Stella nodded and followed Henry to the door. With a final wave to her friend, she stepped into the hall.
Henry adjusted his coat. “And my worries for your safety were unfounded?” Though his tone was stern, the gleam in his eye lightened her concern.
“If only I’d kept my big mouth shut.” She stepped into the sunshine, head hammering, then pulled open the automobile’s door and climbed in.
Henry groaned, jogging up beside her, gripping the door. “You’re putting me out of a job.” He closed the door, and Stella rested her hand on his.
“I can’t seem to get anything right today.” She squeezed his hand. When he winced, her gut twisted. “You’re hurt. Let me see.” She pulled off his glove. A growing purple lump across his knuckles brought a sting to her eyes. This is all my fault. I caused this.
“It’s fine.” He jerked his hand away, moved to the front of the automobile, then turned the crank.
Gasoline fumes burned Stella’s nose as the incident in Ethel’s apartment flashed. Henry had defended her, much like the heroes in the novels she read. Her heart warmed.
He rounded the automobile and slid into the driver’s seat. When he rested his hands on the wheel, one gloved and the other bare, his jaw hardened.
Stella tapped his shoulder. He turned. Their gazes met, and the familiar ache settled in her chest. What did society or her uncle’s opinion matter? Henry was a good man. Always kind and thoughtful. And smart. And weren’t those the things that really mattered? No doubt he could go places if he left her family’s employ. But the thought of losing him left her hollow.
Henry cleared his throat.
She shook the daydream loose from her brain and held his glove between them. “Would you like your glove back?”
A boyish smile tipped his lips. “Thanks.” He slipped on the glove then prompted the auto into motion.
That smile always dispelled her doubts. Made her feel anything was possible.
Stella sighed and slumped against the seat. Her reflection in the windscreen clipped the budding hope in her chest. Henry would never see her as more than a friend, although her money might draw him as it drew Uncle Weston’s wealthy acquaintances. How she hated the fortune her father had left. When people viewed her, they saw nothing but a dollar sign.
Had the fact that her uncle signed his paycheck been Henry’s inducement to come to her rescue? Oh well, in one month, she would be free to do as she pleased with her inheritance. Even give it away and live a normal life. If the stress Uncle Weston complained of was any indication, money brought nothing but grief. It was a luxury she’d happily relinquish. She’d likely lose many in her circle of friends, but the people who remained would be the sort she needed in her life. True friends.
A flash of blue caught her eye. What on earth? “Stop the car, Henry.”
The tires screeched, and Stella scanned the alley where the streak had appeared. She opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. “I saw something. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“I’m not letting you hunt through dark alleys alone. You must know that.” Henry climbed out then closed her door.
“I’m not a child.” Stella strode into the narrow space. Why did he insist on treating her like an accident looking for a spot to occur?
“I know that.” He matched her pace.
The odor of rotting garbage forced Stella to cover her nose. “Well, you don’t treat me like it. Sometimes—” She stopped. Three children with dirt-smudged faces leaned against the brick building. Their ragged clothing hung on their shoulders.
Up close, the fear and desperation in those youthful eyes left her ashamed of the comfort she enjoyed. She unclasped her handbag and riffled through its contents. A peppermint and three dollars. Not nearly enough to ease their suffering.
A boy who looked to be around eight eyed her while two younger girls clung to each other. “Whatcha doin’ here, lady?” He swiped his blue shirtsleeve across his nose.
Stella held out the dollar bills. “When did you eat last?”
“Ain’t none of your business.” He crossed his arms. “We don’t need your charity.”
“Then where are your parents?” Stella peered down the alley, but it appeared empty.
He hung his head, jaw clenched.
“They promised not to leave us, but they’re gone,” one of the little girls whispered. Tears formed muddy trails down her cheeks.
Henry neared the children and swallowed hard, eyes wearing a sadness Stella had never seen there before. Should she take them home? But what if the boy was telling the truth? If his parents returned to find them missing, they would be beside themselves with worry.
Stella held the money toward the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Rose.” She accepted the gift. “This is my sister, Daisy. And that’s Robby.” She jerked her chin in the boy’s direction. “He’s rude.”
Stella suppressed a chuckle, then her stomach twisted. This situation wasn’t funny. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be.” A rat scurried from behind a stand of garbage cans. This was no place for children. She should have Cook feed them a hot meal and tuck them into warm beds. “It’s very nice to meet all of you.” A pallet covered with filthy blankets lay at the end of the alley. Was this where they slept? No. It couldn’t be. They must have a home somewhere. “Do you live around here?”
“Our parents are comin’ to get us later.” Robby thrust his hands into his pockets, his baggy shirt sleeves hanging clownishly at his wrists. “You don’t have to worry about us.”
How could she not worry? Their frayed clothing shouted neglect. Were their parents really coming for them?
Henry placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s time to go,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
Stella blinked back the grief filling her eyes. Why couldn’t she do more? “Maybe we’ll meet again.” She waved to Rose and Daisy, who replied with shy smiles.
Henry helped her into the automobile, and she struggled to hold back her tears.
He met her gaze, resting a hand over hers. “We’ll check on them again. Make sure their parents return.”
“Do you promise?” Leaving them now didn’t sit well. If Robby had lied, they’d spend tonight on that pallet.
“I promise.”
Stella determined to hold him to it. Shed read her letter again and think of a way to help. Her friend was right. Her life was nothing more than a show. Well, maybe he hadn’t said as much in so many words. He was far too genteel to be harsh, but his letters left her feeling artificial. As if her life hadn’t truly begun. And that had to change. More than anything, she wanted to make a difference, but she wasn’t doing that now.
As the motor purred, she adjusted the bunched fabric of her skirt and fixed her eyes on the shoreline. The waves lapped at the sand, sunlight sparkling off the water. Then, just as quickly, the tide washed out to sea. Always the same. It mirrored her life. Dress fittings, fashion magazines, visits with friends.
Nothing of consequence. Of course, she helped Ethel, but that was simply the right thing to do. It wasn’t grand.
How could she ever hope to make a difference when everything she did—or more accurately was permitted to do—carried no lasting value? She pulled out her hatpin and moved the oversized frippery to her lap.
Would Uncle Weston present her idea to the board, or had he only agreed in an effort to quiet her? After all, he had said more than once that he’d handle the thinking and leave her to pick out fabric. As if giving her a menial task would keep her brain from turning gears.
Sunbursts flashed across her vision, and she closed her eyes to block them out. Will I ever be free of these headaches? The lights persisted against her eyelids. Her throat constricted. How could she ever make a difference if pain held her prisoner? God, please let fasting help. I can’t live like this forever.
Chapter Four
Henry cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Stella hadn’t said a word since they’d left the Mission Distric
t. And she was seldom at a loss for words. When he caught a glimpse of her pinched features and her fingers kneading her temple, he longed to hold her close.
“You all right back there?” He returned his eyes to the road, keeping his voice low so as not to aggravate her discomfort.
She groaned. “It hurts.”
Those two words punched him in the gut. He’d take the pain for her if possible. “Would you like to go back?”
“Could we stop for a moment? Somewhere quiet. The motor jangles my nerves.”
He strained to hear her whispered words. A deserted beach hailed him on the right, and he pulled to the side of the road, drawn to the shade of a tree’s sweeping branches. “Here we are.”
Her eyelids cracked open then quickly closed. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek. He’d seen her headaches before, but never tears. Not since she’d gotten her foot caught between the spindles on the staircase when she was six.
Unsure how best to help, he climbed out of the driver’s seat, rounded the automobile, and slipped onto the bench seat beside her. She squinted. Pain drew lines under her eyes. When he opened his arms, she leaned against his chest. Sobs jerked her shoulders, and she mumbled syllables that didn’t quite form words. During her worst headaches, her words jumbled, leaving him with little idea what she said.
He breathed in her perfume, rubbing circles on her back.
Her crying slowed, and she pulled in a quivering breath.
With her head resting on his chest and her eyes closed, he studied her features. The paleness of her skin magnified her freckles. Long lashes almost touched her cheeks. Her upturned nose reflected the sass he admired.
The way she’d stood up for Ethel and wished to help those poor children with something more heartfelt than money increased his admiration of her. If her uncle didn’t force such mundane tasks on her, she could do great things. God had designed her for something better than sifting through fabric samples, of that he was certain.
Deep breaths signaled sleep. Her lips parted. Drool dripped onto his coat. She’d be mortified when she woke, but he didn’t have the heart to disturb her slumber. Not when it was the only thing that offered her a modicum of relief.
He leaned back in the seat. Plans whirled in his head. Blueprints for the house he’d build for underprivileged children. A playground in the backyard. A seesaw. Maybe a jungle gym. Their joyful laughter echoed in his ears. After losing both parents before he turned twelve, he held a special place in his heart for the needs of orphaned children. If the Burke family hadn’t taken him in, he might be living on the streets. But despite their physical care for him, they hadn’t included him in family outings. He’d been their ward and a marked differentiation between himself and Stella had been maintained. The children in his home would feel a part of something. They’d be family.
As the plans developed in his mind, Stella’s face was never far from his thoughts. He shook her image loose. No doubt she would make a loving caregiver for the children he hoped to help. Watching her with Ethel’s baby dispelled all doubts on that score. But Stella was an heiress. What he had to offer her paled in comparison to what she already possessed.
Shadows from the shade tree played across her face while birds warbled from the branches. A gentle breeze toyed with curls that had won the battle against the jeweled comb holding them hostage. He brushed one from her forehead, resisting the temptation to plant a kiss where it had lain. It would be neither proper nor welcome.
Her lashes fluttered, and confusion puckered her brow. She bolted upright, fingers dabbing her mouth. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes widened.
“No need to apologize.” He brushed at the moisture on his coat. “I’m glad you were able to sleep. How do you feel?”
“A little better.” Pain still shadowed her eyes. Her stomach gurgled, and she pressed her hand against her middle, cheeks blooming three shades of pink.
“You hungry?”
She opened her mouth as if to speak then shook her head, but her protesting belly betrayed her lie.
“Come on, now. There’s an ice cream parlor up the road. It’s your favorite.” He reached for the door.
Stella bit her lip. “I wish I could. It sounds wonderful.”
“Why can’t you?” Gravel crackled beneath his boot.
She focused on her clasped hands. “Have you heard of Dr. Linda Hazzard?”
“Judging by the name, I’m not sure I want to. Sounds a little dangerous for my taste.” He grinned, resting his arms against the automobile’s door.
“Well, if you’re going to have that attitude, I shan’t tell you.” She crossed her arms.
He rounded the car to eliminate the distance between them. “I was kidding. You may be the one with the attitude, young lady.”
She lifted her chin, clearly attempting to maintain her fake annoyance, but her lips twitched, giving way to a faint smile.
“Tell me about Dr. Hazzard.” He leaned against the car. “She is a real doctor?”
“Of course.” Stella’s arms relaxed at her sides. “I’m reading her book, Fasting for the Cure of Disease. She’s helped so many people find healing. I started my first fast, and I shouldn’t break it for ice cream.” Her shoulders drooped. “Although it sounds heavenly.”
“So how does it work?” How would starving herself cure Stella of the headaches that had plagued her since her father died? Sounded like adding more discomfort to her already pain-filled days.
“She believes the body is full of toxins, and fasting purges them from a person’s system.”
“Toxins?” He raised a brow. “What sort of toxins?”
Stella shrugged. “I just started reading her book, so I couldn’t tell you. But I know they’re not something you want living inside you.”
“And ice cream feeds the toxins?” He’d never heard such balderdash.
“Food in general feeds them. That’s why she prescribes long-term fasting to her patients.”
Concern tickled his insides. Stella’s talk of toxins and fasting created more questions than answers. But the hope on her face silenced further tearing down of Dr. Hazzard’s theories. Too many months had passed since hope had sparked in her eyes, and he’d do nothing to rob her. She’d tried countless remedies from gypsy tonics to lumbar puncture. Nothing had diminished the intensity or frequency of her headaches. And her doctor’s prescription for sea air provided her little more than a vacation to the coast.
Maybe Linda Hazzard’s methods would offer the relief Stella craved. But abstaining from food for heaven knew how long could potentially do more harm than good.
Stella’s stomach complained.
As Henry cranked the automobile to life, she squinted. The ground tipped beneath her, and she gripped the door to steady herself. Maybe she should eat something. If she didn’t, she might faint. Besides, Uncle Weston would expect her to eat dinner with his guest. Maybe it was best to start fasting in increments, beginning with shorter lengths of time then working her way up.
“Henry.” She pulled in a steadying breath.
He wiped gloved hands on his pants. “Yes.”
“I may have changed my mind about the ice cream.”
His smile grew an inch. “I hoped you would.” He climbed behind the steering wheel then turned the motorcar onto the road.
At the edge of the San Francisco city limits, Henry parked in front of a small brick shop wedged between a shoemaker and a jewelry store. “Here we are.” Delight lilted his voice.
He helped her out of the car then opened the shop door as a bell above trilled. A couple stepped onto the sidewalk arm in arm, carrying ice cream cones. A woman dressed like a nanny sat with a little boy at a round table, finger wagging as she scolded. Chocolate ice cream stained a ring around his mouth.
Stella’s mouth watered.
The shop owner greeted them from behind the counter. “What can I get you?”
“One vanilla and one strawberry.” Henry guided Stella
to the table farthest from the window. What would she do without him? Not only did he know her favorite flavor, but he understood how the sunlight affected her headaches. He pulled out her chair, and she sat.
The apron-clad proprietor set dishes and spoons on the table. Henry nudged the bowl of strawberry ice cream toward her.
She scooped out a ladylike portion and took her first bite. The cold sweetness danced on her tongue and froze her pain to a dull ache. She sighed. “This was a fabulous idea. Thank you.” Her second spoonful better suited a lumberjack, but Henry wouldn’t mind.
“No need for thanks, Miss Burke.” He winked.
Why did he insist on formalities when he knew they infuriated her? She reached into her handbag and pulled out the article he’d given her. “Would you read this to me? My eyes are—”
“Of course.” He took the paper and flattened the creases.
Stella savored her treat as Henry read about the suffragettes’ meeting with Governor Hiram Johnson and the solid case they’d presented for women’s voting rights. His response left room for hope that women could stand in line next time the polls opened.
An advertisement on the back side of the article froze Stella’s spoon midair.
“Wait a minute.” She rested a hand on Henry’s arm, and he paused reading. “Turn the page over. I hope my eyes aren’t playing tricks, but it looks like Linda Hazzard has opened a clinic.”
He flipped the article, brows rising. “You’re right. The Institute of Natural Therapeutics in Olalla, Washington.’ Personalized care and treatment for the cure of all ailments. Dr. Hazzard’s proven fasting regimens will restore health and vitality.’ The address is here too, and a picture. Looks brand new.”
He handed her the article, and she strained to focus on the white building surrounded by pine trees. “Is Olalla close to the coast?”
“I believe it’s right outside Seattle, so yes, very close to the coast.”
The sea air would meet Dr. Wagner’s requirements, and a fasting plan designed by Linda Hazzard herself with Stella’s unique needs in mind would be the best kind of medicine. Surely if she sat under Dr. Hazzard’s care, a cure for her headaches could be reached.
The Purple Nightgown Page 3