“What is going on here?” Luke asked in shock.
Aaron walked up to Janelle and took her arm firmly. “Let’s go talk in the house. These three aren’t going anywhere, and they stink to high heaven.”
“Uh, the house may not be any better.”
“What did you do?”
“I prescribed a cathartic.”
When they all looked at her in astonishment, Letty added proudly, “And I administered it. Janelle is a genius, Aaron. Don’t you dare punish her for her little lapse in language just now. She is the bravest, most intelligent woman I know.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma. I know what you say is true. I’ve known it for a good long while.”
When they entered the house, the odor was overpowering. Luke and Heath put their father on the couch before hauling out the ruined rug, leaving the others to open all the windows, despite the late November chill.
Afterward, Janelle tended Henry, declaring it was only a bump and a small cut that didn’t need stitches. He was given an ice pack and two of Janelle’s precious Motrin as he sat on the couch with his three sons. Soon he was demanding something stronger, like whiskey, as he listened to Letty gleefully retell their dreadful story.
“Son, these women are going to scare us into an early grave.”
Aaron ignored his Pa and worried over his wife and another near miss. Thankfully, this time it had worked out for the best. “It was a brilliant idea to dose their coffee, honey. However, I have to admit my heart is still racing. Pass the whiskey, Pa, I need a drink.” He took a big swig from the bottle before passing it back. “What if it didn’t work?”
“Impossible. I made sure that it would work, Aaron.” Letty looked at Janelle and smiled proudly. “I put in all three packets into that pot.”
“Letty!” Janelle gasped. “That was at least two dozen doses. No wonder they couldn’t stand.”
“Serves them right, manhandling and threatening us as they did. And for coshing Henry over the head.” Letty crossed her arms and nodded determinedly. “I’d do it again in a split second, too.”
Heath stared at his mother in amazement. “I don’t know about you, Luke, but if I were Aaron and Pa, I’d be worried about these ladies. They’re vicious when crossed.”
Aaron and Henry looked at each other, then at their wives who sat together with smug looks on their faces.
Henry stated confidently, “They wouldn’t dare. I know one of them wouldn’t sit for a week.”
“That makes two, Pa.”
“Aaron, you’ve already had my promise and vow for good over evil. Don’t you trust me, honey?”
“Indeed,” Letty agreed. “We are to be authors, healers, and herbalists. We shall rise above the nonsense of tonight.”
“Well, said, Madam Author.”
“Why thank you, Madam Herbalist.”
Letty and Janelle looked at each other, sharing a conspiratorial look before they turned to their husbands and said in precise unison, “Coffee anyone?”
* * *
After that night, their lives returned to normal—almost. Janelle, Letty, and Doc worked diligently on their home medicinal. They had it accepted by a publisher, who sent out a photographer for pictures of some of the plants used in the book. They also had an artist work with Janelle and Letty on illustrations. A year later, the photographer returned to take a picture of the three authors prior to publishing.
“I’m standing in the back. I’m as big as a house already,” Janelle whined. At five months along, she was already showing and quite rounded at that. She had confidently told Doc and the midwife in town that it was going to be twins, and just last week, a surprised Doc had confirmed that when he heard two separate heartbeats. She and Aaron were ecstatically happy and anxiously awaited their twin sons’ arrival. They both enjoyed taking out the ‘yet to be taken’ family photograph and planning their future as their rambunctious sons kicked and moved around in Janelle’s belly.
Now, when the time came for the photograph, Janelle insisted that they all smile. “Back then, no one ever smiled for photographs for some reason.”
“Back when, Mrs. Jackson?” the photographer asked, looking at her oddly.
“Uh, I meant nowadays. It makes no sense to me that no one smiles.” Janelle blanched as the excuse rolled off her tongue. Her eyes shifted from Letty to Aaron to Doc. The latter having long ago figured out that Janelle was not from these parts, although he never said a word.
“Some folks feel that when a picture is taken, there is a piece of your soul that is captured. They feel they’ll attract evil spirits with smiles and laughter, so they remain somber,” the photographer commented.
“Nonsense. This is a happy occasion, so we are going to smile.”
The photographer indicated that he was ready, set—
Abruptly, Janelle said, “Everyone say cheese!” right before the bulb flashed. She was the only one who smiled. Letty and Doc turned to look at her strangely following her odd comment.
“Now why ever should we say that, dear?” Letty asked.
The photographer looked on, obviously irritated, telling them he’d need to get another picture, muttering, “Everyone stay put.”
Doc and Letty were still puzzling about cheese, but Janelle impatiently rolled her eyes. That’s all she needed—another man telling her to stay put. Aaron, who’d been observing from the doorway, obviously thought the bizarre scene was hysterically funny as he howled with laughter.
Janelle, however, did not and stuck out her saucy tongue at her husband.
“May I have your cooperation this time please, Mrs. Jackson?”
Letty looked up. “Which Mrs. Jackson?”
“The one who presently has her tongue sticking out, of course,” the photographer griped.
Doc asked Janelle, puzzled. “Should we all say cheese again, Janelle?”
Land sakes, Janelle wondered, when had this simple task turned so complex? “Never mind, you two, just smile.”
Aaron’s deep rolling laughter in the background cheered them all, and the photograph turned out picture perfect.
Epilogue
September 2013
One month after the accident…
Angela Prescott looked down at the old book in amazement. “Gerald, come quickly. You’ve got to see this.”
Her husband, never in a hurry to do anything, calmly wandered across the store to join her.
“Take a look at this.”
She thrust the old tome into his hands. The leather was slightly faded, but the book was in remarkably good condition.
“A Home Medicinal: Home Remedies for Aches, Pains, Sickness and All That Ails You.” He frowned after reading the title aloud. Looking up at his wife, he inquired, “What of it?”
“Look at the author, Gerald.”
“Hobart Morgan?”
“No.” She rolled her eyes. “You can be so frustrating at times. The other authors.”
He looked again and read aloud, “Mrs. Janelle Jackson and Mrs. Leticia Jackson.” This time, he paused, stunned. “Holy Cow. That’s our Janelle.” Flipping through the book, he came to a black and white photograph near the back in a section marked ‘Author’s Note’. “There’s a picture, Angie!” Turning it around, he showed her. Janelle stood behind an older man and woman in turn-of-the century clothing. Her hands were resting on the other’s shoulders, and she was smiling as if the world were her oyster.
Tears filled Angela’s eyes as she looked at her beloved daughter. Older, but every bit as beautiful as when she had disappeared. “She looks radiant and happy, doesn’t she, honey?”
“Indeed she does, Angie.”
They both wept tears of joy for their daughter’s happiness, although they were bittersweet and mixed with grief from their own loss.
“How can this be? I mean, she was here one moment, and gone the next. Now we find a book that she wrote over a century ago, but to us, it’s only been a month. The whole thing is so confusing, Gerald.”<
br />
“I know, sweetheart. But after stressing my brain to figure it out for the last month, I’ve decided that we may never know and should take comfort in the fact that she is happy, healthy, and loved.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She watched him handle the book, wanting to grab it and store it somewhere—to preserve it safely, forever. Instead, she slid the precious volume out of his big, sometimes clumsy hands.
“That is a sixth edition published in 1898, ten years after the letter. Twenty years after her disappearance. She would be forty-three, Angie. Almost our age. The kids would be eighteen and fifteen, I believe. They’re practically grown. Go back to the author’s section, and see if there’s more.
She flipped to the back, finding the page quickly. Angling it so they could both see, she read it aloud.
Author’s Note:
We are sad to announce that after tens of thousands of our Medicinals in print, this will be our final edition due to the passing of our dear friend, Doctor Hobart Morgan. He gave 60 years of devoted service to the practice of medicine and will truly be missed.
As for Mrs. Leticia Jackson and myself, we have decided that we cannot continue without Doc’s collaboration and will leave it to the American Medical Association, American Pharmacists Association and the newly formed Nurses Associated Alumnae to carry on our important work.
Both Leticia and I have been blessed to have supportive husbands and families who have helped us achieve our dream of bringing safe herbal remedies into the homes of families like our own.
A special note to my parents, Angela and Gerald Prescott. I love you both and thank you for the support you gave me in my pursuit of knowledge in the healing arts. Your love, strength, and guidance have made me the woman I am today.
To my readers, best wishes for your health and happiness. Janelle Jackson
They held each other close as they stared down at the words written over a century earlier. “Gerald, it boggles the mind. How did this happen? And why to our daughter?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Let’s just go pay for it. I want to ask about the other editions. Maybe there are other pictures and author notes. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“I’ll be right there.” Angela watched as her husband got in line at the front of the store, then promptly turned and strode down the aisle to the shelves in the back. She knew exactly what she needed and where to find it.
Smiling broadly, she joined him at the register just as he stepped up to the counter. Sliding the large book beside the precious medicinal, she waited, brimming with happiness.
Gerald turned the book around so he could see the title. “What else do you have here?” He read the title aloud, “The Genealogist’s Handbook”. Seriously, Angie?”
“Yes, sirree. I am going to find and meet my great-great-great grandchildren.”
The End
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Maddie Taylor Links
Marshal's Law Page 29
