Though I couldn’t help but notice that both Rose’s and Laura’s families were thinking of marriage for them already. At seventeen, I was almost of marriageable age, but no one in my family had said anything to me about it. I had a feeling it was because I wasn’t as pretty as these girls. My hair, for instance, was untamable. Unlike Rose’s curls, no ribbon or pin could hold it, even if I had one. It would abide no attempts at restriction. I was told I had eyes the color of steel, but not the favored baby blue, like Laura’s.
To make matters worse, my eyebrows were as thick and dark as my hair. Frankly, I liked the way they framed my eyes. People said they made me look angry, but I didn’t feel angry often. Mostly, I just felt . . . thoughtful. Since I hated wearing makeup, I made no effort to alter my naturally pale face. No wonder most people who met me thought I was plain. It was just as well that makeup wasn’t allowed at Silver Hill. And although I was slightly taller than average, I once heard my figure described as “sinewy.” Not exactly the voluptuous beauty it was assumed I should be.
I tolerated the current fashions by wearing long skirts, though they were rather cumbersome. Mine were always blue black (my favorite color), but with silver thread that I wove in myself. I refused to wear a crinoline or bustle like other girls, and so my skirts fell down in a straight line. I think they looked much chicer this way. But I did have the typical high collar, the long row of buttons down my bodice, the pointy leather boots. The only light-colored part of my outfits was my kidskin gloves, which I always removed at the first opportunity.
“So, what’s your story, morning glory?” Rose asked again. “What indescribable act of utter lunacy did you commit?”
I hesitated for a moment. I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer just yet—or how I would do so. “Why don’t I tell you later? What I’d really love to do right now is tell ghost stories. Do either of you know any?”
“Ah, I don’t know.” Laura twisted the thread from her skirt around her finger until it broke off. “I’m scared of ghost stories.”
“I know one that’s not too scary,” I assured her. “If Rose is game, that is.”
Rose squinted at me and turned her head to the side. She must have been wondering why I wouldn’t give the reason I was admitted to Silver Hill. She took a final drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out on the floor and sticking the butt under the mattress.
“Of course I’m game.” She didn’t press the issue of my admission for now. “I’m not scared of a silly little story. Lay on, MacDuff.” She nodded at me.
“Okay, then.” I leaned in closer so both girls could hear me better. “There’s kind of a story that goes with my name. My parents first wanted to call me Selene, after the goddess of the moon.” I paused for effect. “But I don’t believe her story. It’s just a fairy tale.
“The Greek Titans—Hyperion and Theia—had three children. Helios, god of the sun, Aurora, goddess of the dawn, and the youngest was Selene, who ruled over the moon. When the Romans defeated the Greeks, they changed Selene’s name to Luna. Anyway, it was said that Hyperion and Theia’s children were meant to bring all manner of light to the world. Together, the three siblings ruled the hours of the day, shedding light wherever it was most needed by mortals.
“Selene traversed the heavens in a chariot led by silver steeds. One night, she was riding across the sky when she saw a handsome shepherd below on Earth. His name was Endymion, and he had closed his eyes momentarily to rest from his labors. Seeing Endymion lying on the soft grass, Selene couldn’t help but notice how peaceful and beautiful he looked as he slept. She fell in love with him. Selene went to the king of the gods, Zeus, and begged that Endymion be granted eternal life. She could not bear the thought of him growing old and dying.
“But what Selene did not know was that Zeus was in love with her. He had no desire to see her in the arms of another man. But so great was his love that he couldn’t bear not to grant her wish, because he knew how unhappy she would be. So he compromised. He gave Endymion eternal life, but only if he slept. That way, he would not be able to see Endymion’s happiness at being with Selene, and would not grow heartsick and jealous.
“Selene accepted this arrangement, and so her shepherd sleeps for all eternity. But Endymion is not sad, for each night he dreams of holding the moon in his arms, of kissing the goddess herself.” I put out my own arms to indicate the story was finished.
Laura sat rapt, her hands clasped. “That is so romantic! I wish I could meet a boy like Endymion.”
“Pretty neat,” agreed Rose. “But um, Seluna? That’s not really a ghost story.”
“What? Oh.” I scratched my head and laughed. “I guess you’re right. I don’t know why I always thought of it that way. Maybe because I only remember that story at night.”
“I still thought it was lovely, though,” Rose said.
“Yeah, and that Endymion sounds dreamy,” Laura sighed.
“Literally!” I said, and we all giggled. But the giggling stopped when we heard shrieks in the hall outside, and what sounded like someone struggling.
“Hold her down, for gods’ sakes!” barked a man. “What am I paying you orderlies for, anyway?”
“Sorry, sir, but this one’s a fighter, she is,” a different man replied. “Be still, girlie; you ain’t going nowhere. Be good now, or we’ll sic Nurse Cutter on you!” There were more shrieks, and the clicking, pulling sounds of straps and buckles. Rose put her ear to the door, and Laura and I leaned closer as well.
“Who’s that?” I whispered.
“It sounds like Dr. Catron,” Rose whispered back.
“Who’s Dr. Catron?”
“The owner and head of the facility. You haven’t met him?”
“I got in late last night,” I explained.
“You’ll probably meet him today.” Rose looked at me with pity in her eyes. “Good luck to you.”
We heard the first man—Dr. Catron—sigh. “Her condition is worse than I thought. It could be deteriorating, despite all my noble efforts.” Then he spoke at a slower pace, and there were scratching noises, as if he was writing on a pad.
“Power cravings and critical thinking leading to brain overstimulation. Refuses to submit to those in authority.”
“I am not power hungry!” the girl wailed. “My whole family treats me like a maid, and now they want me to have a career as a maid, too? I just want a say in what happens to me. Is that so wrong?”
“Miss, that is the very kind of rebelliousness that can lead to hysteria,” Dr. Catron said severely. “Your belief that you know what is best for your life is a perfect example of hallucination.”
“Hallucination?” asked Laura. “I thought that was when you saw things that weren’t there.”
“Hallucinations are when you think things are real, but they’re not,” I clarified. “They certainly have nothing to do with disagreeing with someone. This sounds like they want the girl to act like a cog in a wheel and be happy about it. And Dr. Catron seems like a nut himself.”
Speak of the devil. “I think solitary confinement is the best treatment for this case,” Dr. Catron said.
“NO!” the girl shouted, and there were more scuffling sounds. Clearly, the orderlies were still having a hard time holding her down.
Rose sucked in her breath. “Solitary. That’s bad.”
“How bad?” I asked.
“Really bad,” Laura said. “Have you seen the Hold? That’s where they put you for solitary confinement. I’ve never been there myself, but I heard about it from other girls. It’s a tiny, windowless room with padded walls. No light at all. They chain you up and leave you there, and come in only once a day to feed you. If they remember to feed you.”
“What if you have to use the toilet? Or bathe?” I asked.
“Then you’re on your own,” Rose answered.
I felt bile rise in my throat. “That’s revolting! It’s a miracle girls don’t die of infections.”
“Some do,” Rose said quietly.
I was stunned, though perhaps I shouldn’t have been. I knew the first thing despots often did to break a person’s mind was to isolate them. I just didn’t know how often it ended in the victim’s death. But the conversation in the hallway wasn’t over.
“Perhaps she’s a good candidate for a more rigorous treatment, Doctor.” For the first time, I recognized one of the voices.
“Quite right, Nurse Cutter, quite right. We’ll have to look into that if the present treatment is ineffective. And it would certainly help us find out if she was . . . the one.”
“The one,” Cutter repeated. “The girl you’re lookin’ for.”
“Precisely. I don’t think she is.” Dr. Catron sniffed, and the girl gave a little sob. “Though one never knows. Not until one performs the ultimate treatment, that is. But for now, just put her in the Hold. I think a month should do it.”
“No, please!” the girl begged. “Not for a whole month. Please!”
“Do you really think that’s wise, Doctor?” Cutter asked. “After all,” she lowered her voice, “ain’t that when the Event is supposed to ’appen?”
“Not so loud, Cutter!” Catron snapped. “There’s no need to discuss asylum business in public. I’m sure there’s plenty of time before the Event to find who we’re looking for.”
“What’s the Event?” I asked the girls. Laura shrugged and shook her head, but Rose knew something.
“I overheard Nurse Cutter talking to an orderly the other day,” she whispered. “Even though he’s supposed to be an educated man, Dr. Catron is very superstitious. He regularly employs a fortune-teller, who lately predicted that an inauspicious event will happen at the asylum in about a month. He says it is ‘written in the stars.’ ”
“What does ‘inauspicious’ mean?” Laura asked fearfully.
“Ah, it means bad, I’m afraid,” I replied. “Really bad.”
“Don’t fret about it, Laury-kins.” Rose put her arm around her roommate’s shoulder. “You can never trust what fortune-tellers say, anyway.”
“Who’s this person they’re looking for, then?” I asked. But neither Rose nor Laura knew anything about it.
“I only hope it isn’t me,” was all Laura would say.
We listened at the door for a few more minutes, but all we heard was the girl sobbing, and Catron and Cutter talking about ordering supplies. Eventually, their voices faded away, and we went back to sitting on the beds. We were silent for a while until Laura finally said:
“I don’t think I want to tell ghost stories anymore.”
I hadn’t lied when I told Rose and Laura about arriving late at Silver Hill the previous night. Everyone but Nurse Cutter and I had been asleep, so there’d been no time to introduce me to the other staff. Which was why, shortly after my attempt at a “ghost story,” I was brought to meet the head physician at the asylum. The only physician at the asylum, as a matter of fact: Dr. Catron DeKay. Following a lunch that bore a remarkable resemblance to the intolerable breakfast, Cutter escorted me to Dr. DeKay’s office.
“Sit,” she instructed, pointing to a hard oak bench.
Sit? Just like that? What am I, a dog? I sat.
“Doctor’ll be with you shortly,” she sniffed. “’E’s in with someone else at the moment. Behave, now.” And she walked away without another word.
Behave. As if I were going to run amuck in the hallway for no reason. I folded my hands in my lap and examined the dark, wooden wainscoting on the opposite wall. At the time, I wondered why no one stayed with this “lunatic” if they felt she was at such risk for misbehaving. I would later learn that Silver Hill was notoriously understaffed. But the door to the office was open a crack, and it gave me an opportunity to listen to the conversation taking place inside.
“It’s like I was telling you, Dr. DeKay,” said a man. He sounded very aggravated, though his tone with the doctor was respectful. “Geraldine here has become completely unmanageable.” There were some crying and sniffling sounds from a girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve.
“Please, Mr. Wexler, call me Dr. Catron. Everyone does.”
“Thank you, Dr. Catron. As I was saying, Geraldine is unmanageable. She cries and mopes all the time if she doesn’t get what she wants.”
“That’s not true!” Geraldine protested through wet sobs. “All I want is to be an artist. And I only cried when you threw out all my brushes and paints and tore up the canvases I’d finished.”
“You see?” Mr. Wexler said. “This is the kind of behavior my whole family has to put up with. She makes life miserable for the rest of us who are content to lead normal lives.”
“You mean boring lives,” Geraldine said. I’d never met this girl, but I liked her already. There was a determination, a fierceness in her voice despite her obvious distress. “I don’t want to be like you and Ma. You can both draw and paint, but you scrape by, painting other people’s houses. You never try to paint anything of your own. And I know you hate your jobs, because you come home unhappy every night.”
“That’s quite enough out of you, young lady!” Mr. Wexler raised his voice. From the sound of chair springs, it seemed he had stood up as well. “Painting for fun was all well and good when I was a kid, but I grew up. This is real life, not a fairy tale. You need to be able to make your way in this world. Soon, you’ll be old enough to graduate, and you’ll have to get a job. What are you going to do then? Live on air? Give a painting to your landlord in exchange for a month’s rent? Surely you must see how insane all that sounds. I don’t know; what do you think, Dr. Catron? Is there any hope for her?”
“Oh dear, dear, dear.” Catron spoke slowly, his voice low. “I can see we have a very difficult case on our hands. Chronic depression bordering on psychosis. No doubt brought on by an inflammation of the female brain. It tends to aggravate the more emotional, irrational faculties. But don’t worry, Mr. Wexler. We specialize in treating the most willful, disobedient, and unmanageable girls in the entire kingdom.”
Emotional is irrational? Catron spoke as if emotions did not have logic behind them. As if sympathy, compassion, and love were not designed to bind the species together and help it survive. Were they really going to lock up Geraldine because she wanted to use her gifts instead of deny them? Because she wanted to try? Being forced to live a tedious, unsatisfying life would make anyone depressed. Her reaction seemed perfectly rational to me.
“Well, Hartlandia certainly owes you a great debt of gratitude, Dr. Catron. Heaven only knows what life would be like if every daughter acted like Geraldine.” Mr. Wexler snorted and Geraldine hiccuped, her bitter tears returning.
“It’s no trouble at all, sir,” Catron replied smoothly. “The disturbances of the female psyche have always been a specialty of mine.”
“Well, as we agreed, I’ll leave her in your care, and you can bill me at home.” Geraldine’s father sounded very relieved. “I do appreciate all you’re doing. The country needs more good doctors like you.”
“Indeed, Mr. Wexler. Indeed,” said Catron. “I assure you, we’ll do our very best to take care of your problem. I’m confident we can work with your daughter until she takes a more practical view of life. Believe me, when you see Geraldine again, you won’t even recognize her.”
“That’s all I ask. Good day to you, Dr. Catron.” Then Mr. Wexler’s voice darkened. “Geraldine.”
“Good day as well, Mr. Wexler.” Catron’s voice was pleasant and cheerful.
A stout, tired-looking man walked out of the office, putting on his hat as he left. I peeked around the corner and saw a girl on a chair in front of Catron’s mahogany desk. I’d guessed correctly; she looked only about twelve, and terrified. But she sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. Doubtless it was an attempt to be brave. I saw the man who must have been Catron lean over his desk towards a collection of speakers and wires. He pressed a button and began giving directions into one of the speakers.
“Nurse Cutter? Would you mind sending an orderly up her
e for our new patient, Ms. Wexler? I believe we’ll start with the standard treatment. Be sure to have the syringes ready.” I heard Geraldine give a little squeal.
Standard treatment? I swallowed hard. Is that what they’ll start me on as well?
I didn’t have time to wonder long, because an orderly appeared almost immediately with a wheelchair—leather straps on the armrests—to take Geraldine. I quickly turned away from the door and folded my hands in my lap. It wouldn’t do to have them catch me spying.
“Now, Geraldine,” Catron said as I heard the orderly bind her to the chair, “everything will be just fine. A key part of treatment is to submit to the will of the physician. To surrender all your thoughts and feelings to my control. But I need you to trust me. Do you think you can do that?” Geraldine made no reply, but did give a little grunt as the orderly tightened the straps. Probably too tightly.
“You don’t have to answer right now,” Catron continued. “But it’s something to think about as we begin the first phase.” His next words were to the orderly. “Take her to Cutter. She’ll know what to do.”
I didn’t dare look at Geraldine as she was wheeled out of the office. Although in retrospect, perhaps I should have. Even a momentary glance into her eyes might have given her strength, let her know she wasn’t alone.
“Seluna, isn’t it?” My heart gave a jump as Dr. Catron called my name, and his head appeared from around the door frame. “Won’t you come inside?”
I stood up, brushed off my skirts, and vowed not to let my apprehension show as I walked into the office. I wasn’t sure if handshaking was acceptable for women at Silver Hill. Still, I didn’t want to risk giving offense, so I stuck out my palm. “Dr.—”
“Catron. Please.” Ignoring my hand, he indicated I should take the seat opposite the desk where I was guessing Geraldine had been.
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