The bell above the shop door chimed, its cheerful tinkle at odds with the gloomy interior. Eliza Thornberry looked up from her mortar and pestle, squinting at the silhouette framed in the doorway. It had been so long since anyone had darkened her threshold that for a moment, she wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her.
“Hello?” a timid voice called out. “Is anyone there?”
Eliza set down her tools and wiped her hands on her apron. As she stepped out from behind the counter, a woman came into focus—thin and careworn, with darning visible on the sleeves of her faded dress.
“Can I help you?” Eliza asked, her own voice rough from disuse.
The woman wrung her hands, glancing nervously around the cramped shop with its dusty shelves and jars of mysterious substances. “I… I’m not sure I should be here,” she stammered. “But I didn’t know where else to turn.”
Eliza’s heart sank. She knew that look—desperation mingled with distrust. It was how everyone in town regarded her now. “What seems to be the trouble, Mrs…?”
“Wilkes. Margaret Wilkes.” The woman drew a shaky breath. “It’s my boy, Thomas. He’s taken ill, and I can’t afford Dr. Blackwood’s fees.”
Of course. No one would seek her out unless they had exhausted all other options. Eliza tamped down the familiar ache of rejection and forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. “What are his symptoms?”
As Margaret described Thomas’s fever, cough, and listlessness, Eliza’s mind whirred through possibilities. It sounded like a nasty bout of influenza, perhaps complicated by pneumonia. Nothing she hadn’t treated successfully a hundred times in the past. Before…
She shook off the intrusive memory. “I believe I can help,” Eliza said carefully. “But you should know that my methods are… unconventional. And not everyone approves.”
Margaret’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve heard the whispers. About what happened with the mayor’s daughter. But please, I’m at my wit’s end. Thomas is all I have left in this world.”
Eliza’s throat tightened. She knew all too well the anguish of a mother fearing for her child’s life. “I’ll do what I can,” she promised. “But I’ll need to examine the boy first. Where do you live?”
“Just off Cobbler’s Lane. The row houses near the tannery.”
Eliza nodded, already mentally cataloging which remedies she might need. “I’ll come by this evening, after I’ve closed up shop. And Mrs. Wilkes?” She hesitated, hating to bring up such a delicate matter. “My services aren’t free. But I’m willing to work out an arrangement, if coin is scarce.”
Relief washed over Margaret’s face. “Bless you. I don’t have much, but I’m a fair hand with a needle and thread. Perhaps I could mend some things for you?”
“We’ll sort something out,” Eliza assured her. As Margaret hurried out, Eliza sagged against the counter, suddenly exhausted. What was she thinking, agreeing to treat a child? If anything went wrong… But no, she couldn’t let fear paralyze her. She was still a healer at heart, no matter what the townsfolk thought of her now.
With renewed determination, Eliza began gathering supplies. Yarrow for the fever. Horehound and coltsfoot for the cough. Elderberry to boost the immune system. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, measuring and mixing. For the first time in years, she felt a spark of purpose igniting within her.
As twilight deepened into true night, Eliza made her way through the narrow streets of the town. She kept her head down, hood pulled low to avoid recognition. The few people still out at this hour gave her a wide berth, no doubt catching a whiff of the pungent herbs in her satchel.
The row houses near the tannery were a far cry from the fine homes in the center of town where she’d once plied her trade. Paint peeled from weathered clapboards, and the stench of the tannery vats hung heavy in the air. Eliza rapped softly on the door of the house Margaret had described.
It opened almost immediately, spilling warm lamplight onto the street. Margaret ushered her inside, where the sour smell of sickness mingled with woodsmoke from the small hearth.
“He’s through here,” Margaret whispered, leading Eliza to a curtained-off alcove.
Thomas lay curled on a thin pallet, his chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths. Even in the dim light, Eliza could see the flush of fever on his hollow cheeks. She knelt beside him, gently laying a hand on his forehead.
“How long has he been like this?” she asked.
Margaret twisted her apron in her hands. “The fever started three days ago. But he’s been poorly for weeks now. Not eating much, tired all the time. I thought it was just from working so hard at the mill, but…” Her voice broke.
Eliza’s brow furrowed as she examined the boy more closely. There was something not quite right here—something beyond a simple case of influenza. She pressed her ear to Thomas’s chest, listening to the wet rattle in his lungs.
“Has he been coughing up any blood?” she asked.
Margaret’s eyes widened. “Just a bit. How did you know?”
Eliza sat back on her heels, mind racing. “I have a suspicion, but I’ll need to run some tests to be certain. For now, we’ll focus on bringing down his fever and easing his breathing.”
She set to work, showing Margaret how to prepare a poultice of yarrow and applying it to Thomas’s chest and forehead. As she worked, she explained each step, partly to distract the anxious mother and partly out of long habit. It had been so long since she’d had an apprentice to teach.
“This tea needs to steep for at least an hour,” Eliza said, handing Margaret a small packet of herbs. “Make sure he drinks it all, even if he protests. I’ll be back in the morning to check on him.”
Margaret clutched Eliza’s hand. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
Eliza managed a small smile. “Let’s see how Thomas fares before we worry about that.”
As she stepped back out into the night, Eliza felt a familiar mix of exhilaration and trepidation. The thrill of solving a medical puzzle warred with the fear of failure. But for the first time in years, hope was winning out.
Over the next few days, Eliza fell into a routine. Mornings were spent tending to Thomas, afternoons in her shop preparing remedies, and evenings back at the Wilkes household. Slowly but surely, Thomas began to improve. The fever broke, his breathing eased, and he even managed to keep down some broth.
But Eliza’s initial suspicion had been confirmed. This was no ordinary illness. The symptoms pointed to something far more insidious—black lung disease, contracted from the coal dust at the mill where Thomas worked. It was treatable, with the right care, but it would be a long road to recovery.
As she explained her findings to Margaret, Eliza braced herself for the inevitable backlash. Surely now that the immediate danger had passed, the woman would come to her senses and seek a “proper” doctor’s opinion.
To her surprise, Margaret simply nodded, a determined set to her jaw. “What do we need to do?”
Eliza blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. “Well, first and foremost, Thomas can’t go back to work at the mill. The coal dust will only make his condition worse.”
“But how will we survive?” Margaret’s voice quavered. “His wages are all that keep a roof over our heads.”
“I… may have a solution,” Eliza said hesitantly. “I’ve been thinking. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and I could use an extra pair of hands around the shop. If you’re willing to apprentice, I could teach you the basics of herbalism. It won’t make you rich, but it would be safer work than the laundry.”
Margaret’s eyes welled with tears. “You’d do that? After how the town has treated you?”
Eliza shrugged, uncomfortable with the gratitude. “Everyone deserves a second chance,” she said gruffly. “Now, let’s see about getting some meat back on that boy’s bones.”
As the weeks passed, a tentative rhythm developed. Margaret proved to be a quick study, soaking up Eliza’s teachings like a sponge. Thomas, though still weak, began to show real signs of recovery. And word began to spread through the poorer quarters of town that the disgraced apothecary was practicing again.
At first, it was just a trickle—a washerwoman with chilblains, a carpenter with a badly infected splinter. But soon, Eliza found herself treating two or three patients a day. She was careful to stay within the bounds of what was legally allowed without a physician’s license, but even so, she knew it was only a matter of time before she drew unwanted attention.
That reckoning came sooner than she’d hoped. One blustery autumn morning, the shop bell jangled with more force than usual. Eliza looked up to see Dr. Nathaniel Blackwood’s imposing figure filling the doorway.
“So,” he said, his cultured voice dripping with disdain, “the rumors are true. You’re practicing again.”
Eliza straightened her spine, refusing to be cowed. “I provide herbal remedies and basic first aid, nothing more. You know as well as I do that there’s no law against that.”
Blackwood’s lip curled. “Perhaps not. But I would have thought you’d learned your lesson about meddling in matters beyond your expertise. Or have you forgotten what happened to poor Emily Hawthorne?”
The name hit Eliza like a physical blow. How could she ever forget? The mayor’s daughter, dead of lockjaw because Eliza had missed the signs of infection in a simple cut. It was the mistake that had cost her everything—her reputation, her livelihood, very nearly her sanity.
“That’s not fair,” Margaret’s voice rang out. Eliza hadn’t even realized she was in the shop. “Mrs. Thornberry saved my Thomas when no one else would help. She’s a good woman and a fine healer.”
Blackwood’s eyebrows rose. “Mrs. Wilkes, isn’t it? I’m surprised to see you here. Surely you know the risks of entrusting your health to… unauthorized practitioners.”
Margaret lifted her chin. “With all due respect, Dr. Blackwood, when a mother can’t afford to feed her child and pay your fees, she does what she must. Mrs. Thornberry has been nothing but kind and competent.”
The doctor’s face darkened. “Be that as it may, I cannot in good conscience allow this to continue. I’ll be speaking to the town council about shutting down this establishment.”
“On what grounds?” Eliza demanded, finding her voice at last. “I haven’t broken any laws.”
“Perhaps not. But I’m sure they’ll see reason once I explain the danger you pose to public health.” With a final withering glare, Blackwood swept out of the shop.
Eliza sagged against the counter, her legs suddenly weak. “That’s it, then,” she said hollowly. “It’s over.”
Margaret laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t give up hope yet. The people you’ve helped, they’ll speak for you. And my Thomas is living proof of your skills.”
Eliza shook her head. “You don’t understand. The town council… they’ll never go against Dr. Blackwood’s wishes. Not after what happened with Emily.”
“Then we’ll make them understand,” Margaret insisted. “You’ve atoned for your mistake a hundred times over. It’s time the town saw that.”
Over the next few days, as Blackwood rallied support for his cause, an unexpected groundswell began to build. The washerwoman with the chilblains told her neighbors how Eliza’s salve had eased her pain when nothing else worked. The carpenter showed off his perfectly healed hand, free of the infection that might have cost him his livelihood.
And Thomas, though still thin and pale, walked under his own power to the town square, where he loudly proclaimed that he owed his life to “Widow Thornberry’s physick.”
By the time the town council convened to hear Blackwood’s complaint, a small crowd had gathered outside the meeting hall. Eliza, sick with dread, almost didn’t attend. But Margaret practically dragged her there, insisting that she deserved the chance to defend herself.
The council members listened gravely as Blackwood laid out his case, painting Eliza as a dangerous charlatan preying on the desperation of the poor. When he finished, the mayor turned to Eliza.
“Mrs. Thornberry, do you have anything to say in your defense?”
Eliza’s throat closed up. All the carefully rehearsed arguments fled from her mind. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
And then, from the back of the hall, a voice rang out. “I do.”
Heads turned as Thomas Wilkes made his way to the front, leaning on a cane but moving with determination.
“Begging your pardon, sirs,” he said, his young voice clear and steady. “But I wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for Mrs. Thornberry. When I was sick with the black lung, and my mam couldn’t afford a proper doctor, she took me in and nursed me back to health. She didn’t ask for payment, only that we help others in turn.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. Emboldened, others began to speak up—the washerwoman, the carpenter, a dozen more whose lives Eliza had touched over the past months.
Blackwood sputtered, his face growing redder by the moment. “This is absurd! Are we to ignore years of medical training in favor of old wives’ tales and superstition? Need I remind the council of the tragedy that occurred the last time this woman was allowed to practice unchecked?”
A hush fell over the room. Eliza felt the weight of every eye upon her. This was the moment she had dreaded for years—facing the full brunt of her guilt and shame.
But as she looked around the room, she saw not condemnation in the faces before her, but hope. Hope, and a willingness to believe that people could change, could learn from their mistakes and become better for them.
Drawing a deep breath, Eliza stepped forward. “Dr. Blackwood is right about one thing,” she said, her voice stronger than she’d expected. “What happened to Emily Hawthorne was a tragedy, one that I will carry with me for the rest of my days. I made a terrible mistake, and a young girl paid the price for my overconfidence.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts. “But in the years since, I’ve learned humility. I’ve studied, I’ve practiced, and I’ve vowed never to make such an error again. I don’t claim to be a miracle worker or to have all the answers. But I do know that there are people in this town who need help—help that they can’t always get from more… conventional sources.”
Eliza turned to face the council directly. “I’m not asking for special treatment or to be above the law. All I want is the chance to use what skills I have to ease suffering where I can. If that means working under Dr. Blackwood’s supervision, or referring serious cases to him, I’m more than willing to do so.”
The council members exchanged glances. The mayor cleared his throat. “Dr. Blackwood, would such an arrangement be acceptable to you?”
Blackwood’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. It was clear he hadn’t expected this turn of events. Finally, he managed a stiff nod. “I suppose… a probationary period could be arranged. With strict oversight, of course.”
“Then it’s settled,” the mayor announced. “Mrs. Thornberry will be allowed to continue her practice, under the condition that she consult with Dr. Blackwood on any cases beyond basic herbalism and first aid. We’ll review the situation in six months’ time.”
A cheer went up from the assembled townsfolk. As the meeting broke up, Eliza found herself surrounded by well-wishers. Margaret enveloped her in a fierce hug.
“I told you we’d make them see reason,” she said, eyes shining.
Eliza managed a watery smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Any of you,” she added, looking around at the faces of those she’d helped.
As the crowd began to disperse, Eliza noticed Dr. Blackwood lingering near the door. After a moment’s hesitation, she approached him.
“Doctor,” she said cautiously. “I want you to know that I meant what I said. I’m not trying to usurp your position or undermine your authority. I only want to help where I can.”
Blackwood regarded her for a long moment. “We’ll see,” he said finally. “But I’ll be watching you closely, Mrs. Thornberry. One misstep, and—”
“I understand,” Eliza cut in. “And I welcome your scrutiny. Perhaps… perhaps we might even learn from each other?”
A flicker of surprise crossed the doctor’s face. Then, to Eliza’s astonishment, the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “Good day, Mrs. Thornberry.”
As Eliza watched him go, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The road ahead would not be easy, she knew. There would be setbacks and struggles, doubters to win over and trust to rebuild.
But for the first time in years, she felt truly alive. She had been given a second chance, and she intended to make the most of it. With a spring in her step, Eliza headed back to her shop, ready to face whatever challenges the future might bring.