After Alice Fell: A Novel
Page 25
“Mmph. Yes. That is indeed right.”
He frowns and looks over the railing to the whitewashed window. “I am one of the doctors here. I will be your doctor.”
“Did you see my room, Doctor Finch?”
“Indeed, I did.”
“This is the first day I’ve been let out in nearly a week.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is so.”
“What do you think would cause—”
“You have this all turned around. I’m not the one with mania. Marion is. Her whole family is. I don’t know what she told you on the ride here to . . . Where are we?”
“You are at the New Hampshire Asylum for the Insane. In Concord.”
“Concord. She would have told you that I am awash in delusions and promulgate my own reality. That I killed my very best friend. But that was only due to the necessity that Lionel take some responsibility. And her sister, who did indeed die of an accident, a fall not a push off the roof. You should ask her who has the delusions. But before that—”
“Mrs. Snow—”
“Let me finish.”
He tilts his head and gestures for me to carry on.
“Before that . . .” But there’s saliva at the corner of my mouth. I dab the handkerchief Marion so kindly gave me to my lips, then tuck it into the pocket of the gown this horrid hospital provided. “Before that, her sister, Alice, lived with me and my husband, who, I am also certain you were told, had to then provide for her. She was just left at our door. And she was perfectly controlled. I made sure her life was in order. I did. I did everything for Alice. And if I wanted to shoot Marion with a bow and arrow, I would have. She would have been dead. I’m an excellent shot. I always win.”
Dr. Finch leans forward, elbows to his knees, and his smile is so wide I see the missing molars in the top left.
“You’re staring.”
“I would very much like to take some measurements. Of your head. May I be so bold?”
“You may not.”
“But we can determine quite quickly the nature of your condition.”
“I don’t have a condition.”
“Rule out conditions, then. I won’t force you. But I am a noted phrenologist.”
“You may not touch my head. There is nothing wrong with me.”
“As you say.” He taps the table.
“I’ll have some coffee, now, if you will.”
He nods once. Lifts the pot to pour. The coffee is thick and brown. He blows on it, as if the liquid will burn his lips, then gives a grimace of surprise when he sips. He sets the cup down and pushes it my way. It sways in my grip; I can’t stop the tremble of my hand. This man’s opinion is all that stands between me and the state asylum for the insane. Which, if rumor has any credence, makes Brawders House the Queen’s palace. I’ve been blubbering like an idiot.
“Do you suffer?” he asks.
“Like Alice?”
“Like someone who has murdered two innocent people and nearly two more.” He curls his lips and swats a fly away from his sideburn. He doesn’t change his focus. That remains upon me. “Never mind the monies paid to have Miss Alice Snow pushed from the roof.”
I open my mouth, about to answer.
He pushes the sugar across, then the tongs. “I must know, Mrs. Snow. If I am to assess you. I am not a man of snap judgments.”
“Where is my husband?”
“Directly across. Recuperating in the men’s wing.”
“I did nothing, Dr. Finch. He did nothing.” But the red heat on my cheeks belies me. And his patience wears. “It would be more abnormal if I thought nothing of it. Marion tried to kill me. And she killed that man, that laborer. They plotted against us.”
He swings his foot. It is so uncommonly thin. “And now you make up stories to alleviate your guilt. Blame others for that original sin. It is common to do so. Guilt is a corrosive beast. The mind is not made for it. Nor the heart. Our brains make up new stories to mop up the mess, hide all the rust stains and remorse.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Indeed.”
“Are you committing me?”
He makes a click of his tongue. “Yes. I am. To the wing for the criminally insane. The third floor. You’ll have your very own room.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The coachman hefts my trunk to the livery boy, who straps it to the roof. “Heavy one,” he says.
I shade my eyes and gaze up at him. “Books and toys. The next one’s lighter.”
Toby hops down the steps of the general store and slows to peer in the shadows of the porch. He pushes aside a tin tub and crouches, snapping his fingers to tempt a cat. Then he unrolls a bag and pours the contents to a pan. One more snap before he rises and dusts his short trousers and bare knees.
I watch him lope along the wood walkway and then jump to the road. He runs the tips of his fingers along the white wood of the post office and the brass plate of the bank.
“Bank of Turee,” he says to no one in particular. He will be tall as his father. He’ll need a new set of clothes before the school year begins. “Horse.” He rubs the muzzle of the chestnut, and then strokes the nose of the bay. Then he steps next to me, fumbling in his vest pocket for his watch, making a show of springing it open and contemplating the time. He rubs his thumb across the glass. It was Lionel’s.
It is the last of his father, as the locket around my neck is the last I have of Alice.
I haven’t told him the truth of Lionel’s commitment. I have only said his father knew nothing of Cathy’s evil. I could not hide anything else. Toby had been too curious. He watched the slides. He knew they told the truth. He believed Alice. And she had kept him safe.
“Thirteen more minutes,” he says and snaps the watch closed.
“What did you give the cat?”
“Jerky. Mrs. Flowers says it’s his favorite.”
The bay paws a hoof to the road. The driver climbs to his seat. “Milford, Nashua, Boston,” he calls.
“We’re off, then,” I say. “An adventure.”
He looks up at me, his expression somber. It will be long before he can sleep through a night. He takes my hand, fingers sticky from candy. “An adventure.”
We won’t be back. And I won’t look back down the road. Saoirse and Elias have gone to her sister’s in Newburyport. The house has been sold to the Runyons, who will tear it down and turn the whole of it over to sheep. They are glad for the pond.
Alice’s stone came. White granite that sparkles in the light.
Beloved sister.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Alicia Clancy, you are an editor extraordinaire. I am so appreciative not only for your keen sense of story, but for your support and encouragement. I am so lucky and honored to work with you.
Mark Gottlieb, can I say again how much I appreciate you? You are so generous with your time and ideas and advice and knowledge. Thank you.
Danielle Marshall, your vision for Lake Union is amazing. I am so honored to be part of this group.
Gabe Dumpit, you rock. Enough said.
Faceout Studio, what a cover! I am in awe.
Much thanks to Production Editor Laura Barrett, Copyeditor Laura Whittemore, and Proofreader Patty Ann Economos for such detailed attention and reminding me that the devil’s in the details.
Rebecca Stockbridge and the New Hampshire State Library, thank you for all the amazing details and primary sources you dig up for me. You are a true rock star.
Many thanks to these amazing historians and archivists whose input was invaluable to this story: Terry Reimer and the Museum of Civil War Medicine; New Hampshire Historical Society; Michelle Stahl and the Monadnock Center for History and Culture; Deb Salisbury and the Mantua-Maker series; Robbin Bailey and Ashley Miller, Concord Public Library.
KC Taylor for giving wise advice right when it was needed. Jennifer Springsteen for early story guidance. Kate Genet, I apparently can’t start or finish a book without
you. Thanks for the descriptions and book club questions and writing-in-general emails. Cathy Yardley and Rock Your Plot for giving story first aid when I thought I’d have to tear up every page and start over. Alan Hlad for our ongoing plot accountability and weekly check-ins—we both finished!
Thea Constantine and Alida Thacher for volunteering as first readers who waded through a remarkable mess, gave me a life raft, and helped Alice find her voice.
BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS
After Alice Fell has a great deal to do with the guilt that underlies a lot of our family bonds. In chapter three, Lionel accuses Marion of abandoning Alice, and Marion agrees with him. Do you think she may be justified in this? Does, however, the emotion of guilt have any use to any of us in the end? What would be a healthy way of dealing with the emotion of guilt?
The responsibility for those who need our constant care can be a hard burden to bear. Who do you think should have looked after Alice? Was she Marion’s responsibility? How differently (if at all) do we deal with family members with mental illnesses now?
In the novel, much weight is given to appearances—what would people think? Do you think that this consideration of appearances is still prevalent today? And if so, is it beneficial to a community, or not?
The novel opens with Alice’s body being brought home. Marion washes her and holds vigil. We rarely any longer wash and care for our own dead. When dealing with death in our modern times, do you think we’ve become alienated from it?
Lionel and Cathy took Marion into their home to live after her husband was killed. This sort of obligation toward extended family members was usual then, but now isn’t so much an obligation at all. Do you think this is a change for the better or worse?
Marion has questions about Alice’s death, and everyone else wants her to put them aside. By the end of the book, we know there is a greater reason for this, but before that, did you wonder whether she was right to keep asking her questions and looking for answers? What motivated her to do so? Was it guilt? And do you think she may have been personally better off leaving it all alone?
We all have motivations for our actions—some healthy and some not so healthy. What do you think motivated Lionel to go along with everything Cathy wanted? What sort of hold over him did she have?
In the novel, everyone acts because of some sort of emotion. Which defines each character, and how healthy do these emotions seem to you?
“Guilt is a corrosive beast. The mind is not made for it. Nor the heart.” Do you agree with this quote from chapter thirty-two? If so, what is the remedy for guilt?
Everyone has secrets in After Alice Fell. What do you think are Marion’s own, particularly in regards to her marriage and her relationship with Alice? And how far do you think they influence her actions?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2020 Upswept Creative
Kim Taylor Blakemore is the author of The Companion and the YA historical novels Bowery Girl and Cissy Funk, winner of the WILLA Literary Award. She is also the recipient of a Tucson Festival of Books Literary Award and three Regional Arts and Culture Council (RACC) grants. Outside of writing historical fiction featuring fierce and dangerous women, Kim is a novel coach with her company, Novelitics; a history nerd; and a gothic novel lover. She lives with her family in Portland, Oregon, and loves the rain. Truly. For more information visit www.kimtaylorblakemore.com.