But when she was with Adam, Annie’s scruples took wing and flew right out the window. Love made its own rules, she told herself, and loving Adam felt utterly and beautifully right. She simply wouldn’t allow herself to think that it was wrong to love another woman’s husband.
When Adam wasn’t with her, however, uncomfortable questions nudged themselves into her consciousness. Douglas, too, had always lived by a strict moral code, both in his personal life and in his business. What would he say about what she and Adam were doing? How had she gotten to a point in her life where she could justify sleeping with her neighbor’s husband? Even if it was just a short-lived affair and Delia never found out about it, it was wrong.
But there was something even more disturbing. Annie already knew that she wanted Adam’s baby, wanted it just as much as she had wanted her own first baby, Douglas’ son. Her desire signaled—to her, at least—that this was not an ephemeral affair that would be concluded when her lover’s wife came home. It could surely have no good consequences. Where was it going to end?
Annie pushed the questions as far to the back of her mind as possible, so they wouldn’t dim the glimmering happiness that sent her spinning giddily through her days. Still, she was sensible enough to know that there were things that had to be done, and her happiness was no excuse for not doing them. She might want Adam’s baby, but allowing herself to become pregnant was simply out of the question. She needed something to ensure against that happening, but she didn’t dare buy one of the patent medicines at Mr. Carter’s pharmacy. Mr. Carter was a dapper little man who prided himself on knowing everything that was going on in town and wasn’t above passing the news along. As a widow, if she bought one of the patent medicines that women used as a contraceptive, it would be all over Pecan Springs in a day or two. She couldn’t ask a friend to do it, either, for she would have to confess why she wanted it, and she couldn’t do that.
So Annie mustered her courage and went to see Mrs. Crow, who had a reputation for keeping women’s private matters to herself—and was much nicer than Mr. Carter. Mrs. Crow took her to a small room adjacent to the kitchen. There was a drying rack filled with bundles of herbs, a worktable fitted out with equipment for distilling essential oils and making tinctures and salves and lotions, and shelves of glass jars and boxes of dried herbs, small bottles of tinctures, and little pots of salves. Mrs. Crow knew that she was a widow, so Annie excused her request by saying that she was purchasing the herbs on behalf of a friend, a young, newly married woman who lacked instruction in the matter and was too shy to come herself. Oh, and she—Annie, that is—wanted some hibiscus tea, please.
Annie flushed uneasily when Mrs. Crow peered over her wire-rimmed spectacles and remarked in a knowing mutter, “You can tell your friend, my dear, that rue in thyme is a maiden’s posy.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie said contritely. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Mrs. Crow raised her eyebrows. “It’s an old Scottish proverb that means more than it seems to say. To be sure she’s safe, your friend can drink a strong tea of rue and thyme as soon after the act as possible. On the other hand, she might find it better to repent of what she is about to do, in time to change her mind and not do it.”
“Ah,” Annie said, coloring. “I see.”
Mrs. Crow chuckled wryly. “But we women do what we must, of course, when we must, since the matter is not often left to us, but to our husbands.” She went to a shelf and took down two jars. “I will give you some rue and thyme to take to your friend for those times when she finds repentance beforehand inconvenient. Or impossible.”
“Thank you,” Annie stammered, wondering uncomfortably just how much this wise old lady guessed. “I would . . . I’m sure my friend will appreciate that.”
Mrs. Crow gave her a shrewd look. “I tell all my ladies that it’s best to take care of the matter immediately afterward, of course. It is all too easy to make a mistake. But if a second monthly is missed and it’s a little too late for rue and thyme, there are other plants that can help.” She gestured toward a shelf of glass jars. “Wild carrot seeds and cotton root are both known to be reliable.”
“I’ve heard of wild carrot seeds,” Annie murmured, remembering what Adam had told her. “Perhaps my friend should have a supply of those, as well.”
Mrs. Crow nodded and began ticking items on her fingers in what sounded like a practiced recital. “Women used different plants back east, where I grew up. But in our part of Texas, there’s epazote, tansy, pennyroyal, mugwort, and staghorn milkweed. In fact, I grow these right here in my garden—or I gather them myself, outside of town. Ladies ask for them quite often, as you can imagine, so I keep a good supply on hand for teas, and also as tinctures. The choice of plants and the dose depends on how far along a woman is, and her size and general health.” She looked over her glasses again. “If your friend is in that case, Mrs. Duncan, it would be best if she could come herself. I might be of more help if I could have a look at her.”
“Thank you,” Annie said again, impressed by
