Hazel's Quest: Hearts of Courage

By Cynthia Hickey

Hazel Arnold's mother has a strong sense of what is proper for a woman of the Arnolds' financial stature and is determined that Hazel marry a man she despises. This sets Hazel on a quest to prove the man is not who he appears to be. She enlists the help of her family's handsome chauffeur and her lady's maid. 

Her search takes her along a path of lies and deceit, resulting in death and destruction.

 

Still, at the end of her quest, Hazel finds something worth much more than proving her mother wrong.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cynthia Hickey
• Release date: Jul 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201516628

Cynthia Hickey

Multi-published and best-selling author, Cynthia Hickey, has taught writing at many conferences and small writing retreats. She and her husband run the publishing press, Winged Publications, which includes some of the CBA's best well-known authors. They live in Arizona and Arkansas, becoming snowbirds with two dogs and one cat. They have ten grandchildren who them busy and tell everyone they know that "Nana is a writer."   

Book preview

Isaiah 12:2

Surely God is my salvation;

I will trust and not be afraid.

The LORD, the LORD himself, is my strength and my defense

he has become my salvation."

Chapter 1

New York, 1905

No, I will not. I’m paying you good money to carry out my wishes, not for me to do it myself. A man’s voice carried to where Hazel Arnold and her maid, Mary, strolled back to the automobile. Sounds of a scuffle carried around the building. Hazel cringed, hearing a thud and a groan.

Keep your hands off me! One of the men called out. He sounded familiar, but, no, it couldn’t be who she thought.

Hazel stopped and peered around the corner. She held out an arm to stop Mary from stepping around her.

The late afternoon sun cast the alleys and east side of the city buildings into the purple blue of pre-dusk. She was certain she had recognized the man’s voice. Yes, it is him! Spencer Alexander, the man her mother seemed intent on Hazel marrying, stood in loud conversation with a man outside of what looked like a disreputable bar.

Filthy windows prevented anyone from seeing inside, and the front door was in bad need of fresh paint, not to mention the raucous music blaring from within. A woman stumbled out the door of the establishment, her lips painted ruby red, and plastered a kiss on Spencer’s cheek. He swore and pushed her away before wiping away her lip print. She gave a cry of outrage and tottered back inside.

Spencer’s normally immaculate suit sported deep wrinkles. His usual slicked-back hair stood up on his head as if he had recently gotten out of bed. A strange bulge showed under the other man’s brown tweed jacket. His wool pants had a patch on the back pocket. In the three months that Hazel had known Spencer, she had never seen him in public with anyone outside their social circle. If someone would have told Hazel they had witnessed Spencer in such a place and exhibiting such behavior, she would not have believed them. Maybe she should tell Papa.

Do not threaten me, Alexander. I am not a man to be trifled with. The stranger flicked a cigarette at Spencer’s shoes. I don’t care who you are.

Spencer glared at the glowing ember before stomping it out.

This is not our business, Miss Hazel. Mary tugged her arm.

It is if my parents wish me to wed Mr. Alexander. Heaven forbid.

Hazel glanced to where her canary yellow 1905 Vauxhall, that Papa had recently shipped over from London, was parked. Normally, Hazel loved the bright color, but not when she was attempting to go unnoticed. Oh, why hadn’t Charlotte come with them in her black automobile? Don’t let him see you, Mary.

What is he doing? Mary whispered, clutching Hazel’s arm. Is money exchanging hands?

It appears so. Hazel squinted. Can you make out the face of the other man? Is it someone we know?

No, Miss. His hat shades his features, but his form seems a bit familiar. What would Mr. Spencer be doing in this part of town? He isn’t involved in charity work, is he? There aren’t any gentlemen clubs around that I know of. At least, none that Mr. Spencer should frequent.

I don’t think so, but anything is possible. Hazel could not imagine the selfish, arrogant Spencer Alexander reaching out to help anyone, much less the less fortunate.

Hazel stepped back onto Mary’s foot. Her maid squeaked, then clasped a hand over her mouth, her brown eyes wide. I’m sorry, she whispered through her fingers.

Both men glanced in the women’s direction.

Hazel drew back with a gasp. She couldn’t hide. That would look suspicious. Besides, she had as much of a right to be there as Spencer did. More so, actually, considering she was there to help others.

She squared her shoulders, stepped out, and marched in Spencer’s direction. Her footfalls sounded abnormally loud to her ears, echoing between the buildings. She forced her noodle legs to continue. The stranger turned and ducked into the bar.

Hazel. Spencer squared his jaw and glanced over her shoulder at Mary. What brings you out here?

Mary and I took some food items to a Mrs. Miller. Her fifth child is due at any moment. Hazel narrowed her eyes as Spencer paled. Did he know the woman or was he squeamish about Hazel helping people in this part of town? Most likely she should not have mentioned the woman being in a family way. I could ask you the same question.

I’m here on business. He shoved his hands in his pockets and jingled the coins there. His glance flicked toward the bar.  You are still attending my dinner party tonight, are you not? He bent forward.

We will be there. Hazel sidestepped him before he could plant a chaste kiss on her cheek, then turned and made her way to the automobile.

That was a very odd exchange. Spencer’s meeting had felt secretive, almost sinister. She shrugged. No sense dwelling on it now. She would research his actions a bit more before making a decision as to whether she should tell her parents.

She climbed behind the wheel, Mary beside her, and turned down the road. She honked and waved as they passed Spencer. He did not raise a hand in greeting, but Hazel could feel his stare as she continued home at the outrageous speed of fifteen miles per hour. She loved the wind in her face and wished she could get away with no hat. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to feel her hair blowing in the wind? She took a deep breath of clean air once they left the squalid city street.

We’re going a bit fast, aren’t we, Miss Hazel? Mary clenched her hands in her