The Purple Nightgown

by A. D. Lawrence

  Stella shifted on the bed.

  “I’ve got news.” Dr. Hazzard leaned against the doorframe. “A cabin has just become available. You’ll be transferred in a few days, once it’s cleaned.”

  A cabin. Sue’s cabin. Stella nodded, unable to form a sentence past the knot in her throat.

  “Would you like me to light the lamp? It might make you more comfortable.” Dr. Hazzard started for the bed table, but Stella shook her head. “Very well. Tomorrow we’ll start your full fast, and I’ll see you bright and early for your massage.”

  An involuntary sigh escaped Stella’s lungs.

  “Don’t lose faith.” The doctor stepped into the hall. “During your massage, I’ll tell you the story of a little boy whose life was saved by fasting. That should bolster your spirits.”

  The door squeaked closed.

  Stella pulled the sheet over her head. The story would never lift the gloom strangling her. Even if it ended with a choir of singing cherubs and world peace. And it wouldn’t bring Sue back. She was the second person who’d died since Stella’s arrival. That she knew about, anyway. Could there be more?

  She shifted to lie on her back, and tears slipped across her temples into her hair, tickling her scalp.

  Images of Sue Chandler taking her last breath in a deserted cabin in the wilderness played havoc with Stella’s nerves.

  What if Henry didn’t come for her? She might die alone as well. A stone settled in her stomach.

  No. He wouldn’t leave her here. Why, he was probably on his way to Washington this minute. Every rotation of the wheels bringing him a little closer.

  But when she’d asked Rollie if he’d sent her message, he hadn’t answered her question. Not really. For all she knew, her telegram had never been sent.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her tears to stop. She had to believe Henry was driving toward her. If she let go of that thin cord of hope, she might not have the strength to soldier on.

  Just two more days. Then he’d take her home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Henry sealed the envelope bearing his confession, his chest tightened. The taste of the glue turned his stomach, but not to the degree knowingly killing his friendship with Stella did. Once she read what he’d done, how he’d deceived her for five years, the final page of their friendship would turn and their story would be shelved forever.

  He yawned, exhaustion stiffening his muscles. If only he’d been able to sleep last night.

  Daisy tottered toward him, dragging her blanket behind her. She held up her arms, and he lifted her onto his knee and kissed her golden curls. Her chubby arms circled his neck and she planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

  His heart melted. Although Rose had told him that her sister was four years old and talked “all the time,” she hadn’t breathed a word since he’d brought them home yesterday. The same couldn’t be said for her siblings. Shouts echoed from upstairs, and the chandelier at the center of the room swayed, its glass prisms tinkling and casting dancing rainbows on the Persian rug.

  Perhaps he’d taken on more than he could handle, but what other choice did he have? Leaving them in the alley was out of the question. Daisy leaned her head against his shoulder and popped her thumb into her mouth. Other than feeding them and making sure they were clean, how did one care for children?

  At least Jane’s father had left her the perfect house for a ready-made family. Three bedrooms upstairs, all fit with serviceable furnishings. A large fenced yard behind the house would be the perfect place to send Robby, Rose, and their clamor if it reached new heights.

  Once the school year began, he’d need to enroll them. But that was months away.

  Who would mind them while he looked for work? Lord, a little help would be nice. He rested his hand over the letter marked with Stella’s Washington address. He didn’t deserve help after his deceit. But the Bible stated more than once that God cared for the fatherless. Maybe He’d work a miracle for the children’s sake, if not for Henry’s.

  Though Robby and Rose stomped overhead, a rap at the door cut through the din. Henry stood and adjusted Daisy on his hip. “Quiet up there,” he called up the staircase to the two rabble-rousers. “We have company.” Though who it could be remained a mystery.

  The racket continued without the slightest hint of diminishing. Henry rolled his eyes as he pulled open the door. “Good after—” Oh no.

  Jane stood on the porch, a paper grocery bag in one arm. When her gaze landed on Daisy, her jaw slacked.

  At the time, it had seemed more prudent to ask forgiveness than permission for the children to stay with him. Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea.

  “My, my.” Jane stroked the little girl’s cheek. “What a darling wee thing.”

  “I found them in an alley.”

  “Them?” Jane stepped inside, soft eyes fixed on little Daisy.

  “She has a brother and sister.” Though how Jane could raise her brows in surprise was a puzzle. The clatter emanating from the upstairs bedroom better suited a herd of pachyderms, not two small children.

  “And their parents?”

  Henry shook his head. Robby had confided in him last night after the girls fell asleep. Both their mother and father had perished.

  Jane’s eyes softened further. “Poor little dears.” She set the grocery bag beside the front door then extended her hands to Daisy.

  The girl burrowed into Henry’s shoulder.

  “Do you know what happened to their mum and dad?”

  “From Robby’s description it sounded like cholera.” He propped his chin atop Daisy’s curly head.

  “And were they not taken to a children’s home?”

  “They were, but both Rose and Robby begged me not to take them back. Said the woman—I’m guessing the proprietor—was, to use Robby’s words, a ‘real witch.’ That’s why they ran away.”

  A smile lit Jane’s face. “Then I’d say you did the right thing.”

  The weight on Henry’s shoulders lifted. Jane wouldn’t turn them out on the street.

  “But next time you bring children into this house, tell me.” She retrieved the shopping bag. “So I know to bring more groceries.”

  How had he ever doubted her? As generous as she’d been to give him a place to stay, the thought of her condemning children to life in an alley was absurd.

  “Now, what have they eaten?” Jane bustled past him to the kitchen, and he trailed behind.

  “We had bread and cheese for supper last night, then again for breakfast this morning.”

  Robby and Rose slid down the banister, and Henry shot them a warning look. When they noticed Jane, they stilled. Robby gulped and wrapped an arm around Rose’s shoulders.

  “Don’t look so frightened.” Jane set the bag on the kitchen table. “I don’t bite. And rails were made for sliding.”

  A grin split Robby’s face. “I didn’t know you’d be such a nice old lady, because you’ve got a mean face, but you know what?”

  Did Jane want to know? Please, Lord, don’t let him say something more offensive than the mean face comment.

  “What’s that?” Jane’s smile never faltered.

  “You’re all right.” The boy puffed out his chest as if he’d given her a glowing testimonial and not the barest minimum of praise.

  “Thank you kindly.” Jane received the compliment with a wink as she tied an apron around her waist. “Now how about you and your sister help me get lunch?”

  Rose clapped her hands. “Oh, goody! I’m tired of bread and cheese.” She darted a narrowed glance at Henry and her smile faded. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” He eased onto a chair with Daisy. “I’m not much of a cook.”

  “Never you mind.” Jane pulled a parcel wrapped in butcher paper from her shopping bag. “I’m here now and happy to take on the responsibility. I planned to come cook for you anyway, so it’s no bother to make a bit more.” She handed Rose a potato for each hand and passed a few carr
ots to Robby. “Now go wash those at the sink.”

  She’d intended to feed him as well as house him? More than he expected or deserved from a woman who had discouraged a relationship with Stella. “Have your duties changed since Stel—Miss Burke left?”

  “Aye. Weston keeps me on for mending, but that’s not nearly enough to occupy my time.” She sent a wink his way. “But I have a suspicion that my time will be claimed before too long.”

  Was Stella retuning home? He buried his face in Daisy’s hair to mask his smile. But her return to San Francisco would change nothing. They’d be as far apart as ever.

  “Miss Stella is still in Washington, and I daresay will be for some time.” Jane sliced beef into cubes.

  How could she read his mind?

  “What I meant was, you’ll need someone to mind the children while you look for work.” She tousled Robby’s hair. “They can’t very well be left to their own devices.”

  “You’d do that for me? For the children?” Gratitude swelled in his chest. Though he’d prayed for a little help, he’d not expected the windows of heaven to open so wide.

  “We mean-faced old ladies must have something to do, or we’ll cease to feel useful.”

  “You don’t have a very mean face.” Robby set the dripping carrots on the cutting board.

  “That makes me feel much better.” Jane cut them then tossed the pieces into a pot on the stove. She wiped her hands on her apron.

  Robby whispered something in Rose’s ear.

  “Get it away from me!” Rose shrieked as her brother chased her around the kitchen table with his hand extended.

  “I’m gonna get you!” Robby closed in on her, but Jane grabbed his arm.

  “The very idea.” She huffed. “Why are you tormenting your sister?”

  “He has a spider.” Rose swiped tear-streaked cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “Let me see.” Jane pried open his curled fingers. Nothing. She lowered her brows at Robby. “I may be all right, but when little boys terrorize their sisters, I turn into a scary old woman pretty quick.”

  Robby lowered his head.

  “You’d best apologize.” Jane turned the boy to face Rose, who wore a triumphant smirk.

  “I’m sorry,” Robby mumbled.

  “Now get back to work, both of you.” Jane shook her head, clicking her tongue. Then she settled concerned eyes on Henry. “You look exhausted. Did you sleep last night?”

  How could he sleep? Worry for Stella had prodded his mind until the sun peeked through the window. Then the added burden of finding a job and caring for three children. What did a bachelor know of nurturing three young lives? Though he’d wanted to open a children’s home before Weston terminated him and put his dream on hold, he’d planned to hire a housemother to help with day-to-day operations.

  His shoulders sagged, and he glanced at Daisy. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, and her even breaths tugged at his eyelids.

  “Go up to bed.” Jane lifted Daisy off his lap. After supporting her weight so long, his arms felt like stretched rubber bands.

  “Maybe I should. For a few minutes.” He hesitated, scrubbing a hand over his face. Rose stirred the vegetables and meat in the pot. Robby reached for the spoon, but she pulled it out of his reach and stuck out her tongue. “Rose—”

  “Never you mind.” Jane patted Henry’s hand. “They may listen better to someone with a slightly mean face than a handsome one.” She walked to the stove. “Now, Rose, is that any way for a young lady to behave? Plenty of stirring to go around.”

  As Henry trekked the stairs, the floorboards groaned. What would he do without Jane? He slipped off his suit coat. When he went to drape it over the chair, paper in the breast pocket rumpled beneath his fingers.

  Stella’s letter.

  He pulled it from the pocket. He’d yet to read it. How had he managed to forget something so precious? These would be the last words she’d write to him.

  He opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. Her perfume clung to the page. Eyes closed, he breathed it in. The aroma awakened memories of her embrace in the garage. A perfect moment that could never be duplicated.

  Lost in Stella’s flawless penmanship, he eased onto the bed. Her words washed over him and drowned him with the desire to see her one last time. To explain in person why he’d acted as he had. His pulse slowed as he read her proposal.

  Just a business proposal, of course. Still, the thought of working alongside her …

  An image of Stella rocking Daisy to sleep, of whispering goodnight prayers with Rose and Robby, tore a hole in his chest. Yes, Stella was spoiled, but as she’d so adeptly noted, the life she lived was all she had ever known. But she longed for more. Would she really want to build a life with him? Care for children? Put their needs before her own?

  Reality landed a merciless blow to his gut. She hadn’t made this offer to Henry, the unemployed chauffeur. Stella believed her correspondent to be some wealthy social equal. He tossed her letter, but instead of sailing across the room, it landed at his feet. Why hadn’t he come clean long ago? Or better yet, why hadn’t he been the friend she had needed without cowering behind pen and ink?

  For the same reason he hadn’t asked Jane if he could shelter the children in her home. The same reason he hadn’t already chased his dreams. And for the same reason he hadn’t told Stella the true depth of his feelings for her.

  He was a coward. He had been so concerned with losing his job and risking Stella’s rejection that he’d lost courage. Fear ruled his life, made his decisions, stole his respectability. He lay back on the bed.

  If only he possessed an ounce of Stella’s courage. The way she’d stood up to Ethel’s bully of a husband—

  Shame pricked Henry’s chest. Stella could do better, and she’d always known that. Even if he’d told her the truth about the letters after sending the first one, he’d never had a chance with her.

  He kicked his shoes beside the bed and planted a hand over his eyes. If only there was a way to muster up some courage. Even if he never saw Stella again, those children downstairs needed an advocate, someone strong enough to stand in their corner.

  Instead, they’d been brought home by an utter failure.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Stella crawled onto the massage table, legs trembling beneath her. Dr. Hazzard had administered a two-hour internal bath earlier that morning. Each treatment lasted longer than the last. As she lay facedown, the sensation of water swirling through her middle lingered and drowned the hunger pangs.

  “I promised to tell you the story of my youngest patient.” Dr. Hazzard kneaded Stella’s thigh then beat it with a rock-hard fist.

  Stella’s clenched teeth prevented a response. Why must the doctor be so rough?

  “Before you can fully appreciate the triumph of saving the Anderson boy, you should first understand the history of my medical practice. The story I’m about to tell you transpired while I was practicing in Minnesota many years ago. The doctors in those parts despised the idea of fasting. They derided me behind my back and opposed me to my face. But their main problem with me had little to do with the fasting cure. They hated that a woman had the ability to bring healing to their patients when they could not.” Dr. Hazzard drove her fist into Stella’s lower back as if she’d been guilty of ruining the woman’s medical reputation single-handedly, and Stella swallowed a cry. “The little boy who lived, thanks to my fasting regime, was named Edward Anderson. By the time his mother called me, the poor child lay at death’s door. She’d heard the negative comments and gossip surrounding my beliefs, but when a mother stands on the brink of losing her child, perhaps it’s easier to overlook public opinion and step out in faith.”

  Dr. Hazzard pummeled Stella’s neck. “Mrs. Anderson called me in as a last resort. When I saw little Eddie, I wasn’t sure anything could save him. He was so sick. Traditional doctors had tried every medicine in their little black bags, but nothing helped. They were simply keeping him com
fortable for his final hours on earth. They administered opioids and forced food and brandy on his rebellious stomach.” Another aggravated blow punctuated the doctor’s sentence. Hopefully the poor child hadn’t been forced to endure such a beating, or he surely would have given up the ghost.

  Grinding the words through her teeth, Dr. Hazzard continued. “As soon as I saw him, I put him on an immediate, total fast. I stopped all medication and started regular massages and internal baths.”

  Pity the poor little boy. Stella bit down on her tongue and squeezed her eyes tight as the doctor’s clenched hands awakened old bruises and formed new ones.

  “Within an hour, little Edward improved. His temperature and pulse returned to normal, and he rested comfortably.” Dr. Hazzard’s hands slowed, and Stella released the breath she’d been holding. “Over the next several hours, his mother fretted over him, thinking her growing boy needed to eat, but I held my ground. It was far too soon. By the next day, his pain and swelling had diminished. When he finally broke his fast, his body was returned to perfect working order.”

  Stella lay still, soaking in Dr. Hazzard’s words. They didn’t make sense. “If the child was so very sick, how could fasting for one hour bring him around so quickly?” She turned her head to glimpse the doctor.

  Hazzard’s black eyes narrowed. “Are you questioning me?”

  “No.” Stella’s heart jerked. “I just—If he improved so quickly, might I be through fasting soon?”

  Dr. Hazzard bent until she and Stella were separated by mere inches. “What happened last night?”

  “Well—” Had she found out Stella had witnessed the frightful scene in the bathroom? Stella’s stomach twisted. Please, Lord, don’t let her know my secret.

  “When I came in to check on you, you’d been sick. Complained of pain in your stomach and head. You were eaten up with fever. What makes you think your digestive system is sufficiently rested to take on the work of processing food?”