by Joanna Shupe
Drawing in a deep breath for courage, she stepped forward. The judge took his seat in front, Frank giving her a bold wink as he settled as well.
You can do this, she told herself. Just as you practiced.
“I am Mrs. Oliver Hawkes. My husband is a kind and intelligent man—”
“And crazy as a loon,” she heard someone mutter.
“That is enough,” the judge snapped and shot to his feet. “There will be no talking from any members of the crowd or I shall clear the room. Your presence here is tolerated only through my benevolence over a request from the scientific community. Do not give me cause to regret it.”
Silence descended and the judge gestured at Christina. “Forgive me, Mrs. Hawkes. Proceed, please.”
Fingers shaking, she whipped off the cloth covering Oliver’s invention. “Here we have the hearing device, comprised of a battery—”
“Speak up!” a voice in the back shouted.
Frank gave her a reassuring nod. Clearing her throat, she started again. “Here we have the hearing device, comprised of a battery, an earpiece, and a microphone.” She paused and pointed to the microphone. “This is a carbon microphone, which has two metal plates inside separated by granules of carbon. When we add current from the battery, sound waves will strike the plates, vibrating them, and pressure builds in the granules to create resistance. This modulation of the current reproduces the sound waves in these wires.”
She took a breath. “At the end of the wires is a speaker one holds up to his or her ear.”
The men from Edison’s laboratory began to murmur amongst themselves. The judge turned around and must have given them a quelling glance because they quickly fell silent. When the room quieted, the judge asked Christina, “Yes, but does it work, Mrs. Hawkes?”
“Yes, it does.” Not only had Oliver shown her how it operated, she and Frank had also tested it together. “Would you care to listen?”
“I hardly see how that would be a fair test.” The judge rose and went over to an older woman in the front row. He helped her to her feet and then led her closer, until she stood next to Christina. “I have asked my neighbor’s aunt to come here for the purpose of a demonstration,” the judge said. “This is Mrs. Peterson and she has lost nearly all of the hearing in both ears. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to demonstrate the device on her.”
Christina had no choice. Besides, who better to demonstrate with than precisely the type of person who would benefit from such an invention? Frank dipped his chin as if he had read her mind and agreed with her. Heart pounding a riot in her chest, she met the judge’s keen gaze. “Of course.”
She faced the woman. “Mrs. Peterson, I shall repeat three numbers.” The woman watched Christina’s mouth carefully, as Oliver did, and Christina knew the woman was reading her lips. “If you are able to hear me then please call the numbers out. Do you understand?” The woman nodded and Christina moved a short distance away. She turned, giving Mrs. Peterson her back.
“Forty-five. Eighty-three. One hundred-and-two.”
She spun toward Mrs. Peterson. “What three numbers did you hear?”
The older woman’s face tightened, brows knitting as she concentrated. “Five. One. And . . . I don’t know. I could not make out the last number.”
Christina switched on the large battery and handed Mrs. Peterson the earpiece, instructing the woman to put it up to her ear. She presented her back once more, speaking near the microphone but not directly in it, and repeated the numbers. Mrs. Peterson gasped, her expression full of wonder. “I heard all of them. Forty-five. Eighty-three. And one hundred-and-two.” She put a hand over her mouth, eyes glistening as if she might cry. “I have not heard that well in over twenty-three years. That is remarkable.”
Christina swelled with pride for Oliver and his invention. He would have been so pleased to see Mrs. Peterson’s reaction.
The judge thanked Mrs. Peterson and then addressed Christina. “I see that the hearing device works, yet I understand your husband has not applied for a patent, nor has he tried to sell the device. Why?”
“He believes it is too expensive. In its current form, the device would cost around four hundred dollars.” A murmur went through the crowd at the large figure but she ignored it, keeping her focus only on the judge. “He has been trying to make a smaller, more portable battery for the last year. He hopes to bring the cost down and to ensure the device is easier to use in everyday life.”
The judge stroked his chin and concentrated on the device, while conversation broke out in earnest throughout the room. Now feeling awkward, Christina had no idea what to do with herself. She edged toward the side of the room, not sitting in case there were more questions, but ready to have the device replace her as the center of attention.
“Making a battery!” a loud voice scoffed in the rear. A man stood—and she inhaled sharply. Milton. He was actually here. She could not believe the worm had the gall to attend today’s demonstration. He sneered at the crowd. “Oliver Hawkes is no scientist or engineer. He never even graduated from a college and now resides in an asylum. And you want us to believe he has been able to produce this invention just like that?” He snapped his fingers.
The roots of her hair tingled with fury, anger washing over her like a giant wave. She could not believe he dared to influence the proceedings like this. Was this legal? “He has been working on this for years,” she shouted at him, raw emotion making her words sharp as knives. “He is intelligent and decent, someone interested in helping others. He wants to aid those with diminished hearing to better communicate. What have you ever done in your miserable life but live off his money and cause trouble?”
Her tirade did not gain her shock or censure from the crowd; rather, all heads swung toward Milton. A flush spread over his skin and he shook a fist at her. “How dare you speak of things you do not understand, you harpy? You are just as mad as your husband!”
“That is enough,” the judge said. “Mr. Hawkes, you were specifically prohibited from attending today. But seeing as how you did, let me be the first one to share the news. Based on the successful demonstration of this device, I have made my decision: Oliver Hawkes is not insane. I hereby order him to be released.”
Applause and chatter overtook the room, including Milton shouting from somewhere in the back, but Christina paid no attention. She sagged against the wall in relief, her knees nearly buckling. They had done it. Oliver would come home. Frank hurried toward the judge, papers and pen in hand. Oliver’s attorney had been ready with release papers all along.
When Frank finished with the judge, he came straight to her. “You were wonderful. I could not have done it better myself.”
“Thank you, but I never could have managed this without your help and encouragement.”
“You deserve the credit, Christina. I am quite grateful—and I know Oliver will feel the same.”
Her cheeks grew hot under his praise but she did not argue. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was stronger than she’d thought. “Let’s go fetch my husband.”
Oliver stared at the suit of clothes on his bed. What did this mean? Dare he hope?
He turned to ask but the guards had already left, so he began to dress slowly, his injured body still recovering from the attack four days ago. It felt strange to put on real clothes instead of the coarse outfit he had been issued at the asylum.
As he finished buttoning his vest, the doctor strolled into the room. Oliver tensed. This was the same man who’d ordered the plunging bath, the one who had not bothered to assess Oliver before committing him. Oliver shrugged into his coat and said nothing.
“Mr. Hawkes, you are looking well.” The doctor ensured that Oliver could see his mouth clearly as he spoke. “I wished to have a word, if you do not mind.”
Had he a choice? Within these walls, the doctor held all the power. No way would Oliver risk another trip to the cold bath or a beating. He gave one short nod.
The doctor clasped his hands beh
ind his back, all smiles. “We see quite a number of patients admitted here and we do our best during the screening process. It is not a perfect system, however. I do hope you understand.”
Oliver did not understand. How could a doctor—someone sworn to heal his fellow man—condemn a patient to such a horrific fate without a proper evaluation? “Why are you telling me this?”
“I am pleased to say we have reevaluated the merits of your case and you are being released today.”
The relief nearly knocked Oliver over. He bent at the waist and braced his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths despite his aching ribs. Oh, thank Christ. He was leaving.
When he straightened, he saw the doctor was speaking. “. . . attorney is here, ready to take you home when you have collected yourself.”
“I am ready.” Oliver did not wish to spend one second longer here than absolutely necessary.
“Excellent. Shall we?” The doctor gestured to the door and the two started the trek down the long corridor.
It was bizarre to wear his clothes again and navigate the building on his own, without looking over his shoulder for a guard or another inmate. Part of him worried this was some kind of prank, that the guards would snatch him at the last minute and drag him back inside. His muscles remained ready, on edge, as he followed the doctor through the building.
When they rounded the last corner, Frank Tripp came into view, the lawyer pacing the length of the main entrance hall. At Oliver’s approach Frank visibly relaxed. “Oliver, thank God.”
The attorney strode right up to Oliver and did not hesitate before embracing him. Oliver’s ribs protested but he remained silent. “Good to see you, my friend,” Frank said when he stepped back.
“You, too. Shall we go?” The outer door was right there, the dying afternoon light a gray cloud through the glass. Still, the outside world had never looked so good to Oliver. The sooner they left, the better.
Frank started for the door, but the doctor put a palm up to stop Oliver’s escape. “I wish you well, Mr. Hawkes.” The doctor held out his hand. Desperate to get it over with, Oliver quickly shook the man’s hand.
The doctor studied Oliver’s face. “I trust we shall have no issues once you leave us?”
The other man’s motives were as obvious as daylight. He was worried Oliver would raise a ruckus about the treatment patients endured inside the facility. Oliver hadn’t a clue what he would do yet about that, but he knew better than to promise anything. “Good-bye, Doctor.”
Frank led the way outside where two broughams waited at the curb. Oliver could barely restrain himself from running toward the vehicles. Part of him was still worried this opportunity would be stripped away and he’d be sent back inside. Only once they were far from here would he actually believe he’d been granted his freedom.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. The door to the first brougham opened. Christina emerged, her foot on the top step as her gaze swept the length of him, and everything else ground to a halt. He became aware of every breath, every blink. The whisper of the cold breeze over his skin. Dash it, she was just as perfect as he remembered, and heat washed over him as he drank in the sight of her. She was his refuge, his light, and he needed to touch her, now.
He started toward her, not even bothering to look back at Frank. “Oliver,” her lips formed, relief and happiness in her eyes. He felt like falling at her feet in gratitude; perhaps he would once they were safely away from Wards Island.
Frank clapped him on the shoulder, gaining his attention. “That carriage is for you and your wife. I shall take this one. Enjoy your freedom, Oliver.”
Anxious to get to Christina, Oliver shook Frank’s hand. “Thank you for everything. I owe you.”
“You are welcome. And do not worry—I will bill you. Go, be with your wife.”
Wife. He never thought he would see her again. Spinning, he hurried to the other carriage and gingerly climbed inside. When he shut the door, Christina launched herself at him. He caught her before she crashed into him, his body aching. The carriage began moving as he took his wife’s face in his hands. “God, I have missed you.”
She pressed forward and joined her mouth to his. He needed a proper bath and to clean his teeth. A decent night’s sleep and a nourishing meal. None of that mattered right now, however, not when he had Christina in his arms for the first time in over a week. He kissed her hard, his mouth greedy, a starving man who had gone months without food.
The wheels bumped and shook, but neither of them noticed. As he often did with Christina, Oliver felt as though he were falling, his brain dizzy with want of this woman. He was not even worried about doing anything more than this; he simply needed the connection to her. She was the air he’d been missing for eight days.
Moisture gathered in his eyes, the terror finally subsiding to allow relief and happiness in, and he broke off to rest his forehead against hers. “I never thought I would see you again.”
She angled away so he could see her mouth, her fingertips lightly sweeping the bruises on his face. “Are you all right? I have been so worried about you, and then Frank said you had been attacked—”
Damn Frank for worrying her. “I am fine. A bit sore but healing quickly.”
“Will you tell me what happened to you in there?”
God, no. He did not wish to relive it and the truth would only upset her. However, if he decided to speak about his experience in the hopes of helping others, she would hear the details then. He would need to tell her privately, prepare her. “Yes, but not now. I would rather forget it for a little while. How is Sarah?”
“Missing her brother. I tried to distract her from your absence as much as possible. She is getting quite proficient at archery.”
He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for that. I am very grateful to have you in my life.”
“I am happy to hear it, considering you were planning to divorce me.”
Ah, yes. That. “Only if committed for life. You deserve better than a husband locked away in a madhouse.”
Her frown deepened. “I would prefer if you allowed me to decide my future and what I deserve. You told me you loved me, yet you tried to cast me aside the second circumstances grew difficult.”
“I do love you, which is why I would never force you to remain married to a lunatic.”
Her palm cradled his jaw. “You are not a lunatic. You are strong and intelligent, the best man I have ever encountered.”
His heart swelled with a rush of emotion so swift that it stole his breath. “I only want the best for you, even if that means letting you go. But I never wanted to let you go, Christina. I do not want to spend one moment apart for the rest of our lives if I am able to help it.”
“Nor do I, but you do not get to decide alone,” she said. “My parents did as much to me for years, Oliver. I never had a say in my own fate. In order for this to work between us you must allow me to participate in the decisions affecting my life.”
The words were a lance through his chest. How had he forgotten this? Of course she should have input into decisions affecting her, affecting them. She had been drowning for years under her parents’ care because she hadn’t been allowed to voice her thoughts and opinions. She had been made to feel as if she did not matter. Now he had done the exact same thing—twice. “I apologize. I should have known better and talked to you instead. Forgive me?”
Her lips curled. “Forgiven, as long as you never do it again.”
“I swear I will consult you on everything from now on, including what I promised myself if I was released.”
“And what was that?”
“The only way Milton succeeded in having me committed was because I had hidden away from the world for so long. You helped me see how isolated I had been, how cynical I had grown. I do not want to be that man any longer. I want to show you the city and take you to the ocean.” He kissed her lips swiftly then broke apart. “Shopping and walks in the p
ark. I want to do everything with you.”
She squeezed his hand, her smile full of affection. “I would like that, Oliver.”
His lungs filled with happiness. As much as he longed to kiss her, however, he had to know what happened. “Was there a rehearing?”
She blinked a few times. “No one told you? Not Frank or the hospital staff?”
“No. They said I could leave and I did not exactly stand around to chat.”
“The judge insisted on a demonstration of your hearing device to ascertain whether it worked—”
“Of course it works.”
“Yes, we know that. However, the judge wanted the device demonstrated so there could be no doubt as to your mental faculties. A room full of people today saw your device applied . . . and it succeeded with flying colors.”
He could not complain—the demonstration had gained his release, after all—but he would have loved to have been there and seen the demonstration. “A room full of people? Who was there, exactly?”
“The judge, Frank, and myself. Also, the judge’s neighbor who has hearing loss was there as the test subject. The rest were onlookers and busybodies. Milton attended but the judge threw him out.”
“Good.” His cousin deserved a hell of a lot more, which Oliver would see to tomorrow. “Who were these onlookers and busybodies?”
“Men from Edison’s lab, Frank said. Not certain who else.”
Disappointment sank in his stomach. Dash it. No use worrying about a patent now. Edison’s men would take his ideas and run with them. He should not complain. As long as the hearing impaired received the invention, who cared who was responsible? “And who performed this demonstration?”