Memories of a Dirt Road Town by Stephen Bly

Author:Stephen Bly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2005-12-08T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

The sweet nectar of the orange Popsicle dribbled down her throat as Develyn stood on the front porch of the old house converted into a store building. Casey Cree-Ryder stretched out on the bench beside her with nothing but the stick of a Dove Bar lodged like a tongue depressor between her full lips.

Mrs. Tagley, with white starched full apron over her long, faded blue housedress, stood behind the screen door and peered out. “Devy, why don’t you sit down?”

“Mrs. Tagley, I won’t be sitting down for a long time.”

“Did you use some Dr. Bull’s?” the elderly lady probed.

“Dr. Bull’s?”

Mrs. Tagley peered over the top of her silver-framed glasses. “Dr. Bull’s Female Remedy.”

Develyn glanced over at Cree-Ryder, who shrugged. “Casey said I should use horse liniment.”

“That’s for rubbing on the outside. You drink Dr. Bull’s,” Mrs. Tagley explained. “It really works. I’ve taken a dose ever day since prohibition. I’ll go get you a bottle.” Mrs. Tagley disappeared into the recesses of the front-room store.

“Have you ever heard of Female Remedy?” Develyn murmured as she continued to lick the Popsicle.

“I’ve never even heard of Dr. Bull!”

At four-feet-ten, Mrs. Tagley had a pixie-like look when she stepped to the porch and handed Develyn a six-ounce, round amber bottle with the label “Dr. Bull’s Female Remedy: used externally and internally for generations.” The woman in the picture who held a bottle above her head looked like she had just stepped off a Victorian calendar.

“So, I just drink it?” Develyn asked.

“Oh, just a spoonful at a time, honey. You young girls won’t need very much.” Mrs. Tagley scooted back into the store.

Develyn handed the bottle to Casey. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been called a ‘young girl’.”

Casey studied the bottle. “Shoot, I was never called a young girl. Called a young boy a few times. I used to wear my hair short, shorter than yours.”

“When was that?”

“When I was about ten. Hey, look at this. This stuff is made by the Mystic Trading Company of Seattle.”

“Is that good?” Develyn watched a slumping black and white dog circle, then lie down in the shade of a cottonwood.

“They make a product called Miracle Oil.”

Develyn nibbled the last bite off her Popsicle. “What do you do with Miracle Oil? Rub it on like suntan lotion?”

Cree-Ryder waved her ice cream stick like a pointer. “I suppose you could, but it’s a fuel additive for chain saw motors.” She handed the bottle back to Develyn.

“What am I going to do with this?”

“Rub some on your tushie, and take a snort,” Casey laughed. “One of the two ought to help. You ready to promenade back to your place?”

“As long as we go slow.”

Uncle Henry waited for them next to the sleeping dog in the shade of a cottonwood tree.

“If you don’t want to walk, you could ride your burro.”

“That’s not even close to being humorous. I hurt all over.”

Casey strutted beside her. “That bad, huh?”

“I went skiing one time in Colorado. Spencer, my husband, decided we should go to Colorado for Christmas when Delaney was about ten.

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