I walked past all of them and into the house without so much as glancing at the group around the car. My knees were shaking as I descended the long flights of stairs to my room. A moment later as I was just gathering the last of my things, Commander and Mrs. Chadwick appeared in the doorway. I knew they were there, but I could hardly bare to turn and face them. I pulled my lips inward and held them between my teeth to keep from crying. I felt immobilized. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening to me. At last I turned to face Commander and Mrs. Chadwick. I went to her first and put my arms around her. I was always surprised that she was such a small woman. Then I went to Commander. Ordinarily, Commander handled all situations with the same gruff authority he must have had in the Navy. But in this moment he was just a wonderful, kind man in his middle sixties who was feeling the pain of a battle lost and the casualty count beginning to come in.
Commander insisted on taking my suitcase. I tried to refuse, but he marched stalwartly up the two long flights of stairs ahead of Mrs. Chadwick and me. I felt as though I was dying. I think part of all three of us died that November day.
Just before we reached the landing of the second and last floor Mrs. Chadwick told me that the other man was a private detective and was carrying a gun. I looked at her in astonishment. She said that mother was afraid there would be trouble. She was afraid that Commander and Mrs. Chadwick would interfere with my leaving and she’d ordered this armed guard to accompany Betty and the chauffeur. She whispered to me to be careful and remember they loved me like their own child.
I kissed her on the cheek and she kissed me. We held each other for one last moment. I couldn’t bare it any longer. “Oh … Mrs. Chadwick …,” I moaned. My throat ached from trying to hold back the sobbing. She gave me a Kleenex. I blew my nose and wiped my eyes and took a deep breath.
Commander had put my suitcase in the back of the Station wagon. I saw the three hired abductors standing silently around the car. I took another deep breath, pulled myself up straight and tall and walked out of Chadwick house f for the last time.
Betty said something to me which I totally ignored as I opened the back door and took my seat by the window. The driver and the hired gun got in the front seat. Betty said goodbye to the Chadwicks. I sat silently looking straight ahead as the long station wagon made its turn in the driveway and headed down the hill. I never turned back to catch a last glimpse or to wave good bye. I looked out my window and didn’t say one word. Betty introduced me to the driver and the gunman but I did nothing to acknowledge that I’d heard a word she said.
The Chadwicks and I had been told that I was being taken home. But within about fifteen minutes of driving, I knew that where ever they were taking me, it definitely wasn’t home. If anything, we were headed in the opposite direction. Very shortly, I lost my sense of direction without any familiar landmarks to guide me.
So … I’m not going home, I thought. Where am I going? I guessed that it was to another school, but I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to have pulled up in front of juvenile hall or jail, for that matter. Everything was so out of hand that I could no longer trust my own past experience or intuition. Since I was damned if I was going to ask any of these abductors where I was being taken, I had no choice but to wait it out.
We drove for quite a long time during which I saw nothing familiar. Since it was obvious I wasn’t going to say a word to any of the people in the station wagon, they started talking among themselves. Since they couldn’t say anything revealing, the conversation was boring.
After over an hour of steady driving, the station wagon swung onto the Pasadena freeway. The numbered exits sped past without meaning anything to me. Finally the driver chose an exit and we started through a residential district. I fleetingly thought about opening the door and jumping out, but figured that would either get me shot or run over and I didn’t really want to die like that. So I kept my eyes glued to the outdoor scenery, hoping for some further clue as to our location. In a few minutes, the driver made a sharp left hand turn and we began climbing up a winding mountain road. There were a few houses scattered on either side of the road at first and then there was nothing but scrub brush and empty spaces.
Wherever we’re going, it must be on the top of this mountain. We climbed further and further around hairpin curves on this small two-lane road. At last I saw a sign that said “Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy” and an arrow pointing to the left fork of the narrow road. We turned and continued another few blocks until a huge, old Spanish fortress-like building came into view. The station wagon pulled into a small parking lot at the bottom of a long, wide flight of cement stairs with wrought iron railings. There were no people around but the main entrance to the building was completely obvious. The secretary, driver and armed guard got out of the car, stretching themselves after the long, tiresome ride. The driver opened my door and then went around to the back to take out my suitcase. I sat immobile for a minute looking at the foreboding building which sat alone on the top of this mountain.
Betty and the driver walked up the long stairs with me. The entrance had huge iron and glass doors, one that was standing open. The driver put down my suitcase just inside the entrance and told Betty he’d wait for her in the car. It was sort of dark inside and my eyes had to adjust for a moment. Directly in front of the entrance was an enormous statue of Jesus holding a bleeding heart. I stared at it, horrified. Where was I? After a moment I looked at the rest of the entrance. Except for the huge statue, it looked rather like an old hotel lobby. It had dark red carpeting, wooden floors, large leaded glass windows and a couple of old fashioned, over-stuffed armchairs directly out of the 1920’s.
“Miss Barker?” a soft voice inquired behind me. I turned around to see a woman dressed in long, white robes with a black veil over her head standing behind what could have been a hotel check-in-counter. Every part of her body was covered except her face and her hands. I knew from the movies that she must be a nun, but I’d never seen such a person in real life.
“I’m Sister Benigna”, I heard the woman say as the secretary walked toward the counter. I stood staring at the two of them as they talked for a minute. When I was introduced, I simply said, “Hello”.
Sister Benigna showed us to my room, introducing me to my new roommate whose name was Marilyn. After Sister left, Betty told me to take out what underwear and personal items like a toothbrush that I’d need because she was going to take the rest of my things away with her. I looked at her with all the venomous hatred I had stored inside of me, but I said nothing. I took the essentials I needed, closed the suitcase and still said nothing. She indicated that my school uniform had already been ordered along with the shoes and that I would find them in the closet. I made no move, I stared at her silently.
I think she actually expected me to pick up my suitcase and take it back to the car for her. Here I was, being left with the clothes on my back and a school uniform and she expected me to participate further in my own slaughter. At that moment, hell could have frozen over before I’d have lifted one finger. I stared at her, daring her to ask anything more of me. She’d never once done anything to help me, quite the contrary, and I was damned if I’d let this small moment pass in docile subservience to her. Technically she may have had the upper hand and I was totally powerless, but not for all the money in the world would I back down.
It was only an instant. It was only a small, minor instant before she reached down and picked up the handle of the suitcase. Then, mercifully, she left.
Marilyn sat speechless on the edge of one of the beds. The room was plain but not too dreary and it had it’s own bathroom.
“What is this place?” I asked my new roommate. Marilyn was surprised to learn that I knew nothing about the school, or even exactly where I was. She explained it was a catholic girls’ school in Flintridge, near Pasadena, run by the Dominican sisters. The nuns were a semi-enclosed order which meant they lived a more restricted life than some of the orders which devoted th
emselves to social work or nursing. This was, in effect, a convent school that had the reputation for scholastic achievement, since the Dominicans were a teaching order. It also prided itself on the fact that it was considered strict and none of its girls had ever successfully run away. The last part I could easily understand having just driven up the long, lonely and deserted mountain road leading to the school.
Marilyn seemed like a nice girl so when she asked me why I was transferred in the middle of the year, I related a brief and bitter account of the past week. She didn’t say much, except that she was sorry. By the time we’d exchanged that much information, she looked at her watch and said it was dinnertime.
It was all so unfamiliar and strange to me. We were supposed to pray before and after each meal. I didn’t know the prayers or the routine here. All the girls were strangers and the general atmosphere of the building was foreboding.
After dinner, Sister Benigna asked me to come into her private office. She closed the door and we sat across from one another in two small chairs. I waited for her to speak.
In a soft voice she told me what the rules here were to be for me. My mother had told her that I was very difficult to handle and had gotten into trouble at my former school. Mother had requested that I receive very strict discipline and be allowed no privileges of any kind. Sister Benigna said that meant I would not be allowed to leave the school, or to use the phone to make outside calls. I was to receive no mail, no visitors and no incoming calls. Since all the outgoing mail had to be checked through the office, it would not be possible for me to send letters to anyone but my mother. In addition, I was not allowed to have any money. There was a school store where I could charge $5.00 per month for toothpaste, shampoo or school supplies and that was all. As I listened to Sister, it became clear to me that I was being held a prisoner. I was under virtual house arrest in this convent. Since no one from Chadwick knew where I was and I was not going to be allowed any communication with the outside world, I was a prisoner. I was in total exile.
It was then that my will power and determination began to crumble. I couldn’t hold it together any longer. I began to tell Sister Benigna what had happened to me during the last week … it was so fresh in my memory that I related every last detail including my drunken, crazy mother, the Chadwicks trying to save me and the final abduction scene complete with the private detective and his gun. As I poured out my story I was only semi-conscious of the woman who sat across from me. She was still a total stranger, but she was the only person I had, the only one who would listen. Half the time I was sobbing and trying to talk at the same time. A lot of my story, I’m sure, made no sense. However, as it unfolded, I saw the expression on her face change. I was sure she wouldn’t believe me … why should she? So I gave her the Chadwick’s telephone number and begged her to call them and ask them whether or not I was telling the truth.
It was nearly 10 o’clock by then and Sister told me to go to bed and try to get some sleep. I didn’t know whether or not she’d call the Chadwicks and there was nothing further I could do. She did say that no matter what the truth was, it wouldn’t change the restrictions mother had placed on me. I understood that already.
Sister did call the Chadwicks in a few days. It didn’t change the punishment I was receiving, but at least she now had a much better understanding of the situation.
As for me … something had broken and I just cried uncontrollably. I cried through morning prayers, through religion class, through lunch and on into the afternoon. Sometimes I tried to stop crying but it was too much effort. I’d given up being embarrassed about the other girls looking at me. During the day, I took a seat in the back row of the class and cried. I have no idea what the sisters talked about, nor did it seem important. I turned in no papers, did no assignments and spoke to as few people as possible.
After four weeks of this and numerous talks with Sister Benigna who was trying desperately to find some means of consoling me, it was time for Christmas vacation. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere even before sister told me. I knew that I was a prisoner in this dreadful, strange place where I didn’t understand the people or the religion or the prayers or the talk about hell and sin and damnation. Being brought up in Christian Science, I’d never heard talk like that. I’d never thought about sin, I’d known only the gospel of God’s goodness and man created in God’s image and likeness. I felt as though I’d been thrust through a time machine back into the middle ages and it scared me.
Christmas vacation came and most of the students went home. There were perhaps a dozen girls from Central and South America left at the school but they went shopping, went to the movies and occasionally visited friends.
It was cold on top of that mountain. The winter rains came early that year. It was gray drizzle outside, damp dreariness inside.
After four or five days of the vacation, crying alone in my room most of the time, I finally got a stomachache and told Sister I was going to bed.
I had no more fight left, no more anger, no more spirit of survival. My entire life, built over the last five years of pain, of anguish, of determination and finally of success had suddenly been wrenched away from me. I had cried my eyes and my heart out for a month and I was exhausted by the sheer onslaught of the sorrow. My eyes had no more tears, my body had no more strength. I was suddenly worn out with the years of doing battle and getting nowhere. I was drained of the last shreds of hope that if I just worked hard enough and long enough, things would surely get better. Everything I held valuable, everyone I loved, every bit of success was gone. It was all gone. It was all gone.…
I lay in the bed, vaguely hearing the rain outside and slowly felt myself slipping away. I was too tired to think anymore … too tired to move. I was overcome with total exhaustion. The world just faded away from me and I sank into a kind of limbo world where nothing hurt anymore. If I lay very still and kept my eyes closed, it didn’t hurt anymore. Everything was muffled now … the world was at a distance from me … time slipped by unnoticed. Day melted into night melted into day again and it was all the same. At some point, either night or day but which night or waht day I don’t know, I was dimly aware of Sister trying to talk to me. Her face floated above me swathed in white with a black halo shimmering above it. Through the haze I notice her mouth moving but the sound was so faint that it didn’t matter. I didn’t understand what the words meant and I didn’t make any effort to ascribe meaning to the wavering sounds. I closed my eyes again and the floating face with the black halo disappeared like magic. Once or twice in the total darkness, I got up and went to the bathroom. I noticed a small tray of food by my bed and stared at it curiously. I had no feeling of hunger, so it went untouched.
Somehow I knew I was loosing my sanity but it no longer mattered. I didn’t care anymore. I wanted to die. I lost all desire to think. I just sank away into peaceful floating where there were no harsh voices, there was no pain, there was no terror. It was very nice here … very quiet … very peaceful. Nothing hurt me anymore … it was all very far away … soft and muffled.
Once when I opened my eyes in the dark I saw a stack of envelopes on a small table right next to my bed. Christmas cards … Christmas cards … Christmas card lists … I sank away again, never touching the envelopes.
Time … people … voices … meant nothing. Nothing could touch me here. Nothing could touch me … I didn’t care anymore … I melted into the darkness and floated through the space of darkness. I didn’t dream, I didn’t think. I heard my own breathing and floated on the rise and fall of the air. Air and space and darkness melting and drifting away.
I had nothing to eat, said nothing. I have no concept of the time intervals, but every so often a white floating face with a black halo held me upright and forced me to drink some water. Most of it spilled but some was swallowed. Then I melted back into the quiet darkness again.
The white faces with the black halos gathered around me from time to time. I dimly heard the heavy black wooden rosary b
eads rattling as the litany of their prayers wafted across the bed. After a while the black halos drifted away.
It was later that I found out I’d been lying in bed for six days. I had no personal sense of time passing or events taking place. For me there was only the fading in and out of the black halos and the occasional sound of rain.
One day I felt hungry. I sat up in bed and looked out the window at a gray dawn. Just sitting up was such an effort I would have given up again except for the terrible gnawing hunger. I managed to get into the bathroom and sort of wash myself. I found something to wear, but I had to rest before I could dress. It seemed like an Herculean effort to walk down the endless hall. Again, I had to rest several times before I wandered slowly into the empty dining room. There were some sounds coming from the kitchen. Leaning against the high-backed chairs to steady my shaky legs, I progressed slowly toward the kitchen door. Before I had actually gotten to the kitchen entrance, a sister walked out carrying a tray of food. Seeing me half-standing, half-leaning on the nearest chair startled her. She looked at me as though she were seeing a ghost. She called for one of the other sisters to help me. A younger nun quickly assisted me back to my room, assuring me that she would return immediately with a tray of food. It seemed like an eternity that I lay weakly in bed waiting for something to eat.
The oatmeal, toast and milk looked like a feast to me, but I was so weak that the sister had to feed me the few mouthfuls I was able to swallow. When I tried to talk to her my voice had a strange, raspy sound. I asked her to leave the unfinished milk when she took the small tray away.
I fell asleep. When I awoke, Sister Benigua was sitting on the edge of the bed, saying her rosary quietly. I looked at her and tried to manage a smile. When she realized that I actually recognized her, tears welled up in her eyes. She took my limp hand in hers and said, “We’ve been praying for you.”
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