Dear Mrs. Glover,
I am writing to thank you for your encouragement during my difficult time of decision. Your words about being brave and following one’s heart affected me deeply.
Hattie did not recall saying precisely that, but she read on.
My husband, Mr. Randall James and I have settled in Chesterfield, staying with his family until we may someday build a house of our own. I will admit marriage has been different from what I expected, particularly sharing the same roof with Mrs. Carter James. What one hears about mothers-in-law is true, ha ha.
Life in a country village does not offer the same entertainments as London. The shopping here is dismal, nor can I afford to buy much. Also the odor of a nearby tannery quite infiltrates one’s clothing and hair. But I have become the belle of local society and the ladies all admire my London styles, including your beautiful hats.
Despite any complaints or discomforts, I am sufficiently happy. I have my Randall and—I pray I may confide in you as we are now both worldly women—marital relations are surprisingly satisfying. I hope for a child soon as that is the natural order of things. Perhaps a grandchild would make the elder Mrs. James less of a termagant.
As for my parents, I have written and told them of my circumstance. While anxiously awaiting a reply, I pray for Mother to soften Father’s disposition toward me. No doubt my elopement caused them great embarrassment and anger, but I stayed true your wise advice, Mrs. Glover, and took my life into my own hands. Now, I expect, I shall live happily ever after, although that would be easier if Father agreed to grant me a yearly allowance.
I am nearly out of paper as you see, and must be a frugal housewife in every particular so I will end this missive here.
Jennifer’s large, flowing cursive filled both sides of the page, leaving the valediction squeezed into a single line. Yours truly, Mrs. Randall James, nee Jennifer Pruett
Hattie dropped the note into her lap and wiped away tears that welled up due to the heartfelt letter. She could hear Jennifer’s voice in every line. Reading between those lines, she hoped Jennifer would remain content in her greatly changed circumstance and find that elusive happily ever after she sought.
With Rose’s news, Hattie’s confession, and this correspondence, it had been an emotional few hours. Drained and exhausted, Hattie’s mind turned toward family expectations and disappointments. Since leaving her aunt and uncle’s house all those years ago, she had not sent word of her whereabouts or a note thanking them for raising her after her parents’ deaths. For the first time, she acknowledged the selfishness of her actions. The Gladwells might not have been the most loving adoptive parents, but they had provided for her needs and she owed them her respect and gratitude.
Hattie retrieved paper and pen and sat down to write.
Dear Aunt Elaine and Uncle Martin,
I hope this letter finds you and Cousin Emily’s family healthy.
I apologize for the years that have passed with no word from me. I was young and angry when I left. Now I am an adult with a better understanding of how trying my behavior must have been for you. I apologize for my impulsive outburst at the time and for the rift that formed between us.
After leaving home, I moved to London, adopted a different name, and opened a millinery which has become quite successful. Recently I’ve considered my responsibility to you both. If this letter finds you, I pray you will reply and we might begin correspondence. You are my only family and I have recently begun to realize the value of that. You gave me a home when I had none, and for that I am ever grateful.
Your niece,
Hortense Gladwell, aka Harriet Glover
14 Providence Street, London
Hattie read through only once before placing the note in an envelope and addressing it. To keep from changing her mind before morning, she went downstairs and walked to the nearest postal box. Her heart beat as fast as if she were about to meet her aunt and uncle in person as she pushed the envelope through the slot.
No turning back now. Hortense Gladwell had caught up with her and it was time for her to reconcile the two parts of herself.
Chapter Seventeen
Guy wiped perspiration from his forehead and sat back to assess his work, dropping the hammer on the floor with a thud. The platform appeared sturdy enough. He turned toward his taskmaster, who stood on a ladder hanging curtains over the display window.
“Finished, boss,” he informed Rose. “May I take a break, please?”
“You didn’t have to help. I could’ve hired it done. But thank you for working so hard.”
“Every penny saved is more to put into stock. You want to be able to afford the freshest, gaudiest flowers to fill these shelves.” He stepped back to admire his carpentry work, a set of risers on which to place buckets of flowers at varying levels.
He flexed his fingers, sore from gripping the hammer, and felt exceedingly proud of himself for developing the skills of a handyman. This was what a hard day’s work felt like, very satisfying.
Joining Rose at the window, he complimented her on the curtains then craned his neck to look as far as he could to the west. Of course he couldn’t see Hattie’s shop since it was on the same side of the street a half-dozen storefronts away. He could hardly bear the knowledge that she was so close yet utterly out of reach. Maybe today, he would walk down and…
“Don’t think it, Mr.
