The Girl from Memphis

The summer of 1945 was heavy with heat and change. The war was ending, soldiers were coming home, and America was trying to breathe again. Families had rationed sugar, gas, and hope for years. Towns across the country were learning how to stretch what little they had and start fresh with what was left. In

Origins

My mother died just over two centuries ago. I used the potions she had taught me to ease her suffering, helping her breathe easier, softening her pain. Not long after, I crossed paths with Florence Nightingale. I shared with her what my mother had shown me: how to wash wounds, how to stop bleeding, how to relieve pain with herbs. She promised to carry that knowledge forward. I asked her to keep my name quiet. Witches who tried to help were still burned, and I would not risk it.