“So, I am a prisoner here.” I sat on the bed beside Agatha. “What am I to do?”
Patting my knee, she sighed. “I don’t know. Ask me how to help Mrs. Allan avoid laudanum or keep Marilla from starving herself. But you don’t have those kinds of problems. Perhaps yours is a problem for which there is no assistance. Perhaps you have to find a way out of this yourself.”
“Perhaps.” I folded my hands in my lap.
Agatha rose and handed the carpet bag to me. “If you unpack now, no one will know.”
“I don’t care who knows,” I muttered.
Agatha reached out and grabbed my chin. “Don’t you give them any reason to punish you. Keep your head down. Somehow it’ll all work out.” She dropped her hand.
“No one will believe me.”
“I don’t know the whole story. Samuel wouldn’t give me the details, but I do know that he believes you. And Samuel doesn’t trust many people.” Agatha smiled.
“But Samuel doesn’t know the whole story either.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Agatha interrupted. “He believes you. No matter what.”
“No matter what,” I repeated to myself. Perhaps if I told Samuel the whole story, he’d actually believe me. At this point, I had nothing to lose.
I rolled my shoulder and winced. “I think I need my arm bandaged,” I said.
“Lord, is it as bad as all that?” Agatha fussed, getting to her feet. “Dr. Patterson is meeting with Mr. Lincoln. Go on to Samuel’s office, then. I’ll unpack all this for you.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
* * *
Though I knew where Samuel’s office was, I had never been there. The further I walked down the hallway, the darker it became. Finally, I reached the last door and knocked. Samuel opened it immediately.
“Isabelle,” he said, a smile brightening his face. “How can I help you?”
“My arm isn’t improving.”
“Ah, of course. Come inside.” He stepped back so I could enter.
The office was smaller than Dr. Patterson’s and lacked the tall bookshelves, but felt more comfortable. There were plants on nearly every shelf and a landscape oil painting on the wall. On the desk an opened box of colored pencils and a drawing lay in the sunlight. I stepped to his side of the desk and traced the outlines of a tall blue house. The blue pencil was tucked behind Samuel’s ear.
“Did you draw this?”
“Yes, it’s a small hobby.”
“It’s lovely.” I looked closer. He had drawn small flowers, a willow tree in the distance, and stained glass windows above the front door. “Where is this? Is it here in Batavia?”
Samuel shuffled his feet and diverted his gaze. “Um, no . . . i-it’s a home I mean to build one day. It’s of my own creation.”
It was my turn to be embarrassed. Inadvertently, I’d pried into his personal life. And, despite myself, I wanted to stay. How many men could draw their futures so beautifully?
“I paint as well,” I said instead.
“Really? Oil or watercolors?”
“I prefer oil on canvas. I like the smell and texture.” I examined his painting. “What is this?” I asked, pointing to a small blob of color in a window.
Samuel ran his fingers through his hair. “A mistake. I left it out a while back and a patient added that detail.”
“How horrible!”
Samuel shrugged. “Art is nothing if not fluid.”
I traced the lines of his house with my fingernail, then stopped myself. “You are an interesting man, Dr. Deston.”
“Not nearly as interesting as you, Miss Larkin.”
I blinked and turned to look at him. Had he really said that? He didn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he collected his pencils and put them in their case.
Clearing his voice, Samuel gestured to a pair of chairs across the room.
“May I?” Samuel asked, kneeling in front of me. I nodded, and he placed my hand on his knee.
With the most gentle of touches, he turned my hand over and unbuttoned my shirt sleeve. His fingers were cool against my wrist. He didn’t say anything, but I heard his breath quicken as he rolled up my sleeve and continued to examine my arm. His fingers moved over the curve of the elbow, and in the silence, his touch was as gentle as a kiss. His blue eyes rose to meet mine, and his breath became uneven as he pushed my sleeve even higher. No other man had touched me like this, skin to skin. After a moment Samuel broke our gaze to look at my arm and gasped. What he saw destroyed the mood.
“He did this?” The anger in his voice was palpable.
My upper arm was polka-dotted in bruises and blood-stained marks from my mother’s nails digging into me. “Mother broke the skin, but yes, I believe the bruises are from him.”
Samuel shook his head and put his hand over my bruises. “No man should ever harm a lady like this. Why did you ever accept his proposal?” He reached for a washcloth and began wiping away the blood and was careful not to let the water stain my skirt.
“I didn’t know he was capable of this. He had a good reputation and political ambitions, which was the kind of man I thought I wanted. Then I witnessed him murder Katerina. That’s why I’m here, and why he did this today. I told him what I knew, and he grabbed me. I knew he’d hurt me, so I jumped from the carriage.” I held my breath and waited. I’d told him everything. If he was the man Agatha claimed, he’d believe me. If not, well, he and Mother could bond over that disbelief and work together to keep me here. I counted the seconds as he stared at me.
Samuel stopped nursing my arm and considered me. “That was brave.”
I waited for him to say something—anything—else. I counted to thirty in my head. Was he going to deny the truth like everyone else? I don’t know why, because when it came down to it I hardly knew Samuel at all, but that was something I could not bear. I jumped to my feet and tried to push past him. “I’m sorry I said anything. Please, I’ll just go now.”
He caught me by the waist and held me firmly yet gently in place. “I believe you, Isabelle,” he said in my ear. “I believe you and will do all I can to help you.”
His arms were so strong around me and his body was so near, but while my pulse was racing, all I felt was relief. He believed me. He believed me. I fell against his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“No,” Samuel replied while he smoothed my hair. “Thank you for trusting me.” We stood for a moment before he pulled away and said, “Now let me bandage that arm.”
CHAPTER 26
Hoping to avoid another confrontation with Mrs. Lincoln, I spent the following day helping Cook cut apples for that evening’s pie. The scents of cinnamon and roasting chicken filled the air as I peeled the apples. We sat at the center table as Cook pounded and rolled the dough, while I twirled an apple core between my fingers. The bandage made it so I couldn’t cut for long periods, but Cook’s good humor was the medicine I truly craved.
“I told that clerk he had to get up pretty early to fool me!” she chuckled to herself. I smiled at her story, but my mind lingered elsewhere.
Agatha was correct. I’d have to prove my sanity in order to obtain my freedom. And speech alone wouldn’t do it.
Cook turned her attention to the pile of apples and chopped them all into perfectly formed crescents. She tossed a slice into the air and caught it in her mouth.
“Bet you can’t do that!” she exclaimed, apple juice spurting from her mouth.
“I probably can’t,” I replied as I rested my chin on my hands.
Cook opened her mouth as if to say something and then shook her head. Instead she continued to pound the dough and sing “Greensleeves.” The tune soothed my spirits, and soon I was tossing apples in the air as well.
The door slammed shut so loudly that we both jumped. The apple I’d just caught threatened to choke me. Samuel walked in with dirt covering his pants and an awful animal stench radiating off of him.
“No one should have to harness
the carriage and unharness it in the span of an hour,” he grumbled.
“What on earth did you do that for?” I asked as Cook tossed him an apple slice.
“Mrs. Lincoln told Mrs. Patterson that she wanted to go riding and then when everything was ready and waiting for her, she sent word down that she couldn’t be bothered.” Samuel took a bite and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“She’s having a hard time, poor dear,” Cook pouted.
I bit my lip and glanced out the window. Dr. Patterson had sedated her yesterday afternoon. I had no idea how she was feeling today. I felt my face burn. If I had confirmed Mrs. Lincoln’s claims of friendship, would she still feel so destitute?
Cook tossed Samuel another apple slice and grinned when he missed.
“Is Mrs. Lincoln ill?” I asked. Perhaps she had come down with a cold, which would explain her absence.
Samuel shook his head. “Heartbroken. Her son refused her pleas to go home. I believe she is exhausted and unsure of herself.”
I could fix this if I put my mind to it. “I believe I am partly to blame for her poor mood.”
Samuel blinked in surprise. I had no doubt Dr. Patterson had told him of my involvement.
“Excuse me, but I should have a word with Dr. Patterson.” I stood up and wiped the apple juice on my apron.
Samuel nodded. “Before you do that, I think you should know that Mrs. Lincoln had the carriage harnessed yesterday morning as well, but was confined to her room after a fainting spell. I understand she was to attend church.” He gazed at me meaningfully.
“Oh,” I whispered as the events finally made sense to me. She had planned on coming to my aid herself. She hadn’t intentionally abandoned me after all. “Thank you for telling me.”
Cook watched us as she pounded the dough harder. “If you’d told us your problems, Isabelle, we’d have done something for you or at least tried.”
I looked at my feet and shrugged. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me. If my own mother didn’t, why would you?”
Cook shook her head as I mentioned Mother. “Sometimes what you believe to be true in your heart is more important than anything else. Regardless of anything else, you were in pain. She should see that.”
I glanced at Samuel and nodded. “I know that now.”
Samuel squeezed my hand and smiled. He took a great risk in being so open with a patient. Yet, I couldn’t convince myself to let go. His warmth radiated in our grasp and gave me strength.
He placed his other hand on mine so he was cupping my hand and said, “From now on you tell us what you need. Gregory Gallagher will not harm you again. I promise.”
I truly believed his words, yet it wasn’t Gregory who scared me anymore. He could have kept me in that carriage, but I got away. Gregory wasn’t stupid enough to get blood on his hands twice; he would hire people to do that for him. My mouth felt dry as I thought of the men Gregory had sent to spy on me. Gregory would move on with his life, find another woman with the proper connections, and move up the social ladder. Then I realized what that meant. Another family exposed to Gregory. Another woman taken in by his false charms.
“I cannot bear to see another life ruined by him.”
Cook left her thumping and came to my side. “We will find a way to prevent that fate. Couldn’t Lucy tell everyone of Mr. Gallagher’s actions?”
I shook my head. “Who would believe it? They think him a hero. Besides, she isn’t in town anymore. No, I must expose him another way.”
Just then, the front door opened, and Dr. Patterson’s booming voice echoed down the hall toward us. Samuel and I rushed to the kitchen entrance in time to see Dr. Patterson escorting a man in a brown suit out the front door.
“How dare you bother our patients with your questions? Don’t you understand they need a reprieve from people like you in order to get well?” He gestured toward the open door. “I believe you were leaving.”
The visitor bowed curtly before saying, “It’s been an honor, sir. I will be staying in town overnight if you change your mind and allow me to visit with Mrs. Lincoln.” He then went down the front steps, got on his horse, and rode away.
“The nerve of some people,” Dr. Patterson thundered. “Demanding interviews without appointments.”
I strode into the hallway determined not to let this opportunity pass me by.
“May I have a word with you, Dr. Patterson?”
If I surprised him, he did not show it, but locked the front door and said, “But of course, Miss Larkin.”
“Privately?”
Dr. Patterson led me to his office, which was brightened by the afternoon sunlight. “I’m pleased to hear you speak, Isabelle. The silence was becoming . . . pronounced.” He sat behind his desk, folded his hands together, and then looked up at me expectantly. “Now, why did you need to speak with me?” he asked.
“You should know that Mrs. Lincoln and I have shared a friendship. Since she arrived, I’ve spoken with her many times. It was dishonest of me to let her son think otherwise. I’d like to remedy that, if I may.” I rested my hands on the back of a chair.
Dr. Patterson rubbed his chin. “Am I correct in inferring that you lied to me as well?”
I had forgotten about that. Explaining would make little difference, so I said, “You are correct.”
“Well, I’m glad that’s cleared up.” He pushed a folder away from him. “However, it would’ve made little difference. Mrs. Lincoln is not yet well enough to leave.”
“But her son thinks less of her because of me.”
“Perhaps, but I will clear that matter up when I next meet with Robert.” He paused. “Is there anything else?”
I glanced at the chair I sat in during our therapy sessions and nodded. “I assume Mother has spoken to you?” I began.
Dr. Patterson pressed his hands together. “She and I spoke before she returned to Oak Park.”
I nodded. “Then she, no doubt, told you what happened between me and Gregory Gallagher.” I paused. This was the moment. Mother could have made up any sort of story to keep me here, and I needed to know what I had to work with.
“She merely said your engagement dissolved due to your hallucinations. She seemed greatly disturbed by it.” He pressed his fingertips together.
“She believes the truth to be a hallucination, but she was not the one who found Katerina. I know the truth about the death and will not be swayed otherwise. Gregory now knows all and has promised to slander my name.”
“You have a fierce will, Isabelle,” Dr. Patterson said.
I nodded. “Is it true she’s abandoned me here?”
“So it seems.” Dr. Patterson was completely still, like a cat before it pounces.
“Well, the question then becomes, how do I obtain my release papers?” I prayed I’d gauged the doctor well and did not anger him with my question.
“Release from here?” he repeated. “To go where? Will your mother take you in? Will anyone in this town? You’d be eaten alive by the city.” He paused and then added, “Even if you could prove the honesty of your tale, I couldn’t in good faith release you knowing you’d have nowhere to go. Best for you to remain here, be a good daughter, and make peace with your mother.”
Whether he meant to or not, Dr. Patterson had just given me what I needed to get out of Bellevue. Prove my story was true and have a place to go when I was released. Such tasks did not sound so impossible when knowing the reward.
Reconciling with Mother was a matter for another day.
CHAPTER 27
Moonlight cascaded through my window, leaving random shadows across my bed. I sat in the corner, leaning my head against the windowpane and listening to the wind, my copy of Jane Eyre dangling in my hand. Sleep eluded me. Every snapped twig or rustling bush made me jump and search for Gregory’s men. It was impossible to believe he was done with me.
I glanced toward my door and saw the soft flames of candlelight whisper from across the hall. I crawled off my bed and
tiptoed to my old friend’s room.
Mary Lincoln was sitting on the floor in the center of the room, a tall candle next to her. Her long gray hair was not pulled back in a braid, but flowed freely. I still stiffened at the sight of her, but Samuel’s words came over me like a balm. At least, she had planned on helping me.
I slipped across the threshold and into her sadness. “Mrs. Lincoln, it is time to sleep now.”
Her head twitched, and she looked at me. Those dark, cold eyes bore into me, and for an instant, I was frozen. There were tears upon her cheeks, and her hair was wet as if she were sweating.
“What is the matter?” I knelt to the floor beside her and clasped her hands in mine.
Her eyes were wide. “He said you would come back to me. He promised that you had not forgotten your dear friend.”
Her words made no sense. Who was she referring to?
“I beg your pardon?” I tried to get her to stand by pulling on her arm, but the old woman would not budge.
“Abraham. He told me you would not abandon me so cruelly.” Her eyes shone in the soft light.
“Your husband? But he is dead.” She winced as if I’d slapped her.
I feared she was going to resume crying, but when she turned to me once more, there was a smile upon her face and not a frown. “Some love transcends death, my dear. Such it is for Abraham and me.”
We sat on the floor as the candle’s flames danced about, turning coat racks and vases into mythical beasts from lands beyond our own.
When her breath had been normal for some time, I pulled away from her and said, “I came to put you back to bed, Mrs. Lincoln.”
“Please call me Mary.”
“It is time to get into bed, Mary,” I repeated.
“Very well,” she sighed.
With my assistance, she rose from the floor and shuffled to her bed. Watching her move made me see the ache in her bones.
I expected her to climb into bed, but instead she turned, gripped my hands, and demanded, “Why did you do it, Isabelle? You made me seem far crazier than I am.”
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