by Linda Hughes
“Mrs. Sullivan,” the sheriff said, “we need to come in.”
She opened the door wide and heard the nurse cry out.
“You stay here,” Elizabeth heard the supervisor say to the nurse, which only intensified the yawping in the hall.
Elizabeth stepped back so the men and supervisor could enter. The young deputy went straight to the hump on the floor; the sheriff took Elizabeth by the elbow and guided her around it to the table, where he told her to sit. He sat down beside her and then looked over at the situation on the floor. The supervisor, having turned white as a ghost, looked down at the floor, nodded to the young officer, and left. The bawling in the hallway ceased as she presumably went away with the nurse.
“Mrs. Sullivan, I need you to tell me what happened here tonight.” The sheriff seated beside her took off his hat and looked her straight in the eyes.
Elizabeth looked over at the clumped up mess on the floor. The young deputy had stood up and stared at her, as well.
A furrow formed between her eyes as she pondered the request. “What happened here tonight?” she repeated, confused by the question. “Well, I was trying to paint a rose…”
29
Meg caught herself staring at Jed, awe-struck. Her respect for the one she’d originally thought of as nothing more than “the handsome man” had just shot to the stars, knowing no bounds. His passion for the case he’d been working had earned her highest admiration.
“So, Jenny Pennington was released from the asylum today,” he explained to everyone seated at her father’s dinner table.
There was her father at the head of the table with Hannah on his right, looking stunning in a blue dinner dress. Next to Hannah sat Jed’s uncle, Judge Sean O’Neill, known for years simply as “Judge.” Meg sat at her father’s left with Jed beside her.
Cook’s dinner meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, beef gravy, green beans, creamed corn, and buttermilk rolls had been spectacular. Now, even though they’d all agreed they were filled to the gills, none of them could resist Cook’s German chocolate cake.
Jed finished telling his tale as they finished dessert. “It was easy to get her declared sane once I got a deposition from a woman in Detroit who’d moved to get away from Jenny’s husband. Turns out she’d been his mistress and he’d told her all about his plan to ‘get rid of’ his wife by having her put in the asylum. But the mistress got mad when he cheated on her.” He shook his head.
“So, Jenny was released today and her sister from Grand Rapids came to get her and her children,” he said. “A sheriff’s deputy went with them to pick up the kids from the farm. I met them all at the train station this afternoon to say goodbye. They’re all so happy! They’ll be in Grand Rapids within the hour.”
Judge interjected, “Yes, and now that she’s declared sane, she can get a divorce, which I have no problem granting as expediently as possible.”
Jed added, “That’s my first case as a lawyer and it felt so good! I’m just afraid there are other women in the asylum in the same situation. Although, I know there are also those there of their own accord to get away from their husbands.”
Meg liked how Jed talked so easily and openly at this table in her father’s house, in her house. Her father had already reassured Jed that he could feel free to talk about working on an asylum case, as no one at this table was a stranger to the place. That made Meg love her father all the more. The new openness in their father-daughter relationship made her feel like a grown woman at last.
When every crumb of cake had vanished and coffee was served, Judge asked Meg if she intended to stay in Traverse City or return to Chicago.
“I’m staying here. Just today, Father called the butler on the phone to tell him. I’ve always thought of him as Frederick the Fossil, he’s so old. But then I found out he was a retired police officer Father hired to keep an eye on me. I always wondered why his butlering skills weren’t so great.” Everyone tittered and looked at her father.
“In my defense,” her father said, nodding acquiescence to her version of the facts, “I wasn’t about to let my daughter live in the city without protection. Call me old fashioned, but I didn’t care how much of an adult or flapper she fancied herself to be, I’m still her father.”
“Well done!” claimed Judge.
“I’m just glad she’s here to stay,” Jed said.
“At first I felt badly about the house staff there,” Meg said, “but Frederick wants to retire once and for all, Father has already found another position for the cook, and he’s promised to find positions for the two maids. That makes me feel much better.”
“Yes,” Hannah interjected, “once they’re all established elsewhere, Meg’s townhouse will be put up for sale and then Herbert will let go with a sigh of relief.” Hannah smiled at Herbert and Meg saw pure devotion there.
Judge looked intently at Meg. “Will you miss the excitement of the city?”
Meg cocked her head, thinking. Would she miss it? “No,” she finally said. “It’s a beautiful city, and I have my favorite walks and parks and restaurants and shops. I love the Field Museum of Natural History. I went to its new location at Grant Park just before I came home. I can spend hours in there. That’s all to say I hope to visit from time to time but I have no desire to move back there. Traverse City is my home now.”
She looked at Jed to see his reaction to this proclamation. She hadn’t known such happiness could be seen in one’s eyes.
“Oh, I tried to fit in there,” she said as she noodled it out for herself. “I tried the exciting flapper life; I had high-class friends; and, yes, I even had a rich fiancé. But none of it ever fit right. It was like wearing a tight, corseted, ill-fitting dress. Being back here fits like a glove. No effort. No expectations. No judgements.
“I will admit, though, I miss the music in the clubs.”
Everyone seemed amused by that.
“Thank goodness we have an excellent Victrola in the parlor,” her father said. “I must confess, I’ve even come to like some of that jazz she plays.”
“Speaking of jazz,” Judge said. “Herbert and I have a little business to discuss about the Ford motor car store we’re opening in town next week. The rest of you can go into the parlor, perhaps, and listen to some of that music. It’ll only be a few minutes, then how about a rousing game of euchre?”
“Sure,” Meg said, standing. “Hannah and I can take turns at a spot with Jed to beat the pants off you old rapscallions.”
“You’re on!” Judge said. “In the meantime, you young rapscallions go entertain yourselves.”
Meg, Jed, and Hannah went into the parlor. This was a relaxing room, much more informal than it used to be before Hannah remodeled the house. In the same light tones as the vestibule, there were comfortable chairs and a davenport. A new Victrola stood on one wall. The only old piece of furniture was an upright oak piano.
“Do you play?” Jed asked Meg, pointing at the piano.
“Not a lick, no matter how hard I tried. But Hannah plays beautifully.”
“Do you want to play for us?” Jed now asked Hannah.
“No, no,” she said. “Not tonight. Meg wants some jazz!”
Hannah sat down on the davenport and Meg when to the Victrola.
“I have Eubie Blake’s ‘Shuffle along Broadway.’” She held it up so Jed could see the Victor Record and then placed it on the turntable of the Victrola. She wound up the phonograph player with the handle on the side and delicately placed the needle on the phonograph record. Jazzy music filled the room.
Meg challenged Jed. “Can you one-step?” she asked, holding her arms out and dancing solo.
“Are you kidding? Detroit does have its share of speakeasies.” Jed grabbed her and twirled her around as they fell into a breezy one-step, covering the room with their moves.
Hannah smiled from the sidelines and clapped approvingly.
“How about the shimmy?” Meg wanted to know. She broke away from Jed’s hold and wiggle
d her body in the dance that had taken the country by storm, causing her filmy green shift dress with its satin hip band to swish around her body while her long pearl necklace jiggled back and forth. With that, Jed stepped back, his finger thoughtfully to his cheek, teasingly studying Meg’s performance.
“Whoo!” Hannah exclaimed. “That’s a hard one to match!”
“Oh yeah?” Jed pointed at Hannah and said, “Watch this!” He stood next to Meg as she danced, and broke into a lively shimmy that managed to look both silly and swanky at the same time.
Now everyone laughed and clapped as the song ended.
“Here’s one of my favorites,” Meg said, switching records on the turntable. “The bells are ringing, for me and my gal…” trilled from the Victrola.
Meg said, “Here’s a new dance that everybody does but doesn’t seem to have a name yet.” She started knocking her knees in and out, and kicking up her heels.
“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen that,” Jed said, doing his best to imitate the moves.
Hannah fell back onto the cushions of the davenport, thoroughly enjoying watching this young couple.
That’s when the knock came at the front door out in the vestibule.
They all stopped and listened. Meg took the needle off the record. The knock came again.
Hannah rose and said, “I’ll get it.”
For a reason Meg couldn’t name, she felt an abrupt compression in her body, knowing this could be none else than bad news. She and Jed went to the parlor door, and on the other side of the vestibule saw her father and Judge come to the study door. They all watched as Hannah opened the front door to see a sheriff’s deputy standing there.
He removed his hat and said, “Hello, Miss Hannah. I need to see Mr. Sullivan, please.”
Her father took giant steps to get to the door, going outside alone onto the porch with the deputy, closing the door behind him.
Everyone else gathered in the center of the vestibule and stared at each other in silent wonderment until the door opened again. Her father stepped back inside.
“There has been an incident at the asylum,” he said. “I don’t know any details yet. Just that the staff wants me to come and talk to Elizabeth. I’ve been told that she’s alright. There’s just something we need to talk to her about. Judge, the deputy suggests you come with me.”
Judge grabbed his hat off the hall tree and handed her father’s hat to him. Both men nodded reassuringly to the others as they donned their head coverings.
Her father said, “We shouldn’t be long.”
Judge didn’t say anything because, Meg suspected, he knew better.
The men went out the front door, leaving it open for Meg, Jed, and Hannah, and out of nowhere Peggy in the caboose, to trail out to the porch behind them. The deputy drove away in his car and her father went with Judge in his Model T, not having had time to rouse Sam for his own transportation.
No one on the porch said a word.
Meg noticed the moonlit sky had clouded over, making the night as dark as Hades. A chill had invaded the air. When she wrapped her arms around herself to fend off a burst of cutting wind, Jed put his arm around her and pulled her close.
30
Abby always feared that evil spirits would invade her netherworld where she talked to her dead ancestor spirits. It had never happened before, yet tonight morbid thoughts pillaged her mind and plundered away any ability to feel a sense of faith in humankind. Had they finally come?
She sat in her rocking chair beside the fireplace, staring into the flames, picturing the “fire and brimstone” of Hell. Of course, however, that was the belief of her mother’s Christian Methodist religion. In her father’s Chippewa beliefs, fire represented life, a good thing. They believed that if a person was bad while living on earth, they were tortured forever after when their earth bodies died.
The seer closed her eyes, her hands clasped in prayer, allowing the essence of her safe place, her cabin, to sooth her. The warmth of the fire in front of her allayed her fears. The knowledge of candles and lanterns offering soft light throughout the space gave her peace. The wind suddenly howling above her rafters did naught but signal the reliable movement of the earth in the dark of night outside. She need not be afraid.
The presence of her ancestor spirit guides was so palpable Abby felt her breathing relax, her chest rising and falling smoothly beneath her clothes. They had settled her nerves because they wanted her to know something.
She listened intently. This message had been a long time coming, they said. She hadn’t been ready to hear it and they didn’t know if she was ready now, but there could be no more coddling and waiting. She had to face a life-shattering truth. She had to face it at this very moment. Until she did, she could not move on with her life.
The flames of the fire shot up into the chimney with the revelation, sucking Abby’s heart into the night sky with it, leaving her morosely empty inside.
She had known this for a very long time. Yet she hadn’t let herself know.
Stunned, she sat still for a few moments. There was no question about what she needed to do next, it was just a matter of willing herself to do it.
The spirits bid her rise up out of her chair and get on with it. They would be at her side, they reassured her. They would never let the evil spirits of others invade her soul.
A sob grabbed her throat, one of gratitude and of utter gloom at the same time.
With the weight of the world on her shoulders, she rose to wrap a shawl around her shoulders. Taking a bright lantern from the table she went out the door, too possessed to think to close it behind her. Hearing it flap in the wind and not caring, she tread toward the beach.
A violent gust of wind caught her shawl and cast it away into the night. Abby carried on without pause. Gaining momentum now, her denial and fear stripping away layer by layer with each footfall in the sand, the sudden burst of blustery rainfall did nothing to stop her. The pitch black of the night scared her not. She sallied forth until reaching her destination.
Abby shoved open the cottage door and entered. Soaking wet now from the storm and dripping onto the floor, she stood for a moment as a fierce bolt of lightning flashed outside the grubby window, alighting on the bay as nature reminded all living creatures that it reigned supreme. She took methodical deep breaths as she went to the corner by the fireplace, shoved the painting aside to free the edge of the rug, pulled the rug back, and opened the wooden trapdoor.
Descending the ladder, she lifted the lantern high and burrowed into the belly of the cave. At the site of Lizzie’s painting in front of the pile of rocky rubble, she slid the canvas to the side, set the lantern on the ground, and began digging with her hands.
When she came to what she sought, even though expected, her tears would not be denied. Abby fell to her knees, head in her grimy hands, and wept.
After a long while, her crying spent, she raised her arms in supplication to God and lifted her bloodshot eyes to the heavens. “Holy Spirit, Gichi-manidoo, God Almighty, our Lord Jesus Christ, and Mary Mother of our Lord, bless this place of final repose….” Her verdant voice lifted in an earnest plea to sanctify this place where such a heinous act had taken place.
What she must do next would be the most heartbreaking thing she would ever have to do. But do it she must. She rose up and went to do its bidding. This, too, could wait no longer.
31
“Herbert, what are you doing here this time of night?” Elizabeth asked as her husband entered her room. “You’re all wet from the storm.”
Never before had she been glad to see him here, but tonight with the hubbub from these annoying people perhaps he could be helpful in getting them to skedaddle. She even forgave him dripping rainwater on her floor. The sheriff wouldn’t let her go back to her studio and insisted she remain seated at the table. A deputy held vigil at the door and a doctor of some kind had come in to look things over. Her cottage supervisor came and went, alternately whispering to the deputy and t
he sheriff. Some asylum bigwigs in suits appeared and left, looking ill. A few nurses and residents had congregated outside the door trying to peak in whenever it was opened, but the supervisor shooed them away.
“Good lord, Herbert,” Elizabeth said to her husband, “will you please make them all go away?”
Herbert looked at her, pulling his shocked gaze away from the mess on the floor. He held his hat in his hand and she saw the man who’d come in with him remove his hat, as he stared at the floor.
The sheriff got up from his seat at the table beside her, and said something to Herbert and his friend in a low voice. Herbert nodded and whispered something in return.
The sheriff and other man stepped away, and Herbert sat down beside her at the table, for the first time placing his hat on the other side of the table rather than holding it in his lap. Leaning toward her with his elbows on his knees and his hands outstretched he said, “Elizabeth, what happened here tonight?”
“What happened? Here? Well, let me see…. I was painting a rose and got red paint all over me. Then these people came to interrupt me. Now they won’t let me go back to my painting.” She pouted like a child.
Herbert looked at her in silence, his eyes glazed in what she interrupted as sadness. “No, Elizabeth,” he said, “what happened with Dr. Whitmore over there?” He motioned toward the bloody lump on the floor.
“Oh.” Her voice lowered in disgust. “Him. He came here, drunk as a skunk. He’s not supposed to come to our rooms. He’s never come before. But he came tonight insisting on having his way with me,” she whispered, her eyes widening, “When I said no he got mad so I stabbed him with my palette knife. Good riddance, I say.
“Now may I get back to my painting? Please, Herbert.”
Elizabeth watched her husband fail to breathe as his face drained of what little color was left in it. Eventually, he took a long breath. “Elizabeth, I need you to listen carefully.” She stuck out her neck and leaned in, focusing on his eyes. “You’ve killed a man. That’s against the law. They have to take you to another room, at least for the time being, one where you can’t hurt anyone else. Hopefully, when everything gets sorted out, you can come back here.”