Show me a man who suffers the monthly miseries, and Iâll show you a man bent on finding relief.
Women should show the same gumption when it comes to female complaints. And since April Truitt believed so strongly in her philosophy, sheâd made up her mind to do something about it.
Anxiously fingering the printed envelope, she glanced around the general store. It was busy this morning. Faith Lawson was buying fruit jars to put up the remainder of her vegetable garden. Lilly Mason was counting out eggs, the amount to be credited to her account. Lilly had dark circles under her eyes this morning. Poor Lilly suffered unnecessarily.
If only the women of Dignity would listen to Lydia Pinkham, their woes would be over!
Mail the letter, April! Mail it!
Edging the envelope closer to the mail slot, April eyed Ellen Winters, the town postmistress. The silver-haired, robust sixty-year-old was busy sorting mail, glancing up occasionally with a smile.
âNice morning, isnât it?â
âBeautiful.â
âIâm always happy to see the heat of August give way to September.â
Nodding, April took a deep breath, shoving the letter into the slot. The missive disappeared into the empty receptacle with a soft whoosh.
Elly glanced up. âSending off for another catalog, dear?â
Pretending she hadnât heard her, April hurried out the front door, closing it firmly behind her. Exhaling a deep breath, she started down the walk at a fast pace.
Of course, once Elly saw who the letter was addressed to she would blab it all over town that Riley Ogdenâs granddaughter was in cahoots with Lydia Pinkham. But April would deny it as long as she could. Grandpaâs heart was wearing out, and she didnât want to upset him. She knew the townsfolk believed she was impulsive and didnât think things through properly, but she liked to describe herself as spontaneous, impromptuâblazing a trail of new, exciting discoveries!
She believed in Lydiaâs vegetable compound. Though no one outside the family knew the exact formula, it was said to contain unicorn root, life root, black cohosh, pleurisy root and fenugreek seed mashed up. The compound was touted to be the best thing that had ever happened to women, curing everything imaginable.
And she intended to help Lydia spread the good news about the wonder tonic. She wanted to encourage women to help themselves with their personal problems. She remembered her motherâs distress and tragic death because sheâd listened to unsympathetic doctors.
Grandpa, along with most of the doctors, thought Mrs. Pinkham was a quack, but wasnât that just like a man? Men didnât suffer female problems, so they didnât see what all the fuss was about. It was much easier to dismiss the subject with a shrewd wink and send the woman on her way.
Women had been getting short shrift for too long by men who had no understanding of their physical problems, showing little sympathy for complaints about backaches, nervousness and lack of energy. If a woman was happy, peppy and full of fun, a man would take her places, but if she was cross, lifeless and always tired out, well, he just wasnât interested.
Doctors were too quick to offer surgery as a remedy for womenâs functional disorders, invasive procedures that were inadequate, ill-advised, often too late, and usually creating even larger problems for the patient. Medical men thought that by removing the source, the problem would be alleviated.
When faced with irate women, physicians argued they were doing everything possible to find better, more acceptable alternatives, but April had her doubts. She was certain there had to be a better way to treat medical issues of mood problems, heart palpitations and hot flashes in the year of 1876. Some claimed that Lydia E. Pinkhamâs Vegetable Compound provided relief for thousands!
April longed to inform Mrs. Pinkham in person about her decision, but 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.
âMorning, Miss Truitt.â
April smiled. âMr. Clausen. Mrs. Clausen.â
âHowâs your grandfather?â
âVery good, Mr. Clausen. Thank you.â