Handful Of Flowers

by Hake, Cathy Marie

He went back to his experiment. When he lifted the porcupine quill from the soggy towel’s edge, Eric stared in disbelief. The vinegar solution had actually softened it! How had Polly learned such a trick?

  And what else does she know? Is it possible I could experiment on some of her herbal compounds and discover if there’s any scientific basis to her remedies?

  Even Hippocrates advised using willows’ yellow leaves or bark to help with aches and pains. From back during the Revolutionary War days, a doctor had distilled digitalis from purple foxglove to help certain heart problems. But Eric’s supply of those medicaments was, again, standardized and reliable.

  Oil of cloves, magnesia, bromide of potash, boric acid crystals and powder, zinc carbonate, ether, and morphine—his shelves and cabinets contained almost the complete pharmacopoeia. Each compound filling the vials and bottles could be vouched for in purity and efficacy. The memory of that dingy room off Lovejoy’s cabin that held the jugs and jars of the Chance women’s homemade apothecary renewed his doubts.

  To be sure, a fraction of their so-called treatments would probably be effective, but that didn’t make those women safe practitioners. Modern medical science demanded proof—experiments that rendered the same results when repeated. Those women practiced by trial and error, by folklore and fanciful thinking.

  He eased back. Perhaps he could meet Polly and her mother halfway. He’d inspect their apothecary and approve of certain substances, then convince them to agree to limit their practice to treating cases of croup, mending sprains, and stitching up minor wounds. Surely those maladies comprised a large part of their practice anyway. He’d “review” proper technique with them and update their practices so they’d not indulge in dangerous oddities like rubbing a flower near an open wound.

  Then he’d take care of the rest of Reliable’s medical needs.

  It all seemed so easy. . .but the longer Eric stood there, the less comfortable he felt. Gideon Chance had told him flat out he’d been prideful. Indeed, he had. In fact, he’d hoped Polly would understand when he spent time with her at Sunday school that he was trying to make peace.

  It wasn’t that he was wrong. It was just that he needed to be sure he framed matters carefully so no one’s feeling were hurt and Polly and Lovejoy still felt useful. Confident in his stance, he’d failed to weigh the human factor—a mistake he’d not repeat. Surely if he overtly showed approval of the things the women did well, he could either teach them better methods for what they did wrong or simply convince them to refer such cases to him. Yes, Lovejoy was right—this could become a partnership of sorts.

  Partnership means both parties bring something to the table. Polly knows the community well. In fact, Lovejoy offered to guide me past some of the “peculiarities.” That would be a terrific help, he mused as he continued to look at his supplies.

  Oil of cloves. . .oil of eucalyptus. . .morphine—they were all plant-based. Zinc and magnesia were minerals. For that matter, lye soap came from leaching acid from ashes. Perhaps what he needed to do was view Polly’s collection as a source of something that might add to medical science. Much of it might be nonsense, but a few gems might well shine in the darkness of that closet.

  Excited by that prospect, Eric grabbed his coat and hat. He’d pay a call on Miss Polly Chance. Maybe they could be partners, after all.

  ❧

  “Polly.” Uncle Bryce stepped into her cabin and shut the door behind himself. “That doctor is out here. Wants to see you.”

  “Dr. Walcott?” She gave her uncle a startled look.

  “Ain’t no other doctor ’roundabout here. I’m sticking to my guns.” Uncle Bryce gave her a stern look. “I don’t like you keepin’ company with him.”

  “I’m not ‘keeping company’ with him.” Polly set aside the herbs she’d been grinding and stood.

  “Hmpf. My brothers all said the same thing ’bout women who showed up here; then they up and married ’em. This guy might be rich and smart and handsome”—he waggled his finger at her—“but you remember what I told you.”

  Polly patted him on the center of his chest. “You don’t need to worry.”

  “My Daisy’s in town, or I’d send her out to keep watch over you. Where are your cousins? Most always, they’re a gaggle around you. Now, when you need ’em most, they’re nowhere to be seen.”

  “They’re visiting Beulah and the baby, and a good thing, too! If they heard you liken them to geese, they’d be offended.”

  “Truth is truth.” He squinted at her.

  “Oh, honestly, Uncle Bryce! I understand why you all send the kids along with Caleb for his courtship with Greta. They’re young and foolish. I’m twenty-one, and I’d like to repeat: This is undoubtedly a professional consultation.”

  Uncle Bryce snorted. “I don’t believe that for a second. The man’s already said you’re dangerous. He couldn’t care less what you think about medicine; he cares what you think about him. I’d still feel a heap better if at least one of the girls was here to vex you and that man. That’d make him keep his distance and stop any stupid notions or designs he might be concocting.”

  Polly decided not to argue the point. Mulishly stubborn, Uncle Bryce wouldn’t let go of a notion any sooner than a coyote would yield a meaty bone. She straightened up and waved a hand downward to call his attention to her attire. “Look—I’m not even taking off my work apron to go meet him.”

  He held her back. “Hang on a minute and tie the belt looser. Cinched in so snug, it makes you look like a girl.”

  “I am a girl.” Laughing, Polly opened the door and walked across the yard. More than a few men in the area knew she was a girl—they’d asked Daddy permission to pay her court—but not a one of them managed to pull it off. Simply put, they were nice—but for some other woman. None of them ever made her heart sing. Then there was the doctor. Polly wondered if he even thought of her as a woman instead of as a pain in the neck.

  “Hello, Doctor.”

  “Miss Polly.” Doc doffed his hat. “Since you’re interested in botanicals, I thought perhaps we ought to compare notes.”

  Taken by surprise, she stammered, “What kind of botanicals?”

  “Healing ones. Your garden is quite impressive. Perhaps we could start there.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She took a few steps toward the pump and rinsed out a bucket. “If you don’t mind, I need to gather a few things.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” He sidestepped when Cory, Packard, and Terrance ran past.

  Perry skidded to a halt. “Wanna come with us? Caleb’s taking Greta on a picnic. We’re going along to fish.”

  “Does Caleb know you’re joining them?” Polly gave her little cousin an amused look.

  “My daddy and Uncle Giddy said we could!” He raced away.

  Trying hard not to laugh, Polly pressed her lips together.

  “Why”—the doctor swiped the bucket from her hand—“do I have the feeling Caleb’s not going to be thrilled with this development?”

  Losing the battle, Polly laughed aloud. “If I don’t miss my guess, Greta’s mother is probably packing enough food for an army and will send her two youngest along, too. Greta and Caleb are both eighteen. Both families feel it’s a good match, but it wouldn’t hurt for them to wait a few years before meeting at the altar.”

  “Being an only child suddenly is far more appealing to me. When I decide to woo a young woman, I won’t have tagalongs.”

  Is he thinking of courting someone? Polly felt a twinge at the thought, then got angry at herself. Well, Uncle Bryce couldn’t be more wrong—it’s certainly not me. He’ll want a meek, mild woman who stays home. We’d never suit. Reaching around, she pulled her apron strings and retied them looser.

  Sixteen

  “I’ll have to ask you to be careful to stay on the path, Doctor.” Polly set out at a brisk pace. “It’s pretty narrow, but we rely on each plant.”

  “Sure.” His stride matched hers until he stepped ahead to open the garden gat
e.

  Polly walked into the garden and caught sight of Uncle Bryce glowering from the barn. She’d reassure him later that the doctor had come for professional reasons. “The garden is divided into two sections.” She headed toward the right. “Though most of these herbs can be medicinal, their major use is in cooking.”

  “Interesting.”

  Walking along, Polly named the plants aloud: “Rosemary, thyme, sage, basil, sweet and wild marjoram, chives, lovage, lemon balm, parsley, borage, mint, fennel—”

  “Fennel is effective for dyspepsia.”

  Polly nodded and started using her knife to cut small bits of fennel. “True, but I’m harvesting it because I’m making a brine for pickles. Dill, fennel, a little onion, and mustard make for tasty pickles.”

  “You don’t have any mustard here.”

  She looked around the patch. “No need to. It grows wild all around the area. I used mustard in the poultices for the Greene children.”

  He nodded. “I keep a fair supply of dried mustard on hand.”

  Well, that was nice. He just admitted that we sometimes use the same curative. Maybe we’ll find other things we can agree upon.

  She dropped more fennel into the pail. “Let’s go to the other half. It holds the medicinals. Mama and Aunt Delilah put in a lot of work to plant things that were scarce or foreign to this region.”

  “So am I to presume you keep cuttings from plants that are out of season in that room over there?” He gestured toward the hallway between her cabin and her parents’ abode.

  “Those are the things we’ve harvested and keep on hand. Mama and I gather almost daily.”

  “I haven’t found the people of Reliable to be of such poor health.” He followed her steps with caution along the narrow path between patches of plants as he continued to discuss the citizenry. “On average, I think they’re actually rather hale.”

  Polly glanced back and noted how his footsteps literally overlaid hers. He’d been walking precisely where she had—a mark of his respect for her precious garden. Gratitude filled her heart.

  “Do you disagree? Have you considered your neighbors to be sickly?”

  “No, no. Not at all. It’s that you never know when you’ll need something, so Mama and I have been diligent to keep stock on hand. I noticed your shelves when we put that plaster on Cal. At the time, I remember thinking your supply rivaled one of the pharmacies in San Francisco.”

  “The mayor told me Reliable didn’t have a pharmacy, so I planned on having to dispense whatever I prescribed.”

  “That’ll be handy. In the past, if we didn’t have something, we sent to San Francisco. Waiting is hard—that’s why the garden here keeps growing. We’ve added something nearly every year.”

  He scanned the collection. “I recognize the feverfew.”

  “Tansy’s on this side of it. St. John’s wort is on the other side. Then we have comfrey, herb Robert, self-heal, valerian—”

  “Did you try valerian for your headaches?”

  “Yes, but to no avail.” She gave him a sideways look. “My headaches are not from nerves.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply they were. Valerian can be effective for a variety of problems.”

  “It’s putting down good roots—roots are what we harvest. But you only dig them up in September.” She felt her nose wrinkle. “They don’t smell bad fresh, but once they’re dried, they reek.”

  “So how can you keep them in that shed by your cabin?”

  “We dry them in the barn. After grinding them up and putting them in a tightly stoppered jar, the smell is contained. It’s useful for insomnia and women’s complaints.” The minute the words slipped out of her mouth, Polly wanted to spin around and flee.

  Doc didn’t bat an eye. “Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound contains cohosh and more than twenty percent alcohol.” He leaned over and examined wood betony as he added, “Several women partake of it.”

  “Mama says cohosh is good, but we don’t add any spirits to our elixirs.”

  The doctor nodded. “Good, good.”

  She didn’t want to continue the discussion of women’s complaints. As healers, they both dealt with such issues, and the Bible even spoke about Christ healing a woman with a female complaint, but it didn’t seem like a proper subject of conversation. Grabbing the opportunity he’d opened, Polly said, “That plant you’re inspecting is wood betony. It can be helpful with mouth sores and throat irritations.”

  “Fascinating. Do you mind if I take samples?”

  Extending her gathering knife to him, she said, “Not at all.”

  They spent time going from plant to plant. Doc asked several questions and made interesting observations. As it became awkward for him to harvest, label the small papers in which he folded the sample, and tuck them into his pocket, Polly took back her knife and assisted him. She used the techniques Mama taught her.

  The doctor questioned her every action. “I use the petals that are darkest because they are richest in the healing properties. . . .” “The leaves are best when harvested in morning shade, so we won’t take any today. . . .” “These must be rinsed thrice before drying upside down. . . .”

  He scribbled notes to himself and asked dozens and dozens of questions. Polly surprised herself with just how much Mama had taught her. The teaching had been so gradual, she never fully appreciated the lore Mama shared so generously.

  At one point, the doctor frowned. “Why aren’t you wearing a bonnet out here?”

  She lifted a hand and touched her hair. Oh, dear me. It’s probably a horrible mess. Self-conscious laughter bubbled out of her.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. My only thought was that sunlight might trigger headaches.”

  “I love the sunshine.”

  “Hey there, Doc.” Mama leaned over the fence. Try as she might, she didn’t manage to disguise the grimace of pain that came with the action. “Nice of you to drop by. Why don’t you stay to lunch?”

  “I’d be honored.” He sidestepped between a few plants very carefully and lowered his voice. “I’d also be honored if you’d allow me to examine your back. Something must be done.”

  Mama let out a chortle. “Oh, Doc, now if that wasn’t smooth as rain off a winderpane. I’ve done my share of bargainin’ folks into accepting care. Suppose it’s justice someone turned the tables on me.”

  Doc dusted off his hands. “How long ’til lunch?”

  “We have time for you to check on her now,” Polly said. She didn’t want to give Mama an opportunity to come up with an excuse and wiggle out of an examination. Knowing Mama, Polly figured that’s exactly what she’d do, too.

  She couldn’t fault Doc’s bedside manner. He’d washed his hands outside while she helped Mama change into a lawn nightdress. Once he came in, Doc performed a deft examination of Mama’s back, asked several pertinent questions, and managed to be both professional and personable.

  “The hot and cold packs and the liniment are all fine. Continue on with those and the massages,” he told Polly. “I’d like to try traction—a series of ropes and weights to stretch the spine.” He held his fists together, side to side, then slowly drew them apart. “Slow, gentle force could straighten the kink and allow the nerves and disc to slip into a natural position again.”

  “Mama, that ought to work!”

  Mama sighed. “Hope so. You jest tell us what to do, Doc.”

  “I’ll step out and talk to your husband about rigging up the traction apparatus.”

  He left, and Lovejoy tugged on Polly’s hand. “Help me get dressed. I wanna soak up some sunshine this noon afore he and yore Daddy strap me to the bed.”

  Slender and sprightly, Mama had never needed to resort to stays, but since her back started paining her, Polly had made her a back binding with boning in it to render some support. She laced it up, then knelt to help Mama with her shoes while Mama buttoned up her day gown. Once they were done, Polly opened the door, and Mama gingerly stepped outside.
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  Lord, let Doctor Walcott’s treatment work. Mama’s hurting. I just want her to be well again.

  Doc stood over by Daddy and some of the boys. Daddy’s brows were furrowed.

  “Yore daddy and uncles are good men,” Mama whispered to Polly as they headed toward the tables. “Don’t you be troublin’ yourself o’er how things’ll work out. They’re not gonna give Doc a hard time or carry a grudge. Feelin’ ran high t’other day, but I know ’em—they’ll be examples. A shining example is a better lesson than a lot of gusty words.”

  Polly wasn’t quite so sure. Then again, since Mama let Doc examine her, that ought to mean a lot to Daddy. Then, too, Doc had accepted the lunch invitation, so they’d be breaking bread together.

  A few moments later, Doc, Daddy, and Uncle Paul strode up with an odd assortment of ropes, leather, and—“That can’t be the pulley from the hayloft!” Polly couldn’t hide her astonishment.

  “I scrubbed it,” Uncle Paul confirmed.

  “Let’s go,” Daddy said to Mama.

  Mama’s jaw jutted forward in a stubborn tilt. “I’m aimin’ to eat first.”

  “That’ll be fine.” Doc nodded. “It’s not healthy for you to lie in one place for days on end. I want you to be up for half an hour, four times a day.” He then tacked on, “But no working during that time. It’s just for eating and essentials.”

  Mama gave him an exasperated look.

  Polly laughed. “Mama, your face has the same expression as the Greene children when I tell them they need those stinky mustard and onion poultices!”

  “I’d rather wear a poultice and still be upright,” Mama muttered. She glanced at the doctor. “Don’t you fret yoreself none. I git het up when a patient doesn’t mind me. I’ll be good and foller yore instructions.”

  “Thank you,” he said in a tone that sounded mildly amused.

  At lunch, the doctor sat at the lunch table by Polly’s side. That was saying plenty since there were six tables and he could have plopped down wherever he wanted. Maybe he was avoiding April, though. The girls had come back from visiting Beulah and gone in to prepare lunch. April got news that Doc was there, dashed out of the kitchen, and immediately started making a pest of herself.