Remembering the day’s task and not wanting to attract Mrs. Patterson’s attention, I turned to finish my plot, but instead found myself face to face with that odd girl, Jesminda. Her lips moved in short, staccato motions, but I heard nothing. Her eyes met mine as she approached me. Judging by the way Dr. Patterson secluded Jesminda on her bad days, he considered her more disturbed than many of us. I wondered if she was someone to emulate. Our eyes met, and I sensed she wanted to say something, but her lips quivered too much.
A few feet away, I saw Mrs. Allan touch Marilla’s arm and point to us. I turned back to Jesminda, nearly jumping at how close she stood. Reaching out, she grabbed my wrist and refused to let me go. I pulled back, but she held tighter and grunted.
All thoughts of my prepared act vanished as my heart raced in fear. This girl was odd, perhaps truly insane, and she was after me. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. With her free hand she hit the side of her head until it continued to jerk side to side and her muttering became audible.
“Dirt, dirty girl. Dirt.”
Her nails dug into my arm until blood was visible, yet she retained her grip on me. I tried to gesture at Marilla for help, but she jumped to her feet and ran toward the other side of the building. I prayed she sought Mrs. Patterson and not avoidance of me.
“Dirty dirt, dirty dirt, dirty dirt, dirty dirt,” Jesminda said over and over.
My legs tightened as if to flee, but my eyes were on Jesminda. Her gaze bore into me as if I were her anchor to reality.
“Dirty dirt, dirty dirt,” she continued in a louder voice. She couldn’t stop repeating the words.
I could feel everyone in the garden staring at us. Not just the women, but the flowers, mosquitoes, and grass blades all seemed to turn their attention to me: the dirty girl.
This was my life now, waiting for new patients and being frightened by the others. My breath became staccato, and my ears rang.
Jesminda’s repetition elevated. It was too much. There was silence for a moment, and then I let myself go limp and fall to the ground as a scuttle of activity filled my ears.
“Poor child,” Mrs. Allan cooed from one side as Marilla said from the other, “What’s the matter with you, Jesminda!”
There was a large thud as someone dropped beside me and their strong, cold hands took hold of my face.
“Isabelle,” Dr. Patterson shouted. I did not respond. “Isabelle!”
Still I did nothing.
“Shall I fetch the smelling salts?” Marilla asked.
I twitched my head slightly. Smelling salts were disgusting!
“No, she’s coming to,” Dr. Patterson said. I fluttered my eyes open ever so slightly.
“Is she all right?” Marilla asked.
“She’ll be fine after a good rest. You girls continue to work. Mrs. Patterson will put Isabelle to bed.”
It took all my self-restraint not to sigh in relief at those words.
* * *
Mrs. Patterson held an arm tight around my waist as she led me through the halls to my room. I accepted her support and hoped she’d allow me to stay inside for the remainder of the day. I longed to ask what affliction Jesminda suffered from, but could do nothing to refute Mrs. Patterson’s opinion of my condition. Let her think me frail and weak. As we started up the great staircase, she supported me even more.
“You should regain your strength quickly,” Mrs. Patterson said, holding my bedroom door open. “Spend the rest of the morning here resting.”
I nodded and immediately sat on the bed. Leaning over, I worked on unlacing my boots.
Mrs. Patterson paced in front of me. Then her face softened, and she started to rub her hands together. “Listen, Isabelle. Many of our patients are here for a rest, a separation from society, but others need more. No one will harm you here. You will become accustomed to life here in time. You will find its rhythm.” She cleared her throat. “We’ll see you at dinner.”
My boots slipped off with a thud and I lay down. My actions cued Mrs. Patterson to return to the garden. Her words, however, lingered in my room like spirits. She spoke as if I’d be here forever. I wondered if that was what it would take.
Once I knew she was gone, I got up and opened my door so the room didn’t feel like it was swallowing me. Then I returned to my bed.
Sometime later, the sound of something being dragged woke me. I wondered what the Pattersons were having moved into their residence. Then it dawned on me. I was in their residence. Was it possible Mrs. Lincoln would be housed here as well? Staying here did offer solitude from other patients. I forced myself to stay abed and hoped that stillness would conceal my spying. After a moment, I could see the backside of a man slide in and out of my sight as he pushed and pulled something down the hallway.
“No one needs this much baggage. I don’t care who you are or used to be.” The man pulled his end of the trunk toward the room across the hall. His graying hair explained the small groans he made as he moved the trunk. His companion appeared in my view. A few tendrils of brown hair were barely visible beneath his cap. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and red suspenders pressed against his shoulders as he pushed the wooden trunk. His tall frame appeared in my doorway as he backed into my room.
The two men worked hard to get the trunk to move; with each tug they forced it and the younger man deeper into my bedroom. I tried not to react, but there was a man in my room. Mother would’ve been scandalized, but my skin prickled with excitement. Silly girl, I thought. There’s nothing improper happening. He probably doesn’t even know you’re here.
As he pulled the trunk, I watched his legs flex, examined the neat crease in his blue trousers, and wondered if his face was as attractive as the rest of him. He was tall and slender, the very opposite of Gregory’s muscular frame. I doubted he was much older than me.
Finally the trunk was straight enough to be pushed into the opposite room, and the men stood up to take a break before they finished. The older man glanced into my room for the first time and jumped back in surprise.
“There’s a girl in there, Samuel,” he said.
I slid back against the wall, wishing to make myself invisible. I had spent the last few minutes listing the attractive qualities of Dr. Patterson’s assistant doctor. That same man was now in my room, and despite my humiliation, I couldn’t help but admire his thighs. I shook the attraction from my mind.
Samuel turned around and pulled the hat off his head. His manners were that of a gentleman. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.
“Miss Isabelle, I didn’t see you,” Samuel stuttered. “I would never dare disturb your privacy intentionally.”
Not wanting him to leave, I held my hand up and shook my head to show him I wasn’t angry.
“Our secret then?” Samuel asked. I lifted a finger to my lips and nodded. He grinned.
“Sam, give ’er a push, will you?” the older man grunted.
“’Course,” Samuel replied, tipping his hat to me and resuming his stance against the trunk. “What do you suppose is making it so heavy? You’ve never needed help before.”
“Well, who knows what she’s decided to bring. You know what they say about her.”
I sat up on the edge of my bed as Samuel replied, “What do they say?”
“She brings the house wherever she goes. She’s spent President Lincoln’s savings on silly gowns and stupid curtains. Someone even said they saw her buy ten of the same tablecloth. Trunk is probably full of coal in case we run out. If her husband only knew, he’d roll over in his grave.”
President Lincoln’s savings. I’d heard of her eccentricities, but hadn’t known it had gone that far. It made Mother feel better to scoff at the one woman whom Father had held in high esteem. Again, I wondered what had put her here. She’d endured his death for years, why now?
“Don’t be too hard on her, Ewan,” Samuel said, stretching his back now that the trunk was in place. “She’s lost all her sons except the eldest, and was si
tting right beside our president when that tyrant shot him. I’d say she’s allowed to be a little eccentric.”
“Well, she’s plum crazy now,” Ewan replied. “I’ll get the last trunk myself.”
There was another trunk! I leaned toward the door for a better look into the hallway.
Once Ewan left to go retrieve the trunk, Samuel turned and rested against my doorframe, blocking my view. “Don’t pay attention to anything Ewan says. He puts too much stock in his wife’s gossip. Mrs. Lincoln is no crazier than any of us. She’s just bereaved and lonely.”
I nodded at his words, but inwardly shuddered. If people spoke of Mary Lincoln with such disdain, how would they treat me when I got out? If I got out. Again, I reminded myself that this was my life now. Yet, instead of feeling relief, tears of frustration threatened to overwhelm me. What had I done?
Heat rose to my face, and I slipped off the bed and onto the floor. I’d ripped all prospects from my life without a true thought to the consequences. Gregory’s hands on Katerina’s throat sped through my mind and I knew I’d make the same choice again, but the tears refused to abate.
I’d nearly forgotten Samuel was there until he offered me his handkerchief. He lunged so his other foot remained in the hallway. If anyone saw, my reputation would be intact. He believed I still had a reputation to salvage. Optimistic fool.
“Things may seem desperate now, but they will get better.” He shook the handkerchief. “Take it. Please.”
My face felt sticky with tears. I took it from him. “Thank you,” I said.
My ears thudded with the silence. Why? How could I have let myself speak to him of all people? He was Dr. Patterson’s assistant, a doctor himself. Surely he was obligated to tattle on me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and waited for the questions to start.
Samuel hadn’t moved either, but he watched me with an intensity I’d never experienced. Without warning, he rocked back on his heels and stood up. “Keep the handkerchief as long as you need. I’ll have Agatha send up some water for you.”
I looked up at him and nodded.
Stretching his arms, he gazed toward the main stairway. “Sometimes what Dr. Patterson doesn’t know is for the best. We all have our reasons for being here. I’ll not press you for yours.” He tipped his hat and left down the servants’ staircase.
Had Samuel just assured me that he’d tell no one of my slip? If so, did that mean he saw through my act or not? I wiped my face with his handkerchief and returned to my bed. I wasn’t sitting long before the swishes of satin and clomping of shoes echoed into the hallway. Mrs. Lincoln had arrived.
CHAPTER 14
“I am too old for such traveling,” an elderly woman moaned. “My bones ache.”
“Mother, I used only the very best to bring you here,” a man replied. Their footsteps echoed from the stairway. It was clear from his tone that this was not her first complaint of the day.
“Oh, yes, only the best for your insane mother. Even the best sanitarium, just as long as it is far away from the city where you live and do business.” From my bed, I could watch the black hoop skirt sway back and forth as the couple moved slowly down the hallway. The style of her gown gave her away. Mary Lincoln hadn’t been seen out of mourning since President Lincoln died. I’d thought it was desperately romantic of her, but now that I’d seen it, it just felt sad. A decade had gone by and still she mourned. It broke my heart.
Her wailing startled me. “How could you do this to me? What would your father think of this embarrassment?”
I slid from my bed and moved toward the doorway, my curiosity giving me the strength I needed. So this was the woman Father spoke of so often, the one who nursed him to health. I had to see what she was like for myself. Being careful to stay hidden in the safety of my room, I peered around the corner. She came slowly down the hall, favoring her left side. Her movements were so careful and measured, I could almost feel her pain.
She was now standing in the hallway, her hoop skirt taking up nearly half the space. Given all I’d read of her clothing obsession, I was surprised to see she wore an old-fashioned hoop. Father had described her as the epitome of high fashion, that even as she tended to his bullet wound, she managed to stay soil free and nearly floated from bedside to bedside. Her skin, he said, was soft like porcelain and her touch healing in its gentle nature.
The woman in front of me was not someone of whom Mother should be jealous. Her cheeks were puffy and pressed oddly together by her bonnet’s ribbon. Her hair was dark gray, but lined in white. I looked closer at her gown and noticed sections in front were wrinkled, like she had been clutching them in her fists.
“You have not been well, Mother. You speak of spirits pulling out your eyes and write frequently as if I am on my deathbed. This is not normal. I cannot stand aside and allow for this to continue. Father would not want you to remain ill.” Robert Lincoln glanced about the hallway, as if looking for someone to confirm his words.
I suddenly saw my mistake. This wasn’t some play I was watching. The real Mary Lincoln was mere feet from me and shuffling closer every moment. I was sure to be found eavesdropping. I slid to the floor, let my head roll to one side, and closed my eyes. Hopefully she’d think me a patient who slept in odd places. Stranger things had happened here.
“What’s this?” she demanded. I gave up and opened my eyes. “A young spy come to laugh at poor Mary Lincoln? How dare you follow me here! I’ll have none of that. Turn your pad in. I want no reports of me here! Give me your notes!” She lunged into my room with the agility of a tiger.
I clamored to my feet and scuttled away from her arms. Her hoop knocked over my side table, and she paused a moment to watch its contents fall. A glass broke when it hit the floor, but no other harm was done. She must not have found whatever she thought I had, for she hobbled around the table still searching. My legs pressed against the bed as she advanced toward me.
“Mother,” Robert Lincoln shouted from my doorway. Mrs. Lincoln paused, but her eyes did not leave mine. In two strides Robert had his arms around Mrs. Lincoln’s shoulders. “She is to be your neighbor, Mother. Can’t you see that? She is only a curious patient.”
Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she said, “I want no more spies, Robert. I’ve suffered more than my share in this life.”
The intensity of her gaze made my eyes water, but I dared not look away.
Thank heavens, Dr. Patterson arrived. He sighed and glanced from Mrs. Lincoln to me. To my surprise, he turned his back on President Lincoln’s widow and came to pull me away from the bed. Even more shocking, I trusted him enough to follow.
“This is Mrs. Lincoln,” he told me. “She is here to rest, same as you. It’ll be good to have a neighbor, will it not?”
He paused for a response so I nodded.
“Mrs. Lincoln, this is Isabelle. We’ve given her these special accommodations because her mother didn’t want to expose a woman so young to the other women’s conditions. Will you force me to protect her from you as well?”
I scarcely breathed as I waited for the response. Mrs. Lincoln’s face turned red, and she brushed Robert away from her. “I am no animal, Dr. Patterson. I will help you protect this girl’s young mind.”
Part of me wished she saw my strength, but mostly I felt relieved. This was the woman Papa had spoken of—one who had control of herself and cared for others.
“Good,” Dr. Patterson said. Then to me he said, “Go ahead and lie down, Isabelle. I’ll send Agatha up to attend to you soon.”
I obeyed, but not before I saw the curious look Mrs. Lincoln gave me. The moment my door closed I heard her say, “She’s a quiet child. That is a rare quality indeed. Your wife could learn a thing or two from her, Robert.”
It was Dr. Patterson who replied. “We do not comment on the other patients, Mrs. Lincoln, but she’ll be little bother, I’m sure.”
* * *
“My head,” Mrs. Lincoln moaned again. Even though both of our doors were closed,
her voice was clear. “It feels as if Indians are hacking it apart with hatchets.” She was so bereaved that my own scalp throbbed in sympathy.
I pulled a pillow over my ears to stifle the cries that came from across the hall. At first I felt bad for Mrs. Lincoln but hours later I was at my wit’s end. I’d not had a wink of sleep. Dr. Patterson may have assured her that I’d be silent, but I wish he’d given me that same promise.
Finally, one of the nurses went to her. They were too quiet for me to hear, but as the sound of her weeping slowed, I knew Mrs. Lincoln had calmed down. I could feel my shoulders relax and waited for sleep to drag me in as well.
I longed for soothing dreams, but instead, I was bombarded with images of Katerina’s dead eyes staring at me. In the dream, I moved closer to her. With horrifyingly rigid movements, she gripped my hands and let out a shrill scream. Her blue eyes pierced my mind like beestings.
“Beware,” she exclaimed. “You failed to aid me. Now Gregory roams free. Do not be fooled. This could be you.”
I tried to free myself from her arms and apologize, but her limbs became tree branches and their leaves covered my mouth. I strained against the tree’s grip, but it refused to let me go. Desperate, I looked for Katerina, but she had gone.
The sun was barely up, but there was no more sleep for me. I pulled Jane Eyre from the nightstand and lost myself in her troubles until breakfast.
* * *
When I walked into the dining room that morning, Jesminda, Mrs. Allan, Marilla, and a handful of other patients were already seated and passing a jar of jam among themselves. The table was laid out with orange juice, milk, breads, and assorted jams. I took a seat at the closest end of the table and reached for a slice of bread from the basket in front of me.
Jesminda pushed the basket toward me and gave me a small smile. Her head twitch was hardly noticeable. I put two slices on my plate and smiled my thanks in return.
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