Page 65 of Healing Hazel

She tipped over, lying on her side, and watched the candle’s flame, remembering the first time she’d come into this little room. She’d been so nervous and determined to prove herself, especially to the irritable Dr. Jackson. She thought of the day she’d brought in an extra lamp and opened her Christmas gifts. She glanced at the little carved frog watching her from the table and felt a strong ache.

Once she had regained enough strength, she pushed open her trunk and took out a gown she deemed suitable for a wedding, then stockings, a corset, a bustle, a hat, and shoes. She set it all out on the bed, dreading the effort it would take to put it all on, especially the corset.

She moved to close the lid and saw the embroidered shawl Dahlia had given her. She knew Nella had nothing fancy to wear. This was just the thing to make her feel like a bride. Hazel took out the shawl and refolded it, setting it on the trunk’s lid.

A fit of coughing came on, and she bent over, holding her arms around herself until it finished. She breathed heavily.

“Hazel? Are you in there?”

She recognized Jim’s voice. “One moment,” she said and dug through her trunk, finding a dressing gown. She put it on before she answered.

Jim held a candle lamp. He glanced past her into the room. “What are you doing?”

“I will not attend a wedding in my nightclothes,” she said.

“I see.” Jim said. He glanced into the room again. “I’d hoped to talk to you if you have a moment.”

Hazel stepped aside, opening the door to admit him.

Jim entered, closing the door behind him. He set the candle lamp on the trunk and turned to face her. “Hazel, I must apologize to you. I realize it came as a surprise, your father’s arrival and the plans for your return to London. We—I did not consult you, and the manner in which I delivered the news was insensitive, to say the least.”

“I don’t want to leave.” The words came out of their own volition, and she felt silly. She sounded like a petulant child. She glanced up at him.

“I know,” Jim said. His expression was very serious, his forehead furrowed. “Hazel, if there were any other way—”

And then she was in his arms, holding on to him as if he were a life raft.

His arms wrapped around her, their warmth, his familiar smell, the feeling of just being near him making the prospect of leaving nearly unbearable.

There was so much she wanted to say. Jim had given her a chance to become what she’d dreamed of. He’d encouraged her, taught her, trusted her. She wanted to tell him how much these weeks had meant to her, how they’d changed her. She wanted to ask him to promise to write letters or plan for him to visit in the summer. But she said none of it. The words hung heavy in the air around them, unspoken. This moment felt final. A goodbye. And for that, there were no words.

She held him tighter, as if doing so would dull the ache inside her.

At last, they separated.

“Hazel, I—” Jim swallowed hard. He pressed his lips together tightly. “Promise me you will get well.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This moment was likely their last opportunity to be alone together.

He kissed her then, a soft kiss without the hesitance, the questions, or passion of before. This was a farewell kiss. A last kiss.

The ache in Hazel’s chest grew and had nothing to do with her illness. She did not know if she could bear it.

Chapter 22

The wedding was a quietceremony, performed by padre de Leon in the cloister. Dr. Laurent and Miss Westbrook had chosen the late afternoon because it was the warmest hour of the day, but there was still a sharpness in the winter air.

The nurses had brought every chair they could find, and all of the hospital staff and most of the patients were in attendance. Dr. Laurent was well-liked in the hospital, as was his bride.

Jim sat beside Dr. Ruiz, and he glanced regularly—without meaning to—to where Hazel sat with her father, the sergeant who had accompanied him, and Captain Bryant. She wore a pale-green gown with an excessive amount of fabric and ruffles in the skirt. Her hair was pulled up beneath a small hat adorned by a cluster of roses and a few feathers. At her neck was the brooch she’d worn the first day he’d seen her—a blue flower surrounded by swirls of metal.

Her face was paler than usual, making the periorbital dark circles beneath her eyes appear even darker, and she had lost weight during the worst days of her illness. But none of these factors detracted from how lovely she was. Jim directed his attention back to the ceremony, but it was difficult.

Hazel coughed a few times in the cold air, but the long fits she’d suffered from days earlier seemed to have passed. Her father kept a close watch on her, moving her shawl up onto her shoulders when she shivered.

Once the vows were said, the atmosphere of the cloister became one of celebration. Laurent grinned as he looked at his new bride, and she beamed back at him.

Jim approached the newlyweds, taking Dr. Laurent’s hand in a firm handshake. “Congratulations,” he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I am very happy for you.”

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