Page 155 of The Widow and the Wanted

“Any person who came here today out of concern for my daughter has my gratitude. Any person who came for spectacle may find it elsewhere. Any person who came to break my house will be shot by a Gemini girl with excellent aim.”

The crowd scatters slow.

Then Goldie calls from above, “Lula Clay.”

Lula stiffens and looks up.

Goldie stands on the balcony, red silk stirring in the damp wind, ledger tucked under her arm, face unreadable.

For a heartbeat, mother and daughter only stare at each other.

Then Goldie says, “You and your outlaws had better come inside before some fool decides he liked the dead man’s story better.”

Lula wipes her cheek with the heel of her hand.

“Yes, Mother.”

Chapter 39

Okee

By late August, the paint on Lula’s sign had cured hard in the sun.

WILD CARD APOTHECARY

Tonics, Teas, Tinctures & Midwifery

Lula painted the sign herself, standing on a crate in the street while Boone held her waist as if she might tumble to her death from a height of twelve inches.

The shop stands directly beside the Gemini because Goldie owns half the block. When Lula told her she meant to open an apothecary, Goldie evicted a tenant who sold cracked saddles and bad tobacco. Within a week, Goldie had men scrubbing the walls, washing the windows, and building a proper counter along the back. Goldie would not hear of Lula starting small.

She invested in the business, paid for shelving, glass bottles, and enough stock to make Lula stand in the middle of the room with one hand pressed to her mouth.

In exchange, Goldie took twenty-five percent of the business. She’d drawn it up for fifty, but Lula tore up the contract and threatened to open a Methodist mission for fallen women across the street.

Now Wild Card Apothecary stands close enough to the Gemini that music and laughter pass through the walls after sundown. During the day, the shop smells of dried mint and camphor. Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with jars, packets, and little brown bottles stoppered tight. Above the door hang bunches of cedar, sweet grass, horehound, and willow bark tied with twine.

Her name is painted on the front window.

Lula Clay, Proprietress.

Sometimes I catch her standing in the street admiring it. Boone and I help where we can. I keep the accounts, copy labels, and mix powders. Boone hauls crates, sweeps poorly, and charms customers he ought not charm.

When Lula is called away to attend a birth, or goes out to forage what cannot be bought, Boone and I mind the shop between other work.

Legitimate work, mostly.

Goldie has a great many errands that require strong backs, steady hands, and a flexible understanding of civic duty. Security. Debt collection.

I sit at the counter, copying labels in my neatest hand. In the heat, shirtsleeves rolled to my forearms. Sweat gathers beneath my collar. Outside, the street lies bright and punishing beneath the late sun.

I pull a page of labels and find most of them filled.

Tinkchure

Ekinasha

Hoor hownd