I sat there and stared at the window garden with a book open on my lap. The garden was all I could bear in the parlor. There were ferns hung from the top of the window and flowers resting in jardinieres and some on stands. I had recently added the Ageratum alyssum. It was just a small white flower, but the name reminded me of the word asylum. I very much enjoyed the notion of a mad flower. At that moment, I wished I could crawl into the window-box jungle and build a little home there surrounded by insane flowers.
“I should let you know Mr. Coddington asked me to travel to St. Louis to meet some clients.”
My heart leapt at the opportunity. “Oh?” I could see my family, plead with my mother, and never return. “When are we to leave?”
“In the next few days, but I’d prefer it if you stayed here.”
A ball in my stomach sank like a rock. “What?”
He paused. “It is a real honor that he asked me. This is extremely important.” His tone sounded troubled. “I cannot let anything potentially make me look bad.”
He meant me.
“Besides, I think a trip might be too much excitement for you right now.”
I held back sheer hysterics. “What? Why?”
“How have you been feeling lately?”
Why was he asking me questions? What was he playing at? “I’ve been well.”
“You haven’t felt ill?”
“No.”
“When Margaret visited you recently…were you ill?”
I tensed. A couple weeks had gone by since Margaret’s encounter with the chair and I had yet to hear any mention of it, so I had stopped worrying about it getting back to John.
“She told her husband you didn’t seem well.”
“She caught me at a bad time, and she hasn’t visited as of late. If I were feeling poorly, I’m confident it would have passed by now.”
“Well, she told him you acted strange.”
“I’m fine.” I failed to subdue my irritation. Silence screamed in my ears until he finally spoke again.
“Actually, you have been acting a bit peculiar.”
“I’m quite well, thank you.”
“She suggested you see Walter.”
“I just told you I am not ill.”
“Maybe not ill.”
I twisted around in the chair and awkwardly perched myself on the arm to peer at him. “What are you suggesting?”
“She’s concerned for your nerves. I’m concerned, too. Traveling will only make it worse.”
I slowly returned to my proper sitting position and kept my voice calm. “I am well, and I would like to go to St. Louis and see my family.”
“I’ve spoken with Walter. He’s coming for a visit tomorrow.”
I grasped my wedding ring with two fingers and pulled up hard, not to remove it but to break it off and possibly tear off a digit in the process.
“I cannot delay this trip, and I wouldn’t feel right leaving you unattended if you are not well.”
“You are not listening. I just told you I am not ill.” I heard the tremble in my voice—did he?
“Walter’s coming tomorrow and that’s that.”
I glared angrily into the garden. A treelike lamp whose limbs curled over and clutched a dewdrop of light cast a shiny glow on broad green leaves. What would Walter conclude? What if he said I was out of my wits? I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. It was the house. It was this place. It’s not me, I told myself. It’s not me! I screamed it in my head. It’s not me! “It�s not me!”
“What?”
Oh my. I’d said that out loud.
“Emeline?”
“Nothing—I.” I gripped the book in my lap. “This book is all—it—it’s interesting.”
The shadows on the wall rose and fell. I looked at my garden again, but there was something strange, a dark spot that hadn’t been there before. Something moved. I jumped up and gasped, and the book fell to the floor.
John ran to me. “What? What?” His hands were up, ready to act.
I wanted to cling to him, hide behind him, but I didn’t. “There—there is something in the garden.”
John picked up the tree lamp next to my chair and peered into the garden. As he moved things from side to side, I swayed from side to side with him.
“There’s nothing there,” he said.
“No. I saw it.”
“You’re seeing things.”
“No, I am not. No. I saw it. There’s something in there.” My bottom lip shook.
“Perhaps you have a fever.” He touched my forehead.
I flinched. He pulled his hand back. Did he know? He reached for my head again, and I ducked.
“I’m worried, Emeline. You should rest until Walter examines you. Don’t worry about breakfast. Mrs. Schwab—”
“She doesn’t work tomorrow.”
“I’ll pay her extra. Now come with me upstairs.” He reached for my hand.
“No.” I pulled away. “No. Take me to St. Louis. Take me to St. Louis. I want to see my family.”
“Emeline.” He stepped closer. “I can’t take you anywhere like this.”
I went to the other side of the chair and gripped its arm. “No.”
“Emeline?”
The arm of the chair slithered beneath my grip. I screamed and leapt away.
John rushed toward me and grabbed me.
“No!”
He lifted me and cradled me in his arms.
“Please.” I kicked and thrashed. “Please take me to St. Louis with you. Please.”
“Do you really want your family to see you like this?”
“Yes, yes,” I whimpered. I stopped kicking and submitted to him. I didn’t want to be in the parlor anyway.
He carried me to the room and lowered me onto the bed. He pulled the bedspread over me even though I was still in my tea gown. I looked at the ceiling, letting tears slide down onto the pillow. The house had tricked me. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Twelve
May 1901
Dr. Walter Bradbridge leaned over me. I stared into his powder-blue eyes and tried to speak volumes to him without saying a word.
“It was good of you to keep her in bed, John.”
He must not have heard my eyes.
John stood a few feet behind him, spying over his shoulder.
If he said I was mad, I didn’t know what I would do. Then again, how could he not reach such a conclusion when I knew John had misconstrued the facts? It was up to me to sway him, but I was so distracted listening to them through the walls. The little girl was giggling and humming to the left, and I could sense that wicked being pacing behind the wall opposite the bed.
“Is she ill?” John paced behind Walter.
“I’m not ill,” I said.
“She doesn’t appear to be sick, but I’m afraid—well.” He straightened and spoke to John in whispers.
John’s blank expression grew concerned as he brought his hand under his chin.
He was telling him.
“What would bring this on?” John asked.
“She is still in mourning, which can take a toll, but there are a number of—”
“What?” I yelled, surprising myself with my outburst.
Both Walter and John jumped and looked at me.
Walter touched my hand. “It’s nothing to fret yourself over.”
He continued talking to John as if I couldn’t hear. I wished they would speak up.
John folded his arms. “Can I leave her in this condition?”
“You shouldn’t have to cancel. I know this is an important trip.” He situated his instruments in a black leather satchel.
John sighed. “That’s a relief.”
“I want to go,” I said.
“Emeline, I don’t think that would be wise,” Walter said.
“What condition?”
He shook his head. “Don’t you worry yourself about that.” He turned his back to me. “It might actually be best for her to be alone. The less stimu
lation the better.”
John nodded, holding his chin with one hand and an elbow with the other.
“You’ll need someone to check on her, though.”
Sounds seeped through the walls like black blood—how could they not hear it? They were so loud they drowned out their words. I watched their mouths move, but their voices no longer resonated in my ears.
Walter set his bag on the table next to the bed, and abruptly my senses returned. He spoke to me in a tone meant for a child. “I believe we are all finished here.”
My lips shook as I waited to be condemned with the diagnosis, but he said nothing more. He took hold of his bag and strode to the door. John followed. Would he not tell me? Was he to judge me to John and deny me my own sentencing? They left, and the door clacked shut.
I flung off the coverings and leapt from the bed. In nothing but my thin nightgown, I felt a slight chill as I tiptoed to the door. I put my ear to it but heard nothing but my own heart thumping. I had no choice. I turned the handle and gently opened the door a crack.
I heard John ask, “Another? When? Who?”
I peered through the crack. They were almost to the end of the hall.
“I really can’t say. She is a woman of some stature. I don’t want to risk saying. She seemed to hint at it, but I can’t be sure.”
“Did you inform Marcellus?”
“No. I’m not going to accuse anyone until I’m certain, especially not to Marcellus. He would pounce like a rabid dog.”
“I gather it’s his line of work that makes him like that,” John said.
“The way he questions these women, it’s invasive and cruel. Most are young and scared, but by the time he’s done, they’re even more damaged. He treats this like it’s a damn witch hunt. I don’t see how the police department and the circuit judge would condone such methods, especially when…well, never mind.”
“Walter? It’s just me. Client privilege.”
“I’m not sure. It could just be a rumor, but I heard he left Chicago because of his methods. Apparently, he went too far.”
“Really? That can’t be. How would he have gotten this position?”
“Mr. Coddington. They knew each other, and Mr. Coddington has more than enough influence and connections to help Marcellus acquire the position. I’m sure he thinks Marcellus’ results are worth looking over his past indiscrepancies. He always gets the dying confession.”
“What do you mean by ‘too far’?”
“I don’t know, something about forcing a signature, threatening people into confessing. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“That is serious. It can’t be true.” John continued, but they began down the stairs. I crept out the door and scurried down the hall like a sly feline. I slowed and stopped next to the room with the keeper and the dead boy. Despite the closed door, in my mind the woman rotated toward me and lifted her finger to her lips, and I heard, “Shhh.” I glanced in her direction and then focused on listening.
Walter continued, “Mr. Coddington assumes these people are petty criminals, but it’s not that simple.”
I could hear their voices become lower, and I crept after them. They had to discuss my diagnosis eventually, in John’s library, certainly. I could hide just outside the door.
“I’d say something myself, but I’m afraid Mr. Coddington’s opinion of me might make things worse,” John said. “Have you spoken to your father about it?”
“No. He’s a stubborn man. He would take my objection to how we handle it as my attempt to condone the crime. I can’t stand it, but I can’t do a thing about it.” A pause. “Another topic, St. Louis.”
“Oh. It will probably be another excuse for Mr. Coddington to berate me and it’ll give my father the opportunity to do the same. I’ll sit in on Mr. Coddington’s cases and meet Mr. Hawtrey and the GOS board.”
“Quite a respectable assignment.”
“I know. I should be honored…and I am. I know how critical these visits are for Mr. Coddington.”
They turned again, and I followed, carefully balancing my weight with each step. I expected the walls to move, but they remained still.
“You know this might be Mr. Coddington’s way of showing his approval,” Walter said.
“Does that mean I have finally earned a good report from your father?”
“I can’t confirm it.”
“Walter, you know you really helped me out with him.”
“Having lived in the man’s house, I understand how difficult he is to satisfy. I still haven’t figured out how to convince him of my value.”
“My father is the same way.”
“I have to stick by his decisions even if I disagree.”
“How’s that?”
They rounded the final turn. Quiet but swift, I crept to the last corner. They were on the ground floor and inches from John’s library.
Walter continued. “There’s new information out there, new criteria to consider, new techniques, new tools. It’s a new century, for God’s sakes. He refuses to progress.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t.”
“Not while it’s his practice and not my own.” Walter huffed. “If I tried, I’d regret it. He’d make sure of it.”
“And what of your other dilemma? Would he hear of that?”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. I couldn’t, not yet.”
“But I thought you said—”
“My mother despises every woman in this town, and when it comes to such matters, he defers to her.”
“I see.”
Walter sighed. “If she knew, she’d—I honestly don’t know what she’d do.”
“That bad?”
“That bad.”
Then I heard nothing more. They had gone into the library! Suddenly the walls contracted quick and hard. My heart leapt, and I jumped. I tried to regain my footing, tilted, and placed one foot in front of the other, but I couldn’t maintain my balance and I tripped, losing my grip on the corner. I tumbled forward with a thud, a bump, another thud, and a final slap. I landed partially on the bottom step and partially on the floor. I let out a groan and looked up to see John and Walter standing stunned directly in front of me, hand gestures frozen in place. Perhaps they hadn’t gone into the library. We all just stared at one another at first. Then the two men regained their composure and quickly dipped down to assist me. “Emeline, what happened?”
“Uh—I—” I stuttered as they lifted me off the floor, my nightgown disheveled.
“What are you doing?” John asked.
“Are you all right?” Walter asked.
“Um—forgive me.” My eyes bounced to and fro. “I—I just—”
They each held an arm, and I whipped my head back and forth, pleading with each of them.
“I just wanted—” I hesitated.
“Emeline?” John said.
“We need to get her back upstairs,” Walter said.
“What’s wrong with me?” I shouted.
They stopped, stunned again. Walter hesitated. “You just need some rest, that’s all. We should take you—”
“Please.”
Walter released my arm and stepped in front of me, putting his hands out the way lion tamers do. “Calm down, Emeline. You have overextended yourself, that’s all.”
My eyes darted from Walter to John. “I am not hysterical.” I reached out to Walter, desperate. “I’m not crazy. I’m not hysterical.”
“No, Emeline. No one is saying that,” Walter said, guiding my hand down. “You are going to be just fine. You need bed rest, no stimulation.”
“Behavior like this isn’t helping you either,” John said.
“But—I—”
“Let’s get you back upstairs.” Walter extended his hand toward the stairs, and I submitted. I had been tamed.
They left me in the room again. I squeezed my eyelids shut. They opened to tears. Why did I care what they thought? I wouldn’t be here much longer. I couldn’t go with John to St. Louis, but James
would come for me. He would come. The beast grinned at me from its dark room. James would come.
Thirteen
May 1901
Walter had condemned me to bed rest, to prolonged motionlessness. He even insisted I not visit the outhouse but use the chamber pot at all times. I had hoped Mrs. Schwab could be my primary caretaker, but John unexpectedly decided her condition made her too delicate and unreliable so he dismissed her. Instead, I would endure a parade of mortification from Margaret, Ella, and Francis. I assumed he would add Ida, and my dignity would have no hope, but instead Walter had recommended Miss Olivia Urswick. I was thrilled. I might have been locked up, but when James arrived I would be free, and this was the woman who could reveal how to survive beyond the walls of obligation.
Perhaps I could have welcomed Walter’s recommendation to rest if, after John left, the house’s modesty hadn’t deteriorated. I heard them scuffling behind closed doors. I detected scraping on the walls. I sensed the little girl skipping and twirling. I had expected such disturbances, but I had not expected beings elsewhere in the house to reach me in my room. The basement called for me to toil in its darkness. The furniture in the parlor twisted and coiled, cheering in my absence. The wolf stalked and waited for me just outside. Everything felt like a bright light stinging my eyes, but in my mind. I wondered how long until one of the furnishings would gain enough strength to open the door and seize what was left of my sanity.
I thought I could make out footsteps a few times and sat up stiff and stared at the doorknob. In the afternoon I heard the steps again, but not those of two feet. It sounded like several. A table? They were louder than the others I had heard and approached with definite intent. I shot up and drew the blanket to my chin. The doorknob jiggled. The door creaked and slowly swung open. They were really coming for me.
“Emeline?” Francis entered, Ella following.
I sighed and lowered the blanket, grateful to behold a human rather than a disgruntled love seat, but I was mortified to be seen in such a state by these two women.
“How are you?” Francis grinned.
I tried to hide my hair by pushing the tangles and waves behind my shoulders. I imagined how I looked in my disheveled nightgown, my hair hanging in tangles to my waist and my body loose without a corset.
A White Room Page 11