Amethyst

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Thank you, sir. You have been most kind.”

  The buggy swayed as the driver mounted the front seat and clucked his team forward. “I’ll take you to the doctor’s, unless there is somewhere else you’d like to go.”

  “No, that is all I can think to do.”

  Some time later Amethyst swallowed warm broth that was spooned to her mouth. The bed was warm and not rocking, with space for her to stretch out and turn her face into a pillow beneath her head. She continued swallowing until the broth was taken away, and she heard a strange woman murmuring to her that they’d get her into something more comfortable and she could rest easy now.

  When she woke again, a lamp beside the bed shone on a woman sound asleep in the chair. A white apron covered her dress, and she wore a shawl around her shoulders. Amethyst tried to be quiet, but her slightest move roused the woman caring for her.

  “Ah, there you are.” The woman laid a hand against Amethyst’s cheek. “I think you’re on the mend. Let me fetch some more broth, since you’ve kept down what I’ve given you. Doctor says to give you as much as you can tolerate.”

  “Where am I?” Finally, words made it from her mind to her mouth and were spoken aloud. She could even hear them.

  “Why, you’re in Fargo at Doctor Sampson’s. I’m Alvia, the doctor’s missus and the main nurse. He’s out on a call and won’t be back until that baby is born. So I’ll leave you for a minute and fetch the broth.”

  Amethyst forced her mind to remember. Who was it who had taken care of her on the train? Ah, Mrs. Grant. “Mrs. Grant?”

  “She’s gone to the hotel. She said to let her know as soon as you woke up, but I think we’ll wait until morning. You’ve been here two days.”

  “Thank you.” Two days? What all had she missed? Amethyst tried to remember something that might have happened, but she wasn’t sure.

  The nurse had to waken her again when she returned with the broth. “Here we go, dearie. You just swallow now, and this will be gone in no time. Perhaps you’d like an egg for breakfast in a few hours, and then we’ll give you a good bath. Amazing how much better you’ll feel.”

  Like a small child being fed, Amethyst opened her mouth every time the spoon reached her lips. Never had she been so weak she couldn’t at least feed herself. Gratitude brimmed over, and a tear trickled down her cheek, followed by another.

  “Is there something else I can do for you? Do you hurt anywhere?”

  Amethyst shook her head, but the tears continued.

  When Amethyst finished the broth, Mrs. Sampson dipped a cloth in a basin of water she’d brought. “Here now, this will make you feel better.” She gently washed her patient’s face and hands, then patted them dry with a soft cloth. “I have some cream here that will help too.” She smoothed a creamy liquid over Amethyst’s face and rubbed it into her hands.

  “Roses. In the winter?”

  “Yes, I add rose petals. Sick folk need something soothing that smells good.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome. I think I’ll go on to bed now, but there is a bell here for you to ring if you need anything.”

  Amethyst nodded, her eyelids so heavy she just gave up and drifted back to sleep.

  When she woke again many hours must have passed because now Mrs. Grant had taken the chair, moved it over closer to the window, and sat reading. Amethyst watched the woman who’d been her savior, watched the sunbeams play with the fine strands of white hair until her whole head appeared to be afire, glinting like sun on snow, making her smile. She must have shifted, because Mrs. Grant looked up, marked her place in the book, and set it aside.

  “You are looking far better than when we left the train. Welcome back.”

  “How will I ever thank you?” Ah, finally she could give voice without sounding like a frog croaking from a pond.

  “Just by getting well. Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes, please.” At that moment she realized thirst rampaged through her like marauding foxes. She drank from the cup that Mrs. Grant held, was even able to hold up her own head, although the action made her pant with the effort.

  “I’m going for Mrs. Sampson. She said to let her know when you awoke and she’d bring in breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” Was that actually hunger she felt growling in her middle?

  Between the two women, Amethyst was fed, bathed, and clothed in a clean nightdress that felt heavenly against skin that had indeed been soothed by the cream they’d rubbed over her entire body.

  “I smell like a flower garden.” She lifted her hand to her face and sniffed. “Do you by any chance have a receipt for your cream? How I would love to make something like this.” Back when I am home again and can use some ingredients from my garden.

  “I will write it up for you. I get the glycerin over at the apothecary. My mother used goose fat for her skin, but this is much more soothing. You can put mint in it too, or sometimes I’ve used lavender. That makes a real nice lotion.”

  Mrs. Grant rubbed the leftovers into the backs of her own hands. “Have you ever thought of making this to sell?”

  “Oh no. I just make enough for my patients. That little bit of extra caring helps them get better more quickly. I use the mint for men. They don’t take to smelling like a flower garden. It helps when someone is in bed so long they get bedsores.”

  “I think you should make it to sell. I know many women who would purchase a lotion like this.” Mrs. Grant sniffed the back of her hand again. “Delightful.”

  The next day Mrs. Grant was again sitting by the bed. “Would you like me to read to you?”

  “Oh, would you? No one’s read to me since Ma did when I was a little girl. How she found time to read to us, I’ll never know. Mostly it was in the winter around the fire, when Pa was gone.” She didn’t add that her pa had frequented the saloon more often than was good for him, or for them either, for that matter. She thought back to her home, wondering if he was taking proper care of the livestock. You couldn’t be ailing when the animals needed to be fed.

  “I’m reading from Hawthorne. Do you mind if I don’t go back and start at the beginning?” The older woman held up her book so Amethyst could see its cover.

  “No, not at all.” But no matter how hard she tried to stay awake, she lasted for only a couple of pages.

  The next day Amethyst was the one in the chair by the window, feeling the sun on her back, the draft on the floor around her ankles, and the joy of being strong enough to feed herself. She glanced up when the door opened and the doctor walked in.

  “Good afternoon, Miss O’Shaunasy. It appears to me that you’ve been a fine patient.”

  “Your wife is a fine nurse.”

  “Yes, she is. Knows enough to be a doctor in her own right.” He listened to her heart and lungs and took both her hands in his. “Squeeze.”

  She squeezed as hard as she could, but even she could tell it was rather a puny effort. “At least I can sit in a chair now. I never thought of sitting in a chair as taking effort. I’ve always been grateful for a moment or two to sit down.”

  “Mind if I ask you some questions?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all.”

  “Were you feeling sick earlier that day?”

  “No, I was fine. We left our train, had a meal at the station, and boarded our westbound train. All of a sudden I could feel some cramping in my belly, and then everything came up. Don’t know what I would have done without Mrs. Grant.”

  “The conductor would most likely have put you off at the next stop.”

  “Oh, my land. God certainly has taken good care of me. When do you think I’ll be able to continue my journey? I was supposed to be home again in time for Christmas.”

  The doctor stroked his gray-shot beard between fingers and thumb. “Heard tell there are intermittent blizzards and heavy snows across the west. It’s already the nineteenth. Medora is only a day from here if there aren’t any problems. Winter isn’t a g
ood time to cross the prairies.”

  I tried to tell my father that, but walls are more biddable than he is when he gets a wild idea. “I see. Well, I just need to find my nephew and get back on the return train.” Considering how difficult this trip had been so far, anything would be easier.

  Three days later, still needing frequent rests, she and Mrs. Grant stood at the door waiting for the buggy to arrive. “Mrs. Sampson, I don’t have much, but I will send you money as soon as I am able. You need to tell me how much I owe.”

  “Why, don’t you worry, dearie, the bill has been paid.” Mrs. Sampson patted her hand and handed her a paper box. “Here are some sandwiches and cookies to tide you over.”

  “But I…” Amethyst turned to look at Mrs. Grant.

  “Never you mind. It’s my money, and I can spend it the way I want. I have no one but God himself to hold me accountable, and that’s the way I like it.” She turned to Mrs. Sampson. “I’d like you to consider selling your lotion. We could take that receipt and turn it into a thriving business. My husband always said I had a nose for new things and the good sense to invest wisely. I’d be honored to be your partner in this endeavor.”

  “Why, I…I can’t believe this.”

  “You think on it, and I’ll write to you. Perhaps I’ll stop by when I’m heading back east.”

  Amethyst almost collapsed when they found their seats on the train. “I’m weak as a kitten. Hard to believe.”

  “You could have died, you were that sick.” Mrs. Grant settled her bags underneath the seat and leaned back with a sigh. “Now, that was most certainly an interesting interlude.” She dug in her reticule and pulled out the paper the doctor’s wife had given her. “Such simple ingredients, but that is often the case. The most simple are the most effective.” She bent over and opened her carpetbag to pull out a medicine bottle with a cork stopper. “I would use little pots. Make a pretty label. Alvia’s Lotion.”

  “How could she make enough to sell in stores?”

  “We’d start small. I’m sure I can find some company to manufacture the product in Chicago when we’re ready for that.” She uncorked the stopper and sniffed, then with a smile stoppered it again and put it back in her bag. “We could probably make a whole line of ladies’ sundries. Have you heard of the lead poisoning that happens when women use that awful white powder on their hair and faces?”

  Amethyst didn’t mention that where she came from no one put anything on their faces except for some melted fat on chapped lips and hands in the winter. “No, I’d not heard of that.”

  “I read about it in the newspaper. What women will do to be beautiful.” She shuddered. “I’m glad I never did more than pinch my cheeks and bite my lips to make them pink. Mr. Grant always said he didn’t have much patience for such folderol. ‘Women are more beautiful as God made them,’ he used to say.”

  “He sounds like a wise man.”

  “A prudent one. Secretly I wondered if he just didn’t want me spending his hard-earned money on such things.” Her chuckle made the feather on her hat bob.

  When they left Dickinson for the final leg of their journey, Mrs. Grant leaned forward and took Amethyst’s hands. “I wish I could convince you to come west with me. I’d like my son to meet you, and I will so miss your company.”

  “Some company I’ve been, getting sick like that and now falling asleep at the drop of a hat. I would like to pay you back some for all I’ve cost you.”

  “You keep your money. You might need it worse than I do before you get home. And besides, I might want you to come help with this new company we’ll be forming. Three heads are better than two.”

  “You really think Mrs. Sampson will go along with your ideas?”

  “I pray so. I need to convince her she could use the money to help her patients. Such a dear lady.” Mrs. Grant handed Amethyst her calling card. “I’ve written my Chicago address on the back, but I most likely will get a letter off to you that will be at your home before you are.”

  “No, no. Please wait. My pa opens all the mail, and—”

  “I see. Well, I wish I were going to be in Chicago when you go through there again. You and your nephew could come visit me for a few days.” She squeezed Amethyst’s hands and let them go, sitting perfectly straight on the edge of her seat. “You promise to write to me?”

  “Yes, I promise.” The thought of getting off in a strange town, knowing no one and not even where she was going, made Amethyst feel like throwing up again.

  When she stood on the platform watching the train chug on west, she blew out the breath she must have been holding. Her white breath reminded her how cold it was. Although there was no snow falling, the clouds above her looked pregnant. Lord, what do I do now?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Amethyst stared down the track one more time. Loneliness echoed like the wind that tugged at her skirts.

  “Ma’am, you better get on in here out of that cold.” The voice came from behind her.

  Amethyst turned with a nod. She picked up her carpetbags and headed for the station door being held open by the man who had called her. His green eyeshade proclaimed him the telegraph operator as well as the stationmaster.

  “Thank you.” She stamped the snow off her feet on the mat and glanced around the very utilitarian room, the main focus right now being the cast-iron stove with a kettle boiling on top. The steam caused her stomach to rumble in anticipation. Right now, beef soup smelled more like perfume to her than simple food. Ever since she’d started on the road to recovery, she’d felt hungry every time she turned around. “My, that smells good.”

  “Where you going?” The man inserted another chunk of wood in the door with red glowing glass, closed the door, and gave the kettle a stir. He turned to look at her, waiting for an answer.

  “Here. Medora, I mean. I’m searching for my nephew.”

  “Plenty of folks lookin’ for someone come through here. As if we know where all those who want to start new lives either went or live.” He shook his head. “Best tell me about him.”

  “His name is Joel O’Shaunasy. He’s eight years old and came west with a man named Jacob Chandler. I have information that they live near here somewhere.” Her stomach rumbled loud enough for him to hear.

  “How long since you ate? You’re welcome to some soup here. It’s nothing fancy but it’s filling.” He indicated the steaming kettle.

  “I…I don’t want to put you out.”

  “Look, out here someone comes in hungry, we feed them. Thirsty, we got good water. So I got an extra bowl and spoon, and you can just help yourself.” He limped over to the counter and brought out the mentioned bowl and spoon. “My wife sent over a loaf of bread, if that sounds good to you too?” He cocked his head, waiting for her to swallow her pride and answer.

  “Can I pay you?”

  “For what? Being neighborly. Ain’t no charge for that, far as I know. Besides, we can sit and visit a mite while we eat. Gets some lonesome in here after the train’s gone by, ’specially with weather like this.”

  Amethyst moved her bags over to the bench seat and crossed to take the two bowls. “I’ll fill these while you slice the bread, and I do thank you. If everyone in Medora is as kind as you are, this town must have an excellent reputation.” She filled the bowls with beef chunks and vegetable soup and set them on the bench seats, then sat down. Waiting for him to bring the bread so they could have grace left her salivating.

  He handed her a thick slice of bread, straddled the bench, and bowed his head. “For this thy bounty we give thee our most hearty thanks. Amen.” He nodded to the repast. “Dig in.”

  Amethyst did just that, holding the bowl close to her chin so that she wouldn’t drip down the front of her garments. While she’d unbuttoned her coat, ten feet from the stove the room was chilly, with drafts along the floor enough to make her grateful for her woolen stockings and quilted petticoat. “My, you must thank your wife. This is delicious.”

  “Can’t go wrong w
ith good beef, beans, a few carrots, and whatever else she has to hand. At home she makes the best dumplings, but I go for the plain fare here. Now, let me think on the boy you are looking for.” He sopped the last of his soup with the crust of his bread and squinted his eyes while finishing chewing. “Last summer a man and a boy came here looking for work and a place to live. Adams over at the general store sent them on out with Ward Robertson. He’s gone now, but—”

  “You mean Mr. Chandler has left and gone on to somewhere else?”

  “No. Robertson was killed by a freak ricocheting bullet in a shootout last summer. Terrible thing. He was a good man. Left a wife and five girls. Terrible doings.”

  Amethyst waited. “So Mr. Chandler is still around here?”

  “Far as I know he’s still helping out at the Robertsons’. Unless he rode out instead of taking the train. The boy comes to town with the other children to school. He turned into a right good little cowhand, so I heard. Opal Torvald made sure of that. She was teaching the father too, but that boy really took to it.”

  “So is he here in town at the schoolhouse?”

  “Don’t rightly know. We had a bad snow last few days and looks to be coming back. Times like this the ranch kids stay to home.”

  Amethyst fought to keep herself in her seat and not scream at the man to hurry up and tell her how to get out there. “How far is it to the Robertsons’?”

  “Oh, somewhere ’bout a mile or two, but you’ll need a horse and sleigh. You’d be better going out to Miz Hegland’s boardinghouse if you need a place to stay. Perhaps if Carl ain’t too busy and the weather holds, he could take you on out to the ranch.”

  “I see.” Oh, why couldn’t this be easy? “When is the next train east?”

  “Sometime tomorrow. All depends on the weather. Had one train sit here in the station till they could clear the tracks. Been a bad year for blizzards already, and I fear we got more to come. All the signs point to a bad one.” He picked up their bowls. “You want some more soup?”