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The Purple Nightgown Page 6
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You asked in your last letter about my hopes for the future. I could talk forever about that, but I would not wish to bore you. Suffice it to say, past experience has formed me into the man I am today. Though I lost my parents earlier than I would have liked, I was cared for by benevolent people. I’ve visited the poor neighborhoods here in San Francisco, and see so many children who lack the care I received when I was orphaned. That’s something I’d like to change.
During our correspondence, I’ve found we share similar ambitions. We both wish to make a difference. To leave something of value when our time on Earth is through. Providing a family for children who have none is how I hope to leave my mark, much like your desire to make your father proud with your plans for the inheritance he left you.
I pray my dream of building a children’s home is attainable. As for the other, the one I hold too close to share, it is a mere fantasy.
Your letters always bring a smile to my face. I await the next with anticipation.
Yours very truly
Stella clasped the letter to her chest, lungs evicting a sigh. What was the unattainable dream he referred to? Though she didn’t know the details, she understood the sentiment. They were so much alike, although his dreams traveled the moral high ground. His desire to do good, to impact the lives of others, left her longing for the same. More than fashionable clothes, people needed food, shelter, and the hope she’d found in the Lord.
But Papa had left the business to her, and duty bound her to it. What if she offered to provide clothes and shoes to the children in his home? It seemed a small contribution, but it may be a means to help a worthy cause.
The adorable, dirty faces of Robby, Rose, and Daisy sprang to mind. Her arms longed to gather them into an embrace. To let them know they were cared for. And how she’d love to put them in contact with this man once he built his children’s home.
Was he close to reaching his goal? These children couldn’t wait much longer. She plucked at her lip. There had to be a way to speed the process.
If they formed a partnership, the home could be built so much sooner. She kicked off the bedclothes then padded to her writing desk, plans swimming through her brain. With their combined resources, so many children would find a sense of belonging. A family.
She eased onto the chair then grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and her fountain pen. Anticipation tingled her fingers. Finally, a way to leave her mark, to invest her life in something bigger than herself.
Her pen hovered over the paper. Would he see her suggestion as an imposition on his dream? She pinched the bridge of her nose. If she couldn’t speak with Henry any longer, she didn’t dare jeopardize this friendship.
What should I do? She breathed the prayer out of habit. But the urge to join his endeavor forbade her from waiting on an answer. It couldn’t hurt to ask. If she asserted that the orphanage would remain his project and he was free to refuse her offer, there should be no harm in the proposal.
She pulled in a breath then touched pen to paper.
My dearest friend,
Your dreams are contagious. As I read your plans for a children’s home, my heart melted. I’ve visited poor areas in the city, seen the hunger in children’s eyes, and wished for a way to help. To make a difference. Despite my desire to make Father proud, my tasks at Burke Clothiers are shallow and unfulfilling. For years, I’ve believed there must be more to life than fabrics and fripperies, but this is the only life I’ve known and I’m unsure how to break free of it.
I realize it’s asking a lot, but would there be room in your plans for a partner? An investment into the lives of unloved children would be far greater than any profits the clothing business will provide, and my uncle Weston was less than enthused about my ideas for growth. I fear the business world will make no room for me. Even if you should decide the orphanage would run more smoothly under your sole care, allow me to donate clothing for your “family” when the project is running.
Speaking of children’s clothing, your idea to branch the business into that market is perfect. I’ll mention it to my uncle after his anger has cooled. (I’m afraid I’ve spoiled his plans to marry me off to a wealthy man yet again.) If he is as indifferent to this idea as the last, the expansion will simply wait until I’m of age and may speak with the board members myself.
Thank you for your prayers. Though I haven’t noticed a difference in my headaches, I hope to have progress to share in the near future. Dr. Linda Hazzard has written a book on fasting. I’m reading it now, and just yesterday I learned that she operates a health clinic in Washington. I’ve asked our chauffeur to take me for a visit, but he’s formed a childish prejudice against her methods. Don’t worry, though, he’ll come around to my way of thinking. He always does. And he means well. If he was convinced Dr. Hazzard could help, he’d never stand in my way. It is simply my job to convince him.
Yours ever truly, Stella
As she reached for an envelope, a faint knock stopped her hands. “Who is it?”
“Jane.” A pause.
After last night, Stella would prefer readying herself for the day. She steeled her nerves. “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and Jane poked her nose inside. “I need to apologize.” She closed the door for privacy. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. Though what I said was true, my tone was unkind.”
“You were right.” Stella’s throat constricted. “And it took a harsh scolding to get my attention.” She wiped her eyes. “If Henry feels as you believe he does, it’s not fair of me to allow our relationship to go beyond that of a master and servant. Though I hate the thought of it.”
Jane wrapped an arm around Stella’s shoulder, and she leaned into the old woman’s embrace. “Aye. It won’t be easy. You’ve been friends so long. But by and by, you’ll see it was for the best. Better a little heartache now than a broken heart later.”
“Why does life have to be this way?” Stella opened her desk drawer, withdrew a handkerchief, and dabbed her eyes. “If I did love Henry and he loved me, why shouldn’t we be together?”
“In your position, you have more to think of than yourself.” Jane motioned toward the dressing table, and Stella obediently took her place, slipping the letter she’d written into her nightgown’s sleeve. “Your decisions impact the lives of others. The people who work for you depend on you to make wise financial decisions so they can continue feeding their families.”
“But didn’t Father leave me more than enough money? And I don’t see what harm marrying someone like Henry would do.” Stella toyed with the lace on her nightgown. “Wouldn’t I have enough money for both of us?”
“Why must you be so contrary?” Jane ran a comb through Stella’s hair, taking care not to yank through the knots. “Why not find a man your uncle would approve of and settle down?”
“Because I have met the men my uncle approves of.” Stella puffed out a sigh. “Honestly, being a spinster would be a blessing in comparison.”
“Hush.” Jane nudged her with the comb. “God might take you seriously.” A gleam settled in her eyes. “You’re still writing your mystery man, aren’t you?”
Heat crept into Stella’s cheeks. “Yes.”
“Maybe it’s time you ask for his name.” Jane sectioned her hair then began plaiting it into a loose braid.
Stella swallowed hard. Each time she considered asking the question, the idea left her uneasy. Asking his name might lead to other things. What if he wanted to meet her? He might be disappointed by what he saw. She studied her reflection in the mirror then looked away. Not knowing his identity postponed rejection. But if he agreed to partner with her in his plans for the children’s home, they’d have to meet in person. Her heart stuttered. Maybe she shouldn’t post the letter.
But should helping poor orphaned children be scrapped simply because the romance angle would be lacking? Thoughts of the lives she could touch quelled her regret at remaining an old maid. “Maybe soon I will know his name.”<
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Splotches rimmed with light blocked most of her reflection in the mirror while a tingle settled in her left thumb. How could she hope to help him or anyone else when headaches continued to cripple her? Beastly things. She massaged her temples.
Resolved, she squared her shoulders. No more games, and no journal. A trip to Dr. Hazzard’s clinic could wait no longer.
“Jane.” Stella tilted her head while Jane fastened her earring. The teardrop-shaped amethysts that fanned to form a violet caught the light beaming through the window. Stella closed her eyes to block the sharp pain the reflection caused.
“Yes, miss?”
“Pack my bags. I’m going on a trip.” No matter what Henry thought of Linda Hazzard and the Institute for Natural Therapeutics, he’d take her there. Like it or not.
Chapter Seven
Henry closed the book on fasting then tossed it onto the workbench. How anyone could publish such rubbish left him concerned for the verity of the other books he’d read. Skipping a meal was one thing, but Hazzard’s techniques required long periods of abstaining from food. How could going days or weeks without eating be the answer to anyone’s problems?
He slouched onto the stool, arms crossed. How would he break the news to Stella he wouldn’t take her anywhere near that so-called clinic in Washington State?
The garage door’s hinges creaked, and Stella peeked in, dark braid resting on her shoulder. The sunlight streaming in behind her gave her a haloed appearance.
Straightening, Henry took a deep breath. Better to tell her now than wait until she’d completed her week’s journal. “Stella, I—”
She raised a hand, silencing him. Last night’s playfulness gone, she narrowed her eyes. The pain behind them weighted his shoulders. “You will take me to Dr. Hazzard’s clinic tomorrow. I’ll pay for your lodging there and back. I can’t go any longer without relief.”
“But—”
“No arguments.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve allowed you too many liberties, and I apologize. But the family doesn’t pay you to form opinions.” She dropped her gaze to the ground. “Linda Hazzard is the only licensed fasting professional in the world, and I will see her.” The last phrase left her lips barely above a whisper.
The words were a blow to Henry’s middle. How could she speak so coldly? As if they hadn’t been best friends for years. He struggled to swallow past the knot in his throat.
She didn’t know what she was asking. Even if she’d read that crazy book in its entirety, desperation rather than logic must be fueling her decision. Under no circumstances would he take her. Whether she considered him a friend or not, he’d look out for her best interests.
“Looks like you’ll be taking the train.” He grabbed a wrench from the toolbox then stepped beside the auto.
“What?” She arched a brow. “I thought friends took care of each other.”
Why had she chosen that tack? If she’d continued acting like a spoiled child, her pleading would have been easier to ignore. But her reference to their friendship made refusal all the more difficult. Couldn’t she see that his care for her made taking her on such a journey impossible?
“I want to take care of you.” He moved to the door where she stood. “But I don’t think the old Buzzard’s clinic is the best way to accomplish that.”
“You don’t get to choose.” She took a step closer until mere inches separated them. “You’ll take me tomorrow, and it’s not open for discussion.”
She’d never understand. After years of every whim being granted, she couldn’t see past her selfishness. Yesterday, at Ethel’s apartment and in the alley with the orphaned children, a spark of empathy had shone in her eyes. She had transformed into a woman who didn’t acknowledge economic standing. But that ember had died sometime during the night. Maybe with the onset of today’s headache. Somewhere deep down, the little girl who didn’t bother with social class still existed, and a woman who yearned to care for others struggled for freedom. Her letters had revealed her heart’s deepest longings. Why had she buried that part of her being?
Although she stood to inherit vast sums of money on her next birthday, enough to buy him a thousand times over, he’d never kowtow to her wishes when they might hurt her in the end. He’d do what was best for her, because he loved her.
His heart slapped his ribs, and her perfume distracted him from her harsh words. Admitting his true feelings, if only to himself, evoked a smile.
“Does that grin mean you’ll take me?” Stella’s voice lifted, hope alight in her eyes.
He shook his head. “Not at all.” As the joy on her face gave way to pain, his heart withered. “I wish I could make you understand. But I can’t take you.”
“Why?” Her eyes misted.
He couldn’t tell her. Not the real reason anyway. “I read her book.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “She’ll starve you.”
“She’ll help me fast until my headaches are gone.” Stella shrugged out of his reach. “I would never let anyone starve me. And I found another advertisement for the clinic in Uncle Weston’s study. She’s helped so many people. My eyes got tired while reading all the wonderful things they said about her. Don’t you want that for me? How can you claim to be my friend but deny me the one thing that might truly make a difference?”
His gut churned. “I don’t have a good feeling about it. Something doesn’t sit right.”
“Take me.” She grasped his arm. “Jane will come along. Look at the place. If you still feel uneasy after seeing the patients and talking with Dr. Buzz—Hazzard, we can turn around and come home.”
“And you’ll listen to me? Even if you don’t like my opinion?” This might be the only way to cure her of her desire to check in at the Institute of Natural Therapeutics.
Stella hesitated then nodded.
“Even though I’m not paid to think?” He lifted a brow, the sting of her words still fresh.
“I didn’t mean it.” Stella rubbed his arm, then drew her hand away as if his skin was covered in thorns. She stepped back and raised her chin. “You’ll take me tomorrow?”
Why the sudden coldness? Especially now that she figured she’d get her way? “I’ll take you.”
A smile parted her lips, and she threw her arms around him. “Oh, thank you. I can’t—”
“But if I’m still uncomfortable with the place, you won’t stay.” He gripped her shoulders, meeting her effervescent gaze.
She froze, and her expression softened. The open door let in a breeze that ruffled the hair escaping her braid.
He should tell her.
About the letters. That he loved her. So many things.
But after the way she’d ordered him to drive her despite his distaste for the idea and then demeaned his ability to form a coherent thought, it was clear she knew he wasn’t good enough for her. And he never would be.
In a perfect world, their differences wouldn’t matter. But there was no such thing as a perfect world.
She blinked then shook her head as if to dislodge a wayward thought. “Henry, I—”
“I need to get back to work.” He stepped to the motorcar. “Got to have this beauty in working order for our trip. You do realize it’s a two-day drive one way.”
Stella nodded, a line forming between her brows. Her cheeks turned a sickly shade of gray.
“Are you all right?” He cupped her elbow.
She shook her head. “I can’t see my way to the house.” A tear whispered down her cheek. “The lights are blocking everything. I can’t see.” She slumped against him, clinging to his shirt front.
“I’ll get you inside.” He drew her close. “I’m sorry if our conversation sapped your strength and left you feeling so poorly.”
Stella shook her head against his chest. “I was hurting before. But you certainly didn’t help.”
There was that spunk. As long as she held on to her mettle, the migraines might wage battles, but they wouldn’t win the war.
If only Linda
Buzzard’s clinic would prove to be the medical miracle Stella believed it to be.
Please, God. Let me be wrong.
Chapter Eight
Stella squirmed on the automobile’s leather seat. Rain hammered the windows; the steady drum in her ears enraged the pain that hadn’t loosened its hold in three days. She covered her eyes with a gloved hand.
“There, there, dear.” Jane fiddled with the blanket on Stella’s lap. “Dr. Hazzard will fix you up good as new.”
Even if she could see past the stabbing in her forehead, Stella didn’t dare meet Henry’s eye in the windscreen’s reflection. If he didn’t approve of the health institute, she’d be compelled to break her promise, though she detested the thought of abandoning her word. Linda Hazzard offered her a glimmer of hope—something she hadn’t felt in far too long. If she didn’t chase this solitary spark of optimism, she might as well give in and let the headaches win.
What was the worst that could happen?
It wasn’t as if her health could deteriorate further. She’d not experienced a pain-free day since Christmas. Since things couldn’t possibly get worse, she’d remain the same if Dr. Hazzard’s treatment failed.
Tall pines guarded the road on both sides, and their scent of sap and evergreen twisted Stella’s stomach. She moved her hand from her eyes to cover her mouth. Though she hadn’t eaten a bite since yesterday, the few contents of her stomach formed an angry coup.
By sheer force of will, she swallowed the bile climbing her throat.
The forest gave way to city buildings. Why Linda Hazzard kept her office in the Northern Bank and Trust building in Seattle instead of on the grounds of the Institute for Natural Therapeutics seemed odd, but who could argue with genius?