Part 1

February 20, 1969

Honey Wheeler forced her eyes to refocus on the dancing dots and undecipherable hieroglyphics that constituted her algebra assignment. Her head ached so that she could hardly make out the equations. Although it was barely eight o’clock at night, she wished she was already in bed.

“So, Honey, what is your answer?” Miss Trask asked. The voice of the mathematics teacher, who was also her tutor, broke through the haze of her muddled thoughts. “Honey?”

“I… j-just don’t know, Miss Trask,” she sighed. “I’m so tired and I can’t seem to think straight.”

The two were alone at the study table in the tutoring room adjoining Miss Trask’s quarters at Briar Hall, Honey’s boarding school. Miss Trask had only been Honey’s math teacher for the past semester, but she’d also been the dean of the residence hall for the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades. Honey had grown fond of the kind-hearted teacher although she continued to struggle with mathematical concepts. She’d been thankful when her parents had arranged for her to have private tutoring three times a week.

“Why, child, you’re flushed!” Miss Trask put a hand to Honey’s forehead. “You’re burning up with fever.” She closed Honey’s book and said, “We’re going to the infirmary now. You’re ill and you need to see the nurse.”

Obediently, Honey stood up and followed her teacher. Miss Trask carried her abandoned problem sheets and math book. They walked to the stairwell and then down what seemed endless flights of steps, although it was only two floors. Miss Trask rapped briskly on the door of the nurse’s quarters. While they waited for Mrs. Crawford, Honey concentrated on slowing her breathing. She was almost panting and felt like her heart was racing, too.

In a few moments, Mrs. Crawford opened the infirmary door. “What can I do for you, Miss Trask?” she asked, blinking in the light of the corridor. The nurse was dressed in a robe and slippers for bed, and it was obvious that her visitors had awakened her.

“Miss Wheeler is ill, Mrs. Crawford,” said Miss Trask. “The child has a fever and she needs to be checked.”

“Come in and sit down,” invited Mrs. Crawford. She opened the door and Honey and Miss Trask stepped into the little infirmary suite. As Honey and Miss Trask entered and took seats in the infirmary’s anteroom, the matron opened a locked cabinet and pulled out a file. After scanning the top page, she looked up. Tapping her chin, she stated, “Miss Wheeler was recently treated for strep throat. Bring her inside.” They stood again and moved into a tiny exam room. Honey sat in a chair while Mrs. Crawford checked her temperature, pulse, and blood pressure.

“One-oh-two point six!” exclaimed the matron. “Let me see your throat, Miss Wheeler.” Honey opened her mouth and submitted to the gagging tongue depressor while the nurse peered at her throat with a flashlight.

“Those tonsils are enlarged,” she concluded. “Your blood pressure is normal, but your pulse is elevated along with your fever. I’m going to give you some aspirin and call the doctor. He'll want to see you tomorrow.”

Minutes later, Honey crawled gratefully between cool white sheets in the little sickroom of the infirmary, a cold compress to her forehead. Finally, she was able to close her heavy eyes and quickly fell into a heavy, dreamless slumber. During wakeful interludes, she could see Mrs. Crawford sitting outside her door, reading a book.

The next morning, Dr. Hawkins visited her. The school’s semi-retired doctor examined Honey and drew a few vials of blood. “Young lady,” he said, “I’m pretty sure you have rheumatic fever. Plenty of rest, antibiotics, and lots of fluids, and you’ll be right as rain in no time.” He patted her head and drew the covers back over her.

Honey could hear him out at Matron’s desk. “Has anyone notified this girl's parents? She’s very ill and they need to know.”

“Doctor, we were waiting on your diagnosis.” The voice of Miss Annersley, the headmistress, trembled. “I believe the Wheelers are traveling in Europe now. I’ll send them a telegram after checking their itinerary.” There was a brief pause, and Miss Annersley spoke again. “Mrs. Crawford, please order whatever Miss Wheeler needs. Put it on the school’s bill.”

Honey drifted off to sleep again. When she awakened, her face was being bathed with a cool, wet cloth. After a few moments, Miss Trask’s voice announced, “Her fever’s broken, I think. Poor little thing.”

The days that followed passed in a blur to Honey. Awakening, being fed broth, being bathed by the competent Mrs. Crawford, having her bed made around her while she lay in it, the days and nights ran together. She did recall several painful injections.

February 25, 1969

“Honey! My darling girl!” Madeleine Wheeler’s voice roused Honey from her torpor. She opened her eyes to see her beautiful, sophisticated mother, dressed elegantly but with hair tumbling down and hat askew, standing in the infirmary doorway.

“I’m not leaving you until you can come home with us,” her mother exclaimed, tears brightening her lovely hazel eyes.

“Darling, we came as fast as we could,” apologized her father, crowding near the bed. “We had to fly in overnight from Antwerp.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Daddy, Mother.” Honey’s eyes fluttered closed. She was exhausted by the evident anxiety of her parents, so different from their usual behavior.

Next day, the doctor visited with Madeleine and Matthew Wheeler alone in the small office he used for reviewing the students’ records. Maddie had agreed to step out of the room only because Honey was being bathed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, your daughter is very ill. Rheumatic fever can have serious aftereffects. Also, I feel that she is physically and emotionally unsuited for boarding school. She is not strong and not talented at the popular activities involving team sports. I understand you live in the city. It is my belief that Madeleine will benefit tremendously from being in a different atmosphere. A place in the country, plenty of fresh air, healthful exercise, and more association with her parents and other children is what she needs. Her time is too regimented. Please give some serious thought to my recommendations.” He straightened up in his chair. "Now, do you have any questions?”

“Doctor, please be honest with us.” Matthew Wheeler’s voice reflected agitation and he drummed his fingers on the edge of the doctor’s desk. “Honey is our only child. We’ll do anything to help her get better and I can afford to do whatever she needs. Will she have a total recovery?”

Dr. Hawkins looked at Matthew, as if weighing his words. “There is every reason to expect a full recovery,” he continued. “But rest and fresh air, a healthy diet and exercise are vital. Also, I’d recommend she make new friends who are not so competitive. The focus on team sports at Briar Hall isn’t the best atmosphere for someone recovering from this disease. Heart problems are associated with rheumatic fever and can cause prolapsed valves or valvular insufficiency—even later in life. Madeleine will need to take penicillin every single day until she is twenty-one years old.”

“Shouldn’t she be in the hospital, if she’s that ill?” Maddie’s hands clenched together.

“She’s receiving good care here,” the doctor replied in a soothing voice. “She needs rest and a quiet environment, but not specialized care. She’d probably be exposed to more risks in a hospital.”

Since the Wheelers had no further questions for him, Dr. Hawkins bid them good-bye and left to make rounds on his other patients. Shaken, Honey’s parents stared at each other in silence. Finally, Maddie broke the silence. “What are we going to do, Matthew?” she asked, her voice trembling. She twisted her hands in her lap in a gesture that only emerged when she was faced with decisions about her daughter.

“The first thing I’m going to do is to call George Rainsford.” Matthew Wheeler hated to wait on others to act before making a decision. Do something, even if it’s the wrong thing, was his motto. “George does a lot of estate work, and I’m sure he can recommend some property in the country that’s convenient to train routes into the city.” He pulled out a pocket-sized notebook and scrawled a note to himself. “As soon as he gives me a line on some suitable property, we’ll go see it. It’s nearly March now – we should be able to make any renovations needed and get moved in by early July.”

“As soon as Honey can be moved, let’s take her home. Miss Lefferts can tutor her when she’s strong enough so she can finish out the rest of the school year.” Maddie was galvanized by her husband’s energy.

“Yes, that makes sense.” Matthew added another note to his pad. “Say, if we’re going to move to the country, why don’t we take try to find a property large enough to take Jupiter and Lady, too? We could even buy Honey a horse… a nice calm gelding or mare. Riding is good healthy exercise.”

“Don’t forget that we need a stable and a groom if we’re going to do that,” Maddie warned. “We’ll also need additional staff. Cook and Irene won’t be able to handle the load of work involved with a country house.”

“Let’s don’t put the cart before the horse,” Matthew said, tossing down his pen. “First, let’s get Honey home and find the property. Everything else can come later.” He stood and stretched. “Right now, though, I think I need to have a meeting with Miss Annersley. It’s pure negligence on her part that Honey could have gotten so ill. You heard Dr. Hawkins say that rheumatic fever is a delayed effect of untreated strep throat.” He scowled and jammed his hands into his pockets. “You think you’re doing the best thing for your child—the best schools, the best doctors. And something like this can happen! Damn it, I’m mad!”

Maddie laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Don’t go in there like you are right now, Matt,” she begged. “Wait until we get our daughter out of here. I don’t want any repercussions to affect her.” Tears stood in her eyes.

With a visible effort, Matthew sighed and relaxed his fists. “Of course, you’re right, my dear.”

February 27, 1969

“Matt, this is George Rainsford. Sorry I was out when you called. How’ve you been, you whippersnapper?” The telephone voice was warm and deep. Matthew had sometimes wondered if George had ever considered going into radio or television. With his voice, he would have made a great announcer. George continued with a couple of inane comments about the weather.

Sitting at his desk, Matthew drummed the fingers of his right hand on the desk’s surface, the telephone receiver pressed between his left shoulder and ear. He hated small talk and wanted to get straight down to business, but George liked to chew the fat for a few minutes before settling down to the purpose of a call, or indeed a business meeting. Dutifully, Matt answered queries about Maddie and the fundraiser she was busy organizing for the Sloane Hospital, and described the weather in Antwerp, where he had traveled the previous week. Finally, he decided the rules of civility had been met, and cleared his throat.

“George, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m calling you. It’s about my daughter—she’s been very ill, and the doctor recommends getting her out of the city. I’m interested in a country place—one that’s close enough for me to take the train to the city every day. I’d like to be able to move our horses out there. My daughter needs rest, fresh healthy air, good food, and when she’s better, some exercise to build her up.”

He listened for a few minutes as George inquired about possible distances, sizes of homes, and other considerations.

“No, we’re not giving up our place in the city. I might sometimes need to spend the night, or Maddie may need to be in town for a few days. It makes sense to keep it. But I want a place where Maddie can be comfortable living, because I intend to make the new home our main residence. Something in a fifty-mile radius would do; a little closer would be better.”

He listened again, and then said, “All right, George. I trust you to pick out some places that will meet my specifications. So, you’ll call me when you have some things lined up?” He sat back in his chair. “Okay, then. I have to tell you, you’ve taken a load off my mind. It’s important to me that we settle this as quickly as possible, for the sake of my daughter’s health.”

March 7, 1969

“Hello, Madeleine. I trust you are feeling better,” said Miss Lefferts. “I’ve prepared some things for you to work on while you’re confined to bed. There’s a selection of embroidery, as well as some exercises in mathematics and English grammar. In addition, I have a package of historically accurate paper dolls for you to assemble; they’ll go along with some lesson plans relating to American colonial history.”

Honey had barely walked in the door of the Wheelers’ apartment. The ride home from Briar Hall had been exhausting, and although her mother had never left her side, she still seemed like a stranger, ill at ease in discussing the convalescent care Honey required. Now, not only had her mother deserted her to check that her room was prepared, Miss Lefferts had descended upon her like a mother bear. Honey hardly had the energy to think of her next meal, let alone imagine doing math problems. She burst into tears.

She didn’t even hear the quick tap-tap of heels as her mother hurried back into the living room. “Honey, darling! Whatever is the matter?” Mrs. Wheeler’s vice held a note of panic when she found Honey sobbing on the sofa and Miss Lefferts standing as if in shock, a great basket of work in her arms.

“Mother, I’m—I’m sorry, but I can’t do that work now. Please, please, don’t make me.” She gazed up at her mother, her pleading eyes reddened and tears streaking her pale cheeks.

“Whatever do you mean, darling?” Mrs. Wheeler looked from Honey to Miss Lefferts, obviously bewildered.

“M-m-miss L-l-lefferts... She has lessons and projects for me to work on while I’m in bed.” Honey dashed away tears and choked back a sob. “I’m so tired, all I want to do is sleep now.”

“Of course you won’t do lessons today, darling.” Her mother smoothed the feathery strands of hair away from her damp face. “Come with me, let’s get you into bed. You’ll feel much better after a good nap.”

Honey nodded and followed her mother back to her sunny bedroom, where the white organdy bedspread and canopy were as crisp and pristine as ever. She allowed herself to be undressed and helped into bed, where Mrs. Wheeler tucked her in.

“Please, please don’t make me do lessons with Miss Lefferts,” Honey begged again.

“Dearest, Miss Lefferts is an excellent teacher and she’s spent hours getting your lessons prepared.” Maddie stroked her daughter’s forehead with a cool hand. “But there’s certainly no rush on classwork. It’s more important to build up your strength right now.”

“Miss Lefferts has to make everything into a lesson.” Honey couldn’t stop the quaver in her voice. “Nothing can be just fun.” She choked back a sob. “If only I could have a governess like Miss Trask, my math teacher. She’s wonderful and she can even explain algebra so it makes sense.”

“It’s going to be all right, dear. Please, please don’t cry.” Honey glanced up at her mother, and noticed her eyes were watery, as if she was trying to hold back tears.

“All right, Mother.” Honey’s eyes were growing heavy. Mother was here, she cared, and she wanted Honey to get better. Everything would be all right.

“Miss Lefferts, I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken to design lesson plans for Honey while she’s convalescing,” Madeleine said to her employee. “But she’s been very ill and she’s not up to studying right now. I think we’d better hold off for a week or so.”

Miss Lefferts bridled. “Madeleine should not be allowed to simply lie in bed. She will fall farther behind her classmates and develop bad work habits. The activities I have planned do not require physical exertion and will help prevent regression in her academic status.”

“I don’t think it will be the end of the world even if she had to repeat a whole year,” Madeleine said. She was starting to feel annoyed. Couldn’t Miss Lefferts see that Honey needed time to regain enough strength to concentrate on schoolwork?

Miss Lefferts nodded stiffly. “Yes, Mrs. Wheeler. You know best.” Her raised eyebrows and pursed lips gave the distinct impression she didn't believe her own words.

“I don’t know about that,” Madeleine demurred. “But it’s what I think is best for Honey right now.”

Miss Lefferts nodded stiffly. “As you wish.”

Madeleine suddenly saw her faithful employee through new eyes. Miss Lefferts didn’t seem to have any understanding of the seriousness of Honey’s illness, nor did she believe Honey’s mother knew what was best for her own daughter. Madeleine had felt enough doubts on that score over the past twelve years, without help from the governess. In addition to Miss Lefferts’ own statements implying Honey was lazy, today she had her daughter’s words echoing in her mind. She had no desire to get in the middle of a conflict between Honey and the governess.

Surely there were other women equally qualified to be Honey’s governess and more compatible with her daughter’s personality. Although it felt a bit like stepping into quicksand, she took a deep breath and addressed the older woman.

“Miss Lefferts, you may draw up a bill for what you have spent on convalescent activities for my daughter. I’ll gladly pay you. But you will leave our employment at once. Of course, we’ll give you a good reference, as well as a month’s salary in severance pay. You have been an outstanding secretary for me, and I feel sure you are a knowledgeable teacher. However, my daughter requires a different kind of governess. I don’t know what we’ll do yet, but we’ll figure something out. Please, pack your bags and make your arrangements to leave as soon as possible.”

Miss Lefferts stood as if stunned for a moment. “Very well, Mrs. Wheeler,” she finally said, before turning around to walk slowly back to her room.