“I’m still not convinced that this is the right move,” Mother fretted.
Aunt Clara patted her hand and replied, “Once Isabelle is situated you’ll see this decision is right. She will recover.”
The two swayed slightly with the carriage and stared at me. I didn’t even pretend to think about replying. I had worked too hard to show even the slightest chink in my resolve. And now, we were trotting down the streets of Batavia to declare me insane. The thought left my mouth dry and jaw clenched, but I was left with no other option.
“This is not how I planned on spending the summer, living with Clara and visiting you in a sanitarium.” Mother snapped her fingers in my face, making me blink and glance up at her. “You’d better work hard and heal yourself. I want none of this fiddle-faddle come fall.”
Aunt Clara put a hand on Mother’s knee, pulling her anger away from me. “Fanny, don’t be so hard on the girl. She is young to deal with such grief.”
Mother raised her eyebrows and turned to her sister. “Grief? You think she is grieving? Clara, she didn’t know the girl. That girl was a servant and new in town. She’s created this whole story around a stranger. It is ridiculous!”
“Oh, Fanny,” Aunt Clara said, sighing. “Grief, perhaps not for the dead, but for herself. Whether you believe her story or not, something happened to her, and she has to find a way to come to terms with it.”
As Aunt Clara continued to speak, my heart hammered in my ears. She understood how what I had seen weighed on me. For that small allowance alone, a small weight left my shoulders.
A short time later the carriage pulled to a stop, and both Mother and Aunt Clara took visibly deep breaths. We had arrived at Bellevue.
I drew one of the curtains back and stared up at the square, tan brick building that was now my home. It didn’t look like a place for the condemned. In fact, it looked relatively normal except for the wire covering the second story windows. White lace curtains outlined the windows, neat flower beds and trees surrounded the property, while a gazebo rested peacefully on the far side of the lawn. If I hadn’t known what this place was, I’d have called it charming.
Our driver quickly untied and unpacked my luggage from the back of the carriage as I looked up at my new home. I could practically smell the flowers in the crisp spring air. Mother stood a few steps away, gazing up at the windows.
“No, Clara. This is simply not right. No daughter of mine belongs here.” Mother shook her head and turned toward me. “You don’t have to live here. Just say one word, and I’ll take back everything I said, and we can go home.”
Did Mother really mean that? Take back all the promises she made about keeping my engagement to Gregory? No matter how nice this place seemed, I knew I’d miss my own room before the day was out. Her offer was tempting. I licked my lips, wondering if I could trust my own mother. I met her eyes and saw how hope radiated from her. My gaze didn’t unfocus as I weighed my choices and I saw her grasp onto my moment of weakness.
“Just one word, Isabelle, and you can return to your life, get married, and move on from this harrowing chapter.” Despite it all, she still held on to Gregory. There was no doubt where her love truly lay.
I glared at her for one long moment before lifting the side of my skirt, walking over the gravel and up the front porch of Bellevue Sanitarium. Behind me Mother sighed, but didn’t try to stop me.
* * *
Whatever I had expected to feel when I entered the sanitarium was forgotten when an old housekeeper with dark gray hair and a wide, round face met us at the door. Without a word she took my handbag from my hands and motioned for me to follow her. I did as she demanded, and a creeping sense of dread filled me. The hallway was dark; the doors were all shut so the only light came from the open front door. This was not the soothing rest home I’d imagined. This place was hard. The ramifications of my choice were becoming clearer and I didn’t like what I saw. Nevertheless, it was still the better option. I sighed and tried to smile as the housekeeper opened a tall wooden door and pushed us into an office.
The far wall was lined with bookshelves overflowing with titles I’d never seen, which is saying something as I’d spent hours reading books from Papa’s library. A lone window let in the warm colors of sunset and filled the room with shadows. Jars with frogs floating in yellow liquid sat on the doctor’s desk. The remaining walls were covered with large charts of human anatomy.
“Dr. Patterson will be here soon,” the housekeeper said and shut the door, leaving Aunt Clara, Mother, and me standing alone in the small room.
“Let’s sit down, Isabelle,” Mother said. I could hear the resignation in her voice.
I sat in a straight-backed chair and tried to look comfortable. Mother and Aunt Clara perched on the edges of their chairs with well-practiced expressions of contentment. The sight took my breath away. If I didn’t maintain my stance I’d end up just like them: pretending to be content for the rest of my life.
There was a knock on the door, and a tall man with graying hair and a black suit entered the room carrying a file and a mug of coffee. “Mrs. Larkin, I presume?” His voice was smooth and deep. Mother’s tight expression loosened slightly in his presence.
“I am Mrs. Larkin,” Mother said as she stood and shook his hand.
She returned to her seat, and Dr. Patterson crossed the room and sat in the tall leather chair behind the desk. He had a long, square beard, which made reading his face difficult. “And this must be Isabelle,” he said, gesturing to me. Our eyes met. “Why don’t you tell me what’s been happening with you, child?”
Immediately, Mother and Aunt Clara exchanged a glance. I could guess what they were wondering: Do we let her stew in silence for a spell, or just let the truth out?
Instead of answering, Mother simply turned her gaze to me and waited. After a moment Aunt Clara did the same, though she, at least, seemed more worried than angry. Yet, I could feel the strength of their expectation pulling the answer out of me. Biting my bottom lip, I stared at my hands. The nails were already destroyed from my nervously biting them. There was nothing left for me to do but wait them out.
Coldness passed over my heart as I watched Mother eventually turn away and betray me with silence of her own.
Aunt Clara was the one who finally answered. “Isabelle has been having fits of . . . I don’t know exactly what. She won’t reply. The girl stopped speaking nearly two weeks ago.”
“What do you mean stopped speaking?” Dr. Patterson asked the question of me again, but I looked down at the paisley rug, avoiding his gaze.
Mother glared at me. “She claims to have witnessed the death of a local servant, and somehow has convinced herself that her fiancé is the murderer. Our family doctor thinks she may have been attacked herself. After it happened, she turned mute. I don’t know how else to help her.”
I stared down at my hands and picked at a hangnail. There was no depth to how she defined me. When had Mother and I grown so far apart?
I could feel Dr. Patterson’s eyes on me, studying my reaction, but I refused to look up. If he were to admit me, I had to seem troubled, but not beyond help. I didn’t want him to turn me away and send me to an asylum. I couldn’t imagine living beside truly insane people. The thought made me tear up. Were tears good or bad here? I wasn’t sure how to behave. He cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on his desk. Still, I looked down.
A pad of paper and pen were placed in my lap. Lifting my eyes, I met Dr. Patterson’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.
“I’d like you to explain what’s troubling you.” He spoke as if it were a simple task.
This wouldn’t do. I couldn’t communicate with them in any way. I had to behave in a manner that would ensure my admittance. I picked up the pen, unscrewed the top, and poured the ink all over the paper, and my skirt, although, since it was black, the stains were nearly invisible.
“Isabelle Larkin, what are you doing?” Mother screeched, scooting her chair away from me.
When the paper had absorbed all the ink, I handed it back to Dr. Patterson.
He quickly dropped the ruined pages in a small wastebasket. Grabbing a second pen from his desk, he said, “Let’s try that again, shall we?”
Blast. He wasn’t falling for my act. I’d have to do something else to get his attention. Taking the pen from his hand, I again unscrewed it, and this time I poured its contents into my mouth.
Dr. Patterson’s eyes widened in surprise just as Mother jumped to her feet, exclaiming, “Isabelle! Ink is poisonous!”
Aunt Clara jumped to her feet. “Do you have an emetic? Ipecac perhaps?”
Dr. Patterson rummaged in the small cabinet mounted on the wall. Multiple bottles fell out as he looked. When he didn’t immediately locate the correct emetic, Mother grasped my shoulders and shook me. By then, the ink tasted so foul it burned, and I played my last card. I spit the entire contents straight into Mother’s face. The black ink clung to her pale cheeks and dripped onto her pink gown. Everyone was silent. Aunt Clara covered her mouth, and Dr. Patterson turned to observe. Mother opened and closed her mouth so many times she reminded me of our cow chewing cud.
“Yes, well,” Dr. Patterson said, breaking the silence. “I suppose that answers that.” He closed the cabinet and returned to his seat.
Aunt Clara fidgeted with her handkerchief and offered it to Mother, who tried in vain to clean herself off. “Doctor, she is ill. Surely you can do something for her.”
Dr. Patterson stood up, walked to the front of his desk, and looked down at us. His palms were white as bleached linen and his nails as clean as a baby’s. “I believe in a regimen of rest, diet, baths, fresh air, occupation, and as little medicine as possible. We have patients from only the very best of society here. That being said, there are some seriously wounded women in this house, Mrs. Larkin. Women who have addictions, mental illnesses, sexual illnesses, and some who have been unable to overcome some trauma. They aren’t the type of people Isabelle would come into contact with in Oak Park. Are you sure you want your daughter exposed to them?”
Mother’s voice was muffled by the handkerchief she used to clean her cheeks. “I just want my girl well. If you can heal her, I don’t care about the cost.” She lowered the handkerchief and looked at me. Mother sounded so effortlessly loving, I wanted to believe her. Yet, if she truly wanted me healed, the power was hers.
“Is there a way you could separate her from the . . . frailer women?” Aunt Clara asked. “I have no doubt she’ll recover quickly.”
Mother added, “I am willing to pay extra for private accommodations.”
Dr. Patterson raised his hand and stopped the conversation. “We have space in our residence wing. As there are no other patients there, she would be confined and safe. However, she will be quite alone, aside from Mrs. Patterson and me.”
Mother took advantage of his brief pause. “She is an independent girl. She’ll do just fine there, but are you sure you can spare the room? It is your residence after all. What about your own children, Doctor?” Mother’s tone gnawed at me. She didn’t care about his comfort, only her reputation and whose idle tongue might ruin it.
“We have but one child, who is away at school. I assure you, we have plenty of room. I would not make such an offer if we did not.” Dr. Patterson kneeled before me and took my hands in his. “Our residence is on the first floor, and the spare rooms are upstairs. Will you be comfortable living without any neighbors?”
I doubted he knew how much respect he’d earned with that question. It was the type of thing Papa would’ve asked. I nodded, still keeping my head down. My mouth still burned from the ink, and my head was beginning to ache from the bitter taste.
He cupped my chin in his hand. “This is the question, child—do you want to get well?”
I felt, rather than heard, Mother and Aunt Clara inhale as they also waited for my response. I pondered my answer. How would people who had lost themselves answer this? What answer would guarantee my safety?
Dr. Patterson’s eyes bored into mine, and I felt him searching for my answer.
Suddenly, Katerina’s screams filled my mind. There was no healing for me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t find any way out. Here with Dr. Patterson was my new home—for however long it took.
No, I replied with a shake of my head. I did not wish to be healthy.
While Mother let out a gasp, Dr. Patterson dropped my chin and scribbled something on his papers. “Regardless of this choice, you’ll be a good girl and do what you are told?” he asked.
I nodded immediately. That was a small price to pay for protection.
Dr. Patterson moved back to his chair and rang a small bell. Instantly, a knock sounded from the door, and a moment later a man stepped inside. “Dr. Patterson?” he inquired. “You rang for me?”
“Yes. Please escort this girl to the Rose Room and ask Mrs. Patterson to come see me.” He returned his attention to me. “Samuel is my assistant and will take care of you. Follow what he says like a good girl. Welcome to Bellevue, Isabelle.”
Samuel offered me his arm, not seeming to notice Aunt Clara’s sadness nor Mother’s ink-marked face. I wondered how long it would take to get the ink completely off. I took his proffered arm and left the room. Relief flooded my veins. I had done it. I was safe in Bellevue’s walls.
“So, your mother has an interesting way of putting her face on.” Samuel glanced at me from the corner of his eye. When I didn’t respond, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. “Black teeth are not typically attractive, but on you they are.... Well, I’m sure you’re much prettier without the stains.”
Despite every instinct, I smiled at his remark. It might not have been a compliment, but it felt good to smile.
At my reaction, he seemed to relax and insisted, “Dr. Patterson and his wife are good people. If you have problems with those stains, I have a good baking soda mix in my office.”
I dabbed at my mouth, ruining his white handkerchief. No matter how young or kind he was, I’d have to remember to keep alert. One wrong move and I’d be discharged and back in Gregory’s arms. I shuddered.
“It is a bit drafty, but with summer around the corner you’ll be warm soon enough.” Samuel gestured up a staircase.
Once on the second story, he led me down a corridor and to a tall oak door.
“This is your room. I’ll have your trunks sent up.” Samuel flushed as he spoke. “Welcome to Bellevue. I hope it’s all you need.”
CHAPTER 10
When I awoke everything taunted me. The sun shone from the wrong direction and my bed felt unfamiliar. The white bedspread was simple, but the down filling kept me warm. The wallpaper had a pale flower pattern, something Mother surely wouldn’t approve of. Wallpaper was for servants and those who couldn’t afford to have such designs painted onto the walls themselves. Yet, as I gazed at the pattern, there was a texture to it that you could never imitate with paint.
I rolled over, trying to push Mother from my mind.
This was ridiculous, I scolded myself. Mother had already proven how little she cared for me when she turned a deaf ear to what had happened. It was time to learn how to manage my life without her guidance.
The wood was cold beneath my feet as I slid to the floor and fished for the chamber pot. Lifting the bed skirt, I found only darkness staring back at me. I threw a blue dressing gown around my shoulders before slipping from my room and running down the stairs to find the outhouse.
Once I reached the first floor, the scent of coffee and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen. My stomach rumbled in hunger. I didn’t recall eating dinner. For a moment I was torn between my desire to eat and the need to relieve myself, but in the end I kept to the original course and fled outdoors.
The early glow of sunrise illuminated my path from the porch stairs to the outhouse, but I still felt like a mouse sneaking cheese from the kitchen. As I opened the wooden door of the outhouse, the smell of lemon and lye assailed
my senses. At the very least, it was clean. I closed the door and lifted my nightgown.
As I sat a twig snapped just outside the door. My breath froze in trepidation. Pull yourself together, Isabelle! Mother told everyone we were traveling for the summer. Gregory trusts her. You are safe.
I quickly finished and pushed the door open. Instead of swinging easily, the door butted against something and closed in my face with a sharp creak and a thud. My heart hammered as I realized I hadn’t been imagining it. There was someone out there.
“Oh!” a congested voice exclaimed. I peeked out through the door, revealing a woman in her twenties still in her day gown with puffy eyes and a runny nose sitting on the outhouse stoop. “I didn’t realize you were in there.”
I shrugged and slipped out onto the stoop. The woman was clearly upset, but it wasn’t wise for me to stay. I hadn’t yet met any of the patients, nor decided if or how I’d communicate with them. If this woman was a patient, how did she sound so normal? Avoiding eye contact, I took a few steps toward the house, but she sniffed in such a miserable manner that I turned back around.
“Will you just sit with me a moment?” she asked. Her dress hung on her as if it had been made for someone else. Her cheek bones protruded out while her eyes appeared sucken into her face. I wondered if she had been physically ill recently. I couldn’t leave her in distress.
“I’m Marilla,” she began when she realized I was going to stay. “I don’t recognize you. Are you one of the girls who stays in her room all day? Have I heard you shouting at night? Surely you’ve heard my name mentioned of late. I’m sure they’ve been looking for me.”
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