The Lost Apothecary

by Sarah Penner

Every poison I dispensed brought a new wave of it upon me; some evenings, my fingers were so distended and stiff, I felt sure the skin would split open and expose what lay underneath.

My mother committed to giving women a place of refuge, a place where they might be vulnerable and forthcoming about their ailments without the lascivious appraisal of a man.

understood, for the first time in my life, the incalculable fury that drives some people to murder.

I was searching for a lost apothecary, yes, but a sense of sadness came over me as I acknowledged what else I sought: resolution to my unstable marriage, my desire to be a mother, my choice of career.

“For many of these women,” Nella whispered, “this may be the only place their names are recorded. The only place they will be remembered.

There are few places for a woman to leave an indelible mark.”

I thought it love, then, but now I wonder if it wasn’t simply the emptiness of grief, seeking something to rush in and take away the barren feeling.”