“Why the rush to get away?” He dragged her toward the cabins, sending a surge of pain through her arm. “You know disobedience will get you into trouble.”
The image of Wendell’s body flashed. She knew the price of noncompliance all too well. But the cost of following orders had proved just as high for Sue.
The papers hidden in her clothing crinkled. No. He couldn’t find out she planned to take her story to the police. She pressed her free hand to her chest to quiet the rustle. “I wasn’t trying to escape.” Would he have Linda Hazzard fill her full of buckshot if she admitted her plan?
Sam stopped, and she wrenched her arm free. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Your wife said that walking helps flush out the toxins.” She kept her hand clamped over the papers in her dress. “I couldn’t sleep. So I walked.”
He gripped her elbow and led her out of the woods, the fragile moonlight shining full on his features. “Why did you hide from me?”
“For all I knew, I was alone. Then you come traipsing through the woods like a criminal running from the authorities. You frightened me.”
Sam lifted a brow. He studied her, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
He didn’t believe her. Lying had never been her strong suit. Normally, that wouldn’t bother her.
Slowly, he shook his head. “Tilda thought you might say something like that.”
His words stole the air from Stella’s lungs. Tilda? Tears pricked her eyes. Though the woman had bought the fanciful dreams Dr. Hazzard was selling, Stella never imagined her friend would give away her plans.
“Surprised, aren’t you?” A smile stained Sam’s voice. “She was worried you wouldn’t finish your treatments.”
Did Linda Hazzard have her patients under some sort of spell?
As he tugged her to her cabin, Stella’s mind raced. He didn’t believe her, so what would be her consequences for trying to escape?
“Get inside.” He thrust her through the doorway and slammed the door.
She leaned against the wood, listening to his scuffling and grunting on the other side. A heavy thump reverberated through the pine boards. Was he trapping her inside? She pounded her fist against the door.
“Don’t bother,” Sam called. “I’ve barred the door, but don’t worry. I’ll send Rollie tomorrow afternoon. He’ll escort you to the main house for your treatments then see you back safely.”
Stella trailed her palm over the rough surface and rested her forehead against it. She was little more than a prisoner, and the husband of a madwoman held the key.
With her hope of escape snatched away, Stella crumpled to the floor. Tears burned her eyes, and sobs choked her. She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them.
The darkness inside the cabin mirrored the hopeless black pit burgeoning within. Would she die in this room? Gloom weighted her shoulders and forced the breath from her lungs. If God really cared for her more than the sparrows as Mama had said, as His Word said, why hadn’t He allowed her to break free? Now she was more trapped than ever.
Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.
The words whispered through her soul as a moonbeam cast its blue glow through the window. How could standing still prove such a hard task when those two little words carried so much simplicity? Even in her weakened condition, her muscles ached for action and her brain calculated ways to gain freedom.
Stand still.
She buried her face against her knees and sighed. God, help me to wait on You. It’s just so difficult to be still when I want to break down the door. A chuckle escaped her throat. How foolish that must sound on the lips of a woman as fragile as a newborn babe. I know I’m weak. But You’re strong. I need help trusting that Your way is best, because I’m not particularly good at not getting my way. Guilt squeezed her chest. She’d treated Henry abominably when he hadn’t bent to her wishes. Please let me see Henry one more time so I can tell him how sorry I am.
She stood and felt her way to the bed. As she eased onto the thin mattress, the springs squeaked. She pulled the legal documents from her bodice and slipped them under the pillow. Her nightgown’s silky fabric brushed her fingers. Might as well get comfortable.
She wouldn’t be allowed outside until her treatments tomorrow afternoon.
After wriggling out of her dress, she changed into her nightgown. The cool purple fabric skimmed a delicious chill over her arms. The scent of home still clung to the material, and she lifted the collar to her nose and breathed in.
Moisture dampened her cheeks. Would she ever see home and the people she loved again? And the man she’d corresponded with for years hadn’t sent a single letter since her arrival. He’d abandoned her.
She drew the quilt to her chin. Her chest felt hollowed out, but instead of plunging into its inky depths, she prayed.
Why was trusting so hard?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The morning sun cast golden light over the tall pines as Henry pulled the address from his pocket—the one Stella had enclosed in the last letter she’d written for the man he’d pretended to be. Water spots marred the ink, blurring the street name. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The last thing he needed was a setback.
A sign that read WELCOME TO OLALLA, WASHINGTON—POPULATION 407 flashed past. Quaint storefronts lined the town’s main street. He pulled up to a general store and hopped out of the automobile on legs that wobbled from disuse.
He pushed the door open, and a man behind the counter greeted him. “Good morning.” A German accent colored the words.
“Morning.” Henry strode to the counter. “Could you give me directions to Dr. Hazzard’s clinic?”
“To Starvation Heights? Sure.” The man rubbed his bearded chin. A sick sensation curled in Henry’s gut. “What did you call it?” He rubbed the back of his neck. What had Stella fallen into?
“Starvation Heights.” The proprietor poked his thumbs through his belt loops. “Always wondered what sort of hoity-toity fools would check into a place like that. Or stay long enough to look as ghastly as they do.”
“You’ve seen the patients?” Henry raked a hand through his hair.
“Yah. Not long ago, a woman stopped by the shop. My wife gave her a bit of bread. Looked like she hadn’t seen food in months, or so Betsy told me.” He shook his head. “They could leave anytime, so why choose to stay?”
Why indeed? Stella, headstrong as she was, would never stay in such a place willingly. She’d march out, giving Linda Hazzard an earful as the door swung shut behind her. If the quack doctor’s methods weren’t working, or worse, if they were killing her, why not walk out? But Stella’s message had been urgent. Maybe she was too frightened to leave—or too weak.
What if Dr. Hazzard’s patients weren’t able to leave? Perhaps Stella had found herself in trouble when she asked to check out. If the old Buzzard insisted she stay, or worse, held her prisoner—
His breath hitched. “I need the directions immediately. My friend is there, and she sent word for help.”
The shopkeeper checked the clock. “If you wait twenty minutes, the doctor’s husband will be in. Sam could take you. He’s a regular around this place.”
“I don’t have twenty minutes to wait.” Henry splayed his fingers across the counter, his heart rate speeding like a car at the Grand Prix. “Please. I need to go now.”
The shopkeeper scribbled the route to Wilderness Heights on a notepad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to Henry. “It’s not far.”
Paper in hand, Henry darted for the door.
“Hope your friend’s all right,” the man called after him.
Henry’s feet pounded across the gravel toward the automobile. With a jerk of the crank, the motor sputtered to life, and he jumped behind the wheel. Heart slamming against his ribs, he followed the hand-drawn map. God, please, let Stella be okay.
Starvation Heights. The name rippled through his chest, leaving a dark swirl of dread. Did Linda Hazzard real
ly betray her patients’ confidence and starve them? The idea seemed too shocking to be true.
But the little boy from the bank—Jack—his talk of walking skeletons begging for bread. He’d said his aunt had seen them, that she ran a shop in Olalla. Could the proprietor’s wife, Betsy, be the boy’s aunt? And she’d given food to a woman recently. Might it have been Stella?
His gut twisted. What would he find when he finally laid eyes on her? Would he even recognize her, or would she be too altered?
He cut a sharp left turn, and a rambling white house came into view. Cabins dotted the hills behind the structure. At this distance, they looked like the little houses Robby fashioned from twigs when he wasn’t terrorizing his sisters.
Angry clouds gathered overhead, signaling an impending storm.
As he ground to a stop, pebbles crunched beneath the tires and thunder grumbled in the distance. A few stray drops fell, splattering the windscreen. He leapt from the automobile, dashed up the porch, and pushed open the front door. The foyer showed no signs of life. His boots thudded against the wood floors with each step. She was close. He swallowed the knot in his throat. She had to be. Unless he was too late.
No time to think about that now.
“Stella!” His voice hit the sterile white walls and fell dead to the floor. Had Dr. Hazzard left the premises?
A door overhead slammed, jolting Henry’s nerves. As heavy footsteps creaked down the stairs, he strode to meet whoever was coming to greet him. If only it were that old Buzzard. He’d had two days on the road to fashion the words he wished to spit at her, and they were both stern and eloquent. If he was allowed to think such a thing of his abilities. His hands clenched.
A dark-haired man stood before him, brows raised. “What’s all the hollering about? Dr. Hazzard is treating a patient, and she’d thank you to keep your voice down.”
“I don’t care what Dr. Hazzard would thank me to do.” Henry squared his shoulders. Vanilla clung to the man like an overcoat. Probably the Buzzard’s husband, Sam. He looked like the man who’d driven Stella away from the office in Seattle. “Miss Burke sent for me. I’d like to see her.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Sam Hazzard’s lips slanted in an unsettling smile.
“What did you do to her?” Had he arrived too late? Determined not to exhibit the unrest warring within, Henry flexed his jaw.
Sam raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve done nothing to harm her.” He crossed his arms. “Miss Burke doesn’t wish to see you. She’s not taking visitors.” Thunder cracked, and rain pelted the windows.
Lies.
Did he take Henry for a fool? If this man believed a weak excuse would shoo Henry away, he’d better brace for disappointment.
Heat seared the back of Henry’s neck. “Her message indicated she was in danger. Either you tell me where to find her, or I will rip this place apart searching.”
“Miss Burke is indisposed.” The man’s tone hardened. “This is a place of healing. And I suggest you respect our methods or I’ll summon the police.”
“Sam,” a shrill voice called from upstairs.
“Coming.” Sam’s voice shifted from commanding to submissive. He started to turn then took a step nearer Henry. “This conversation is over.” His finger jabbed Henry’s chest. “Go back where you came from.”
Sam tromped up the stairs, and Henry paced to the front door and back. How could he be expected to leave without seeing Stella? She was in some sort of trouble, and until he discovered what it was, going home wasn’t an option. He raked a hand through his hair.
But the man had flatly refused to allow Henry a visit with Stella. If Sam wouldn’t take him to her, Henry would find her himself. He strode toward the doorway on his left until an accented voice stopped him midstep.
“She’s not in the house.”
Henry turned to the origin of the voice, and a slight, grayhaired woman pinned him with an urgent look. “Where is she? I must find her.”
“You’re Henry? From the telegram?” Her brow wrinkled.
This woman knew about Stella’s message? He nodded. Who was she? How did she know Stella? No time to share life stories. Once he and Stella were safely away, perhaps.
“She’s in a cabin behind the house. Take the path on the right, and she’s in the third.”
Henry gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you.”
He yanked open the door and ran down the porch steps. The sheeting rain soaked him to the bone. His pulse throbbed in his temples as he pressed toward the path on the right. Puddles splashed with each footfall. If Sam Hazzard caught sight of him—well, no doubt he would disapprove, maybe worse—but his threat to call the police could be a blessing. The authorities might be summoned to this place before the day was done. Lightning rent a jagged streak across the darkened sky.
At the door to the third cabin, he stopped short. Rainwater dripped into his eyes, and he dashed the drops away with a fist. A bar positioned over the door held her captive. Why?
He grabbed hold of the beam, grunting under the weight, and shoved it to the side. Then he pulled open the door, eyes closed. God, don’t let me find her dead.
“Henry?” The sound of his name on Stella’s lips snapped his eyes open. He stepped inside the tiny cabin, and his breath caught. She’d grown so thin, just a shell of herself. Could this really be his Stella?
Then the unfamiliar woman smiled. His chest warmed. He would always recognize that beautiful smile. The purple collar of her nightgown peeked from under the shawl she held tight around her shoulders with bony fingers.
“Stella, I’m sorry, I—”
“You came.” Her eyes glistened, and she reached a hand to him.
“Of course I did.” He took a step toward her and grasped her hand, so fragile in his own. Her skin was cool and slick as glass. “You have to forgive me.”
Confusion scrawled lines across her brow. “Why?” The longer he looked at her, glimmers of her old spunk showed him she was still there. Only her exterior was altered. Her heart remained unchanged.
If she knew of his deceit, accusations would replace the questions in her eyes. His heart skipped. Had she not received his letter? He opened his mouth to confess, but concern for her safety and the urge to run from the Hazzards snapped his lips closed.
Later.
“I’ll tell you when we’re safely away from Starvation Heights. If Sam Hazzard discovers I’m out here, he’ll have my hide.” He gave Stella’s hand a gentle tug, but she remained immobile.
Did she still put stock in this crazy notion of fasting? Urgency sent static waves through his nerves. There wasn’t time to convince her, so he’d simply throw her over his shoulder and make her see reason after they’d sped away.
He glanced at Stella, and the fear in her eyes froze the blood in his veins. He followed her gaze to the object of her terror.
His stomach dropped.
His eyes clashed with Sam’s. Rain trickled from the end of the man’s nose. A clap of thunder shook the cabin. Henry balled his fist, prepared to fight for Stella’s freedom, but the doctor’s husband lifted a shovel. Lightning brightened the cabin for a fraction of a second, glinting off the shovel’s blade.
Sam brought it down hard. Pain seared red-hot in Henry’s head.
Stella screamed.
The world faded to black.
Chapter Thirty
Stella dropped to her knees beside Henry. Blood trickled from a gash in his forehead. No. How could Sam be so cruel? She brushed a finger near the wound then met Sam Hazzard’s gaze. “You’re a monster. When I leave this place, I’ll tell the police what you’ve done.”
A smirk tilted his lips. “I could pay a visit to the sheriff myself.” Sam rested the shovel’s handle on his shoulder. “This fella was here to kidnap you. Pretty serious crime.”
“He’d never do any such thing.” Of all the asinine accusations. Stella let out a huff through her nose, scooting closer to Henry. She pressed a kiss to his
cheek. He had come to rescue her. That was all that mattered. Sam might hold them hostage here, but Henry wouldn’t be down for long. Together they would find a way to break out of the cabin and then—
Sam tossed the shovel through the open door and gripped Henry’s hands.
“What are you doing?” Stella clung to Henry’s shirt, unwilling to let him go. She had waited too long to see him, and there were still so many things she had to tell him. But maybe Sam would have Dr. Hazzard inspect the wound on Henry’s head. No. He needed a real doctor. She grasped Henry’s leg with all her strength. She couldn’t let Sam take him away. Better to let an actor from a traveling medicine show tend the gash than the old Buzzard who probably found her medical license along with the customary coupon in her box of Cracker Jack.
“Let go. I’m taking care of a problem.” The cool, detached cadence of Sam’s voice froze Stella’s muscles.
What could he mean? A ball of dread exploded in her middle.
Sam dragged Henry across the threshold. Stella screamed, grabbing at his feet, but her weak muscles foiled her attempts, and they slid through her fingers. “No. Please. Where are you taking him?” Her voice cracked in her throat.
“Somewhere so’s he won’t bother us again.” Sam dropped Henry onto the dirt path. Lightning illuminated the sky, casting ghoulish shadows across his features.
“Don’t. He didn’t mean any harm!” But the slam of the door overpowered her words. The thud of the beam Sam propped over the door echoed like thunder in Stella’s chest.
What did Sam plan to do with Henry? Stella dashed to the small window and stood on tiptoes.
Gripping Henry’s hands, Sam tugged him toward the main house. Henry’s shoes left skid marks in the mud, which were quickly filled by rain. Though part of her wished Sam Hazzard was intending to have his wife bind the jagged wound on Henry’s temple, logic told a different story. Neither one of them cared whether Henry lived or died.
Tears burned her cheeks. She’d never see Henry again. Please, God, don’t let him die.
“Just dump him in, Rollie.”
The Purple Nightgown Page 21