❦blueshistorysims❦

The actual service for Stella’s funeral was quite small, family only. Only Byron and Eleora were the only non-Gardenhouses. The reception after was meant to be much bigger, accommodating friends, extended family, and coworkers who mourned her death. The news of Stella’s death had shocked Byron to his very core. She had told him about her cancer, and he was upset that Eleora had kept the news from him, even if it was what Stella wanted. He and Stella had a complicated relationship. He thought about what could’ve been, if Alexander had lived, if he had tried harder to make it work for Stella, if she hadn’t had that abortion. Would he be sitting in the front with her son, her son’s family, and Thaddeus? He thought about the old photographs he kept in boxes, photos of him and Stella during their marriage. They hadn’t been happy for very long, but he missed it, missed his New York days, before everything became quite confusing. 

“Are you alright, darling?” Eleora asked quietly. “I think everyone will be leaving for the reception soon.”

Byron stared out into the distance. “Why didn’t she want me to know?”

“…I think she was worried about your reaction, that you would fly to New York to see her when she didn’t want you to. She told me when I visited last year that she’s made her peace with everything, including you. I think in another life, she and I would’ve been good friends.”

He didn’t want to hear the words coming out of his wife’s mouth. He was upset. He was upset at her, at Stella, and the world for having taken so many people from him. In all honesty, there was only one person he wanted to speak to, someone he saw so much of himself in, and it wasn’t anyone in New York. He turned from the grave and casket, feeling light drops of rain fall on his black suit.

“I’m going to be late to the reception, I need to make a phone call,” he said as he walked away, glad he had Armeen Rostami’s phone number memorized and the money to make an international call. 

The actual service for Stella’s funeral was quite small, family only. Only Byron and Eleora were the only non-Gardenhouses. The reception after was meant to be much bigger, accommodating friends, extended family, and coworkers who mourned her death. The news of Stella’s death had shocked Byron to his very core. She had told him about her cancer, and he was upset that Eleora had kept the news from him, even if it was what Stella wanted. He and Stella had a complicated relationship. He thought about what could’ve been, if Alexander had lived, if he had tried harder to make it work for Stella, if she hadn’t had that abortion. Would he be sitting in the front with her son, her son’s family, and Thaddeus? He thought about the old photographs he kept in boxes, photos of him and Stella during their marriage. They hadn’t been happy for very long, but he missed it, missed his New York days, before everything became quite confusing. 

“Are you alright, darling?” Eleora asked quietly. “I think everyone will be leaving for the reception soon.”

Byron stared out into the distance. “Why didn’t she want me to know?”

“…I think she was worried about your reaction, that you would fly to New York to see her when she didn’t want you to. She told me when I visited last year that she’s made her peace with everything, including you. I think in another life, she and I would’ve been good friends.”

He didn’t want to hear the words coming out of his wife’s mouth. He was upset. He was upset at her, at Stella, and the world for having taken so many people from him. In all honesty, there was only one person he wanted to speak to, someone he saw so much of himself in, and it wasn’t anyone in New York. He turned from the grave and casket, feeling light drops of rain fall on his black suit.

“I’m going to be late to the reception, I need to make a phone call,” he said as he walked away, glad he had Armeen Rostami’s phone number memorized and the money to make an international call. 

The actual service for Stella’s funeral was quite small, family only. Only Byron and Eleora were the only non-Gardenhouses. The reception after was meant to be much bigger, accommodating friends, extended family, and coworkers who mourned her death. The news of Stella’s death had shocked Byron to his very core. She had told him about her cancer, and he was upset that Eleora had kept the news from him, even if it was what Stella wanted. He and Stella had a complicated relationship. He thought about what could’ve been, if Alexander had lived, if he had tried harder to make it work for Stella, if she hadn’t had that abortion. Would he be sitting in the front with her son, her son’s family, and Thaddeus? He thought about the old photographs he kept in boxes, photos of him and Stella during their marriage. They hadn’t been happy for very long, but he missed it, missed his New York days, before everything became quite confusing. 

“Are you alright, darling?” Eleora asked quietly. “I think everyone will be leaving for the reception soon.”

Byron stared out into the distance. “Why didn’t she want me to know?”

“…I think she was worried about your reaction, that you would fly to New York to see her when she didn’t want you to. She told me when I visited last year that she’s made her peace with everything, including you. I think in another life, she and I would’ve been good friends.”

He didn’t want to hear the words coming out of his wife’s mouth. He was upset. He was upset at her, at Stella, and the world for having taken so many people from him. In all honesty, there was only one person he wanted to speak to, someone he saw so much of himself in, and it wasn’t anyone in New York. He turned from the grave and casket, feeling light drops of rain fall on his black suit.

“I’m going to be late to the reception, I need to make a phone call,” he said as he walked away, glad he had Armeen Rostami’s phone number memorized and the money to make an international call. 

Ms. Gardenhouse in her Harlem apartment, February 1968.

Estelle Evelyn Gardenhouse was the second and youngest child born to Martha and Jedidiah Gardenhouse in Harlem, New York on January 12th, 1898. She grew up as a member of the Black elite in her parents' Long Island estate, an heiress of the Gardenhouse Oil Company founded by her grandfather. She had a love for expensive things at a young age, but also a passion for social history and parties, which culminated in her college years at Spelman in Atlanta, where she graduated in 1919 with a BA in history. On returning to New York, she was introduced to Byron Walsh, and the pair began to see one another casually until she suggested they elope to equally piss off their respective families, as New York had no miscegenation laws at the time.

Shortly after her marriage to Walsh, she learned that he was due to inherit a dukedom through his grandfather's fourth cousin. While she was initially upset by the hidden information, she took it in stride, moving to England with her husband and becoming the Duchess of Feldsbury upon the previous Duke's death, making her the first Black woman to hold a British title. Stella found England isolating and difficult, choosing to spend her time in London rather than her husband's country estate. Growing apart from her husband, she returned to New York after a secret abortion and began an affair with childhood friend Campbell Carmichael, deciding to divorce Byron and marry Campbell, losing her aristocratic title. Her son with Campbell, Carl, was born in 1925.

Stella's fortune, along with the general Gardenhouse money and her husband's, was lost in the 1929 Stock Market Crash, leading to her husband's suicide and her and her son's impoverishment. Stella became an alcoholic to cope, neglecting her son until she sobered and got a job as an assistant editor for a Black women's magazine, eventually becoming editor-in-chief, a position she held until her death.

Stella overcame losing her wealth, a husband, and her only son being sent off to the Pacific Theater in WWII. She never really got over her relationship with Byron, though she formed a strong friendship with his later wife, Eleora. After her stomach cancer diagnosis, she chose not to receive treatment and died in her sleep with her older brother Thaddeus and cousin Samson.

She is survived by her son Carl, daughter-in-law Lydia, granddaughter Evangeline, brother Thaddeus, sister-in-law Adanna, niece Julianna, and cousin Samson.

beginning/previous/next

Ms. Gardenhouse in her Harlem apartment, February 1968.

Estelle Evelyn Gardenhouse was the second and youngest child born to Martha and Jedidiah Gardenhouse in Harlem, New York on January 12th, 1898. She grew up as a member of the Black elite in her parents' Long Island estate, an heiress of the Gardenhouse Oil Company founded by her grandfather. She had a love for expensive things at a young age, but also a passion for social history and parties, which culminated in her college years at Spelman in Atlanta, where she graduated in 1919 with a BA in history. On returning to New York, she was introduced to Byron Walsh, and the pair began to see one another casually until she suggested they elope to equally piss off their respective families, as New York had no miscegenation laws at the time.

Shortly after her marriage to Walsh, she learned that he was due to inherit a dukedom through his grandfather's fourth cousin. While she was initially upset by the hidden information, she took it in stride, moving to England with her husband and becoming the Duchess of Feldsbury upon the previous Duke's death, making her the first Black woman to hold a British title. Stella found England isolating and difficult, choosing to spend her time in London rather than her husband's country estate. Growing apart from her husband, she returned to New York after a secret abortion and began an affair with childhood friend Campbell Carmichael, deciding to divorce Byron and marry Campbell, losing her aristocratic title. Her son with Campbell, Carl, was born in 1925.

Stella's fortune, along with the general Gardenhouse money and her husband's, was lost in the 1929 Stock Market Crash, leading to her husband's suicide and her and her son's impoverishment. Stella became an alcoholic to cope, neglecting her son until she sobered and got a job as an assistant editor for a Black women's magazine, eventually becoming editor-in-chief, a position she held until her death.

Stella overcame losing her wealth, a husband, and her only son being sent off to the Pacific Theater in WWII. She never really got over her relationship with Byron, though she formed a strong friendship with his later wife, Eleora. After her stomach cancer diagnosis, she chose not to receive treatment and died in her sleep with her older brother Thaddeus and cousin Samson.

She is survived by her son Carl, daughter-in-law Lydia, granddaughter Evangeline, brother Thaddeus, sister-in-law Adanna, niece Julianna, and cousin Samson.

beginning/previous/next

Ms. Gardenhouse in her Harlem apartment, February 1968.

Estelle Evelyn Gardenhouse was the second and youngest child born to Martha and Jedidiah Gardenhouse in Harlem, New York on January 12th, 1898. She grew up as a member of the Black elite in her parents' Long Island estate, an heiress of the Gardenhouse Oil Company founded by her grandfather. She had a love for expensive things at a young age, but also a passion for social history and parties, which culminated in her college years at Spelman in Atlanta, where she graduated in 1919 with a BA in history. On returning to New York, she was introduced to Byron Walsh, and the pair began to see one another casually until she suggested they elope to equally piss off their respective families, as New York had no miscegenation laws at the time.

Shortly after her marriage to Walsh, she learned that he was due to inherit a dukedom through his grandfather's fourth cousin. While she was initially upset by the hidden information, she took it in stride, moving to England with her husband and becoming the Duchess of Feldsbury upon the previous Duke's death, making her the first Black woman to hold a British title. Stella found England isolating and difficult, choosing to spend her time in London rather than her husband's country estate. Growing apart from her husband, she returned to New York after a secret abortion and began an affair with childhood friend Campbell Carmichael, deciding to divorce Byron and marry Campbell, losing her aristocratic title. Her son with Campbell, Carl, was born in 1925.

Stella's fortune, along with the general Gardenhouse money and her husband's, was lost in the 1929 Stock Market Crash, leading to her husband's suicide and her and her son's impoverishment. Stella became an alcoholic to cope, neglecting her son until she sobered and got a job as an assistant editor for a Black women's magazine, eventually becoming editor-in-chief, a position she held until her death.

Stella overcame losing her wealth, a husband, and her only son being sent off to the Pacific Theater in WWII. She never really got over her relationship with Byron, though she formed a strong friendship with his later wife, Eleora. After her stomach cancer diagnosis, she chose not to receive treatment and died in her sleep with her older brother Thaddeus and cousin Samson.

She is survived by her son Carl, daughter-in-law Lydia, granddaughter Evangeline, brother Thaddeus, sister-in-law Adanna, niece Julianna, and cousin Samson.

beginning/previous/next

“It’s odd,” Lydia remarked as the couple watched Ludivine Balass and Lenny Kremensky on their TV screen. “I met Ludivine the day they brought her from Switzerland, and now I’m watching her and her boyfriend on my telly for the Academy Awards.”

Carl nodded. “I think it’s odder still that we’re sitting in our living room watching the Oscars like there wasn’t just rioting in the city a couple days ago, like we didn’t lose one of the greatest men America’s known. One of the greatest men I knew. There’s still riots in other cities, and I don’t blame them.”

She frowned. “I know, darling. We live in a messed-up world.”

“We work so hard to create a better future for our daughter, but part of me wonders how much will really change.”

“Carl, we both have successful careers that I know my grandparents wouldn’t have been able to. You come from a powerful and wealthy background, and maybe the Gardenhouses aren’t rich anymore, but the name still means something.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I’m cynical.”

“I’m bored,” Carl added after a moment, when the TV switched to commercial. “I love Motown, love the music, and the impact we’re making, but I’m bored. The groups I’m in charge of, they’re all lovely, but it’s static. They all reach a certain point and stay there. It’s more financially stable, but it’s very tame.”

“You’re bored because your musicians are all normal people?”

“I know how it sounds, but I look at the music coming out of Britain, what these new groups are doing, and I want in on that. I love my job, don’t get me wrong, and I’m proud to be a part of Motown, but I want something more. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and one of my groups will get really big, but the company’s not known for rock, and that’s what sells to the largest audience.”

“I get that. I’d love to have more clients who are willing to do publicity, willing to put themselves out there, but it’s the end all. You shouldn’t dive headfirst looking for groups. You already have a name in this business. The right band will come to you, whether it’s a Motown group or signed from somewhere else.”

“I hope it’s somewhere else,” Carl mused, “because I’m tired of living in Detroit.”

Lydia chuckled.

The phone started ringing in the middle of the Best Supporting Actress section, and Carl got up from the couch, wondering who was calling after dinner. The call itself was short, meant to be followed up after everyone processed the news. It was rare when Carl’s Uncle Thaddeus called, but he immediately knew why he was calling based on his somber tone. Stella Gardenhouse was dead. 

“It’s odd,” Lydia remarked as the couple watched Ludivine Balass and Lenny Kremensky on their TV screen. “I met Ludivine the day they brought her from Switzerland, and now I’m watching her and her boyfriend on my telly for the Academy Awards.”

Carl nodded. “I think it’s odder still that we’re sitting in our living room watching the Oscars like there wasn’t just rioting in the city a couple days ago, like we didn’t lose one of the greatest men America’s known. One of the greatest men I knew. There’s still riots in other cities, and I don’t blame them.”

She frowned. “I know, darling. We live in a messed-up world.”

“We work so hard to create a better future for our daughter, but part of me wonders how much will really change.”

“Carl, we both have successful careers that I know my grandparents wouldn’t have been able to. You come from a powerful and wealthy background, and maybe the Gardenhouses aren’t rich anymore, but the name still means something.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I’m cynical.”

“I’m bored,” Carl added after a moment, when the TV switched to commercial. “I love Motown, love the music, and the impact we’re making, but I’m bored. The groups I’m in charge of, they’re all lovely, but it’s static. They all reach a certain point and stay there. It’s more financially stable, but it’s very tame.”

“You’re bored because your musicians are all normal people?”

“I know how it sounds, but I look at the music coming out of Britain, what these new groups are doing, and I want in on that. I love my job, don’t get me wrong, and I’m proud to be a part of Motown, but I want something more. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and one of my groups will get really big, but the company’s not known for rock, and that’s what sells to the largest audience.”

“I get that. I’d love to have more clients who are willing to do publicity, willing to put themselves out there, but it’s the end all. You shouldn’t dive headfirst looking for groups. You already have a name in this business. The right band will come to you, whether it’s a Motown group or signed from somewhere else.”

“I hope it’s somewhere else,” Carl mused, “because I’m tired of living in Detroit.”

Lydia chuckled.

The phone started ringing in the middle of the Best Supporting Actress section, and Carl got up from the couch, wondering who was calling after dinner. The call itself was short, meant to be followed up after everyone processed the news. It was rare when Carl’s Uncle Thaddeus called, but he immediately knew why he was calling based on his somber tone. Stella Gardenhouse was dead. 

“It’s odd,” Lydia remarked as the couple watched Ludivine Balass and Lenny Kremensky on their TV screen. “I met Ludivine the day they brought her from Switzerland, and now I’m watching her and her boyfriend on my telly for the Academy Awards.”

Carl nodded. “I think it’s odder still that we’re sitting in our living room watching the Oscars like there wasn’t just rioting in the city a couple days ago, like we didn’t lose one of the greatest men America’s known. One of the greatest men I knew. There’s still riots in other cities, and I don’t blame them.”

She frowned. “I know, darling. We live in a messed-up world.”

“We work so hard to create a better future for our daughter, but part of me wonders how much will really change.”

“Carl, we both have successful careers that I know my grandparents wouldn’t have been able to. You come from a powerful and wealthy background, and maybe the Gardenhouses aren’t rich anymore, but the name still means something.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I’m cynical.”

“I’m bored,” Carl added after a moment, when the TV switched to commercial. “I love Motown, love the music, and the impact we’re making, but I’m bored. The groups I’m in charge of, they’re all lovely, but it’s static. They all reach a certain point and stay there. It’s more financially stable, but it’s very tame.”

“You’re bored because your musicians are all normal people?”

“I know how it sounds, but I look at the music coming out of Britain, what these new groups are doing, and I want in on that. I love my job, don’t get me wrong, and I’m proud to be a part of Motown, but I want something more. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and one of my groups will get really big, but the company’s not known for rock, and that’s what sells to the largest audience.”

“I get that. I’d love to have more clients who are willing to do publicity, willing to put themselves out there, but it’s the end all. You shouldn’t dive headfirst looking for groups. You already have a name in this business. The right band will come to you, whether it’s a Motown group or signed from somewhere else.”

“I hope it’s somewhere else,” Carl mused, “because I’m tired of living in Detroit.”

Lydia chuckled.

The phone started ringing in the middle of the Best Supporting Actress section, and Carl got up from the couch, wondering who was calling after dinner. The call itself was short, meant to be followed up after everyone processed the news. It was rare when Carl’s Uncle Thaddeus called, but he immediately knew why he was calling based on his somber tone. Stella Gardenhouse was dead. 

After weeks of waiting, the fated letter finally arrived when Shelley checked the mailbox on her way home from school. She had banked everything on Foxbury, lied to her parents about applying to Oxford and other English universities. There was only one school she wanted to go to, and it was in California. Eager to see what the letter said, she ran up the stairs and into her room, tossing her school bag in some corner as she ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. As she read the words on the page, Shelley’s jaw dropped in awe. She had been accepted!

“So you’re probably wondering why I wanted to speak to you after dinner,” Shelley began. “I thought this kind of conversation would be better without food. And we were talking about Ludivine and Lenny’s Oscar nominations the whole time anyway.”

“Is everything alright, darling?” Eleora asked. “Did something happen at school?”

“No, no. I got the post, and well, my uni acceptance letters arrived!”

Byron smiled. “I wonder what the previous duke would think, that my daughter gets the post herself.”

“Well, you two haven’t had a live-in servant since the 1940s so who else would do it?”

“Fair point, love. What did the letters say? Another Oxford attendee in the family?”

Shelley swallowed. “Well… I actually never applied to any of the colleges at Oxford. In fact, I only applied to one school. And I got in!”

“I suspect there is a but, isn’t there?” Eleora asked.

“You only applied to one school?!” Byron exclaimed. “Why on earth did you not apply to my alma mater?”

“Byron,” Eleora chided, “let her talk.”

“I applied to UC Foxbury, and I’ve been accepted!”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “I know the school. I also know it’s in California.”

Byron’s eye twitched. “You only applied to one school, and it’s in America?!”

“It’s not far from Ludivine and Lenny’s house! Ludivine says that everything in America is further away, so a thirty-five-minute drive isn’t bad at all. Without traffic.”

“Have you told your cousin that you plan to live with her?” Eleora cocked a brow.

“Well, I assumed you all wouldn’t let me live by myself.”

Byron shook his head. “Good heavens, no! Why did you not apply to a school in the United Kingdom?”

“Because I don’t want to be a duke’s daughter,” Shelley admitted. “We barely live like aristocracy anyway, and I don’t want to be treated differently because my father has a title. They don’t care about that in America!”

“Shelley,” Eleora sighed, “we were, we are so proud of you finishing school a year early, but that also means you’re leaving home earlier than you should. You won’t be 18 until April of next year.”

“It’s what I want to do, and what I think will be best for me. I think going to America for uni will be the best option. You can’t change my mind.”

After weeks of waiting, the fated letter finally arrived when Shelley checked the mailbox on her way home from school. She had banked everything on Foxbury, lied to her parents about applying to Oxford and other English universities. There was only one school she wanted to go to, and it was in California. Eager to see what the letter said, she ran up the stairs and into her room, tossing her school bag in some corner as she ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. As she read the words on the page, Shelley’s jaw dropped in awe. She had been accepted!

“So you’re probably wondering why I wanted to speak to you after dinner,” Shelley began. “I thought this kind of conversation would be better without food. And we were talking about Ludivine and Lenny’s Oscar nominations the whole time anyway.”

“Is everything alright, darling?” Eleora asked. “Did something happen at school?”

“No, no. I got the post, and well, my uni acceptance letters arrived!”

Byron smiled. “I wonder what the previous duke would think, that my daughter gets the post herself.”

“Well, you two haven’t had a live-in servant since the 1940s so who else would do it?”

“Fair point, love. What did the letters say? Another Oxford attendee in the family?”

Shelley swallowed. “Well… I actually never applied to any of the colleges at Oxford. In fact, I only applied to one school. And I got in!”

“I suspect there is a but, isn’t there?” Eleora asked.

“You only applied to one school?!” Byron exclaimed. “Why on earth did you not apply to my alma mater?”

“Byron,” Eleora chided, “let her talk.”

“I applied to UC Foxbury, and I’ve been accepted!”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “I know the school. I also know it’s in California.”

Byron’s eye twitched. “You only applied to one school, and it’s in America?!”

“It’s not far from Ludivine and Lenny’s house! Ludivine says that everything in America is further away, so a thirty-five-minute drive isn’t bad at all. Without traffic.”

“Have you told your cousin that you plan to live with her?” Eleora cocked a brow.

“Well, I assumed you all wouldn’t let me live by myself.”

Byron shook his head. “Good heavens, no! Why did you not apply to a school in the United Kingdom?”

“Because I don’t want to be a duke’s daughter,” Shelley admitted. “We barely live like aristocracy anyway, and I don’t want to be treated differently because my father has a title. They don’t care about that in America!”

“Shelley,” Eleora sighed, “we were, we are so proud of you finishing school a year early, but that also means you’re leaving home earlier than you should. You won’t be 18 until April of next year.”

“It’s what I want to do, and what I think will be best for me. I think going to America for uni will be the best option. You can’t change my mind.”

After weeks of waiting, the fated letter finally arrived when Shelley checked the mailbox on her way home from school. She had banked everything on Foxbury, lied to her parents about applying to Oxford and other English universities. There was only one school she wanted to go to, and it was in California. Eager to see what the letter said, she ran up the stairs and into her room, tossing her school bag in some corner as she ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. As she read the words on the page, Shelley’s jaw dropped in awe. She had been accepted!

“So you’re probably wondering why I wanted to speak to you after dinner,” Shelley began. “I thought this kind of conversation would be better without food. And we were talking about Ludivine and Lenny’s Oscar nominations the whole time anyway.”

“Is everything alright, darling?” Eleora asked. “Did something happen at school?”

“No, no. I got the post, and well, my uni acceptance letters arrived!”

Byron smiled. “I wonder what the previous duke would think, that my daughter gets the post herself.”

“Well, you two haven’t had a live-in servant since the 1940s so who else would do it?”

“Fair point, love. What did the letters say? Another Oxford attendee in the family?”

Shelley swallowed. “Well… I actually never applied to any of the colleges at Oxford. In fact, I only applied to one school. And I got in!”

“I suspect there is a but, isn’t there?” Eleora asked.

“You only applied to one school?!” Byron exclaimed. “Why on earth did you not apply to my alma mater?”

“Byron,” Eleora chided, “let her talk.”

“I applied to UC Foxbury, and I’ve been accepted!”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “I know the school. I also know it’s in California.”

Byron’s eye twitched. “You only applied to one school, and it’s in America?!”

“It’s not far from Ludivine and Lenny’s house! Ludivine says that everything in America is further away, so a thirty-five-minute drive isn’t bad at all. Without traffic.”

“Have you told your cousin that you plan to live with her?” Eleora cocked a brow.

“Well, I assumed you all wouldn’t let me live by myself.”

Byron shook his head. “Good heavens, no! Why did you not apply to a school in the United Kingdom?”

“Because I don’t want to be a duke’s daughter,” Shelley admitted. “We barely live like aristocracy anyway, and I don’t want to be treated differently because my father has a title. They don’t care about that in America!”

“Shelley,” Eleora sighed, “we were, we are so proud of you finishing school a year early, but that also means you’re leaving home earlier than you should. You won’t be 18 until April of next year.”

“It’s what I want to do, and what I think will be best for me. I think going to America for uni will be the best option. You can’t change my mind.”