“If you say so, Dad.”
She’s lost her will entirely. She’d do anything I told her to. Leaning over, Leland kissed her on the cheek and gave her a quick hug. “I’ll take you there myself, daughter. We’ll go tomorrow. Have Lorraine help you pack.”
“All right, Dad.”
Returning to the parlor, he found Lucille anxiously waiting for him. “How did she take it?”
“Like she takes everything. It seems she doesn’t care. She’s lost her will to do anything.”
“When will you leave?”
“In the morning. We’ll have to go by train. Too much snow for an automobile.” He reached out and enfolded Lucille in his arms. “Don’t worry, darling. I feel this is the right thing to do.”
The two clung to each other for support, and after a moment, Leland said, “I’ll go make sure Lorraine knows what to pack.” He kissed her on the cheek and made himself smile. “I have a good feeling about this, dear. I believe this Dr. Chardoney is just the man we’ve been looking for.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Camp
Leland stepped out of the ancient Oldsmobile that belonged to the camp and moved around to open the door for Sharon. When she got out, the driver said, “Go right into the big house there, Mr. Winslow, Miss Winslow. I’ll see that your bags are brought in. Dr. Chardoney said he’d be waiting for you.”
“Thank you.”
Leland took Sharon’s arm, and the two of them made their way toward the large house at the end of the long walkway. They had made the trip from New York City in two days and arrived in a small town in Quebec at two o’clock in the afternoon, where a driver had been waiting for them. Sharon had said nothing on the trip from the station, but then she had said practically nothing during the train trip either. Leland had put a great deal of effort into trying to keep a thread of conversation going.
Now as they moved toward the sprawling three-story Gothic-style house, Winslow noted the turrets and gables. The structure was covered with stone, and smoke spiraled upward from four chimneys. The place looked solid, yet welcoming.
The large house was surrounded with small cedar-sided cabins that had smoke rising from their chimneys as well. A narrow river, a snowy streak hardly discernable from the surrounding countryside, was to their left. Overhead the sky was an iron gray, and the sun was so pale it appeared to be stricken with the cold.
“It looks like a nice place—very old, I would think,” Leland said. He looked to Sharon, but she did not answer. A long porch extended across the front of the house with Adirondack chairs spaced along the length of it. In the summertime it must be nice to sit out here, Leland thought as they climbed the front steps. He turned to admire the snow-covered hills surrounding the camp on all sides, making a peaceful and inviting scene. When they stepped inside, they were met by a young woman.
“My name is Greta,” she said with a warm smile. “If you’d like, you can hang your coats here,” she said, indicating the many hooks in the entryway. “Dr. Chardoney said for me to bring you right to his office.”
The pair hung their coats and followed Greta up a beautiful winding staircase made of gleaming walnut. From the second-floor landing, they could look down on a spacious and inviting living room, pleasantly decorated with light green wallpaper and furnished with antiques in excellent shape. There was a dignity and warmth to the room, highlighted by a crackling fire in the huge fireplace, around which several people were gathered, some talking quietly and others reading. It was an encouraging sign to Leland, who had pictured a dreary work camp with stark furnishings. At the top of the stairs a broad corridor ran down to a huge window, which admitted the pale sunlight. Greta stopped at the last door and said, “This is Dr. Chardoney’s office. You can go right in.”
“Thank you,” Leland said. He nodded to the girl, opened the door, and stepped aside to let Sharon go in first.
The room was nothing like other doctors’ offices he had seen. It was furnished more like a drawing room. A large couch with a restful light blue weave dominated one wall. The room was decorated with prints of paintings, some by the Old Masters, others more contemporary. It was obviously designed to be inviting, not intimidating. His eyes went to the small man with thinning gray hair who was coming toward them, hand extended.
“I am Philip Chardoney, Mr. Winslow, and this must be Sharon.”
“Yes, indeed. Good to meet you, Doctor.”
Chardoney wore gray slacks and a maroon sweater over a white shirt. He appeared to be in his forties. Leland felt a momentary disappointment, for he had expected someone more impressive. Chardoney would have been ordinary in any circumstances. As he welcomed them, Leland noted that his voice was the only exceptional thing about him—rich, smooth, and warm. Leland had the impression that if the man wished, he could lift it to operatic heights.
“I see you’re tired, Sharon,” Chardoney said. “Let’s go look at your room, and you can rest before dinner.” He turned to Leland and said, “I assume you’ll be taking the early train tomorrow, Mr. Winslow.”
Actually Leland had planned to stay for at least another day, but he recognized the firmness with which he was being ushered out. He ordinarily would have resisted such pressure, but he had agreed to commit his daughter into the hands of this man and knew he must give him free rein.
“Yes, I am.”
“Fine. After we show Sharon her room, you and I will take a turn about the grounds. Then we’ll have dinner together tonight.”
During all this time Sharon had said nothing at all, nor did she speak as Chardoney opened the door and motioned for her to step out. The three walked down the hall until they came to another broad stairway leading to the third story. “Your room is my favorite in the whole place. It’s like living in the tower of a castle. A little like Rumpelstiltskin. Do you know that story, Sharon?”
“It’s a fairy tale, isn’t it?”
“Yes. About a young lady with long hair who lived in a tower. Well, that’s almost what you’ll be doing.”
When they reached the third floor, they turned down a hallway, and then Chardoney opened a door. “Cozy, isn’t it? And look at the view you have.”
Indeed, it was a cozy room with high ceilings and walls papered in pale yellow paper, decorated with pictures of serene country settings in plain wooden frames. An antique mahogany armoire sat along one wall, and a four-poster bed with a yellow-and-white comforter was along another. A small desk and comfortable chair had been placed next to the large window, which was framed with sheer white floor-length curtains. The highly polished dark wood floor had a large area rug of light blue, yellow, and green wool. A small stone fireplace was along the far wall, in front of which was a small couch with soft pillows.
“The view is wonderful,” Leland said, gazing out the enormous window. From this height he could see the river as it wound away and a valley with cows pawing at the snow for the grass underneath. “This is very nice, isn’t it, Sharon?”
Sharon looked around and nodded. “Yes, Dad, it’s very nice.”
“I’m sure you’ll like it,” Dr. Chardoney said. “I’ll have your bags brought up. Why don’t you lie down and rest awhile, Sharon. Then come down at six o’clock and have dinner with your father and me.”
“I’m not very hungry,” Sharon said.
“You won’t see your father for some time,” Chardoney said firmly, “so I’d like you to make this effort for him—and for me, of course.”
Sharon hesitated, then said, “Very well, Doctor.”
“Good. Come along, Mr. Winslow.”
For the next hour Chardoney gave Leland the grand tour, starting with the house. “This house once belonged to a rather eccentric millionaire,” he explained. “I think he had been reading too many Gothic novels, so the place looks like a castle but it’s comfortable. I had to do a lot of renovation, and of course it takes a lot of work to keep up.”
As they moved through the house, Leland’s sharp eyes took in the occupan
ts. It was hard to tell the hired servants from the patients. Once he asked, “Is that man over there a patient?” He indicated a large man with a blunt face who was mechanically peeling potatoes.
“Oh yes, that’s Ralph. He’s one of our newer residents. Came last week.”
Leland was encouraged that nearly everyone spoke to the doctor in a familiar fashion, and he never failed to call them by name, usually adding some personal remark such as, “Have you written your mother this week, Charles?” Or “You did a good job on the dining room floor, Cecilia. I’m proud of you.”
Chardoney led Leland outside, explaining that the camp was virtually self-sufficient. “We raise our own beef, our own pigs, and our own chickens for eggs. And in the summer we grow most of our own vegetables.”
“I must say I’m impressed,” Leland said. “Where did you get the idea of taking this approach?”
“I think the Lord gave it to me.”
Winslow was startled at the doctor’s calm answer. “You think God told you to do this?”
“Yes, I do,” he said as they went down the porch steps and headed toward the river. “When I started out, I had a practice like everyone else. An office where people came in for an hour, then went back home. I didn’t seem to be helping too many people, so I took three months off and I prayed and asked God to show me a way I could be of more help. This is what came to me. Of course, most people would not think it was of God, but I have no doubt of it.”
Leland liked the way Chardoney spoke so easily of God, although he was not sure that others would take so well to this approach.
The two turned onto a cleared path along the river. “The patients spend a lot of time in the summer walking along here. Some of them like to fish in it. I’ve caught some fine trout myself.”
Winslow stopped and looked at the smaller man. “Do you really think you can help my daughter?” He found himself held by the warmth of his eyes.
“I pray that I can. Some I can’t help. I don’t know why. We try equally hard with all our patients, but I feel I must tell you that sometimes the approach fails.”
“I appreciate your honesty, Doctor. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“I think I can sense that. Really, I think the cure for mental illness is the same as that for physical illness. Doctors can do some things very well, but it’s always God who does the healing, whether it’s a broken bone or a troubled mind. Faith in God is the key.”
Winslow was fascinated by Chardoney and spent the rest of the afternoon learning all he could of his treatment methods and how he operated the Camp. When they returned to the house, Chardoney showed Winslow to his room on the second floor. They paused at the door and Winslow said, “Dr. Chardoney, I hope you understand that no expense is to be spared for Sharon.”
“None will be, I assure you. Sharon will have the very best that I can give her, just as she would have if she had no money at all. I’ll let you freshen up now and I’ll see you at dinner.”
****
The dinner was excellent that evening and Leland ate heartily.
“We have a fine chef here who was trained at the Culinary Arts Institute in Montreal,” the doctor explained. “Some of the patients are learning from him.”
Sharon sat beside her father, across from Dr. Chardoney, at one of several small tables in the dining room that held four to six people. Sharon was terrified that the doctor would ask her to talk, but he did not, other than to ask her if she liked her room.
When dinner was over Dr. Chardoney said, “Every night after dinner we entertain one another in the concert room—at least, that’s what we call it. If nobody else is inclined to participate, I do the entertaining, which must test everyone’s patience. I play the piano very poorly and sing worse, but they don’t seem to mind.”
The concert room turned out to be the largest room of the house. A fire was blazing in another stone hearth as about thirty people wandered in and took seats on scattered chairs and couches. Sharon studied them, wondering what sort of people she would be living with, but she mostly kept her eyes down as Dr. Chardoney introduced her.
“All right, we have a treat tonight. Loretta’s going to sing for us.”
A petite woman with a frightened expression came to stand beside Chardoney at the piano. She had a thin, almost feeble, voice as she sang “When You Wore a Tulip.”
Everyone applauded, and Leland leaned over and said, “If you sing, you’re going to be the star of this show. Would you like to give it a whirl, Sharon?”
“Oh no, Dad, I can’t!”
Dr. Chardoney had caught the little interplay and did not insist that she sing. The rest of the entertainment was of equally limited talent, but one fellow named Tony had a fairly good tenor voice and sang a song that Leland recognized. “I know that song but I can’t think of the title. What is it, Sharon?”
“It’s ‘When I Was a Lad’ from H.M.S. Pinafore.”
Leland anxiously glanced at her, remembering how she had performed with Robert in this very play. He said nothing but saw that she was sadder than usual.
After a couple more songs, the group broke up, with some leaving and others remaining to talk.
Leland walked Sharon up to her room on the third floor, and at the door he turned her around to face him. “I’ll be leaving early in the morning before you get up, dear, so we’ll say good-bye now.”
She looked frightened, and Leland took her hand and said, “Anytime you want to leave, I’ll come get you. You don’t have to stay here.”
“All right, Daddy.” Sharon unconsciously used the word Daddy, which she had not used since she was a child, but Leland could see that she felt very small and helpless.
“You’re going to get better soon, dear,” he said. “And then you’ll come back and be with us.” He put out his arms, and she clung to him; then he kissed her and said, “Your mother and I will write often, and you must write to us.”
“All right, Dad.” She tried to smile. “I’ll do my best to get better.”
“You will get better. I know you will.”
As Leland descended the stairs to the second floor, a heaviness came over him. He was afraid he was doing the wrong thing by leaving her here alone, but then he thought, This is the only hope we’ve got. God, you’ve got to help Sharon get better. Guide this man Chardoney and make our daughter whole again.
****
Sharon slept fitfully, drifting off from time to time only to awaken in fear as she found herself in the unfamiliar room, lit by the small oil lamp she had left burning. She was lonely and wished she were home again. As she lay in her bed before dawn she heard stirrings throughout the house. The room was cold, for the fire had died down. The covers were warm and comforting, however, and she kept her head underneath, hiding from the outer world.
Eventually she heard a knock and a voice at her door. “Sharon, time to get up!”
She resisted the impulse to remain in her warm cocoon and climbed out of bed at once, shivering in the cold as she quickly dressed. When she opened the door and stepped outside, she found Greta coming down the hall.
“Good morning, Sharon. Are you hungry?”
“A bit.” Sharon had not been able to figure out the girl’s position and asked, “Do you work here, Greta?”
“Oh no, I’m a patient just like you.”
Sharon stared at Greta, who was plainly attired in a blue wool jumper, a white blouse, white stockings, and a blue sweater. Her hair was done in a neat twist at the back of her head, and there was a cheerful expression in her eyes. She seemed so well balanced. “You don’t seem crazy like I am.”
Greta laughed. “You’re not crazy, and I’m not either. We just have some problems. Come on. We don’t want to miss breakfast.”
They got in line at the pass-through that separated the kitchen from the dining room, where Tony was serving bacon, eggs, and buttered toast with jam. Sharon recognized him as the same person who had sung the song from Pinafore the night befo
re. Sharon and Greta sat down at an empty table, and a few minutes later Tony joined them.
“Now I’ll have to eat fast to catch up with you girls,” he said.
Greta smiled at the eager way he dug into his breakfast. “Tony’s leaving next week,” she told Sharon. “What are you going to do, Tony?”
“I’m going to find a job, and I’m going to make my parents proud of me.”
“Have you been here long?” Sharon asked rather timidly.
“Almost a year. I was in pretty bad shape when I got here.”
“I wasn’t here then,” Greta said, “but I’ve heard that you wanted to fight everybody.”
Tony smiled brightly. “I guess you could say I was a bit aggressive, but Dr. Chardoney helped me get over that.”
“How did he do that?” Sharon asked.
“Well, one of the first things I did when I got here was I tried to hit him, and he flipped me flat on my back. I think he used to be a wrestler before he became a doctor. So that settled that.”
“But what about everybody else? Did you try to fight the others?” Greta asked with a smile.
Tony stabbed a piece of bacon, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed with evident pleasure. “It took a while, but I finally learned that the world wasn’t against me. You know,” he added thoughtfully, “Dr. Chardoney’s a pretty crafty fellow. He kind of sneaks up on you with his ideas. I was all prepared not to listen to a thing he had to say. To laugh at him, to poke fun at him for being a crazy man’s doctor. But he was just . . .” Tony shook his head as he tried to think of a good description. “I don’t know how he did it. He came out to the woods once when I was splitting logs. We started talking about hockey, which I love, and before I knew it we were talking about God, whom I didn’t love. So that was the beginning.”
Sharon listened as the young man spoke enthusiastically of his stay at the Camp and more enthusiastically about his leaving. After a while he turned to Sharon and said, “I expect you’re a little scared of being here with all these new people, but take it from me—this place can help you.”
The Silent Harp Page 9