Page 1 of Healing Hazel

Prologue

November 30, 1873

The grand front door swungopen, and Miss Hazel Thornton stepped into the entryway of the Lancasters’ London home.

“Good evening, miss,” Jameson, the butler, greeted her, a twinkle in his eye in spite of his formal manner. “The young ladies are in the sitting room.” He took her wrap, gloves, and hat.

“Thank you, Jameson,” Hazel said, pleased to be spending an evening with the other members of the Blue Orchid Society. She glanced at her gown in the entry hall mirror. It was—as requested in Dahlia’s invitation—Hazel’s most “festive” gown. She believed it was, anyway. Made of deep-green taffeta, this gown had the most ribbons, flounces, and silk flowers of any of Hazel’s clothing. There was even a train, which made a swishing noise as she walked down the passageway.

Hearing the voices of her friends, she entered the sitting room, but just as she opened her mouth to greet them, Hazel stopped, staring around her in astonishment. Pine boughs and holly tied with velvet ribbons decorated every window, doorway, and mantel. A dining table had been arranged on one side of the room, covered with a rich red tablecloth and adorned with greenery, displays of fruit, and even more candles. But what made Hazel put her hand to her mouth and gasp was an enormous pine tree festooned with bows, ribbons, candles, and glass balls that glittered in the light of the flames. Her four friends watched her reaction with wide smiles.

“What is all this?” Hazel asked, her gaze traveling around the room as she took it all in.

“It’s a Christmas party, dear.” Dahlia kissed her cheek. Dahlia, as usual, looked stunning, her hair perfectly coiffed, her gown the height of fashion, jewels glittering at her neck. Hazel had no doubt the decor was her doing, as Dahlia had an excellent eye for embellishments.

“But Christmas is not for another month yet,” Hazel protested.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sophie said. She put an arm around Hazel’s waist, drawing her closer to admire the tree. “Some consider holiday decor before the season to be bad luck. But we wanted to celebrate Christmas all together before you leave us. And we wanted to do it properly.”

Hazel didn’t know what to say. Her eyes prickled at their thoughtfulness. “This is all... it’s all so...”

“Extreme?” Elizabeth said, taking Hazel’s hands in greeting. “I know.” She gave a dramatic sigh and then a smirk. “My cousin does tend to get carried away.”

Hazel glanced at the cousin in question and saw that Dahlia shrugged good-naturedly at Elizabeth’s appraisal.

“Happy early Christmas, Hazel,” Vivian said by way of greeting. “I’ll have you know the turkey has been cooked to an inner temperature of 165 degrees Fahrenheit. I made certain myself.” Hazel stifled a smile, imagining how Dahlia’s cook must have reacted to a scientific thermometer in the kitchen. “You know,” Vivian continued, “bacteria in undercooked poultry has been known to cause sickness, often resulting in abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhea, and fever.”

“Of course she knows,” Sophie said. “She is a nurse trainee. She knows all about bacteria and illness.” Sophie was not the least repelled by Vivian’s inappropriate dining room conversation. The young ladies were used to it by now, and while Vivian’s observations might be considered improper or, more often, embarrassing, the Blue Orchid Society never discouraged her from speaking what was on her mind, and they never allowed anyone else to do it either. That loyalty was one of the things Hazel loved most about her friends.

Dinner was served: a veritable feast of ham, potatoes, meat pies, various breads, soups, gravies, vegetables and fruit, and a sufficiently cooked turkey. And just when Hazel thought she could not take one more bite, an enormous selection of desserts was brought in.

Once the meal was concluded, the women gathered on the sofas and chairs at the other side of the room.

“We shall miss you dreadfully, Hazel,” Sophie said from her spot on the sofa beside her.

Hazel adjusted the train on her gown, not wanting to smash it while she sat. “I will be away for only a short while.”

“Things won’t be the same without you here,” Dahlia said.

“I think you will all be far too busy with your various obligations to even notice.” Hazel spoke in a cheerful voice that was at odds with the emotions inside her. Although she was extremely proud of her friends’ accomplishments over the last several months, she felt an immense shame at her own failure to achieve what she’d hoped for. Months earlier, the five women had vowed together to achieve a goal, their own dearest wish, and Hazel had watched her friends do just that. Her personal ambition, to finish nursing school, had started out well-intended, but in the end, she’d been forced to abandon the endeavor. Unfortunately, she’d learned, there was more to nursing school than caring for patients and studying anatomy books. One must attend lectures in crowded halls and lessons in small classrooms, and for Hazel, being pressed into a small area without immediate means for escape had brought on panic spells that made it impossible to continue her schooling.

“Are you nervous, Hazel?” Vivian asked. “You will be traveling quite a distance. And I believe you said your father is unable to escort you the entire way to the Canary Islands?”

“He cannot be spared from the Gold Coast of Africa for the extra weeks it would require to travel to England and return with me,” Hazel confirmed. “Taking weeks of leave for the holiday has already proven difficult enough. He’d proposed sending an officer to accompany me to Cádiz, but I was not inclined to travel with a stranger, and in the end, we found a suitable compromise. Pernella Westbrook is one of the instructors at the Florence Nightingale School of Nursing.” Hazel blushed as she mentioned her former school. “Miss Westbrook is happy for the opportunity to travel, and I enjoyed her company quite a lot.”

“A sensible choice,” Elizabeth said, perhaps mistaking Hazel’s blush for unease at the unconventionality of the situation. “Two competent women are entirely capable of making the journey together without having to worry about a man to escort them.”

“And she’s been excellent with my... spells,” Hazel said. “I feel very comfortable with her.”

“As she should be,” Vivian said, frowning. “One would think if anyone would be understanding of your ailment, it would be those committed to healing the sick.”

“And they call themselves caretakers.” Elizabeth frowned as well, folding her arms.

Hazel felt warm at her friends’ support. She was glad that, with them, she didn’t have to hide the truth or minimize it. They were interested and never made her feel as if she were defective. The only other person who had been so generous with his compassion was her dear uncle Archibald, with whom she’d lived in London for the past three months.

“You seem to be doing better,” Dahlia said. “It’s been quite some time since a panic spell came upon you, hasn’t it?”

“Weeks,” Hazel said. Having friends who understood the cause of her spells and took steps to prevent them had cut down the incidents significantly. “Not since the dinner party at Lord Hastings’s.” Remembering her reaction to the stuffy room and her inability to move through the crowd to the exit started her fingers tingling. She balled her hands into fists and breathed deeply.

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