Page 25 of Healing Hazel

Hazel’s earlier exhaustion was gone, and her senses hummed with the thrill of using her hairbrush and toothpowder.

She squeezed into the space beside her trunk and lifted the lid. Inside, the contents looked as if they’d been tossed around. Her clothing was in disarray, and lavender water had leaked all over everything. Remembering the clothing and damaged luggage around the wreckage of the train, she was grateful that her things were at least accounted for, even if they were not all in first-rate condition.

She lifted out her clothing, assessing which needed laundering, and found the bag of grooming items near the bottom of the trunk. When she reached for it, her fingers brushed a wrapped parcel. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered her final night in London.

Digging among her stockings, shoes, and underclothing, she found the rest of the parcels, lining them up on Nella’s trunk, and a rush of homesickness hit her, making her eyes sting. She again dug in the trunk and brought out a handkerchief, then closed her trunk and sat on it, looking at the row of gifts. They were all small, of course, meant to take up a minimum of space in her luggage, but right now, those four parcels seemed nothing short of magnificent.

She pulled her feet up so that she leaned back against the stone wall, resting her elbows on her knees, and her tears began to fall.

She wondered what her friends would think if they could see her now—wearing a blood-stained apron, with hair that hadn’t been combed properly in days, sitting on a chest in a little stone room that was so crowded that she had to climb over the furniture to get to the door.

A noise that began as a sob turned into a laugh as she imagined the four women opening the sleeping-chamber door and staring. Dahlia would be horrified at the accommodations but would somehow make the room welcoming and comfortable with a few well-placed decorations and lovely linens. Vivian would set about figuring out a scientific way to provide light and heat to the room. Sophie would bring a basket filled with meat pies, tarts, and sweet cakes. Elizabeth would, of course, have plenty to say about the inequality between the men’s and women’s positions in the hospital.

Hazel picked up one of the gifts, holding it against her chest and imagining she could feel the affection of her friends radiating through the paper. She weighed the package in her hand, considering. She’d been told not to open it until Christmas. But nobody could have predicted that she’d find herself in such a circumstance. And besides, for all she knew, it was Christmas already—she’d quite lost track of the date. She thought there were a few days yet, and even here, Christmas wouldn’t simply pass without anyone taking notice, would it? Well, she wasn’t going to take the chance. She set the parcel back down with the others, climbed back over the cot, and slipped through the small opening of the doorway, returning a moment later with two more lamps. The effect of the extra light in the room made the chamber surprisingly pleasant, and she decided that she would light three lamps before bed every night—even if it was for only a few moments.

Hazel returned to her place, sitting atop her traveling trunk. She chose a gift. The package was a small rectangular shape, wrapped in striped tissue paper, and tied smartly with a string. She tore off the paper to reveal two books and a card.

A journal to record all of your adventures—I do hope there are many and that they are at least scandalous enough to make them worth the ink.

And a Spanish-to-English dictionary to make certain you are able to fend for yourself among strangers.

With love,

Elizabeth

Hazel studied the cover of the pocket dictionary.Standard Spanish-English and English-Spanish Dictionary. She opened it, figuring out quickly how to find the words she was looking for. Whether she was in need of a word to explain or one to understand, the book would be immensely helpful in communicating with patients and her fellow nurses. And it was small enough to fit in her apron pocket.

The next package was wrapped in gorgeous floral paper with an enormous silk ribbon that had been smashed a bit in the trunk. Of course it was from Dahlia. Hazel opened one end and pulled out a very soft and, knowing Dahlia, very expensive silk shawl. The color was a lovely blue with flowers embroidered along the edge.

For cool nights and lonely days or anytime at all that you need a bit of comfort. Envelope yourself within and imagine you are in the embrace of those who miss you.

All my love,

Dahlia

Hazel draped the shawl around her shoulders, holding it tightly and closed her eyes, trying to imagine the feel of her friends’ embrace.

The next gift was the largest. A box containing an assortment of mechanical parts. When Hazel unfolded the paper that was enclosed, she found illustrated directions for assembly.

In December, the temperature in the Canary Islands is said to be pleasant, but the atmospheric moisture content in a tropical climate tends to be high, and while this mechanism will not dissipate the water vapor in the air, it might make it more bearable.

Love,

Vivian

P.S. Benedict has enclosed a gift as well. I put it in the motor housing for safekeeping. He says to tell you it is a moonstone, meant to provide protection for travelers. If one is to believe potassium feldspar possesses such capabilities.

Hazel didn’t know what a motor housing was, but after a moment of searching in the box, she found a small velvet pouch inside a box of gears.

When she tipped it, a necklace with a white-stone pendant fell into her palm. The stone was cloudy, but it shimmered in the candlelight with an opalescence that took her breath away. “Beautiful,” she whispered.

She studied the schematics and understood that once assembled, the parts Vivian had so carefully created and packed into the box would make an upright fan with a motor that was powered by a windup key in its base. Practical and thoughtful—just like Vivian.

The final gift was a box wrapped with colorful paper. Inside she found a pretty box of stationery with a jar of ink and a quill. There was also a paper sack filled with peppermints. The sweets, Hazel knew, were from Sophie’s fiancé, Inspector Jonathan Graham. Peppermints were a favorite indulgence of his. She removed the smaller box and sack and saw another wrapped parcel in the bottom of the first box. The parcel was small, only slightly larger than her palm.

When she removed the tissue paper, Hazel gasped. Inside the carved frame was a painting of herself. On this small canvas, Sophie had recreated every curl, the curve of her brow, and even her fine eyelashes with such detail that Hazel could only stare. She recognized the dress and the setting immediately. She was sitting on a bench in the garden of Uncle Archibald’s London house, looking over her shoulder at the artist. Sophie had captured her expression just as her face was transitioning between surprise and delight.

Hazel remembered the day well. Her panic spells had been happening more often, and worried that the crowds would cause her to experience another, she’d remained at home while her friends had attended an air-balloon ascension. Hazel had been feeling sorry for herself, watching the balloon soar through the sky over the garden and imagining how her friends must be enjoying themselves, when the members of the Blue Orchid Society arrived with a picnic and souvenirs from the park. Hazel had kept the painted silk fan with the image of a floating balloon on the mantel in her bedchamber in her uncle’s house.

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