Claire grinned. “Mitchell, it wonderful to hear your voice. But I need help. I’ve been here for several weeks now, and I’m wondering how I’m going to get out of here.” Her eyes panned the area, landing on Grace watching her intently from the doorway of the common room. She turned her back to the nurse’s station and lowered her voice. “I can’t go into a lot of detail. Too many people around. But is there any way you can get me out of here? Could I stay with you until I think of something else? I can’t go home anymore.”
She heard nothing but Mitchell’s breathing. Her hopes sank. Claire closed her eyes and waited for an answer. If he refused to help, all hope was lost.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be, Claire. Let me see what I can come up with. First, I have to figure out how to bring this up to Adrian. Are they treating you okay there?”
Claire answered in a low voice, “This place is hell on earth. I can’t hold out much longer. I need your help.” Desperation welled up in her voice. “Mitchell, if you can’t do anything, it’ll be the death of me. You’re my only hope. No one else can help.”
“Mmm, I see.” He paused a minute. “I’ll check and see if I can get you back home or somewhere else. I still can’t understand why he would do something like this. Honestly, getting him to make much sense these days is hard.”
“I believe you. I don’t know why he put me here, either. What’s he doing with you?”
“I can’t go into detail right now, for the same reason you can’t talk because of where you are. Hold on a bit. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Claire breathed easier now. “You don’t know what this means to me, Mitchell.”
“Think nothing of it. You’re a nice lady, and you’ve been kind to me.”
A loud knock sounded in the background. Claire tensed. Was Adrian knocking?
“I’ve gotta hang up. Talk to you soon,” Mitchell whispered. Click, the line went dead.
Claire placed the receiver back in the cradle, basking in a small sense of relief. She pushed the phone back to Anne. “It was a good talk. Glad I called.”
Anne placed phone behind the counter. “I’m so glad to hear that. You know, Mrs. Wright, sometimes help comes from people you’d expect the least.”
With a smile, Claire turned away and headed into the common room. She sat down in the rocker Ruth had reserved for her, and told her friend about the conversation.
“You’re lucky there. Not many of us feel happy after a phone call. I’ve given up.” Ruth stared out the window a good long while before she spoke again. “Claire, if you can ever find a way out of here, do it.”
Chapter Six
The kitchen pulsed with a life of its own, filled with whirring sounds from electric mixers, pots and pans clanging against metal wracks, and the hum of idle chatter interrupted by occasional shouts for assistance, and sharp commands from Liza, who supervised everything with the eyes of a hawk. Sitting at a metal table in the back corner of the room, Claire absorbed the scene around her as she peeled a large bowl of potatoes Her hands moved like an automaton, a rote task filling the time while she listened to the dialogue speeding from one person to the next.
Situated off the back side of the asylum, the cooking area reflected a less obtrusive atmosphere, and an abnormal lingering calm. The near congenial nature of it hit the senses hard when removed from the chaotic life on the wards. In the kitchen, frenetic movements of staff and culinary tools fell into a certain order and rhythm, a unified effort to get a job done.
In this tucked-away, shadowy world of the unseen, Claire re-acquainted herself with sanity again, coming alive as revitalization washed over her. She needed a safe harbor, a place for healing and licking her wounds. As luck would have it, she’d reached some semblance of a promised land at last.
“You okay back here?”
“Huh?” Claire stopped peeling for a moment, startled by the booming voice. Liza stood in front, scouting out the table, head thrown forward, eyes darting from knife to bowl. Her large frame and direct manner scared most people, but she and Claire took an immediate liking to each other, with Liza being anything but gruff when they spoke.
“Yep, you seem like you’re on it today, just like last week when you first came down here. Doin’ real good.”
Claire smiled. “Thank you. I always do my best.”
Liza turned and glared at two staff members squabbling across the room. “Knock it off over there, or I’ll bust some heads if I have to.” She shook her head and stared back at Claire with a much kinder face. “Lord, I wish I had twenty more of you. I’d be set, then. No problems, work would get done, and no one giving me fits.”
“Like I said, I always work hard. Besides, I like it down here.”
“Bet you do, honey. It’s crazy up there. Hope I don’t end up in one of those wards, but with these shenanigans down here, I’m liable to.” Liza smiled at Claire. “Miss Greta did a real fine job picking you to come work in here. I told her, ‘I want the best pick of the litter.’ And she up and brought you.”
“Do you need me to do anything else? I’ll be finished with these potatoes in a few minutes. I can peel faster, if you like.”
“I’ll need you to come with me so we can get some meat from the slaughter house. They’re runnin’ a little slow today, so we’ll get the cart and load up. Then we’ll go to the dairy barn and bring back some cans of milk. I don’t know which are bigger slowpokes, the killers or the milkers. Either way, we’ll starve if we don’t get on ’em.”
Excited, Claire concentrated on peeling faster. This news rang sweet in her ears. She’d never followed anyone outside from the kitchen. Did she dare ask if they’d be using the tunnels? Her thoughts turned back to Mitchell. Three weeks had passed, and still no return phone call. Had he dropped the whole matter of helping her?
She’d appreciated the few blessings that slipped her way. All she knew was an opportunity for fresh information loomed ahead, one she planned on adding to her arsenal of knowledge. Knowledge, like how the privately owned back field she saw from the sewing room window lined up squarely against the asylum’s property, and how the woods on the asylum grounds ran parallel to that field. If one continued a path in the woods and kept the field to their right, the main road lay to the left. Continuing on the main road would lead one back to town. If she could reach the field or woods, she knew the two-mile walk to town, where real civilization lived, was a possible task.
If it took miles of walking, camping out in the rain or heat, she’d do it. Other than a catastrophe of nature, she’d stop at nothing to leave Hatchie River and forget it entirely. But some images she’d never forget, no matter how much time had passed. They’d branded themselves inside her head and her heart. Unlike Ruth, she didn’t fear the outside world, the people in it, or making decisions. In the outside world, one could run far away—and hide.
Trapped inside brick walls, bullied by real breathing demons scared her. Foul men with lewd minds and hot, eager loins scared her. Never knowing when someone was coming after you, ready to strike, scared her. Predictable unpredictability, knowing nothing would ever change, thus turning your brain into a useless grey mass scared her. Becoming so numb to life that you were certain you’d never feel anything ever again scared her most of all. No, the world outside didn’t frighten her. Even its unpredictable nature could be borne with the help of good family and friends, people who talked to you and really listened, ones who believed in the virtues of helping another.
Had Mitchell, like Adrian, lost his sense of morality, all sense of charity, turning a blind eye to the virtues of helping or caring about someone? Did Mitchell ever have a shred of this emotion every Christian church called compassion? She thought Adrian had all of this, but it seemed that the business and the drive to produce great merchandise had killed something in him. She’d started to see it a little before she’d become pregnant with the first baby. Maybe the same drive and trappings of being number one had ensnared Mitchell.
&nbs
p; “You ready, gal?” Liza had slipped up to the table, pounding the top lightly with her hands. “You look mighty thoughtful there, peeling those things like your life depended on it. What do you think about when you work like that?”
Claire shrugged. “Nothing much. I just sort of let my mind wander.”
“Finish those last two in the bowl, and we’ll go. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Several minutes later, she called out from across the room. “Come on, Mrs. Wright. I’m ready.”
Liza and Claire exited the kitchen and headed down the hall to a side door. “We’ll be using the tunnels. It’s quick and easy. The best part, no one gets in your way.” Claire’s heart pounded with excitement. These were the words she wanted to hear.
The ladies made their way down the steps. When they reached the bottom, Claire immediately knew there was no other way out, other than to turn and follow the hallway all the way down to the end. At least this exit seemed easy enough if she ever needed it.
“Liza, tell me about the tunnels. I’ve heard of servant passageways from books I’ve read.”
The older lady kept her pace. “These tunnels are the same way. They just let us come and go easier without dodging people.”
“I guess they get used a lot, then?” Claire picked up her speed to keep up.
“We use ’em every day, all the time. We’ll put our supplies into the elevator so we can send everything up to the kitchen. That way, we don’t have to haul anything upstairs.”
Claire almost decided against asking more about the tunnels, but curiosity and desperation overshadowed prudence. “Is this the only tunnel, or are there more?”
“Yep. They all run the length of the building, from front to back.” Liza glanced at Claire, a quizzical look on her face.
Viewing her supervisor out of the corner of her eye, Claire picked up the pace even more. She kept her eyes focused forward. If she looked Liza square in the face, she risked giving herself away.
Liza continued. “As you know we keep doors locked around here for safety. Don’t need anyone wandering around anywhere. This building’s nearly a hundred years old. Parts of it aren’t even used much anymore. You get a crazy person traipsing through these old halls and rooms, nobody’d ever find ’em.”
“That would make sense. I couldn’t imagine being alone in parts of this place. Too spooky, if you ask me. The wards aren’t always the most pleasant place, but at least you’re accounted for.” The heat of anxiety painted a pink flush on Claire’s face, and she prayed they’d reached the end of the tunnel soon.
Liza slowed her pace just a little and lowered her voice. “You know what else has happened?”
At this point, Claire turned her eyes toward the older lady. “No, what?”
“People have died in the field out back, the one that joins the back part of our land.”
“I think I’ve seen it before.” Ahead in the distance, Claire saw a metal door and breathed a sigh of relief. They’d soon be outside picking up food, and hopefully the discourse over tunnels would bear itself out. In silence, she cursed herself for bringing up the subject in the first place.
The ladies had reached the door. Instead of opening it, Liza faced Claire. “Like I was saying, people die in that field. The crazies who manage to get back there get all confused, don’t have enough sense to find their way back, and they starve to death. I know this because I’ve heard it told that the owner comes and reports it when he’s found them.”
Dumbfounded, Claire stood blinking at Liza. The thought had never occurred to her of someone losing their way and dying in a field, especially so close to the asylum. “How big is that field, anyway?”
“Bigger than we probably care to know. Like I said, it don’t pay to go running off around here when you don’t know your head from a hole in the ground.” Liza pulled out some keys, unlocked the door, and both ladies filed out into the sunshine.
The bright light blinded Claire, and she shielded her eyes. Though the air had diminished in temperature, the humidity insisted on lingering with the persistence it always did this time of year.
“Let’s go over here and well get a couple of carts.” Liza led the way to a small storage area, opened the door and pulled out two medium-sized wooden carts. “You take one, and I’ll take the other. We’ll head over to the dairy barn first. You’ll carry the milk in your cart, and I’ll carry the meat in mine.”
“That sounds like a good idea to me.” Claire grinned. For the moment, she’d forgotten her status as a patient. The idea of being a team with someone brought out the old sense of pride she used to have when she and Adrian talked about the hatting business, when he’d ask her what she thought of his latest style, and how she liked the hat once he’d made the prototype. A fresh sadness loomed over her, threatening to overshadow the sun itself. Would she ever be a team with someone anymore, someone who valued what she thought, how she felt? She tugged the cart, and away she went, following a few paces behind Liza.
The exit from the door led the women several yards past the garden where Claire and Ruth worked with the other women. Claire saw the last rows when she viewed her surroundings from the right. The old shed where Millie spent some of her ill-fated time had remained hidden from the present angle. Though Claire couldn’t readily see it, she knew it was there, ready and waiting for the next vulgar scene. To her left, she spotted the edge of the woods, thick with trees and underbrush. Those woods called out to her, with promises to help if she ran away. Yes, someone could hide without much difficulty within the dense leaves and behind large tree trunks.
Her eyes followed an imaginary path leading down to the main road. If she could make a beeline for the woods and follow the road as a guide, the walk into town might be achieved with no one seeing her. Better yet, she’d be able to walk the length of those woods until she reached the first house marking the entrance to the residential section. In her mind, she saw the green lawns with homes standing tall and proud, some fronted with large white columns, while others flirted with steep rooflines, arched windows, and gingerbread porches. One of those homes belonged to her, a charming gothic-style cottage on the corner of Fifth and Abercrombie Street. Mitchell lived in a neat bungalow house on Watkins Avenue, five streets opposite Claire’s house. If she marched into town at dusk, she’d reach his home first.
Cradled in the midst of the residential section, three streets held the heart of Ash Grove, where the lifeblood of the town flowed with the activities highlighting a steady, vibrant commerce filled with merchants and services.
If she continued through town, her steps would lead to Market Street, where small factories and manufacturing buildings, including Adrian’s, lined the back part of town, close enough for convenience yet far enough out of view. Market street led the way out of Ash Grove and on to the big city of Memphis. And everyone knew if you wanted to leave West Tennessee, Memphis Union Station held the torch to the promise land of other towns and cities far away from Ash Grove. How long would it take to reach Memphis?
Claire eyes misted over. She wanted to go back to town, to the homes—to her home—and to the shops where people talked, laughed, and shared secrets. She wanted to eat at the diners again, and listen to the young girls, on the precipice of their lives, as they lamented over broken hearts while sharing a milkshake with their best girlfriend. She wanted to wander into the shops, smell the scent of new merchandise and polished floors, while selecting new shoes or pondering the benefits of the latest kitchen mixer and whether or not she really needed a new one.
She yearned for that life, to dip her foot back into the stream of the living before letting herself sink easily into the routine and happiness she once knew. Yes, returning home lay within her grasp. Just head for the woods, reach the main street, and walk straight on until she found her way to . . .
“Mrs. Wright, you need to pick it up a bit. You’re laggin’ behind, gal!” Liza had stopped, placing a hand on her hip while she waited.
“Sorry
, I’m coming, right behind you.” Claire picked up her feet and pulled the cart at a jaunty speed until she reached her supervisor.
Liza clicked her tongue. “Goodness, I hope you’re not picking up some of those bad habits like the other ones have. I had faith in you. Don’t disappoint me, now.” The lady grinned and started walking again. Claire turned her face toward the woods one last time before concentrating fully on the task at hand.
The dairy barn held the smell of cow pies and dirt. Liza and Claire had stepped with caution through muddy spots, sometimes making a small jump over a puddle, to reach the entrance. Inside, several men tended the cows. Fascinated, Claire watched as men sat patiently on stools, working the udders with nimble fingers. Milk landed into tin pails with a rhythmic tinkle. Sometimes a cow let out a low moo. A light breeze blew through the windows, stirring up a fresh round of animal and waste odors. If she thought the sewing room and kitchen were interesting places to work, what about the barn? Claire imagined sitting on a stool, squeezing udders all day. But she’d never have the strength for lifting heavy containers of milk.
“Would you like to give it a try?”
“Huh?” Claire blinked and stared down at a pleasant-looking young man dressed in overalls.
The man smiled and offered again. “You seem a mite bit interested in cow milking, so I just asked if you wanted to give old Betsy here a squeeze. Ever do this before?”
“Oh, go on Mrs. Wright. We have a little time.” Liza strolled up behind Claire, gently pushing her toward the stool. The man stopped milking and stood up. Claire took his spot next to the cow that craned its neck in the direction of the voices.
“I’ve never done this before.” Nervous, Claire sat on the stool and turned her eyes up to the man. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt her.”
“No, go ahead, like this.” The gentleman took her hands, placed them in the appropriate place, and said, “Now squeeze, like you mean it. I won’t hurt her.” He smiled with encouragement, with Liza looking on.
Escape From Purgatory Page 6