsome doctor’s attention. She might feel the same if the circumstances were different. She’d hoped to be introduced to him at church, or a social function, not while lying on the ground surrounded by broken glass and brown, sticky goo.

  Pressing his head to her chest, he pretended to listen for a heartbeat as he whispered, “You’re going to have to groan louder. They didn’t hear you.”

  Apr
il’s left eye flew open, then quickly closed. “Wh…what?”

  Lifting his head, he grinned.

  Cracking her eye open once more, April looked up into a pair of startling dark green eyes set off by lashes so thick any woman would envy them.

  His smile, focused directly on her, was decidedly wicked. The firm set of his jaw drew her. She had never seen that look on Henry’s face.

  She mentally cringed. If they were handing out awards for good looks, Dr. Fuller would take the prize. His practiced masculine gaze ran over her lightly. She shivered, even though the day was blazing hot.

  She felt a warm wave of breath in her ear as he repeated, “You’ll have to groan louder. They can’t hear you.”

  Embarrassed that he had seen through her ruse, she mumbled through closed lips, “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me.”

  Of course. Trust him. The first thing he was sure to do would be tell Grandpa that she was helping the controversial Lydia Pinkham sell her medicinal elixir. And when Riley heard that, along with what had happened here today, he’d have a fit of apoplexy.

  “Moan!” Fuller ordered quietly.

  Complying, April rendered a loud, mournful wail.

  “Stand back,” he demanded, rising to clear a path through the crowd. The women obediently stepped aside, murmuring approvingly among themselves about the man’s quick action.

  “Is she all right, Doctor?”

  “She appears to be coming around.”

  The women oohed and aahed, their eyes anxiously trained on the young woman lying on the ground like a rag doll.

  Assisting April to her feet, Gray led her to a nearby bench. She pretended to still be dazed, and if the truth were known, the good doctor did set her head spinning.

  Although uneasy at the sudden physical intimacy, she kept up her pretense, wavering convincingly for the women who watched with open concern.

  With the excitement over, the crowd began to break up. Most refused to leave without purchasing a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound.

  Henry Long rushed to April’s side, concern on his babyish features. “April, are you ill, darling?”

  Patting Henry’s hand consolingly, she assured him she wasn’t, only a bit shaken up.

  Lydia stepped over to ask if April had sustained any serious injuries. When told she hadn’t, she made her way back into the crowd, where Will and Dan were selling the compound as fast as they could dole it out.

  When the area finally cleared, Dr. Fuller attempted to conduct a brief examination. “You’ve got a bump.” He touched her forehead. “Should make a nice bruise.”

  “Wonderful,” she muttered, drawing a deep breath to clear her head. Something else to explain to Grandpa.

  “Are you experiencing any pain?”

  “No, and you’ve done quite enough, thank you.” April felt like a fool! Not only had she drawn undue attention to herself by speaking up like that, she’d created a scene that was sure to get back to Grandpa and all of Dignity before she did. Still, it wasn’t that unpleasant being administered to by Dr. Fuller. The feel of his gentle hand on her forehead lingered, and she reached to finger the spot.

  “Ouch!” It had felt much better when the doctor touched the bump.

  Gray’s brows lifted. “I’m trying to place you. Haven’t we met, Miss…”

  “I have a common-looking face,” she said, standing up hurriedly. He’d been at the house several times, but she’d managed to evade him. His very demeanor frightened her—and doctors plain scared her. Still, he might have spotted her lurking in the porch shadows….

  Regaining her bearings, she straightened her dress, smoothed her flyaway hair, remembered to thank him, and took off in the opposite direction at a hurried pace.

  “If you have any blurring of vision, be sure and see a doctor…miss?”

  She dismissed him with an absent wave. “I’m fine, really.”

  He would remember where he’d seen her, and tell Grandpa. She might as well brace herself for the explosion.

  Gray stared after her, watching the sway of her slender hips as she hurried along. He searched his mind, trying to recall meeting her. How could he possibly have encountered such a beautiful woman and not remember?

  One thing was certain: the incident today would not be forgotten. It would take some doing to forget this woman.

  If he ever saw her again, he’d remember.

  Chapter Two

  Francesca DuBois didn’t understand the word no.

  “Have you not missed me, chéri? It has been too long.” The ebony-haired beauty seated across the desk smiled provocatively.

  “It’s difficult for me to get away. I’m the only doctor in town. A lot of people need me.”

  “But, my darling, I need you, too.” She frowned. “Are you aware of how difficult it is to explain your continued absence to my friends?”

  “You knew when I took this practice I would be in Dallas less frequently.” He tossed a folder on his desk, annoyed that she was here. He’d made it clear that when the time was right—and if he changed his mind and decided to honor the engagement—he would send for her. True to form, Francesca had jumped the gun, and here she sat, looking as though she was here to stay.

  Her eyes roamed the small office. “Honestly, Gray. Why would you want to bury yourself in a backward town like Destiny?”

  “Dignity.”

  As usual, she ignored the correction. Had he noticed this irritating trait before?

  “Even more appalling. You had a glowing Dallas practice, more patients than you could handle. Now—” she swept a gloved hand at the Spartan quarters “—this.”

  At first she had argued about his decision, but when it became clear he was going to make the move, she’d stopped. Gray knew she thought the forced separation would strengthen their shaky relationship. But just the opposite had occurred.

  Gray had realized his calling. Dallas had its share of progressive doctors, and few people who needed, or wanted, them. The rural communities still depended on midwives and herbalists to serve their medical needs—people with no training, who gained what little knowledge they had through information passed down from a grandmother or an aunt.

  No, Gray wasn’t needed in Dallas. But he was needed in the countryside. Francesca couldn’t understand that; couldn’t or wouldn’t understand it. Her father wasn’t much better.

  Though he was indebted to Louis DuBois for financing his medical internship, he didn’t agree with the older doctor’s focus on medicine merely as a means to make money. Somewhere along the way, Louis had forgotten medicine was a service to humanity.

  When Gray announced his intentions to take over Joe McFarland’s practice in Dignity, Louis hadn’t argued with him. Instead, he’d figured it wouldn’t take long for Gray to admit his mistake and return to Dallas, where he would then be taken into one of DuBois’ three clinics as a full partner—a stance Francesca also embraced.

  Uncomfortable under the resulting pressure, Gray had broken their tenuous engagement. Only Francesca had ignored that fact. She’d refused to return the ring or to accept Gray’s declaration that the relationship was over. Now here she was in Dignity, sitting in his office and acting as though he should be thrilled to see her.

  Louis’ offer was tempting. Only a fool would refuse it. But Gray had dedicated his skill to treating the ill rather than catering to the privileged.

  Now that he had been in Dignity for a little over a month, his convictions were even stronger. He wanted to set down roots in the small town and develop a busy practice. Exactly how he was going to convince this woman that his life was here now, in Dignity—without her—he wasn’t sure.

  Admittedly she was a beauty, and entrenched in Dallas society. Would she be willing to give up the social whirl and move to Dignity? He doubted it.

  She extended an entreating hand. “Why won’t you listen to reason? Move back to Dallas. That is where you belong.”

  “I believe Dignity is
where God wants me to be.”

  “God?” She shook her head. “You always had a streak of religious idealism. I find it hard to believe God cares where you practice medicine.”

  Gray shrugged. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  She slapped a hand on his desk. “I do not understand why you feel you must live in this bumpkin town. What is there in Destiny?”

  “It’s Dignity. And it’s people. They need a doctor.”

  “There are sick people in Dallas, as well. People who pay for a doctor’s service with things other than chickens, produce from the garden and baked offerings from their kitchen.”

  “They give what they have. I find it sufficient.”

  Sighing, she sat back in the chair, drumming her fingers on the desktop. “Will you just listen? Give up this crazy idea and move back to Dallas. Papa will set you up in a practice with Jake Brockman, Lyle Lawyer and Frank Smith. We can be married in a month.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Gray pulled back the curtains to look out on the street. Dignity wasn’t Dallas, and that was what attracted him. He liked the town’s sleepy lifestyle. He liked its people: good, hardworking, God-fearing farmers, their children and wives, town merchants and neighboring families who came from miles around to seek his medical advice. Gray Fuller’s knowledge, not Brockman, Lawyer, Smith and Fuller’s advice, as Francesca would have it.

  The area itself drew him; the small community sat near the upper corner of the port. Rail service of both the Houston and Texas Central and Texas and Pacific lines made travel practical. Hired carriages were available to take one anywhere in the city quickly. But out here in Dignity he enjoyed windswept land, trees shaped by gulf breezes, rolling surf…No, he would not abandon his dream. Not for her, not for any woman.

  Families strolled around the common on a cool evening, or brought picnics on Sunday afternoons. Dignity was interesting, compelling, and more to his taste than the Dallas Francesca loved.