and start over.
And Dora could go with her!
She laughed at the thought. Two best friends exploring a new world? The possibility lessened the burden of her parents’ plan. Since they supported the marriage with the goal of Lottie being secure and cared for, surely they also wanted her happiness. What did it matter if she found happiness in a different direction?
Lottie lifted her face to the sky, letting the sun dapple through the leaves and caress her face.
It was a plan. A secret plan.
The best kind.
Dora was roused from sleep by an unknown sound. She sat up in bed and listened.
Voices were coming from the floor below.
It was still dark, but moonlight revealed the time on her dresser clock. Two-fifteen. Who was up at this hour—and why?
The sound of a horse’s gallop made her speed to the attic window. It appeared to be Derek, the stableboy, riding away as though a ghost were chasing him.
Someone had to be hurt or ill or …
Dora pulled a shawl over her nightgown and rushed downstairs. She didn’t need directions to the source of the voices, as the hallway contained Mrs. Movery wearing a robe, Mr. Davies in his uniform—sans tie—Miss Agatha, and Lottie.
Where were the elder Gleasons?
Lottie spotted Dora and hurried to her side. “It’s Mother. Her cough …”
Now that Dora’s ears were tuned to it, she could indeed hear a horrible hacking coming from Mrs. Gleason’s room. She heard Miss Agatha telling Mrs. Movery to make some tea.
Mrs. Gleason had suffered coughing fits before, but never one that sounded this severe. “What can I do to help?” Dora asked.
Lottie shook her head. “Mr. Davies sent Derek for Dr. Graham. Mother is coughing up blood.”
That wasn’t good.
“I don’t know what to do,” Lottie said.
Dora did a quick inventory and made an observation. “When your father comes out—”
“Father isn’t here.”
Dora was taken aback. “Not here? But it’s the middle—” She stopped before she brought more attention to his absence. “If no one is with your mother, why don’t you go to her?”
Lottie’s face looked stricken. “I wouldn’t know what to do. I’ve always made fun of her coughing, thinking she was exaggerating it for pity’s sake. But this is real, and it’s serious and—”
Dora gave her a little push. “Go to her. Let her know she’s not alone.”
Reluctantly, Lottie nodded and wove her way through the others until she disappeared inside her mother’s bedroom.
Left alone, Dora stood ready in case someone needed something, and did the only thing she knew to do.
Please help Mrs. Gleason. Help them all.
Lottie entered the room with trepidation. A lone gas lamp on the bedside table cast odd shadows. Her mother lay against a multitude of pillows, nearly upright. Her eyes were closed, her arms limp by her sides, one hand gripping a handkerchief tinged with blood.
Is she … ?
Mother opened her eyes. “Lottie?”
Lottie rushed closer. “I’m here.”
“Is the doctor … ?”
“Derek’s riding to get him.”
She offered a nod that was nearly imperceptible.
“What can I do?”
Another movement, this time in the negative. “Stay with me.”
“Of course.” Lottie felt completely awkward. What should she say? What should she do—could she do? “I’m sorry for being annoyed at your coughing.”
Her mother smiled. “I’m annoyed too.”
Another fit caused her to thrust forward. She fumbled for a bowl amid the covers, and Lottie helped her hold it to her mouth. Sputum and blood …
Lottie’s thoughts swirled with panic. Help her! Please make my mother well!
The realization that she’d prayed surprised her. Even though she went to church with her parents every Sunday, sitting in the pews and bowing her head like a good daughter, she never said anything to God. Until now she’d never felt the need.
Until now.
So why would God listen to her prayers? Lottie knew the importance society put on getting a proper introduction. It
And Dora could go with her!
She laughed at the thought. Two best friends exploring a new world? The possibility lessened the burden of her parents’ plan. Since they supported the marriage with the goal of Lottie being secure and cared for, surely they also wanted her happiness. What did it matter if she found happiness in a different direction?
Lottie lifted her face to the sky, letting the sun dapple through the leaves and caress her face.
It was a plan. A secret plan.
The best kind.
Dora was roused from sleep by an unknown sound. She sat up in bed and listened.
Voices were coming from the floor below.
It was still dark, but moonlight revealed the time on her dresser clock. Two-fifteen. Who was up at this hour—and why?
The sound of a horse’s gallop made her speed to the attic window. It appeared to be Derek, the stableboy, riding away as though a ghost were chasing him.
Someone had to be hurt or ill or …
Dora pulled a shawl over her nightgown and rushed downstairs. She didn’t need directions to the source of the voices, as the hallway contained Mrs. Movery wearing a robe, Mr. Davies in his uniform—sans tie—Miss Agatha, and Lottie.
Where were the elder Gleasons?
Lottie spotted Dora and hurried to her side. “It’s Mother. Her cough …”
Now that Dora’s ears were tuned to it, she could indeed hear a horrible hacking coming from Mrs. Gleason’s room. She heard Miss Agatha telling Mrs. Movery to make some tea.
Mrs. Gleason had suffered coughing fits before, but never one that sounded this severe. “What can I do to help?” Dora asked.
Lottie shook her head. “Mr. Davies sent Derek for Dr. Graham. Mother is coughing up blood.”
That wasn’t good.
“I don’t know what to do,” Lottie said.
Dora did a quick inventory and made an observation. “When your father comes out—”
“Father isn’t here.”
Dora was taken aback. “Not here? But it’s the middle—” She stopped before she brought more attention to his absence. “If no one is with your mother, why don’t you go to her?”
Lottie’s face looked stricken. “I wouldn’t know what to do. I’ve always made fun of her coughing, thinking she was exaggerating it for pity’s sake. But this is real, and it’s serious and—”
Dora gave her a little push. “Go to her. Let her know she’s not alone.”
Reluctantly, Lottie nodded and wove her way through the others until she disappeared inside her mother’s bedroom.
Left alone, Dora stood ready in case someone needed something, and did the only thing she knew to do.
Please help Mrs. Gleason. Help them all.
Lottie entered the room with trepidation. A lone gas lamp on the bedside table cast odd shadows. Her mother lay against a multitude of pillows, nearly upright. Her eyes were closed, her arms limp by her sides, one hand gripping a handkerchief tinged with blood.
Is she … ?
Mother opened her eyes. “Lottie?”
Lottie rushed closer. “I’m here.”
“Is the doctor … ?”
“Derek’s riding to get him.”
She offered a nod that was nearly imperceptible.
“What can I do?”
Another movement, this time in the negative. “Stay with me.”
“Of course.” Lottie felt completely awkward. What should she say? What should she do—could she do? “I’m sorry for being annoyed at your coughing.”
Her mother smiled. “I’m annoyed too.”
Another fit caused her to thrust forward. She fumbled for a bowl amid the covers, and Lottie helped her hold it to her mouth. Sputum and blood …
Lottie’s thoughts swirled with panic. Help her! Please make my mother well!
The realization that she’d prayed surprised her. Even though she went to church with her parents every Sunday, sitting in the pews and bowing her head like a good daughter, she never said anything to God. Until now she’d never felt the need.
Until now.
So why would God listen to her prayers? Lottie knew the importance society put on getting a proper introduction. It
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