After only two days, the ravenous beast in Stella’s abdomen was threatening to eat her from the inside out. She’d speak with Dr. Hazzard before her next internal bath. With a little luck, tomorrow’s breakfast might consist of solid food. Something she could chew. Her teeth had been on sabbatical long enough.
She descended the stairs to the dining room. Her knees buckled, and she gripped the balustrade. Although she hadn’t hiked since yesterday evening, her knees still felt like jelly and her feet had stiffened.
Dr. Hazzard stood in the dining room doorway, speaking with her son, who wore his characteristic smirk.
Though Stella didn’t strain to listen, their voices carried.
“You need more money?” Dr. Hazzard perched her hands on her hips. “What did you do with the twenty dollars I gave you yesterday?”
The corners of Rollie Burfield’s mouth quirked. “Never mind that.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I could shut this place down if I wanted. One word to the police and—”
“Hush!” Dr. Hazzard thwacked him with a closed fist. “I’ll get you the money. But if you tell anyone about Claire …” Her voice lowered, and Stella slunk into the shadows. Thank goodness the stairs were new enough not to creak too loudly. If Dr. Hazzard knew she’d overheard this private conversation, who knew what horrors she’d inflict.
And who was Claire? Stella bit her fingernail.
Could that be the name of the woman she’d seen the day she arrived? The emaciated creature with bruises at her throat? More than once, Stella had observed Nurse Sarah passing through the corridor or serving patient meals. Was Dr. Hazzard covering up a murder that had occurred under her roof?
Stella’s nerves jangled.
Was Rollie involved somehow, or was he blackmailing his mother?
“Enough idle chatter.” A sigh escaped Dr. Hazzard’s clenched teeth. “Go take Sue her broth. I’ll get the money to you this afternoon.”
Rollie stomped into the dining room, and Dr. Hazzard massaged her temples.
Stella continued down the stairs, hoping her countenance didn’t betray that she’d overheard. As she strode to the dining room, the doctor’s impassive gaze met hers.
“Miss Burke.” Dr. Hazzard pinched the bridge of her nose. “How are you feeling today?”
“No headaches since yesterday.” Maybe the treatments were working in spite of their unpleasant nature. She clasped her hands behind her back. “I am really hungry. It’s not just a craving. I’d like a slice of bread or some cheese for dinner tonight if I may.”
The doctor’s lips curved into a smile that told Stella just how silly her request sounded. “My dear, you’ve barely begun. You start your full fast tomorrow. Now go get something to eat. This meal is of the utmost importance. The nourishment it will provide will last you until your fast is complete.”
How foolish she’d been to think perfect health could be gained in two days. Stella entered the dining room and scanned the tables for Tilda and Wendell. Where were they? No sign of them since supper yesterday.
Rollie stepped beside her, a bowl of greenish broth in hand. “Looking for somebody?”
“Tilda and Wendell. Have they gone home?”
He shook his head. “Tilda was moved to her cabin this morning. Yours will be ready sometime next week, so you’ll see more of her then. Wendell started his total fast today, so he’s keeping to his room during meals. It would be cruel to have food near at this stage of treatment.”
“Would it?” Stella glanced at the bowl he held and wrinkled her nose. “Nothing in this room smells like food, and if yesterday is any indication, the taste would get one star out of five.”
“Don’t knock healthy food. It’s your meat-eating that brought you here in the first place.” Did he believe those things? Or was he parroting his mother’s jargon? He stepped beside a table occupied by a gaunt woman, pulled out a chair, and motioned for her to sit. She eased into the seat, and he set the half-filled dish before her. The way his eyes studied her face prickled the hair on Stella’s arms. Had he seen her on the stairway?
He had not so much as glanced her direction during his conversation with Dr. Hazzard. He couldn’t possibly know what she’d heard. Stella hoped.
What part did he play in this crime? She should do something, but what? Go to the police. How could she get to them while living in the wilderness? She couldn’t very well ask Rollie to take her. But the woman—Claire. Her murder couldn’t go unpunished.
As soon as Henry came for her, Stella would ask him to take her to the authorities. But until then, she’d give none of the staff reason to wrap their hands around her neck as they had poor Claire’s.
Stella met Rollie’s gaze with a stern eye. He wouldn’t make her cower for all his posturing and smirking. “Has the post come yet?”
“Sure has.” He handed her a spoon. “But nothing for you.”
Why did he take so much pleasure in disappointing her? Insufferable man. But she’d been a ninny to ask. It was too soon. “But you sent my telegram?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” He thrust his hands into his pockets.
Not much of an answer, but she wasn’t getting anything else. She ladled a spoonful from her bowl to her nose, breathed in, and dropped the spoon. It smelled like a pile of something found in the stables. “What is this foul concoction?”
“Lima bean broth.” Rollie tugged a cloth from his back pocket and wiped away the splatter on the table. “Most nutritious food on earth.”
Why did the most nutritious foods on earth seem to be the vilest? Stella crossed her arms. How low did Dr. Hazzard expect her to stoop? “I won’t eat this—” She shoved the bowl away, but it wasn’t full enough to slosh over the edge. “There really are no words for this pond scum. I’m paying a great deal of money for these treatments, and this is the last day before I begin fasting in earnest. Bring me something edible.”
Rollie pushed the bowl toward her. “This is the dinner Dr. Hazzard prescribed, and you will eat it. Everything she does is for your own good. You came here because you are sick, and if you ever hope to be well, to live, you’ll do as you’re told without fussing.”
“I’m not sick enough to eat this swill.” Stella lifted her chin.
“Eat, Your Highness.” Rollie’s voice hardened. “If you don’t, there’ll be consequences.”
Stella clasped a hand to her neck. Consequences. Had Claire refused to follow orders? She retrieved her spoon then sipped the foul broth, imagining strawberry ice cream. But no amount of mental gymnastics could atone for the flavor.
Rollie stalked away, rag dangling from his back pocket.
“This stuff’s awful, isn’t it?” The woman across the table dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Her fingers were as thin and frail as her voice.
Stella nodded.
“You haven’t been here long, I take it.” Dark circles ringed the woman’s eyes, and hunger carved hollows in her cheeks. She brushed a lock of auburn hair off her forehead.
“How can you tell?” Stella choked down another swallow of broth.
“Well, you’re not thin as a twig for one thing.” A smile parted the woman’s lips. “And you’re still finicky enough to refuse food when it’s offered. I’m Sue Chandler.” She lifted the bowl to her lips with trembling hands, draining it of the final drops.
“A pleasure.” Stella pushed the bowl away, unable to stomach another bite. “I’m Stella Burke.”
“You’ll want to finish that.” Sue eyed Stella’s bowl as if she would dive over the table and fight Stella for it if her arms weren’t so spindly. “You mentioned starting your fast tomorrow. On my first day, I regretted every piece of cake I had ever turned down, every chicken sandwich.” She tucked a thin curl behind her ear. “What I wouldn’t give for some meat.”
Stomach begging for food, Stella tipped the bowl at her mouth, swallowed the broth in one gulp, then shot Sue a half smile, half grimace.
“Good girl.” Sue push
ed away from the table and rose on unsteady legs. “No regrets.”
When Sue stumbled, Stella sprang from her chair and held her up. Ribs and vertebrae rippled beneath the thin fabric of Sue’s dress.
“Let me help you to your room. You ought to lie down.” Stella cupped Sue’s elbow. More bones thinly veiled by skin.
Walking skeletons. Just like the boy had told Henry.
“I’ll be fine.” Sue shooed her away. “I always make it to my cabin on my own.”
How did Dr. Hazzard expect this woman who was thinner even than Dora Williamson to walk to a cabin and back? The woman looked like walking death. “You can have my room. I’ll take the cabin. You shouldn’t walk that far.”
“Dr. Hazzard assured me walking is good for the constitution.” Sue braced her hand on the table.
The doctor also thought lima bean broth teemed with nutritive benefits, but Stella’s stomach mutinied against that idea. “Let me speak to her for you. Or let me walk with you.”
“No. Stay here. The doctor wouldn’t like it.”
What kind of woman was Linda Burfield Hazzard that she should encourage the denial of help to a woman in need? Tears clouded Stella’s eyes accompanied by swirling flashes of light. She snapped her eyelids closed. Would the cycle of pain never cease? She rubbed her temples.
“Don’t be upset, sweet girl.” Sue rested a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow when I come in for my massage.”
Heavy prickles radiated up Stella’s left arm, and when she glanced up to watch Sue stumble toward the front door, the light in her eyes transformed to wiggling gray blobs. The poor woman needed her help, but even if she would allow it, Stella was in no condition to be of use to anyone.
What if these harsh treatments really were the answer to these recurring headaches? Perhaps one needed to fight unpleasantness with unpleasantness to see results.
She grabbed her bowl off the table and held it upside down over her open mouth. If she didn’t throw herself into the treatments wholeheartedly, Stella would become more a burden than a blessing—just as Mrs. Barnett had drained her family’s emotional resources.
The numbness crept up her neck and settled in her lip. She would enter this migraine in her journal once her eyesight cleared. When Henry arrived, she’d have close to a week of entries. Maybe her belated compliance with his wishes would induce him to forgiveness.
God, please bring him here quickly. And please take these headaches away. I’m not so sure fasting will help, but I’m willing to try until I have a way home.
Chapter Thirteen
Stella draped a pillow over her head. Even the strip of light that shone under the door compounded the agony. As pain stabbed her forehead, she stifled a sob. Hot tears sprang to her eyes and soaked the pillowcase. If only Jane were there. She’d place a cool cloth over Stella’s eyes and tell her everything would be all right in her Scottish brogue.
Home. How she missed it. Even Uncle Weston’s relentless matchmaking would be preferable to lying in a strange bed with her head at the threshold of splitting apart.
Nausea tangled her stomach, and the lima bean broth from supper climbed her throat. Stella threw off the quilt, tossed the pillow to the floor, and yanked open the door. The light flickering from the oil lamps acted like a hammer blow to her head, but she ignored the pain and dashed for the water closet with a hand clamped over her mouth.
She knelt at the commode, the tile cold against her flaming skin. The bile rose, and a sharp pain in her middle signaled that the ascent would not be stopped. While she held her hair back, her stomach retched. With each heave, the ache in her head ratcheted to new heights. The few tablespoons of broth had done her no good. She pulled the cord and wiped her mouth as the tainted water swirled downward.
How could Jane’s absence sting more than this miserable headache? But it did. Stella was alone. Her vision misted, and she swiped her eyes with her palms. Sweat trickled down her brow. The breeze from an open window dried the moisture and sent a wave of chill bumps skimming her skin. Her teeth chattered.
She wrapped her arms around herself. If she didn’t get back to bed, she might catch cold. As she stepped across the corridor, the hall clock chimed three times. Why did Dr. Hazzard insist on keeping the hall lights burning all night? She’d knocked on Stella’s door twice her first night at Wilderness Heights to make sure she didn’t prefer sleeping with her lamp lit.
Was Dr. Hazzard afraid of the dark?
Stella’s fingers gripped the doorknob at her bedroom, but a thump down the hall froze her in place. Low voices filtered toward her, too muffled to decipher. Had someone fallen? Maybe they needed help.
As she padded toward the source of the sounds, something within warned her to go back. To pretend all was well in this house until Henry arrived to drive her home. But curiosity propelled her forward. The slick wood cooled her bare feet with each step.
“It’s just as I thought.” Dr. Hazzard’s voice grew louder. The bathing chamber door stood open at the far end of the hall, and light spilled onto the polished floor. “Her doctors must have prescribed medication when she was a child and it stunted her growth and development.”
Stella pressed against the wall. She shouldn’t be here. Whatever was transpiring did not concern her. Despite the swelling unease, she peeked around the doorjamb.
The sight stilled her heart. She pressed her hand over her mouth to capture a scream.
Blood pooled on the white tile, and the stench of death, mingled with antiseptic, hung in the air. Both Dr. Hazzard and Nurse Sarah stood with their backs to the door. Sarah held a metal dish, while the doctor lifted a trailing bit of flesh between her thumb and forefinger. Blood dripped from the object she studied. It landed on the rim of the tub then dribbled onto the floor.
A fresh flood of nausea swept through Stella’s middle. Dear heavens, not now. She swallowed once, then again.
“Look how shriveled her small intestine is.” Dr. Hazzard held it higher. “A sure sign she ingested medication. It’s no wonder the fasting regime didn’t help her. She was too far gone by the time she arrived.” She dropped the small intestine into the dish.
Sarah nodded. “It is very sad. To be so sick that no treatment can offer sufficient remedy.” She set the dish in the sink.
The blood on the floor channeled through the grout, staining everything it touched with death and horror. Headache forgotten, Stella fought to avoid sight of the figure in the bathtub. Surely seeing a human corpse would taint her dreams forever. But like a moth to a candle, her gaze wandered to the scene at the room’s center.
Thin auburn curls spilled over the rim. Pale cheeks hollowed by starvation.
Sue.
Stella’s throat constricted. What had happened to her? The poor woman barely possessed the strength to walk to her cabin after supper. Her lifeless form left Stella scrambling to make sense of the suddenness of her demise.
Could it be as Dr. Hazzard said? Had Sue been too sick to find perfect health at Wilderness Heights? Stella’s hand gripped her stomach. If medications taken in childhood had done so much damage to Sue’s organs, Stella had no hope of healing. More than once, the family physician had given her vile-tasting tonics. What if she was too far gone? Oh, Henry. Please hurry.
“Cause of death is an inflammation of the digestive tract.” Dr. Hazzard wiped bloody hands on her apron. “Call Butterworth’s in the morning and have them take care of her. I’ve got a kettle big enough. Let’s prepare her body for cremation.” She extended a hand, and Nurse Sarah placed the handsaw in her open palm.
Stella’s pulse thundered in her ears. She would not be present for the gruesome sight to come. Tears warmed her cheeks, then her chest tightened. What would the doctor do if she found her watching at the door? That could not happen. Silently, Stella retraced her steps. With her bedroom door closed behind her, Stella crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her shoulders.
The weight of what she’d seen pressed on her
chest until her breathing grew ragged.
Poor Sue. Sobs racked her body.
Could Stella have done something to prevent the woman’s death? Why hadn’t she helped her to her cabin? Though her vision was faulty, she could have stumbled along beside Sue despite the splotches in her eyes. Had she died alone? Afraid? What if she’d called out for help and no one heard?
Grief and loneliness grappled in Stella’s chest. Did Sue’s family know she’d passed? Since Stella had taken more than her share of medication as a child, could she expect the same fate? She wiped her cheeks with the stiff bedsheet.
A floorboard in the hall creaked, and her muscles tensed. Movement interrupted the light under the door. Who stood on the other side? She held her breath, frozen in place, heart pulsing in her ears.
The door hinges groaned.
Stella’s heart and stomach switched places. She pulled the covers tight about her chin.
Dr. Hazzard’s form stood backlit in the doorway, making it impossible to see the details of her face or notice any blood that might streak her skin and clothing. “Are you well, Miss Burke? I heard sounds coming from your room.”
Stella sniffed, willing her voice not to betray her frayed emotions. “I’m not feeling well. My stomach … and my head.” A sob choked her words. “I want to go home.”
Dr. Hazzard rested a chilly hand on Stella’s forehead. The same hand that had held Sue’s intestine up for inspection moments earlier. “You’re burning up. This is a good sign. Your body is waking up. Fighting the toxins.” She removed her hand and wiped it against her apron then went to the door and pushed it a bit wider to let in more light. The metallic odor of blood swirled in the air around her. “You’re on the way to perfect health. Don’t give that up over a little bout of homesickness.”
The Purple Nightgown Page 11