The Back Building

by Julie Dewey

  Chapter Twelve

  Sorrow

  Lucy was found face down in the river. Her lifeless body was swollen and blue when they returned her to me. I was in a state of shock, my hands were cold and my breath was shallow. I had to lie down and close my eyes, close it out and wake from this nightmare. My husband’s wails pierced my ears and my heart, he and I were inconsolable. We climbed into bed and held each other, needing to be touched and soothed. Jennifer took the baby for a few days and I let my milk run dry. I sprouted grey hairs overnight and sank into a deep impenetrable depression.

  James tried to tell me that Lucy’s death was not my fault, but it was. I was solely responsible for her well-being and I neglected her. I hated Hetty for making me fail in such a life altering way. Hetty cried into her handkerchief over our loss as she stood at my doorway, but I refused to let her in.

  “Who are you talking to?” James asked the morning after Lucy was brought to us.

  “I am telling Hetty to leave now, forever. It’s her fault!” I yelled so she would hear. I started banging my fists against the wall and bashing my head against the counters. James grabbed my hands and pulled me in.

  “Stop this,” he ordered.

  I slunk to the ground and wanted to die. My heart was overflowing with grief and pain so deep that I no longer wanted to live. I cried myself to sleep and when I woke I searched the kitchen for a knife. I found a sharp blade and began sawing at my wrist. Tiny droplets of blood began to drip on the floor and as the pain intensified I felt woozy. I dropped the instrument and collapsed.

  When I woke, I was in bed. My left wrist was wrapped in linen and soaked in blood. It needed to be changed. James came in and offered me a sip of water. He unwrapped my hand, but I refused to look at the cut. He cleaned it and put an emollient over the laceration before bandaging it.

  “What is wrong with you? Do you think you are the only one who is hurting? You thought you would be selfish and try to take your own life so you don’t have to feel anything? What about me?” He began to shake and scream at me.

  “Huh, what about me and Suzette? You would just leave us so willingly, like we didn’t matter at all?”

  I was sapped of all my energy. I had no words and didn’t reply. I just closed my eyes and willed myself to die. The next time I woke, James was sleeping in our rocker. He heard the bed-springs and came to my side immediately.

  “Iona, please drink something, I need you. I can’t live without you.” He begged but I remained still and closed my eyes once more. My husband cried until there were no tears left, and still he whimpered and then dry heaved. I closed him out. I refused to think of my children and pretended they were nothing more than visions. Hetty and Lucy held hands and played a game of patty cake while I watched. I hated Hetty now, but I hated myself more. The anger I felt for being who I was, a delusional woman who brought children into the world, needed to be punished.

  For everyone around me, time went on. James had to return to work and the baby required care. I didn’t budge from bed. I soiled my nightgowns and sheets, and refused to eat, drink, or move. James lifted me and transferred me to the couch when the bed needed changing, and he raised my arms to put me in a fresh gown daily. Every day he put water and crackers at my bedside, and then left.

  I didn’t know or care who had Suzette, she was better off with anyone but me. I rolled myself into a ball and rocked back and forth, reeling with guilt.

  James was full of emotion, I heard him weeping at night, as he lay turned away from me, trying to sleep on his side of the bed. I wanted to reach out to him, but I couldn’t. I was dying inside and the only way to hurry the process was to shut everyone out and turn off my humanity.

  I heard James in a concentrated discussion with someone in the kitchen, and a short while later, Suzette was brought to me. Tears escaped my eyes at the sight of her. I was afraid I would only hurt her too, so I rolled over and ignored her presence.

  “She needs a doctor, James. Right now she is merely existing in her room, she is not living and you aren’t qualified to heal her.”

  “Jennifer, she has been traumatized. She will be fine. If you can help with Suzette during the day I will handle everything at night.” James refused to betray my trust and ever run the risk of having me admitted to an insane asylum again.

  “But the two of you are so young, you don’t have anyone else to help you, James. Let me keep the baby a while longer and you try to get her medical attention. How long can you keep this up?”

  Weeks led to months and when I allowed myself to glance at James, he looked like a ghost. He was gaunt and thin, overworked, tired, and suffering. I knew I was deserting him and he couldn’t continue this way for much longer. He missed the baby and eventually brought her home at night-time. He always brought her into the bedroom when she was alert and held her out for me to see, or if my eyes were closed, to hear.

  I started looking forward to the evenings, I didn’t want to allow myself to feel, but when Suzette was right in front of me my heart broke with yearning. At night, James sang her lullabies and tucked her into her cradle that he positioned beside him. He would come to me then, wipe away my tears with his gentle fingers and kiss me on the cheek. Every night he said he loved me and that he wouldn’t give up on me. Every night he told me Lucy was in heaven and that it was an accident.

  Every night his mercy took hold of my heart and brought me out of my shell a little bit more. It was his kindness alone that allowed me to begin to find the strength to forgive myself, and Hetty. He was loving me back to health one moment, one day at a time.

  One morning when James left with Suzette for work, I unrolled myself from the balled up fetal position I had adopted. I opened my arms, exposing my chest. I felt the air rush in and fill my lungs and lay my hand across my heart to feel its soft beating.

  “God,” I whispered, “If you are listening, I need to ask you why? Why was I born this way?” I paused for a moment, thinking of the diagnosis Dr. Macy gave me. I sipped some of the stale water at my bedside before continuing.

  “God, are you punishing me for being a defiant child? I would take it all back if I could, but then I wouldn’t have gone to Willard and met James. His love for me is more real than anything else in this life. I get confused sometimes, God. I don’t always know if a person is real, if they are truly talking to me, or if I am making them up. But when James is beside me, I feel his love and I know, without a doubt that it’s real. It penetrates the barriers I built over the years and fills my heart, just as my girls do. What do I do, God? How do I keep living without my precious daughter? Do I let my husband go and build a life with someone better, more deserving of him? How do I live when my daughter is buried in the ground?”

  A shuffling sound caused me to open my eyes, standing before me with tears in her eyes was Jennifer. She heard my prayer, and I wondered if God hadn’t sent her to me, at precisely this moment for a reason.

  “I just wanted to be here, in case you needed anything,” Jennifer said in explanation before hugging me tight and crying for both of us.

  “Then where is Suzette?” I asked anxiously, suddenly needing to know she was okay.

  “She is here, in the parlor, sleeping. She has been napping for three hours mid-morning. I was hoping you’d let me take care of you too?” I nodded yes to her and decided she was the answer to my prayers.

  She filled a tub with warm water and stripped me of my soiled nightgown. She took my hand, ever so gently, and led me to the bathroom where she bathed me and washed my hair. She kneaded my scalp and soaped my back. When I was rinsed and dried she put lotion on my legs, my feet and hands. She took her time pampering me with the grace of a mother’s love. Jennifer was a mother, so she understood my torment and guilt. She brought me into the parlor and sat me down on the davenport while she made tea and checked on the baby.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked, placing a steaming mug of tea beside me.

  “I didn’t deserve Luc
y, and I don’t deserve James and Suzette.”

  “You may feel that way now, Iona, but you don’t get to choose who loves you. I have seen you with your family and I can say firsthand what an excellent mother you are. You showed Lucy nothing but love in her two years.” Jennifer stifled her tears.

  “But it is my fault. I scolded for reasons I can’t explain. I shouldn’t have done that. I thought she was safe in the house when I went to collect the eggs. I needed a minute, I closed my eyes to rest for just a moment…”

  “I know, I know. But it was an accident, Iona. You didn’t seek to harm your daughter, and we all scold our children for various reasons.”

  I was at a crossroads. I needed to decide how much I trusted Jennifer. If, in fact, she was a loyal friend, then she would be able to listen to my story and understand the real reason I felt at fault. If I doubted that she was real, or that our friendship was honorable then I needed to keep my secret locked away. Her eyes sought mine for understanding.

  “I am tired, Jennifer. But I do want you to understand that there is more to the story. I’d like to tell you if you’d be willing to listen.”

  “I am here, aren’t I?” The baby stirred for a moment and I turned my ear towards her, but she settled herself once more.

  “I had a difficult upbringing. I felt very alone in my home although I did have two siblings, brothers. No one in the family ever really loved me, I suppose they were more concerned with outward appearances. I was continually in trouble for not being more feminine, or taking more of an interest in domestic matters. Truthfully, I was just a child, a child who wanted to run free and play outside all day long. I was subject to emotional abuse from a young age. My mother gave me the silent treatment, withheld food from me, and locked me in my room if I failed to do my chores properly or if I sassed her in anyway. My father despised me. During this time, I developed an imaginary friend. Her name is Hetty. I wish I could tell you that Hetty went away as I grew up, but in fact, she became a stronger influence. I convinced myself that Hetty was our new house-keeper. She came several days a week and part of her duties included teaching me how to keep house. I scrubbed the tubs with her and learned how to wash floors, laundry became second nature. From there we moved on to the kitchen where she was teaching me some basic cooking techniques. Hetty was as real to me then as you are to me now.”

  “Okay,” Jennifer said, squeezing my hand and encouraging me to continue my story.

  “Hetty was more than a figment of my imagination, the doctors said she was a delusion. She was contrived to keep me out of trouble, although the revelation she existed is what got me in trouble. But that part comes later. Hetty kept me company when I was locked in my room, forced to repent for being disobedient. She encouraged me to work hard at everything I did. She was larger than life, she was always smiling and singing too, and boy, could she dance.” I took a moment to drink my tea and collect myself.

  “Until I met you, Hetty was my only friend. That’s why I am afraid to share the rest with you, Jennifer. I don’t want you to think less of me.”

  “You can trust me, Iona, we are friends.”

  “I was sent away because of my disobedience. I cut my hair, was unable to make friends at school, and incidentally had an imaginary friend, Hetty. I was sent to Willard Hospital for the insane. My parents had no intention of having me return home which was evident by their lack of correspondence. I met James at Willard. James, mind you, was there from the time he was a small boy through no fault of his own. It is his story to tell, but trust me when I say that he never belonged there and that he is not insane. He tended the animals at the farm and I worked in the stables, which is how we met and fell in love. I was being tortured daily, I won’t go into the details, but I fell gravely ill and nearly died. As soon as I was healthy enough, I escaped. James and I planned to marry one day. We talked about settling in Waterloo, so when I ran he came here straight away to find me. It was a chance he took, but he found me. We were wed that night and have made it on our own for three years now. We owe a lot to Ben for giving him a job, and to you for helping with my home.” I gestured to the walls around me, so much that I learned came from this woman.

  “You have been more than a friend, Jennifer. You are like a mother to me and a grandmother to my girls. Lucy was lucky to have had you in her life.”

  “Well that is quite a story.”

  “I have to finish. After Suzette was born, I felt very melancholy. I was not myself, you suggested it was the baby blues. I was tired and overwhelmed all day, and then felt guilty for not working harder on the house. Hetty forced me up at night to do chores. We scoured the place then, until James caught me and forced me back to bed. The house started to fall apart, I was tired, Suzette wanted to nurse all the time, and sweet Lucy just wanted my attention. I was arguing with Hetty about the rugs, of all things, when Lucy kept interrupting. I told her to go away and swatted her bottom. She took her blanky into the parlor and lay down. I never went to her. I knew she was safe, and the baby was sleeping so I took a moment for myself. It was selfish and I would give anything to have the moment back. I loved that darling angel more than life.”

  Jennifer held me for a long time. “She was so lucky to have your love. Do you know how much your love meant to her? You hugged her one hundred times a day, sang to her, played with her and made sure she was taken care of. It’s okay to need a break. How many hugs did your mother give you?”

  “Not many.”

  “I suspected that.”

  “Well, I blame Hetty.”

  We both laughed at how preposterous that sounded. Then a remarkable thing occurred.

  “Hetty, join us.” Jennifer beckoned for Hetty to come out from the kitchen and sit with us.

  I moved over to make room for her wide girth, and then that girl sat down between us as if she truly belonged. Just then the baby stirred, and although I had yet to regain my strength, I stood to go get her. She was waiting, smiling at her mother, the woman who loved her more than life itself.

  From that moment forward I knew that as sure as I was alive, Hetty was part of me. Those people in my life that really and truly loved me to the depths of my soul, understood this.

  Together, my faithful husband, my angelic daughter, and my true friend loved me back to a health.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Topher

  When Suzette was six years old she developed an imaginary friend. She named her friend Topher and spent hours clomping through the outdoors with him by her side. Often they would play chase, or pick dandelions to make wishes on. Sometimes they played dolls, which Topher didn’t like, or marbles, which he did.

  In early September, I peered out the window and watched my daughter raking the leaves that had fallen from our maples into one large pile. She laughed and jumped into the mountain, flattening it as her bottom hit the heap only to be fluffed once more so that Topher could have a turn. Suzette never left Topher out, and even became insistent that he have a place at our table for mealtimes.

  I wondered if my daughter, who played so innocently, was vulnerable to seeing things as I was. It concerned her father and me immensely. We decide to oblige her whim for the meantime and address it if it became a serious issue down the road.

  “Tophy is hungry, Mama. He needs supper too.” She said looking up at me with wide eyes. I would pretend to plate whatever we were having to eat for Topher and put it in front of his imaginary chair but this did not suffice.

  “No, Mama, Topher needs real food and his own chair. Baby John can move over to make room.”

  So I moved the highchair with Johnathan in it closer to me and put a plate of real food in front of the chair with Topher who eagerly waited for supper. When Suzette’s milk spilled all over the table and dripped down the sides, she exclaimed, “Topher is sorry, he had an accident.”

  I wiped the mess and said directly to Topher’s chair, “Topher, please be more careful with your milk.”

  Suzette smiled when I talked
directly to Topher and carried on as usual.

  “Should we be worried?” James asked me after the milk incident that night. The children were both tucked into bed giving us a chance to speak alone.

  “I know you don’t want her to be persecuted when she starts school next week. I am worried too, but if anything is going to help her it’s getting her acquainted with other children her age so that she can start making some real friends. I love our home, but it is secluded, James, she only has me all day long and half the time I am tending the baby. I honestly think this is the right choice.”

  “When did you start to see Hetty?”

  “I was much older, fourteen, I believe. Remember, Dr. Macy told me years and years ago that many children have imaginary friends and that it can be a normal part of growing up.”

  “Yes, but how will we know if it’s more than just an imaginary friend? What if she is stuck with Topher for good? Sorry, Hetty, wherever you are.” He glanced around the room apologetically.

  “I have come to accept Hetty as part of my life, and thankfully you have too. But, I also understand now that she isn’t real to anyone but me. She is a delusion, but this awareness came with age and experience, now I can carry on in public and no one would be the wiser that my friend was beside me. Remember, Hetty helped me through some tough times.”

  “I know, but she put you through some tougher times.”

  “Well, I don’t think we need to be worried. I think we give it a little time and see what happens in the next few months.”

  The week went by in a tizzy and soon it was time for Suzette’s first day of school.

  “How about the purple dress for your first day?” I asked, holding it out to her.

  “Topher says no.” She replied. Topher was exhausting.