by Helen Wells
Miss Cross has discovered that the patent medicine was contaminated by live bacteria—by a form of Salmonella bacteria, which were communicated from chickens, usually from dirty eggshells contaminated by chicken manure. It was the bacteria, not the harmless ginseng, which made the mice—and Dr. Hal’s and Cherry’s patients—so very sick.
Cherry said, “I remember that the chemist mentioned albumen, when he was figuring out the formula for that concoction.”
“I didn’t remember it,” Dr. Hal answered. “Well, the manufacturer puts eggs into that remedy, along with ginseng. And he put in the filth on the eggshells at the same time!”
“Live bacteria!” Cherry said. “How can anyone be so ignorant, or irresponsible?”
“Anything to make money,” Hal said dryly.
Cherry remembered Mrs. Swaybill saying she had taken a little of the concoction about two weeks ago and found it mildly stimulating. Well, that particular batch two weeks ago apparently hadn’t been contaminated.
Cherry was angry, and concerned for her patients. She knew Dr. Hal was angry, too. They agreed to advise their patients and acquaintances to throw away the so-called remedy.
Within the hour Dr. Greer telephoned in his report, too. Cherry, checking back again by telephone to the office, had the clerk read it to her.
The chemist’s report stated that he had analyzed the ginseng root from the deserted farm. It was chemically identical with the ginseng that was the chief constituent of the patent medicine. That is, probably someone was using the ginseng from the deserted farm to compound this patent remedy.
There was only the remotest chance, Cherry reflected, that the ginseng came from some other source—for ginseng was rare. Around here it grew only on the old farm. Unless there was a ginseng patch growing in Flushing, Iowa, where the label said the remedy was made?
Out of curiosity that afternoon, between visits to patients, Cherry went to the library in one of the rural high schools and hunted for Flushing on a detailed map of Iowa. She could not find it on the map, nor in the state directory, nor in any reference book. There was no such place as Flushing. The label had lied about this point, too—lied to cover up the fact that the patent medicine was being made right around here, to divert suspicion. Cherry remembered the sour odor and the dirt in the abandoned farmhouse. What would Hal think when she told him all this!
Cherry resumed her visits to her patients. By five o’clock, she thought, “That state inspector must be in Sauk by now. I wonder whether he’s with Hal at the county health office, or at Hal’s office?”
But on returning to Sauk, she found the county health office empty. At Dr. Hal’s office she found him alone, and on the telephone again. He looked worried.
“All right, Operator, I’ll wait,” he said, and then to Cherry, “Sit down.”
She sat down and pulled off her hat. “Where’s the State Food and Drug inspector?”
“He couldn’t come today. The arrangements fell through,” Dr. Hal said wearily. “Yes, Operator?… All right. I’ll wait for you to call me back.”
Cherry stared. “Have you been on the telephone all afternoon?”
“For the last hour and a half,” Dr. Hal said. He stretched and leaned back in his desk chair. “Mr. Henderson called me late this afternoon to say that he’s been trying all day to locate an inspector for us, but all of his inspectors are still busy and vitally needed on their present investigations. He’s short one man, too. He won’t have a man to send us for another day or two.”
“But we mustn’t wait,” Cherry said. “Not after what those lab reports showed!”
“I told Mr. Henderson about the lab reports,” Dr. Hal said. “And rather than wait another day or two for a state man, I asked Mr. Henderson to call in the Food and Drug Administration. You know the federal people have a large staff and district offices all over the United States—much bigger than state facilities. Well, Mr. Henderson said by all means let’s call in the FDA people at once. In fact, he said, ‘This interstate case sounds like too much for us to handle. It sounds like a case for the federal authorities.’ He wants us to keep him advised, though. He offered to report to the Food and Drug district office in Des Moines for me, but I thought it would be better—more direct—if I make the federal contacts myself.”
“And that’s why you’re on the phone,” Cherry said. “How much progress have you made?”
“Well, I reached the United States Food and Drug people in Des Moines, and told a couple of intermediary persons that I want to make an urgent report. They’re going to put me in touch with the right official. That’s what I’m waiting for right now.”
The phone rang. Hal answered. The operator said that the United States Food and Drug district office in Des Moines was on the line. A man’s voice came on. Hal held the phone so that Cherry, leaning close, could hear, too.
Hal gave his name and stated the situation—sale of a worthless, contaminated medicine—a pedlar selling it in two states, that is, in interstate commerce—selling it on the basis of false claims.
“That constitutes a violation, doesn’t it?” Hal asked.
“It certainly does!” the FDA man said. He gave his name: Fred Colt. “Will you describe the medicine?”
The young doctor reported what the two laboratory studies had revealed. He stated the effects of Nature’s Herb Cure on his and other doctors’ patients.
“That’s typical. We had a case like that in Kansas City,” Mr. Colt said. “The manufacturer was sentenced to two years’ imprisonment. Who makes this Nature’s Herb Cure?”
“We don’t know. But there is a pedlar whom we suspect in the neighborhood.” Hal discussed this point, briefly.
“Have you a sample for us? … No? … Just the empty jar?” The FDA man sounded concerned. “We’ll need a sample. Of course it’s Food and Drug’s job to get it, but it would be a great help to us if you could give us a lead where to find one. We can’t prosecute or take any action without a sample. We can’t even stop the sale of the medicine.”
“Well, sir,” Hal said, “could you possibly send an inspector here right away? Our county nurse, Cherry Ames, discovered that a lot of people are taking this so-called cure on the word of an ignorant, backwoods pedlar. He claims this herb stuff can cure practically anything.”
“One of those herb quacks, eh?” Mr. Colt said. “They can do a great deal of harm. Had a case last month where a woman died after taking one of those ‘remedies.’ All right, Dr. Miller. We’ll send a Food and Drug inspector immediately. Give me your phone number and address.” Hal did so. “Good. We want to send someone experienced in handling this type of case. We’ll check and see whom we can find to send. We’ll phone you tomorrow, as early as possible, as soon as we know.”
“Thanks!” Hal hung up.
Cherry glanced at her wristwatch. “Will they find anyone so late in the day?”
“These men don’t keep any hours,” Hal said. “I understand that in an emergency they work around the clock, and on Sundays, and anywhere they’re needed. That’s why it’s difficult to reach these inspectors—they’re so often out on field trips.”
“Well,” said Cherry, “patience is a virtue. All we can do is see what tomorrow brings.”
CHAPTER VIII
A House with a Secret
“ONE GOOD THING,” DR. HAL POINTED OUT TO CHERRY early the next morning at the county health office. “At least now I know precisely how to treat the ill effects caused by Nature’s Herb Cure.”
He snorted at the name. He had already telephoned all the other county doctors about his and Cherry’s medical investigation, and had notified the appropriate Iowa state health agencies. Cherry had already telephoned Miss Hudson, her nursing supervisor, to report this matter.
“Food and Drug likes to have a sample of whatever is being reported,” Dr. Hal said. “If only we could direct a Food and Drug inspector to the manufacturer—But we can’t, because we don’t know who makes this dangerous stuff, or whe
re.”
Cherry realized that the laboratory technician and the chemist had used up all of the small sample she and Dr. Hal had brought.
“We’ll have to ask our patients for some of the remedy,” Cherry said. “I’m not optimistic about that.” Only Mrs. Swaybill had cooperated before.
“Do your best. At the same time,” Dr. Hal reminded Cherry, “tell them to throw the stuff away. Tell them to pass on the warning.”
Hal went back to his private office to wait for the Federal Food and Drug people’s call. Cherry started out on her nursing rounds.
She had a long list of calls today, and a hard time. As soon as she told several patients and their families that Nature’s Herb Cure was dangerous, they closed up like clams. They had been evasive about the new medicine before; now they were doubly so. Cherry could not win their confidence. She wondered whether it was because they were loyal to the old pedlar—or because they would not admit they had been gullible in buying a quack remedy—or because they trusted in supposedly natural remedies—or a combination of all of these reasons? In any case, Cherry could not persuade a single person to let her have his or her jar of Nature’s Herb Cure.
“We used it up.”—“If it’s no good, what do you want it for?”—“Why, I never bought any in the first place!”
As a last resort, she stopped in at the Swaybills’.
“I’m mighty sorry, Miss Cherry,” said Mrs. Swaybill, “but I already gave you all I had.”
“Would your cousins just across the river in Missouri have any left?”
“They were over here Sunday to see us, and they said they accidentally spilled what they had of it. I’ll tell you what, though! If Old Snell comes around, I’ll buy some more and keep it for you.”
Cherry was afraid, though, that as the doctor’s warning against the remedy spread, the pedlar would hear of it and would stop selling the remedy. She wondered about the pedlar. Everyone for miles around considered Old Snell an honest person to trade with. But if he were honest, he would not sell it, now that a warning was abroad.
Cherry worried about something else, later that day. Although her patients denied it, she saw the same unmistakable symptoms again—these persons had taken Nature’s Herb Cure. These were new patients—all living in one area—new customers of Snell’s. The racket was spreading!
As she treated these patients, Cherry warned them not to use the “remedy,” to throw it away. Two persons, realizing it had made them sick, had already done so. The others might still have some, but Old Snell must have persuaded them to be silent.
On her last home visit that day, a woman argued when Cherry emphatically warned her not to take the preparation. But she was sick enough to consent to let Cherry call Dr. Miller. Then Cherry said:
“Would you do me a favor? Would you give me, or sell me, your jar of Nature’s Herb Cure?”
The woman’s face tightened. “I haven’t got any left.”
“Well, then,” Cherry tried again, “will you tell me when you bought it from Old Snell?”
“Well, I swear! Why are you so inquisitive about him? He’s only a poor old fellow trying to make a living. He told me you and the doctors aim to drive him out of business. All because you can’t stand his competition. Says the medicine’s got a secret, exclusive formula that you haven’t got, and you’re jealous and afraid of this new discovery. Says you’re persecuting him, and it’s not fair.”
Cherry gasped. “Is that the story he’s spreading? Let me tell you the truth—” and she gave the woman the facts. “Now, please tell me, when did you buy that quack medicine from Old Snell?”
“Oh, a few days ago—maybe day before yesterday. I don’t rightly remember.”
Cherry had seen the pedlar only that one time, slipping away from the Swaybill’s house. But, according to this patient, he was still selling the cure all.
Cherry felt gloomy all day Tuesday over the impossibility of locating a second sample. The only encouraging thing today was that the ordinary flu cases now were well or nearly well.
By the time Cherry finished with her visits, it was late and a chilly rain was starting.
“I’d like a cup of hot tea before I drive back to Sauk,” Cherry thought. “I’m not far from Mrs. Barker’s. I’ll go throw myself on her doorstep.”
The Barker door opened to Cherry’s knock. Jane admitted her.
“Ssh!” Jane said. “Mrs. Barker has a cake in the oven. Walk lightly.”
“And don’t you slam the door,” Cherry said. She walked in on tiptoe. The parrot squawked at her. “I was hoping for a cup of tea, but if Mrs. Barker is busy in the kitchen—”
“Can you wait for the tea?” Jane asked. “To tell you the truth, I need to talk to you privately. About Floyd. I have some doubts about him.”
“So have I, though I may be blaming the wrong person. Remember, Jane, we picked some ginseng roots last Saturday afternoon—Floyd isn’t here to overhear, is he? Well, then—”
Cherry moved the parrot out of earshot. Then she told Jane Fraser about the theft of the ginseng roots from her car. She also told, in confidence, what the laboratory technician and the chemist had found out about Nature’s Herb Cure.
“How awful!” Jane exclaimed. “Exploiting sick people!” They discussed the laboratory findings. Then Jane said:
“What I learned isn’t as definite as your news but it—it makes me uneasy. You see, Floyd’s comings and goings are at such irregular hours that even his mother has noticed.”
“How can he hold a job at the cannery at that rate?” Cherry asked. “What does he do at the cannery?”
“Floyd refuses to say,” Jane answered. “He’s secretive and resentful of his mother’s questions. Yesterday, after Floyd had left for work, Mrs. Barker wanted to ask him a question—something about where he had put the shovel for the cellar coalbin. She called him up at the cannery,” Jane told Cherry. “And what do you think? He isn’t working there. He never has worked there. The people who do the hiring at the cannery never even heard of him.”
“Then where—” Cherry stopped short. She had started to say: Then where does Floyd get the money he now gives his mother occasionally?
But Jane said: “Oh, that’s enough about Floyd! We have more important things to worry about. You know, Cherry, I was thinking that if we could clear out these big beds of ginseng—”
A knock on the front door interrupted Jane. “Goodness, you’ll never get your tea!” she said, rising.
There was a flurry of activity as Jane and Mrs. Barker reached and opened the door together. Mr. Brown, a neighbor, had come to talk to Jane about repairing the water pipes in the old farmhouse. Mrs. Barker and Cherry went into the kitchen.
“I heard Jane say you wanted a cup of tea,” Mrs. Barker said. Cherry asked her not to bother. “Oh, I’ll have one with you, Miss Cherry. I can do with a hot drink after an afternoon’s baking.”
Emma Barker’s kitchen was a warm and cheerful place to be on a rainy afternoon. It was filled with the fragrance of butter and sugar, and of flowering begonia in pots on the windowsills. Cherry admired the copper teakettle, and asked about a row of books on a shelf.
“Those are cookbooks,” Mrs. Barker said. “Some of them belonged to my mother, and some to my grandmother.” She opened one for Cherry, to show her the recipes handwritten in faded ink.
Cherry read aloud: “Take three pounds of unsalted butter, three pounds of fine white sugar, a dozen and a half freshly laid eggs—Why, that would make enough cake to feed several families!”
“People used to have big families,” Mrs. Barker put the cookbook back on the shelf. “Sit down, child, and let’s have our tea. I don’t refer to these old books much. They’re just curiosities nowadays.”
Her hospitable hostess took a pan of cookies from where they were cooling in the sink, and offered them to Cherry.
“Speaking of curiosities,” said Mrs. Barker, “I have one old book that’d specially interest you, since you’re a nurse.
It’s called The Compleat Housewife. The title page says it was published in 1753, in England, and it’s been handed down in our family. It has six hundred recipes for cooking and remedies.”
“Remedies?” Cherry repeated. This might be a find! She hid her excitement.
“Would you believe it, my copy is the fifteenth edition! Some country folks still use those recipes for nourishing dishes and medical herbs and simple home remedies. For myself I’d rather use a doctor and up to date scientific medicine. Still, people who live close to the soil know some sensible ways of living. Same as the animals know what’s good for them. Let’s see where that old formula book is.”
Mrs. Barker rummaged through the volumes on the shelf. She grew flushed. “That’s peculiar, I can’t find it. I always keep it right here.”
She hunted through other shelves and drawers. She was so disconcerted that Cherry helped her search. The old book did not turn up.
“Well, never mind,” Mrs. Barker said at last, sitting down again at the kitchen table. “Floyd probably knows where it is, he may have borrowed it. I can’t imagine that anyone else’d take it. He’s always looking up the names of the green things he finds in the woods and fields. A real countryman.”
Countryman, indeed! Cherry recalled the sour odor in the deserted farmhouse. Was Floyd compounding a medicine there? Where did Floyd get the money he gave his mother now and then? It was easy to guess: he might have a stake in the patent medicine. He and the old pedlar might be in this racket together—a racket that centered around the abandoned farm.
Cherry was convinced of one thing: that Mrs. Barker herself was in no way involved. She was such a straitlaced, hardworking woman, it would never even enter her mind that Floyd could be connected with such an evil scheme.
“You know, Miss Cherry,” Mrs. Barker was saying, “in olden days, a farm without a few medicinal herbs growing would have been as unheard of as a barn without a barn cat or a well without a pail. People had to treat themselves, because doctors and medicines were a rarity.”