Secrets of the Asylum

by Linda Hughes

  They refused, however, to become involved with unscrupulous people or nefarious plots. Abby feared that was why they refused to communicate with her about Lizzie and Harry.

  They also refused self-centered, insufferably boring people, like that Nola from a few days earlier. Oh, they would answer stupid questions, alright, but with glib and stupid answers that she didn’t dare repeat. Like the time the unattractive teenager wanted to know if she should go to Hollywood to become a movie star. The ancestor said of course, the girl had the same chance of being a star as the ancestor had of making it to the silver screen. Abby could swear those ancestor spirits entertained themselves with some of the people who came her way.

  Stoking the fire one last time for the night to invite a little heat into the room, she put up the poker, laid her shawl on the rocker, and yawned broadly.

  “Dang it, did they really have to get me out of bed for that? As if I didn’t already know…”

  Abby went back to bed. Cuddled under the cozy pile of quilts she’d hand stitched herself, she closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.

  Her dreams consisted of a wedding someday for Hannah and Herbert, a new friend in Meg, and chocolate kisses.

  25

  Elizabeth opened her door to a mirror image of herself seventeen years earlier. Except she would never have allowed herself to look so drab.

  “Hello, mother,” the young woman said.

  “Hello, Meg. Do come in.” She swept her arm in an invitation to enter her room.

  Her daughter walked to the center of the room and turned a full circle. “My,” she said, “you have a beautiful place here. It’s so lovely.” She touched the back of the chaise lounge, but quickly withdrew her hand.

  Elizabeth could see that Meg felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to expect or what was expected of her. To keep the conversation innocuous and hopefully put the girl at ease, Elizabeth looked around herself. “Yes, it surprises most people. They think that everyone in an asylum lives like an animal.”

  “Did you paint this picture?” Meg asked about a whimsical rendering of the asylum sheep on the wall above her bed. Meg stepped closer to look at it. “It’s wonderful!”

  “Thank you. I love painting farm animals. Actually, I love painting anything. I always say this one helps me count sheep at night.

  “Here, let’s sit at the table.” Elizabeth pulled out two of the carved wood Victorian chairs with purple velvet padded seats and motioned to one. After Meg was seated, she sat down, too. “I’ve had them bring tea. May I pour you a cup?”

  “Yes, that would be lovely.”

  Two Blue Willow tea cups with matching saucers sat on the table, with a Ceylon tea bag in each one. Elizabeth proceeded to pour steaming hot water into the cups from her sterling silver teapot, the one with an accompanying silver tray.

  “Herbert makes sure I have all of the comforts I want, like this tea set. The nurse on this floor brings me hot water whenever I want. Isn’t that nice of her? Of course, I know it’s because Herbert pays an arm and a leg for them to take good care of me.

  “Do you take sugar or cream?” She motioned toward a crystal cream and sugar set next to the tray.

  “No, thank you,” her daughter said.

  “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Meg?” Elizabeth hated trifling repartee but knew it was expected in situations like this. She’d once been a master of “boring banter,” as she’d thought of it, during dinner parties as a married woman. Make a benign statement, take a sip of your drink, pretend to listen, make another benign statement, and repeat the process ad nauseum.

  “You look well,” she said, and took a sip of her tea. Of course, she didn’t think the girl looked well at all. But what else could she say?

  “Thank you. It’s good to be home.”

  “Of course, I heard about your breakup in Chicago. That man sounds like a perfect jackass.” Although, she could see that if a man wanted a little excitement in his life, this girl wouldn’t be it. She realized she’d hoped for just that with this visit: a young woman with city flare, flamboyant clothes, good jewelry, and fancy makeup. Maybe even smoking a cigarette in one of those long black cigarette holders she’d seen in magazines. Well, none of that fantasy had come true. Her daughter wore a plain black dress and hideous gray shawl, and no makeup or jewelry. She looked atrocious.

  “Yes, the breakup was difficult. But I’m doing okay now,” Meg said.

  “Um,” Meg hemmed, “I’m sure father told you your parents left me their townhouse in Chicago. I’ve lived there for the last three years. I’m so grateful for their generosity.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t suppress an indignant huff. “Thank your father. He bought it for them under the condition they make our children their beneficiaries. They were in such dire straits at the time I met your father he bought them that place.” The wry smirk felt just right on her face. “Without him, they would have ended up in the poorhouse. Or maybe in a place like this.” She fluttered her hand around to indicate the asylum.

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” Meg murmured.

  The younger version of Elizabeth looked out the window into the dark of night, causing Elizabeth to think, She’s contemplating telling me something else, something revealing, but doesn’t know me well enough. However, I am her mother, after all. She’s in a quandary. She wonders if telling me will bring us closer together, as if that would ever happen.

  “I… I’m glad to see that you’re comfortable,” Meg said, veering away from anything too personal. “I didn’t know father had arranged all of this. I had all sorts of pictures in my head.”

  Elizabeth pulled the tea bag out of her cup and placed it on the saucer, and her daughter followed suit. Looking over the rim of her cup as she sipped, the mother took a long, measured look at this person who was her very own child.

  She set her cup down. “I see that you’re confused. Relax, Meg. You’re sitting on the edge of your seat. You expected me to be miserable. Is that why you wanted to see me?”

  Tension visibly dissipated from Meg’s body as she sat back in her chair. Still, she took a long drink before answering. “Yes, I suppose that was part of it. I…. I wanted to know that and I also wondered…” She trailed off, obviously afraid to say what she wanted to say.

  Not only did she look dull, she was afraid to speak up. How tedious, Elizabeth mused. She drank more tea to keep herself from filling in the tiresome gaps in the conversation.

  “I’ve always wondered why father had you brought to this place.” Meg finally spit it out.

  “Ah, I see. You’re wondering if I’m truly insane. The doctors say I am.” Elizabeth took another sip.

  “But, mother… May I call you mother?”

  Elizabeth fought to keep from cringing. “If you wish,” she said, knowing that was the least of what would be expected of her. She didn’t want to cause a rift with this young woman. She didn’t want her to feel as though they had problems to “resolve” together. There couldn’t possibly be anything more tedious than that.

  “Tell me more about what it’s like to be here,” Meg said. “Obviously, it’s not what I expected.”

  Elizabeth enjoyed talking about the farm and the good food provided from their own bounty. She also described the excitement of chapel on Sundays. She told Meg that Herbert came once a month and Hannah brought her anything she’d told Herbert she wanted. She confessed that she liked Hannah. Her funny stories about some of the other residents got Meg laughing and the mood lightened considerably, thank goodness.

  She ended with, “And there really isn’t much more to tell about living here. I’m happy here.”

  Meg said, “I’m so glad.

  “But, mother, there’s one more thing I need to ask.”

  Elizabeth could see that her daughter had loosened up enough to get to the crux of what was on her mind. This was getting a bit interesting. The girl might not be so insipid after all.

  Meg said, “I guess it’s partly because I just turne
d twenty-one and feel more grown-up now, but I’ve been thinking about this for some time. I wonder if father had you put in here and declared insane just to do what a lot of men do: to get a wife out of the way.”

  Ah, so Meg was starting to think things through and speculate. Well, Elizabeth was determined to make her think it all the way through.

  “‘Get a wife out of the way’ for what?” Elizabeth asked mischievously.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t put it very well. But sometimes men want to be single or to even have a… another woman.”

  “You mean a mistress? I’m sure there are men who do have their wives committed for that reason. In fact, my neighbor here has an unscrupulous husband. But your father isn’t one of them. We may have been unhappily married, if that’s what you’ve heard — and, yes, I was miserable — but one thing I can say about your father is that he’s an honorable man. He had me brought here because he genuinely thought I was out of my mind after the loss of your little brother. I don’t fault him for that.

  “Do I think I’m crazy? Ha! No more so than any other living soul out there walking the streets. The difference is once I was put in here I started to like it. Oh, I screamed bloody murder at first but when I realized being in here gave me more freedom than living with a man I don’t love, I settled in. Now it’s my home. Best of all, I have all the time I want to paint.

  “Would you like to see some more of my paintings?”

  “Oh. Um, sure.”

  Elizabeth gulped down the last of her tea before it got cold and, again, her daughter copied her. She got up, took a lantern, and led Meg into her studio.

  “Oh, my! Mother! There are so many. They’re so beautiful. Look at this one!” She pointed to Elizabeth’s most recent completed piece of Traverse the cow. “And this one!” Meg pointed to lilacs in bloom, and then roamed from canvas to canvas, marveling at the breadth of work. “You must have fifty paintings in this room alone.”

  The room exploded with Elizabeth’s artwork, every inch of wall space covered. Even more sat stacked on the floor, leaning against the walls.

  Elizabeth nonchalantly fingered a few of her precious creations and said, “I don’t know. I just know I like to paint them.”

  After another fifteen minutes of fawning over her mother’s work, Meg announced that she’d better keep track of the time, as Petunia would probably be here soon to pick her up. A knock on the door proved her right.

  At the door, Elizabeth realized that Meg expected some sign of affection. It wouldn’t hurt her to offer a hug, she supposed, but her daughter didn’t make a move so neither did she. Meg merely wrapped her ugly shawl tightly around her shoulders and said, “Goodbye.”

  Once her daughter was gone, Elizabeth wondered why on earth she’d been so curious to see the girl. There wasn’t much there of interest.

  She hoped the boring young woman never wanted to come back

  26

  Meg opened the front door and turned back to Sam, who stood behind her on the porch, hat in hand, having insisted on walking her up. “Thank you, Sam,” she said. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Miss Sullivan,” the driver said, half bowing. “Sleep tight.”

  She tiptoed into the house and quietly closed the door. The stained-glass chandelier offered dim light in the vestibule as the vast house sat steeped in silence. And then she heard it, the ever so soft click of her father’s bedroom door upstairs at the top of the open staircase. He’d been waiting up for her.

  Gathering her courage, Meg made a split decision and marched up the stairs. On the landing, she looked up at Angela the angel in the stained-glass window and said, “Say a prayer for me, okay?” As always, Angela looked down on her with endearing calm. Meg went up the rest of the stairs, stepped up to her father’s bedroom door, and knocked.

  He opened up immediately, as if he’d been standing there with his hand on the doorknob.

  “Oh, Meg. I’m so glad you’re home. How was the movie?” he asked.

  “Father, I think you know I didn’t go to a movie. May I come in?”

  Wide-eyed, he opened the door wider, throwing the light of a gas lamp into the hall. She stepped inside.

  Her father had on navy blue cotton pajamas under a navy blue silk robe, with leather sheering-lined slippers on his feet. She’d seldom seen him look so comfortable. It helped put her at ease.

  A quick scan of the room suddenly made her aware that it had a woman’s touch. Her father stood staring at her while she glanced around, noticing the bed had barely been touched and a book sat on a table beside a wingback chair. When her eyes landed on a vanity with a woman’s ornate silver-handled hairbrush, she made another instantaneous decision.

  “Would you mind meeting me in your study? Don’t get dressed or anything, just come down. And, father, may I invite Hannah?”

  He stood mute for a moment and then said, “Why, yes, that’s fine.”

  Meg went out of his room and down to Hannah’s room at the end of the hall. A sliver of light peeked out from underneath the door. She rapped softly.

  After a few moments, Hannah’s door opened. “Hello, Meg,” she said. She was dressed in a lovely silk robe and heeled slippers with a spray of feathers on the tops. Meg had so seldom seen anyone in this house in sleeping attire she found her father’s and Hannah’s casualness to be a relief.

  “Father and I are meeting in his study. Would you join us? Please, come as you are.”

  “Of course.”

  Hannah and Meg walked down the stairs together. Herbert Sullivan already stood in the center of his study, looking flummoxed.

  Everyone sat down, with Meg and her father on the divan and Hannah in a leather chair facing them. The older adults looked at her expectantly and Meg cleared her throat.

  “Tonight, I went to see my mother….”

  First, she begged that no one who helped her would get into trouble.

  Her father looked from her to Hannah and back to her, and said, “Meg, I have a confession, too. We found out about your visit beforehand. We decided… Hannah and I decided that we should let you go. In fact, I should have given you permission in the first place so it wouldn’t be so difficult for you. When your plan came to light, I talked to Patrick McVeigh to get reassurance that he’d keep an eye on you. He never drove his carriage out of sight of your mother’s cottage. If I didn’t think I could trust him, I would have stopped you and helped you make other arrangements. But you seemed intent upon this and seeing that you’re twenty-one years old now, we thought you should have it.”

  Meg was stunned. “You mean Peggy told you?”

  Hannah chuckled. “Oh my, no. But she told Sarah who told Cook who told me. I told your father.”

  “At about that same time,” her father added, “Patrick called to tell me and ask what I wanted him to do. Peggy, of course, has no idea he did that.”

  “Patrick?” Meg queried, mulling over this revelation. “That traitor,” she said, not unkindly.

  “No, more like loyal to me,” her father said. “He’s grateful I gave him a job on the docks with his father.”

  “But Peggy spilled the beans, too,” Meg said. That confused her. She’d thought of Peggy as her secret confidant.

  “Meg,” Hannah said, “don’t be mad at her. She’s just a child. She doesn’t ever have to know about any of this.”

  “And Patrick is a good fellow,” her father added. “He was more concerned about your safety than about making money.”

  Meg snickered. “Maybe so, but he let me pay him anyway.”

  They all laughed at that.

  “Patrick doesn’t intend to tell his sister that her brilliant plot was foiled. I hope you won’t say anything, either,” Hannah said to Meg.

  “Oh, I won’t. She means well. And she is a sweet thing. I enjoy her company.

  “Well, then, would you like to hear how it went?”

  “Yes, dear, I would like that very much,” her father replied as Hannah nodded ascent.<
br />
  She described her entire visit, ending with the fact that her mother seemed friendly enough, but somehow distant. Tears came to Meg’s eyes. “I guess I’ve always had a fantasy that we’d meet and she’d be thrilled to see me. But she wasn’t. Not really. She didn’t even ask me anything about myself. She talked mostly about her paintings and how happy she is at the asylum.”

  Hannah got up from her chair and sat on the arm of Meg’s side of the divan, and wrapped her arms around the young woman’s shoulders. She drew Meg close, resting her chin on top of Meg’s head. “I think that’s one reason your father didn’t want you to see her. She’s like that with everyone, Meg, not just you. Even you.”

  Meg clasped onto Hannah’s arms and let her head rest into Hannah’s chest. It was the closest thing to having a mother she’d known since she’d been twelve years old and separated from her nanny. Hannah seemed like more of a mother than her own mother. She could see why her father loved his housekeeper. Affection for the woman warmed Meg’s heart, replacing the forlorn sense of emptiness she’d felt all the way home from the asylum.

  “She’s right, Meg. The truth is your mother isn’t always a very nice person. I tried to spare you that. But I see now I was wrong. You’re old enough to know the truth.” Her father reached out to hug her, too, and Hannah went back to her chair to give them their space together.

  “Father,” Meg said when they parted, “you’re getting better at hugging. You’re not so stiff anymore.” Herbert Sullivan laughed so unexpectedly and so joyfully it made Meg laugh, too. Hannah’s face harbored a huge grin.

  When they quieted down, Meg said, “But I have one more thing to ask. I might as well spill all my suspicions. This one just came to me tonight on the way home. Maybe I’m slow, but it simply wasn’t possible for me to consider such a horrible thing before.” Her voice cracked as she continued. “Do you think mother had something to do with Harry’s disappearance?”