Bluebonnet Belle. Lori Copeland

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      “No, on purpose. The crowd was out of control, coming at me. I backed up, fell over the table, cracked my head, then pretended to be unconscious.”

      “And it worked?”

      She blushed, recalling how Gray Fuller had seen right through her little ruse. Undoubtedly he had had a good laugh at her expense.

      “You should have seen me. It was humiliating. The table collapsed, making a horrendous scene. I would’ve been smarter to let the crowd trample me.”

      Beulah laughed. “And Dr. Fuller saw you?”

      “Saw me? He rushed over to help. Naturally, I pretended to faint, but he knew what I was doing.”

      Her friend’s hand flew to her mouth. “He knew?”

      “Without a doubt, but he went along with me. Actually, he was rather charming about the whole thing.”

      April knew his kind. All charm, certain his diploma gave him all kinds of rights—including meddling, if he could.

      “I don’t know, April. Eventually he’ll know who you are. Maybe you should go to him and explain about your grandpa’s heart, and why you don’t want him to know you’re working with Lydia.”

      “No. It’s none of Dr. Fuller’s business.”

      “After your mother’s unfortunate death, your grandpa might understand why you’re working to help save other women from the same fate,” Beulah mused.

      “Grandpa refuses to talk about Mama.”

      The loss of his only daughter during a routine hysterectomy seven years earlier had traumatized him. Riley had never fully recovered. When Delane’s name was mentioned, he refused to discuss her.

      “Any man who takes in a fourteen-year-old girl to raise—a pigheaded fourteen-year-old, I might add—can’t be as close-minded as you paint him to be.”

      Sighing, April went to look out the pharmacy window. “I saw Mama die. And she didn’t need to. If that doctor had known more, if he’d had something like Lydia’s vegetable compound to at least try before surgery, my mother might still be alive. That’s why I do what I do—not to torment Grandpa, but in the hope that someone else won’t lose their mother or daughter to needless medical procedures.”

      “Then why wouldn’t your grandpa encourage you to sell a product intended to help women?”

      “He thinks the compound is nonsense, and it wouldn’t help anyone.”

      “He told you this?”

      “He doesn’t have to. I’ve heard him talking. He thinks women are silly for taking it.”

      “Still, I think you should tell Riley what you’re doing.”

      “You’re entitled to your opinion. Just make sure you don’t let it slip when Grandpa comes in to buy sundries.”

      “Don’t worry about me,” Beulah told her as April opened the door to leave.

      “And you don’t have to worry about me.”

      That was the nice thing about best friends; they didn’t have to worry about each other.

      Chapter Four

      Datha Gower had kept house for Riley Ogden for over five years. Since she was eleven years old she’d polished floors, hung wash, cooked and cleaned.

      Ogden’s Mortuary was a towering, two-story landmark with a large, wraparound front porch that caught the sun in the morning, and a roomy back porch that offered a cool breeze in the afternoon.

      It took a powerful lot of work to keep it all clean.

      A screened-in porch on the north side of the house allowed Mr. Ogden privacy after a long, trying day. He was known to sit for hours, drawing on his meerschaum pipe while watching the foot traffic that passed in front of the mortuary, knowing that one day, like as not, he’d be burying every last passerby. Why, he could guess within an inch how tall anyone was and what size coffin it’d take to put them away.

      Riley lived with his granddaughter in six big rooms above the main parlor. The place had been tastefully decorated by Riley’s deceased wife, Effie, who had favored overstuffed chairs, cherrywood and a passel of worrisome trinkets that needed dusting.

      Wisteria vines trailed the length of the white porch railings shaded by large, overhanging elm trees. Datha and Flora Lee, her grandmother, lived in servants’ quarters behind the main house. Flora Lee had been with the Ogden family all her life. Flora Lee’s daddy, Solomon Tobias Gower, had served the Ogden family during the Civil War, refusing to leave them when the Emancipation Proclamation was effected. The Gowers thought themselves lucky to serve such a fine, upstanding family.

      When Flora Lee had gotten too crippled to do much around the house, Datha took over. She’d lived with Flora Lee since her mama died in childbirth. On good days Flora Lee still came to the main house to help clean, but most days her rheumatism kept her home. Comfortably lodged in nice quarters, the two served the Ogden family with humble gratitude and tireless loyalty, counting their blessings that April and Riley were kind, caring people who were more family than employers.

      In Flora Lee’s youth, long before the dead were taken to funeral homes for eulogies, long before the Ogdens had turned their private home into a mortuary, Flora Lee had helped Owen Ogden, Riley’s papa, to prepare friends and neighbors for burial.

      Datha loved to hear stories about how her grandma had cried along with distraught wives and inconsolable mothers as they bathed and dressed their loved ones, then laid them out in the front parlor. Folks would come from miles around to view the body, offering words of comfort. Flora Lee liked to tell how she’d curl up in a corner, pulling her legs up beneath her, out of the way, but there to serve if anyone needed her.

      Friends, in an effort to share the grief, brought overflowing baskets of food, arriving throughout the day to mourn the deceased. The yard would fill with buggies and neighbors standing outside visiting as the deceased lay within.

      Datha hummed now as she dusted the mortuary entryway, remembering Flora Lee’s stories.

      Neighbors had ridiculed Owen for taking a personal interest in his household help, but anyone who’d known him would tell you that he was a good man. Gossip had never bothered Owen Ogden, God rest his soul. He’d gone about his business, serving the citizens of Dignity in their time of need, reading the Good Book and following its teachings.

      Never one to judge others, he’d made it clear that he didn’t intend to be judged by anyone other than himself and his Maker. When his health began to fail, Owen had turned the funeral business over to Riley, then up and died.

      Just like that.

      One minute he was sitting on the porch enjoying his nightly smoke, and the next he’d keeled over dead as a doornail.

      But things went on like always. Riley had the same goodness in him that Owen did. Datha knew the senior Ogden only through her grandmother’s memories, but Flora Lee said that when Owen passed on, СКАЧАТЬ