Stella brushed her hair then twisted it into a lumpy braid. Had Margaret sent her message to Jane? Would she tell Henry? If he still cared about her, even as a friend, he’d grasp the urgency in her words. He and Jane may already be on their way. She shook her head and tamped down her rising optimism. After two prior disappointments, wishing for him to take her home seemed too grand a thought to entertain. Somehow, hope seemed a crueler taskmaster than Dr. Hazzard, for it buoyed her spirits then sent them plunging beneath the icy waters of despair—whereas she had come to expect detachment, even mean-spiritedness from Dr. Hazzard and had never been disappointed in the treatment she received from the woman.
A knock at the cabin door returned Stella to reality. Probably Dr. Hazzard making her morning rounds. Stella opened the door. The doctor stood just outside on the dusty path. Morning draped a mist over the landscape, intensifying the tangy aroma of pine sap. This place could be truly beautiful if death didn’t lurk behind every rock and tree.
“How are you this morning, Miss Burke?” Dr. Hazzard asked in her usual brusque manner as she brushed past Stella into the cabin.
Did Stella dare request food again? She’d kept her hunger to herself for over a week, and the gnawing in her middle had increased with each passing day. Her ribs showed through her skin, much like the photographs she’d seen of children in impoverished countries. Beneath the bruises on her back, the bones of her spine could be counted. Surely the toxins must have made their escape.
“I’m truly hungry, Dr. Hazzard.” She sank onto the chair. “Could I please have some lima bean broth?” Maybe requesting the most repulsive food on earth would convince the doctor this went far beyond craving and gluttony. In truth, the thought of lima bean broth did not evoke disgust as it once had.
Dr. Hazzard took the seat beside her. “Let me see your tongue.” She tilted her head to catch a glimpse of Stella’s mouth.
Obedient, Stella opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. What did the doctor expect to learn from an examination of her tongue?
Dr. Hazzard’s expression remained stoic as she studied Stella’s tongue for a long moment. “I’ve seen enough. It’s unclean.” Her jaw hardened. “Which means you are unclean. Lima bean broth is a long way off.”
How could that be? She’d been fasting for nineteen days. Her strength had faded, and exhaustion dogged her every step on the walking trails. Many more days without nourishment, and she may not be able to walk at all.
“I have something I wish to speak with you about.” Dr. Hazzard clasped her hands in her lap. “You haven’t shown the improvement I’d hoped.”
The meaning behind the doctor’s words sucked the air from her lungs. Was she dying? Like Sue? Stella clasped her hand to her chest and willed back the tears.
“I’ve called a lawyer. Life is such a fragile thing, and it’s best to have your house in order should something happen to you.” Dr. Hazzard smoothed a wisp of dark hair that dared to defy her tortoiseshell combs. The light spilling through the window glinted off a jeweled earring.
Stella’s stomach dropped. The pear-shaped amethysts arranged to resemble a violet’s petals interrupted her heart’s steady rhythm. Why, the woman was wearing Mama’s earrings! The very ones missing from the cabin after it had been ransacked. Stella’s blood boiled. How dare Dr. Hazzard rob her? Then flaunt it before her without a care?
“I’ve asked the attorney to visit after your massage this afternoon. He’s drawn up all the necessary paperwork. You need only sign,” Dr. Hazzard continued, as if she were guilty of nothing more than caring for her patients’ best interests.
“And what exactly would I be signing my name to?” Stella clenched her hands in her lap. If this woman believed her to be as weak of mind as she was in body, she’d learn the bitter taste of disappointment before the day was spent.
“Just general last wishes.” Dr. Hazzard waved a hand in the air as if making final arrangements was as natural as breathing.
“But I’ve not given the lawyer my wishes.” Stella folded her arms over her chest. “Whose wishes would these be? Yours?”
The doctor’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Of course they’d be yours, my dear.” The syrupy sweetness in her voice turned Stella’s already aching stomach.
“I’m not signing any papers until I’ve made my wishes known.” Stella stood. Though her frail body did not match her stern words, she would not be trampled on.
“There’s no need to get upset.” Dr. Hazzard wiped her hands on her skirt. “It’s not an easy topic to discuss. Especially when one considers the despair you’ve sunken into.”
More mind games? “What do you mean? I’m not in despair.”
“There’s no use denying it.” The doctor motioned for her to sit, and Stella’s wobbly legs urged her to comply. “When we first started the regime, you had hope the treatments would help. Over time, that belief has dwindled. Now you’ve no confidence in fasting, and it shows in your countenance. I’ve known people who lost hope. And it usually leads to—”
Was Dr. Hazzard insinuating what Stella suspected? The unspoken words hung in the air like fog.
“Leads to what?” Stella chewed the inside of her cheek.
“I knew a woman once. A bright young thing. She had everything to live for. A husband who adored her and a baby on the way.” Dr. Hazzard’s eyes took on a faraway glaze. “Then one day, life changed. Her husband died, and she lost the child she was carrying. She was alone, and loneliness overwhelmed her. Hope vanished. I found her. She had hanged herself with a scarf—much like this one on your bed.” She gestured to the scrap of lavender fabric. “Ghastly business. But not surprising. For when one loses hope, the will to live soon follows.”
Stella shuddered. How had the doctor known she struggled with loneliness? And if she really believed Stella tottered on the brink of despair, why elicit thoughts of suicide? Shouldn’t taking one’s life be the last topic to mention to a person in a precarious state of mind? And to practically give instruction on how to accomplish such a task. Was Linda Hazzard planting the seed in her mind, hoping it would germinate once the last will and testament was signed? Stella drew a quivering breath and studied Dr. Hazzard’s eyes. Something evil lurked in their inky depths. This woman was wickedness incarnate.
“I’ll thank you not to mention such things again.” Stella massaged the back of her neck. Bones greeted her fingers where healthy flesh used to be. “It unsettles me.”
“But it’s something to think about.”
“It most certainly is not. What a morbid topic. I’d rather speak of internal baths, though I despise them more than anything in the world.” Her voice carried a sharper edge than she’d intended. It wouldn’t do to anger this woman, disturbed as she was.
“Just trying to help, Miss Burke.” Dr. Hazzard stood. Her probing gaze tied Stella’s nerves in knots. “See that you’re on time for your treatments today.” She bustled out of the cabin.
Alone again.
If only Jane were here. Or Henry. Someone to talk to. She glanced at the picture on the wall. Anyone besides that mischievous imp.
A bird’s song from outside the window drew her from the turmoil in her mind. She walked to the glass pane where a nest sat in the crook of a tree branch. The bluebird with a rusty orange breast chirped as if this place held not the slightest hint of fear. Probably enjoying the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Mama’s Bible recitations sprang to mind. A verse about sparrows trusting their Creator to care for them. About God seeing the little birds, knowing when they fell. Then Mama’s words rang clear. “You, my darling, are more precious to God than the sparrow. And since He takes such good care of them, you can be certain He will do the same for you. He loves all His children equally. You will never be forgotten or alone.”
Stella’s eyes burned. Her chest ached to have Mama back. She was so wise, and Stella needed that wisdom now. Needed to feel Mama’s arms around her one last time. But she was gone.
He loves all His children equally.
The words plucked a chord in her heart. If God viewed all men as equal, perhaps He didn’t care so very much that she and Henry traveled in different circles. Her stomach fluttered. Ever since Jane had reminded Stella of the matrimonial duty assigned her at birth, she had viewed an attachment to him beneath her. Believed she would be doing him a favor if she admitted to caring for him, as if she were better than he.
Shame seared her cheeks. What a fool she’d been. An arrogant fool. She had fancied herself so very great and Henry so low. But on what grounds? She blinked back the burning in her eyes, but the tears refused to be staunched.
If anything, her high opinion of herself proved her a poor match for him. She recalled the many times his solid thinking had prevented her from falling into traps set by her own selfish desires. She’d never been one to look at all the facts before making decisions, and more than once she’d paid the price, but Henry’s counsel had often grounded her before her escapades developed serious consequences.
Why hadn’t she trusted his suspicion of Linda Hazzard and Wilderness Heights? He’d warned her, but she’d demanded her own way like a petulant child. What must he think of her? Well, whatever negative thoughts swirled within his mind, she deserved every single one of them. She crossed her arms and leaned against the window sash.
God, help me see when I’m acting only for myself and stop me. I don’t want to be this way, but it’s a struggle.
How would Henry feel when she told him about the man she’d been corresponding with since Papa died? Would Henry allow her to assist in operating the children’s home when—
When would she learn not to get ahead of herself? She’d skipped forward and borrowed trouble from a day that may never come. Even if she found a way to escape Wilderness Heights, Henry may object to a lifetime with her. Who could blame him?
But no matter how he viewed her, one fact remained. In God’s sight they were equals. Not even Uncle Weston could deny it. Or Jane.
Her heart warmed at the memory of the compassion in Henry’s eyes when he looked at her. Would he gaze at her the same way when he saw how thin and pale she’d become? Stella glanced in the mirror. Only traces of the woman who had arrived at Wilderness Heights remained. But Henry wouldn’t care. She’d never been a beauty, but that hadn’t altered his steadfastness.
A tear tickled her cheek. She brushed it away. If she died here, her revelation would make no difference.
And the prospect of death had gnashed its snarling fangs when Dr. Hazzard mentioned the paperwork she wished for Stella to sign. Never had Stella felt more vulnerable, more weak.
She eased onto the rickety bed.
Wendell had been correct in all the fears he’d related that night. The doctor had tried cheating him out of his money in the same way she wanted to funnel Stella’s wealth into her own coffers. And the earrings. A sob escaped her lips. She might never get them back.
She must escape this place before something sinister befell her. If she signed the papers to avoid Dr. Hazzard’s suspicion, she’d be worth more dead than alive. But if she refused to sign—
The memory of a gunshot ripping the silence and Wendell’s lifeless body crumpling to the ground sent her heart beating at breakneck speed. Though escape could prove deadly, she couldn’t wait for Jane or Henry to arrive before running from this place.
What if Margaret hadn’t kept her promise to wire the message? Every day that Stella waited compounded the peril she faced.
She must make her escape. Tonight. Once darkness fell. Wendell had lived in the main house when he’d attempted to leave. His tread on the stairs must have given him away. Leaving from a secluded cabin had to be safer.
She bit her lip until the copper taste of blood touched her tongue.
Vanilla extract had scented the breeze when Margaret left last night. The hair on Stella’s neck prickled. Sam Hazzard had been walking among the cabins. What other explanation was there for his signature aroma? Did he patrol the grounds every night? Would he catch her in her flight to the tree line?
She squared her shoulders. A risk she’d have to take. Staying here may postpone her death but not prevent it. And if she must die, let it be in an attempt to gain freedom.
If God watched the sparrows as He promised, if He cared for her as fiercely as Mama said, He would help her know what to do, where to run.
Stella knelt to pray, but no words came. The fear mangling her brain stalled them in her throat. Should she ask for safety? For a way of escape? A miracle? Did she possess the strength to run? Even if her legs were sturdy enough to carry her into the woods, what then? She could lose her way and die in the forest instead of the cabin, but either way, she’d die alone.
Despite the wordlessness of her prayer, peace wrapped her in a warm embrace. She wasn’t alone. He was with her.