The Canary Club

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  She takes a long gulp of her champagne and orange juice. “You really must stop thanking me. That’s what friends are for, after all.”

  I don’t look up at her as I assemble a plate of food. “And is that what we are—friends?”

  She cocks her head to the side. “I thought so. Do you disagree?”

  I shrug, once again trying to form coherent sentences in my mind but failing miserably. “It’s just that I overheard your friend Zelda… I believe she referred to me as the help?”

  Laughing, Masie sits back in her chair, fussing with her hair. “Oh, Benjamin, you can’t listen to a thing Zelda says. She’s miserably unhappy in her own life, you know—despite what it might look like from the outside. I mean, she hasn’t been dry for five years. Her husband is either locked away writing or philandering with his Hollywood starlet. So she amuses herself in whatever way she can, including offering unsolicited advice.”

  “If she’s so unhappy, why doesn’t she just divorce him?”

  The grin slips from Masie’s face. When she answers, her tone is flat. “Because sometimes—for some women—that simply isn’t an option.”

  I take a bite of sausage, and it melts in my mouth like butter.

  “Besides, it’s the name she wants. The prestige and affluence it affords her.”

  I simply grunt, filling my mouth with a bite of hardboiled egg.

  “In any case, I thought perhaps we’d have lunch at the club today,” she offers, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands beneath her chin. “It’s supposed to be lovely outside and…”

  Swallowing quickly, I cut her off. “Actually, there’s something I need to speak with you about first.”

  “Oh?”

  Wiping my face with a napkin, I decide to just dive in. “The thing is that it’s my fault Aggie got sick. After my pa died, Ma was working double and triple shifts to make ends meet because I got locked up.”

  She waits for a moment, but I’m still choosing words in my head, so she fills the silence. “Benjamin, I fail to see how it’s your fault she got sick.”

  “Because I wasn’t there to take care of her, of any of them. If I hadn’t gone to jail, Ma would have been home with the twins and Aggie never would have gotten sick. So it’s my fault.”

  “I disagree, though somehow I doubt it matters.” She looks at me, then down at her empty plate. “What are you getting at, Benjamin?”

  Taking a deep breath, I force the words out. “You and your family have been wonderful to me, to my family. But I can’t risk leaving them again, or worse, having one of them get caught in the crossfire with Dutch’s business.”

  Now her eyes dart back to me, stern as iron. “What happened?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. I’ve just been thinking about it…”

  “No,” she says, her expression stoic. “No, something happened and it scared you. Please, trust me enough to tell me.”

  My thoughts go back to O’Hara’s rage-filled eyes, to the photographs he showed me. How can I tell her about any of that without making myself her enemy?

  “I can’t. I have to protect my family. I just can’t risk going to jail again, or worse.”

  “And yet, the last time we spoke, you were determined to stay.” She looks down, scooping up her glass and downing the last of her drink. When she sets it back down, she glares across the table. “You don’t trust me.”

  “I want to,” I say softly, hoping she’ll hear the truth in my words. “But we’re from two different worlds, Masie.”

  Her mouth twitches. “We aren’t as different as you seem to think, Benjamin.”

  “You know I’m right,” I say flatly. “You told me as much yourself. This life is dangerous, even more so to the people we care about.”

  Scooting her chair back, she rises. I move to stand, but she waves me back into my chair. For the first time, I realize she’s still in her nightclothes, a thin, sky-blue satin gown with a matching robe over the top, the front drawn open. Beneath the fabric, I can see every curve of her. I have to force myself to look away. Walking to the edge of the terrace, she turns her back to me. The wall around the edge is taller than waist high, but even so, watching her lean against it to peer at the city below make me grind my teeth nervously.

  After a few minutes, she turns back to me. “I want you to stay, Benjamin.”

  Before I can respond, she holds up one hand, silencing me. “I want to show you something. After you’ve seen it, if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

  “What is it?” I ask curiously.

  She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you. I can only show you.”

  I swallow, unsure exactly what she’s saying. All I know is I won’t deny her. I doubt I could if I were inclined to.

  “Alright,” I promise.

  Licking her lips, she nods once. “Then you finish up breakfast; I’ll go get ready and ring for the car.”

  She sashays back inside and down the hall. I tear off another bite of sausage, momentarily wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.

  We hardly speak during the long drive. Masie, in a bright floral dress and pink cloche hat, spends most of the time staring out the window, watching the trees fly past as we make our way upstate into the fresh, country air.

  Every so often, I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. Her expression is pensive, her shoulders tight, hands fidgeting with the purse clutched in her fingers. Finally, the road turns and we pause in front of a tall iron gate, a large letter R fixed to the center with a flourish. I can barely make out the rooftop of a building beyond, hidden away behind rows of tall, thick pine trees. Albert steps out of the car, leaving his door open, then retrieves a telephone from a box mounted to one of the stone columns holding the gate. I hear him say Masie’s name, then something else I can’t quite make out, before setting the earpiece back on the cradle and returning to his seat.

  A few moments later, a young man dressed in all white unlocks the gate, throwing either side wide so the town car can pull through.

  “What is this place?” I ask, staring out at the building slowly coming into view. It’s tall, with three-story high wings flanking a cathedral-like main building with a massive clock face beneath the peak. Ivy crawls up the stone exterior, and ornate concrete planters display mounds of bright crimson tulips. We round a stone fountain and pull into a circular drive, the car stopping at the wide staircase leading to the main doors.

  “It’s the Rockfort Mental Asylum,” Masie answers, her voice trembling.

  “Asylum?” I ask, tearing my gaze from the building to look at her. Her face has gone a pale gray shade, the crimson lipstick has been chewed from her mouth, and dark circles sit beneath each eye. “Masie?”

  She blinks and swings her gaze to me, holding up one hand. I open the door and slide out, taking her by the hand as she slides across the seat and steps into the light. Though she retracts her hand quickly, I don’t miss the coldness of her fingers or the light shaking she seems determined to hide.

  Taking a deep breath, she leads us up the stairs and inside. The sound of her shoes hitting the beige tile floor echoes down each hall as we approach the glass window where the nurse sits, staring at us with wary eyes.

  “Masie Schultz, here to see Laura Lynn Schultz.”

  The nurse, in her starched white hat, looks around Masie to me, her mouth set in a permanent frown, her skin wrinkled and pale. “Family only,” she barks, sliding a thin ledger across the desk.

  Masie takes a pen, hastily scribbling our names.

  “This is my personal guard. He will accompany me during this visit. Unless you’d like me to report to my father that you refused to allow security during my visit?”

  Masie slides the ledger back, slapping the pen down in the spine with more force than was probably necessary. The nurse looks from me to her and then back once more before hitting a buzzer on the other side of the wall. To the left, a door swings open and an orderly steps through, waving us
in. He’s shorter than me. I can’t help but notice the difference as I walk past, but he’s stout and as thick necked as any boxer I’ve ever seen. I want to pull Masie aside, ask her why we’re here, ask her who Laura Lynn Schultz is. A sister? Aunt? But despite the barrage of questions coursing through my mind, I bite my tongue. It’s only when she falters, a slight stumble that has her grasping the wall for support, that I step up, taking her arm and wrapping it gently over mine.

  The hallway is wide and tall, vaulted ceilings overhead supported by massive wooden beams. On the left, there’s a row of arched windows letting the daylight stream in. On the right, matching arched windows open to a large common room. There are a handful of people, most sitting in high-back chairs or laying across settees. There’s an old Victrola in the middle of the room playing a soft tune. An orderly dressed like the one escorting us dances with a pretty young woman in a gauzy silver dress while she laughs.

  It seems peaceful, for a moment. But as soon as I think it, a scream echoes down the hallway in front of us, the sound bouncing off the walls like sunlight, only sharp and jagged. Beside me, Masie stumbles again, leaning all her weight against me until she regains her footing. She’s shaking in earnest now, and the small hairs on the back of my neck rise, tension flooding me with each step. At the end of the hall, we turn the corner, another hallway stretching out in front of us. Unlike the last, this one is darker. No windows, no soft music, and no laughing. Just stone wall to the left and wooden doors, each bolted shut with tiny, caged windows carved in the center. At first, it’s quiet, then the unmistakable sound of sobbing escapes one. When we reach the last door, a nurse and orderly step out, the nurse carrying a tray of bloodied metal tools half covered in stained cotton bandage cloths. Behind the door, a second scream erupts. I have to fight back the urge to burst inside, to help whomever is making that awful sound.

  “They do special surgeries here,” Masie whispers, her voice shaking nearly as badly as the rest of her. “Experimental procedures. A damaged mind is much more difficult to repair than a broken bone, or even a bullet wound.”

  I’m not sure if she means to comfort me or herself, but either way, it’s only her arm on mine that prevents me from rushing into that room.

  We turn down another hall, then through a door into a sort of atrium. The walls are made completely of windows, some with arched panes of glass, others with metal bars separating the inside from the outside. Potted flowers blossom from stands in the corners of the room, a long row of wooden benches in the middle for people to sit and take in the view of the lush gardens in the back of the building. Masie releases my arm, walking forward slowly, hesitantly, her hands in the air in a gesture of calm.

  Hidden behind a row of tall, purple irises is a rocking chair with a woman sitting quietly, gazing out the barred window.

  Her hair is a dirty yellow, long, stringy, and badly in need of a wash. Her skin is sallow, her head lulled to the side so I can’t make out her face.

  As she approaches the woman, Masie begins humming gently. Reaching out, she strokes the side of her cheek.

  The woman turns her head, a moment of confusion followed by a slowly spreading smile. She says nothing. She doesn’t have to. The resemblance is enough.

  Not a sister.

  Not an aunt.

  This woman is clearly Masie’s mother.

  My hand trembles as I reach out to touch the side of her face. When she turns to me, I hold my breath.

  Will she remember me today?

  I haven’t been here in so long. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but because the last time I’d come, she’d lashed out, spitting and hissing like a wild animal.

  “Benjamin, this is my mother. Mother, this is my friend, Benjamin,” I say softly, kneeling at her side.

  Her eyes follow my face, never even acknowledging Benjamin behind me.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Schultz,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder.

  “I don’t think she can understand us, not really,” I admit. “I think she recognizes my face sometimes, but she can’t speak anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, releasing me. “Not to be rude, but I thought she was…”

  He trails off, but I know what he means.

  “It’s the lie my father tells—makes us tell. She was unwell for some time. Even when I was little, I could see it. She was always so sad and tired. Sometimes, she wouldn’t leave her bed for days at a time. I thought she was ill. For a long time, I believed that. But as I got older, I came to understand the truth.” I pause, humming a few more bars before continuing. “She hated the business. When she married Daddy, I think he promised that he’d get out. But he didn’t. The more successful he became, the more she sort of faded away. Until one day—and I don’t know what happened, I only heard bits and pieces—they had a terrible fight. Daddy stormed out of the house in the middle of the night. That was the first time she…” My voice breaks. The memory floods across my skin. I’d found her in the bed, unconscious and hardly breathing, an empty bottle of bichloride pills next to her pillow.

  “She recovered, slowly. But by then, Daddy had taken a mistress. It was quite a scandal at first. But it seemed to me that people took his side almost immediately. Here he was, this big-time fella, and his wife wouldn’t even put on a dress and go out to dinner with him. They felt sorry for him, I suppose. No one really understood. That’s when she sent me off to boarding school. Didn’t want me drawn into the drama. Didn’t want me to have to watch my father be unfaithful.”

  Opening my purse, I take out a delicate golden bracelet with black pearls dangling from the clasp. It was a wedding present, a gift from her father to her the day she said her vows. I never knew him myself—he passed before I was born—but my mother had entrusted it to me the day I left for school. Lifting her palm, I slide it on her hand. It’s so thin I don’t even have to open the clasp.

  I reveal the paper-thin white scar running just on the underside of her wrist. “And this was the second time.”

  I don’t tell him I’d been the one who found her again, unconscious on the powder room floor, a pool of blood soaking through the white cotton bath carpet. She’d done it just after I returned home for Christmas, just after Daddy announced he’d be spending the holiday working, which was his code for staying at the lavish apartment he furnished for his mistress.

  “The hospital committed her to a state facility that night. But Daddy couldn’t have that—the scandal of having a crazy, suicidal wife made him look weak, put us all in danger, or at least that was his take on it. So he brought her here and dropped a fortune to keep the whole thing quiet. JD and I were ordered to tell everyone she died.” I swallow the hard lump in my throat, the one threatening to choke me to death even as I confess my greatest sin. “So we did. The story was that she’d fallen in the bath and hit her head. We were never allowed to speak of it again. He didn’t even let me visit until I agreed to come home permanently.”

  I’d had my own small revenge by meeting with his young ingénue in secret. Using a combination of paying her off and threatening her, I got her leave to town and never return. It was all I could do not to strangle the girl with my bare hands. Had she not accepted my offer, I might have done it, too.

  “Why did you go along with it?” he asks quietly, no judgment in his tone.

  It’s a fair question, one I’ve asked myself often. “I think it was fear as much as anything. I was in shock, not to mention scared out of my mind. He made it seem reasonable. She could be here, out of harm’s way, get the help she needed—the best help money could buy. It didn’t even occur to me at the time that even if the treatments worked, even if she got better, that she could never come home again. And even once I put the pieces together, I wondered if it was what she would have wanted. She got out of the life the only way someone really can—by dying. She was free. That thought is the only thing that lets me sleep at night.” I laugh dryly, remembering the unopened bottle of laudanum
on my nightstand. “When I can sleep, that is.”

  “And what about you? Do you want out of the life?” he asks. I tear my gaze away from Mother long enough to meet his eye.

  “More than anything,” I admit. His gaze is so intense I have to look away again. “I thought I could do it, Benjamin. I really did. I thought I could step into the business and keep my family safe. But I can’t. I thought I could be, if not happy then at least content. The idea of getting out now is like a daydream, something you hold onto just to keep the reality from driving you crazy. But that’s not in the cards for me, Benjamin. And even if I could leave it all behind, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t abandon Daddy and JD—no matter what they’ve done.”

  “There must be some way…” he begins.

  Mother looks out the gated window and toward a hummingbird sipping nectar from a honeysuckle bush nearby. I stand, dusting off my skirt. “The only out is through, Benjamin.”

  Crossing the floor, I take a seat on the bench beside him.

  “The doctors think she suffers from some form of schizophrenia. Her first treatment was sterilization. After that, they began other things, removing teeth and pieces of her intestine and liver. They even tried fever and water therapies. Nothing had any effect. Eventually, she became catatonic. Now she is just this…most of the time at least. Sometimes she has to be strapped down for days at a time when she has an episode.”

  Benjamin’s hand slithers across the bench and onto mine, squeezing it tightly.

  “Masie, I’m so sorry.”

  I feel a tear slide free, and I hurriedly wipe it away. It upsets Mother when I cry. Though she doesn’t speak, I can see it on her face.

  “I think that’s part of the reason Daddy wants to keep me close. He’d never say it out loud, but I think he’s afraid I’ll turn out like her. That I’m sick and don’t even know it.”

  I don’t see him move, but I can feel it like the wind changing direction. His arms wind around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. I turn to face him, resting my head in the crook of his neck.