“We need someone who’ll listen to us, instead of treating us like we’re animals.” Ella nodded at the slender lady with a pleasant face and brown hair standing in front of the baskets.
“I keep everything that’s said to myself.” Anne went over and delivered a soft pat on Bonnie’s shoulder.
“If you ask me,” Ella said, “some of you get too free with the tongue. People don’t care what we have to say. Something gets back to the wrong person, and we’ll be done in.” The older lady stopped a moment and looked at each of her peers. “I don’t want to be done in, even if I’m here in this trap for a while longer.”
“For a while?” Bonnie squared up her shoulders. “You’ll be in here until the day you die. That’s the truth, whether you want to believe it or not.”
“Ladies, please!” Anne clapped her hands. “No fighting. “And Ella, you’re free to believe anything you wish. Bonnie, you are too. The only thing I have control over is making your time with me pleasant Just so you know, there are people who leave and go back to their families.” Anne paused, forcing a light smile. “Maybe there’s not many who leave, but there’s always hope that you’ll be one of them soon.”
All the women had stopped and listened. Some shook their heads in disbelief, some politely agreed, others said nothing. Claire glanced around the room. The clenching sensation in her stomach confirmed growing doubt about being one of the lucky ones. Adrian hadn’t called or visited. Each time she thought about calling him at work, she talked herself out of it. Fear of rejection had a strangle-hold on her.
Memories of home and the hat factory hit her harder than ever. Claire thought again about the earlier encounter with Grace. Even a mean, common woman knew about Adrian’s hat’s, which were prized by merchants and customers all over the Southeast. Time To Wear The Wright Hat. That was the slogan the two brothers concocted when they spruced up their marketing plan. Adrian had been so excited when he came home after work and shared it with her. When Claire suggested that all hats bear the label, The Wright Hat, Adrian made it happen.
He always shared the happy moments, like when he came up with new designs. Sometimes he took her to the small manufacturing building on Market Street and showed her new hat blocks he’d ordered from England. They shared warm twilight evenings with walks in the park, romantic nights dining at Jameson’s on McNally Street, and sometimes catching a movie at the Lutesse Theater.
Sharing a bed with Adrian had been a taste of heaven. They both approached their private moments with anticipation, and carried on with equal excitement. The touch of his skin against hers as they engaged in lovemaking under luxurious linen sheets sent her into heady bliss. He knew all the different ways to make her body come alive, and she had learned how to pleasure him. Viewing his face in the height of passion left her brimming with satisfaction. She knew only too well how to please her man. That’s why Grace’s words still stung, down to the last ugly insinuation. Had he truly made such false statements, or had their declining intimacy as of late clouded his memory?
Twelve years of marriage disappeared in the blink of an eye. Could she have stopped the downward spiral? Did she even see it coming? Questions like these rolled endlessly around in her head when she sat in a rocker in the common room, or walked alone outside in the small amount of time allotted. Sad and frustrated, she realized the whys of her marriage crumbling may never be answered, but there was one certainty: She would find a way out of this godforsaken place, one way or another!
“Mrs. Wright, are you here with us?” Anne’s voice called out.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Claire averted her eyes from her work.
“I asked you if you could tell us a little about yourself and why you’re here. You don’t have to tell anything you don’t want to.”
“Yes, do tell us. It helps boost the esprit de corps.” Ruth reached over and patted Claire on the back. Her face bore a sober expression. “Really, Claire, it helps to talk a little. We may not have answers to everything, but we try to give all we got. Don’t we, ladies?”
“We do,” Ella said, plunging the needle into the sheet. “And don’t mind our carrying on like wet hens. There’s nothing else to do but try and console each other.” She made a knot and cut the thread.
Claire took a deep breath. Never one to share too much, Anne’s request put her on the spot. How embarrassing to admit how she’d been duped and tossed away like a used toy.
“I don’t know where to start. Haven’t been here too long, but let’s just say, I’d rather be home.”
“Amen to that, sister,” Bonnie said.
Claire continued, “My husband brought me here, saying he had to deliver a hat to one of the doctors, and asked me to come with him.”
“Deliver a hat?” Ella shot a look of surprise in Claire’s direction, wincing when she stuck herself with a needle. “Damn it!” She focused briefly on her wounded finger. “Why would your husband be delivering a hat, of all things?”
“Because he’s the one who makes those hoity-toity hats everyone dreams of wearing. Isn’t that right, Claire?” Ruth beamed at the others. “Don’t you wish we could wear them?” She let out a small cackle.
Ella pulled a new sheet off the pile and began stitching again. “Did he ever make special ones for you?”
“Let’s just say I got to wear the first ones before they made it into the shops.” Claire smiled as she sewed the garment in her hands.
A round of “Oh-h-hs” from the ladies filled the room.
“But what happened? He delivered a hat, but what did that have to do with you?” Anne spoke up.
“He went off with Grace, and you can guess the rest. I never saw him again. Never said so much as a good-bye or nothing.” Claire found herself choking up as she relived the scene again in her mind.
“Any idea why he’d do that?” Ruth asked.
Ella offered her idea. “I know a lot of us have said something was usually going on when we were brought here, like being irritable all the time or mentioning that we were tired of taking care of a household. Some of us were sick and couldn’t work like we used to.”
“And I’ll tell you something else,” Bonnie stated, “you’ll get sent here if your old man is simply tired of you. I’ve heard of it happening too many times. As for me, I found myself being on top of the world one minute, only to become ornery and cantankerous the next. I guess my old man Fred got over that real quick. Finally, I gave up on everything. And so did he. Next thing I knew, I found myself here. We talk occasionally, but he never promises to come get me.”
Claire listened. She thought more about her life before Hatchie River. Perhaps losing two babies, one after the other, put a damper on the relationship between her and Adrian. She stopped working on the dress and thought some more, digging deeper for answers. As she pulled events together on her mental timeline, everything slipped into place, forming the grim picture she’d refused to see. Her mood plummeted to the lowest level, with every day turning into a struggle. Getting out of bed proved challenging. Carrying out her daily chores had become nearly impossible.
The loss was made worse because she’d carried this last baby full-term, and it died two months after it was born. Adrian didn’t understand why she had withdrawn, crying all the time, becoming angry when she wanted to visit the grave as often as she did. Work became more important to him, so he stayed at the factory later. After that, everything went downhill in their relationship. It seemed like all the love had suddenly evaporated. No matter what she did, the old togetherness didn’t come back.
“Yes,” Claire said, answering the question Ruth asked her, “I think my husband simply got tired of me too.”
The room grew silent. All the ladies focused on the work in front of them.
Anne spoke softly, “We’re sorry to hear about that. I’m not married, but it has to be hard thinking someone loves you deeply, only to betray that love and trust by sending you to a place like this.”
Claire wiped
a stray tear trickling down her cheek. “I think of what might have been, dream of what could have been a happy future, and then I wake up here in this place. I still can’t quite understand why he’d do that. Whatever was bothering him, we could have worked it out. I mean, why not? People do it all the time, don’t they?”
Ruth stopped and wagged a finger at Claire. “Men are heartless cads. For the life of me, I can’t understand what we want with ’em, anyway.”
“Oh my, just listen to the song of the forlorn and downtrodden. You poor dears.” A familiar voice came from the doorway of the room, and all the ladies turned their heads. Grace leaned against the doorframe, her lips turned up into a smirk. She pushed herself off the door-jamb and sauntered further into the room.
“What do you want, Grace?” Anne’s voice rang out in a steely note.
“Just came by to check on you and your darlings.” The exaggerated smile on Grace’s face blended well with the higher vocal pitch at the end of her words, and the ladies wrinkled their noses, sniffing with disgust as she walked by. Grace ignored the rebuffs while she meandered through the room toward Anne, showing feigned interest in the work, leaning over some of the women and inspecting their progress. She paused by Claire, who stiffened at her approach. “My, my, you are handy at something after all. Not bad, not bad.” Claire jumped at the series of firm pats from Grace’s hand, each one landing between her shoulder blades with a dull thump. “I approve, I really do.”
“Grace, state your business and let us get back to work.” Anne made no pretense at her irritation.
“Hold your horses!” Grace lost the smile long enough to scowl quickly at Anne before resuming a new smile with full force. “I just wanted to see everybody and all the wonderful work they do around here.” She viewed a little more of the handiwork. When she approached Anne, her face lost all expression. “Just wanted to remind you to get your supply list turned into Greta before the shift ends. She told me to tell you.”
Anne returned the cold stare. “Fine, I’ll get everything turned in.”
“Fine, you do that.” Grace turned on her heel, walked to the door, and disappeared from the room.
Bonnie jerked around in her chair, thrusting an up-turned middle finger toward the door. “Take that, you cow!”
All the women snickered. Anne put a hand to her mouth, hiding the beginnings of a laugh. When the group had settled back down to a nice pace of activity, Anne chatted with everyone again.
“Mrs. Wright, before you came here, did you used to sew and make new clothes? You surely had some nice clothes to go along with the hats you wore, didn’t you?”
Claire kept working as she spoke. “I had nice dresses to go with the hats. I also wasn’t shy with needle and thread at all.” She paused and sat up straight, eyes sparkling. “I remember when Adrian surprised me with a Singer Featherweight. I squealed and jumped up and down like a silly five-year-old! He’d ordered it from England just for me. I made several nice pieces with it.”
The women murmured their approval as they glanced in Claire’s direction.
Anne asked, “Did you do other things besides sew?”
“I had a loom. I made some of the prettiest blankets and tablecloths. I even got smart and created some patterns that are mine. I’ve never seen them anywhere else.”
“Hey, Miss Anne, maybe we can get a loom and she can give us a class.” Bonnie stopped working. “Those tables in the dining room could use something to brighten them up. It’s dreary in there.”
Ella chimed in. “I’d like a new blanket and a scarf to keep my head warm.”
All the ladies smiled and looked up at Anne.
“We don’t have looms. I doubt we could get a fancy one like Mrs. Wright had.”
When the morning ended, Anne called out the time. The group wound their way back to the dining hall for lunch.
With sadness, Claire remembered the lively lunches she had with close friends. She imagined how each of her current peers might look, dressed up in fine clothes, wearing one of Adrian’s hats, and sitting in some high-style restaurant. What would they talk about, then? Would Ella’s silvery hair be a different color? Would Bonnie have some manners? How would Ruth look with her hair styled, wearing cosmetics and a pretty dress? Claire missed being what Grace called “gussied up.” Most of all, she missed being the apple of Adrian’s eye. Now, the only lunches she had was stale food amid the company of scantily-washed bodies and vulgar mouths. Maybe she’d muster up enough courage to call Adrian the next time the day for phone calls came around.
Chapter Three
The common room hummed with endless chatter, accented with staff yelling in frustration at other patients. The women had come in from working outside and now rested before dinner. Claire gazed across the room at the sea of unkempt women and a showy display of the oddest behaviors she’d ever seen. She’d also peeked inside other rooms, viewing patients who lay on the floor covered in their own filth, nearly starving. Other patients shared horror stories of women in isolation rooms, where they were often chained to the wall for days and weeks at a time, if not longer.
Claire gazed at Millie sitting in the far corner of the room, where she sat cradling an old baby doll. The woman’s short gray hair stood on end, and her toothless mouth sank back in her face. When she looked at you with her wild-eyed stare and pursed lips, you prayed she wouldn’t take a notion and hit you. Ruth had told Claire the lady was really “cracked in the head,” and that she’d been at the asylum for several years. “These are the people that need to be here,” Ruth said. Claire wondered what Millie would be like if she were sane. Did she have a family? Had she ever known romantic love? Claire had tried speaking to her, but got little in the way of lucid conversation. Sometime the male orderlies took Millie away from the room for a long time before they’d bring her back, where she’d find her old seat and go back to rocking her baby.
“Mrs. Wright, it’s your turn to use the phone, if you’d like.” Greta, the charge nurse, came over and stood by Claire. “You think you’re up for it today?” A German accent coated the words as she spoke in a clipped, but soft, tone.
Claire followed Greta to the nurse’s station. She held the receiver and dialed the number, trembling as she plunged her finger into the slots on the rotary dial. This process, so simple under normal circumstances, seemed like an eternity now. She considered giving up and finding another solution. However, Ruth had encouraged her to make the call. “Either way, good or bad, you’ll know where you stand.” Those had been her words. She made Claire promise she wouldn’t back out. Three weeks had passed and still no call from Adrian. Had he truly forgotten that he had a wife who missed him, despite all their differences? Her heart had ached long enough. Now she needed to know her fate.
A woman’s voice sounded through the other end of the line. “Wright Manufacturing. How may I direct your call?”
“I’m needing to speak to Adrian Wright, please.”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
Claire blanched at the question. She should have prepared for this a little better. “I’m calling to discuss the Callahan account.” Luckily for her, she’d remembered this customer he’d mentioned on several occasions.
“One moment, please.”
Inhaling a deep breath, Claire waited.
“This is Adrian Wright speaking.”
Her heart nearly stopped at the sound of the smooth, pleasant voice on the other end, the voice of the man she thought would love and protect her forever. For a moment, she froze in panic, scrambling for the right words.
“Adrian? It’s me, Claire.” Nervous, she cringed thinking what might happen. Would he hang up on her, or would he give her a good reason why he’d disappeared from her life with no reason or warning?
“Claire?” His vocal inflection rose to a higher pitch. “Why are you calling here?”
The nerve of asking such a question first set off a spike of indignation, followed by a round of tears pooling in her e
yes. Ruth, who’d been standing nearby for moral support, gave her an expression of dismay. She’d most likely read the hurt feelings on Claire’s face the moment she spoke into the receiver.
“I-I’m calling to see how you are. I hadn’t heard from you.” Claire took a gulp of air.
Adrian cleared his throat. “I’m fine. You?”
“Everything going well with the hats? Are you coming up with any new styles?” While she tried to sound casual, a large part of her died inside. His response what not what she wanted.
“The hats are fine. Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” Now his voice contained a twinge of irritation.
Claire sniffed as tears trickled down her cheek. “I just thought I’d ask.” Ruth gave her a sign to keep on talking, forcing a light smile and nodding for encouragement.
“Is that all?” Adrian’s voice came over the line firm and strong.
“The real reason I called is because I’m wanting to know why you left me here and when I’d be leaving?
“I really don’t have time to discuss this, Claire. I’m busy.”
Now she panicked. “I’ll do whatever you want. We can get through all this. Just please let me come home.” She lowered her voice. “They’re not very nice here, and I don’t feel safe.”
Just as those last words left her mouth, she tensed as a body brushed past. Grace looked back, her lips turned up into the same nasty smile she’d worn that morning. She turned around and kept walking. Claire closed her eyes, swearing under her breath. Of all the people she’d never want nearby to hear this conversation, Grace topped the list. No sooner than she focused her attention back on Adrian, she bristled at the series of taps on her back. Turning around, she saw Millie.
“Kiss it!” The older woman stood, holding out her doll.
“What?”
“Kiss it!” Millie thrust out the doll with more determination.
Claire placed her hand over the bottom of the receiver. “Go away. I don’t want to kiss that.”
Escape From Purgatory Page 2