by Michelle Cox
“Find him?” Nurse Harding asked Joe.
“If you’re referring to the administrator, then, yes, we did,” Clive said before Joe could answer. “In the end.” He gave Joe an annoyed look.
Joe merely shrugged. “Not my fault he was in a meeting.”
“A meeting? Is that what you call it?”
Joe gave him a sly smile and shrugged again.
Clive turned his attention back to Nurse Harding. “Here you are,” he said crisply. “A signed release from Mr. Ainsworth himself.”
Nurse Harding took the paper in her thick fingers and examined it, taking her time to read the whole thing, though from where Henrietta stood, there didn’t seem to be all that much writing on it. Perhaps she was stalling? But why?
“All right. She can go,” the tank said with a bit of a sigh. “Good riddance, if you ask me,” she said dismissively.
Henrietta saw Elsie excitedly clutch Gunther’s arm.
“You’ll havta wait a few minutes, though,” the tank said, moving behind the desk.
“Whatever for? We’ve been here far too long already,” Clive said, giving his tie a little loosen, something Henrietta had never seen him do in public ever before. He must be feeling it, too, she surmised. The feeling of being trapped.
“Hold your pants on,” the tank barked. “Can’t do everything, you know. I’m the only one here at the moment, so you’ll just have to wait while I sign this and then go get her things. Didn’t come in with much, as I recall.”
“You’re the only staff member on this floor?” Clive asked, incredulously. “Surely that’s against some sort of regulation?”
“Look, bub. Don’t blame me,” Nurse Harding said as she scrawled something across the release and handed it back to Clive. “Supposed to be two on, but can’t keep the staff.” She flipped through the log book. “Who’s signing her out?” she asked the group.
Clive made a move toward the desk but paused when Gunther spoke up behind him. “It will be me,” he said, then turned deferentially to Clive. “If you please.”
“By all means,” Clive said with a wave of his hand and stood back while Gunther shifted Anna to his hip and took the pen Nurse Harding handed him to dutifully sign his name.
The tank examined the paper one last time and pulled herself heavily back to her feet. “I’ll go get her things,” she said. “But first I’ve got to give Mrs. Dempsey her tonic. She’ll be climbing the walls pretty soon if I don’t get it in her right quick,” she said, glancing at the dull black wall clock above the door.
“Oh, all right, but hurry up!” Clive snapped.
The release having been signed, Henrietta felt they were now just one small step away from getting out. She tapped her toe and looked around the room once again, and suddenly felt sorry for all these women that had no hope of ever being released, and she thought of poor Mrs. Goodman in particular. Henrietta looked from Elsie to Gunther and Clive, all of them standing silently, except Gunther, who continued to murmur to Anna. No one seemed to know what to say to each other, each of them deep in thought and periodically glancing at the door or the stock room or the patients’ hallway every few seconds, all of them anxious for the reappearance of Nurse Harding.
“Elsie,” Henrietta said briskly, deciding to break the silence. “Didn’t you used to read us some myth or fable about a tribe of people living in the center of the earth?”
“What?” Elsie asked, confused.
“I seem to remember some story about different myths from around the world. It was a big book you once got from the library?”
Elsie shook her head slowly. For once she did not seem eager to discuss books. “I don’t remember,” she said absently. This has been terribly hard on her, as well, Henrietta noted, studying her carefully.
“You are referring to the myth of the Atlanteans, I am thinking,” Gunther put in quietly. “Though there are some that do not believe it to be a myth.”
Henrietta looked over at him, surprised that he had spoken.
“It refers to the Unterirdisch—what do you call it? Underground?—kingdom of Agharta,” he said, turning himself, Anna still clutched tightly to him, so that he could see Henrietta better. “It is very old legend that has many versions. There was man, Edmund Halley, and also a man by name of John Symmes who spoke of these things.”
All eyes were on Gunther now as he continued.
“They both wrote a theory of a hollow earth and its Bewohner.” He paused to think of the word in English. “Inhabitants. Mystical thinkers describe a superior race there who are ruled by the ‘King of the World’ and that there are many tunnels that run under the earth with exits at each end . . . at the poles.”
At his words, Henrietta felt goose bumps instantly appear down her neck. Is this what Mrs. Goodman was referring to? Surely, it was a delusion she had heard after she was put away here, wasn’t it? Henrietta hoped, rather than it being the cause of her being locked up?
“It reminds me of the Jules Verne book,” Elsie said. “Maybe that’s what you were referring to, Henrietta.”
“Yes,” Gunther said eagerly to Elsie, “Verne had much influence from him.”
Henrietta looked at Gunther as he spoke, amazed at this sudden revelation of knowledge, not to mention articulation. It was like he had been transformed into something else for just a moment, a remnant of perhaps his old self, which was trapped now by poverty and language and circumstance in the body of a poor custodian. By looking at him in his baggy, dirty clothes and his unruly hair, one would never guess that he had once been a respected teacher or a professor in Germany, Henrietta thought. But she could see, as she observed the way Elsie was looking at him at the moment, why her sister might be drawn to him.
“Here you go,” Nurse Harding said, suddenly reappearing and tossing Anna’s little clothes at Elsie.
“Come, Anna. Get down. It is time to go,” Gunther said, attempting cheerfulness, as he tried to peel the girl off of him.
“No!” Anna wailed, clinging to his leg.
“Is there somewhere we can take her to change?” Elsie asked the nurse over the noise of Anna’s shouts.
“Somewhere to change?” the tank exclaimed. “Where d’ya think you are? The Ritz? It’s nothing anyone here ain’t already seen,” she said, gesturing around the room.
“But surely we can step into one of the bedchambers—” Elsie began, but was interrupted by a grunt from the tank as she swiftly approached Anna, who trembled at the sight of her. Despite her rolls of fat, Nurse Harding bent over Anna and grabbed the bottom of the striped gray gown the girl had been dressed in, which looked to be an adult gown that had been unevenly hacked off at the bottom, presumably with a scissor, and not a very sharp one.
“If you want somethin’ done, best to just do it yourself,” the tank said, irritated, and before Elsie, or any of them, could react, she yanked the gown roughly over Anna’s head, leaving her standing there naked except for her underthings. “That’ll get you to shut up,” the tank said as she walked back to the desk.
Nurse Harding’s cruel maneuver did have the effect of quieting Anna, who stood there looking forlornly at Gunther. Upon seeing her naked body, Clive immediately turned around out of politeness, even to a four-year-old, as Elsie rushed to put Anna’s crumpled dress on her. Henrietta felt sick as she noticed the man in the corner with the sores greedily looking in Anna’s direction, a sick grin on his face. Henrietta inadvertently gripped Clive’s arm, feeling weak again. Clive studied her closely.
“Come,” he said, putting his hand on hers. “It’s almost over, darling,” he said softly to her, though his voice was unsteady.
They turned around and saw that Anna was dressed now and back in Gunther’s arms.
“Let’s go,” Clive commanded and nodded toward Joe to open the door. Henrietta was never so grateful to leave a place and eagerly made her way toward the door, only to be stopped again, this time by Anna herself.
“Warte, Papa! Mein Buch! Wo ist mei
n Buch?”
Gunther looked at her distractedly. It was clear that he was as eager as any of them to leave, but at Anna’s pleading, he paused at the door’s threshold.
“You brought your book here?” he asked her, his eyes looking horribly weary. “Are you sure?”
Anna nodded eagerly, her finger in her mouth.
“Nurse,” Elsie said, approaching the desk. “Did she come in with a book? It was a book of poems by Robert Louis Stevenson. A Child’s Garden of Verses?”
“Didn’t see it back there,” the tank barked, only briefly glancing up from the logbook she was writing in again. Henrietta wondered what she could possibly be writing, as the logbook contained only the briefest of notes on each patient. Perhaps she was slow? But how could she have become a nurse if she was actually mentally deficient? But then again, they seemed desperate for staff . . . Maybe she wasn’t really a nurse, Henrietta mused. Oh! Nothing here made any sense!
“Are . . . are you sure?” Elsie ventured.
Henrietta, impressed by her sister’s sudden courage, went to stand beside her.
“I . . . I could look if you want—” Elsie suggested.
“Oh, no you don’t,” the tank said, looking up at them fully. “Your snoopin’ days is over. Nothin’ back there for you to see. Now get out while you have the chance!” she barked.
Anna, apparently understanding this speech, began to cry. “Mein Buch!” she wailed.
“Anna, Anna,” Elsie said soothingly, “I’ll buy you another. I promise. I promise,” she kept repeating. Miraculously, the girl stopped her crying and looked at Elsie with big, tear-filled eyes.
Elsie gave her a little smile, and Anna returned it with a small one of her own.
“Good girl,” Elsie cooed, and Gunther took this as his cue to step through the door and begin their descent, Elsie following close behind.
“I’ll be glad to see the back of this place,” Clive muttered to Henrietta as they trudged down the stairs, bringing up the rear. “I hope this is the last time we’ll ever need to be here.”
“Yes, let’s hope,” Henrietta said, though she had the most unsettling feeling that she would indeed return. She earnestly prayed that it would not be as a patient.
Though the sky was dull when they emerged from Dunning, Joe having wordlessly deposited them outside, it seemed bright to Henrietta in contrast to the dark interior, and she blinked rapidly, holding her hand up to her eyes. She took a deep breath and welcomed the chilliness of the air, her coat unbuttoned. She hadn’t realized she was perspiring. Gunther instructed Elsie to take his coat and drape it over Anna. As a result, he appeared to be a large, walking tent with a head sticking out.
As if one entity, they walked toward the Daimler that Clive had again driven in anticipation of having to drive them back to Mundelein. But what were they to do with Anna? Henrietta wondered. They obviously couldn’t take her back to the orphanage . . .
“What now?” Clive asked Gunther, as if able to read Henrietta’s mind.
“I do not know. I have not had much time to think,” Gunther said, shifting Anna.
“Clive,” Henrietta said quietly. “Perhaps we should take her back to Highbury with us. Remember that we talked about getting her a proper exam . . . ?”
“Yes, darling,” Clive said, giving both Elsie and Gunther a nervous glance, “but I’m not sure if this is exactly the right time.”
“But you said—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elsie surprisingly interrupted. “I’ve already thought of a plan. We’ll take her to Palmer Square.”
Chapter 19
“Ooh, you must try one of my cheese toasts!” Mrs. Hennessey exclaimed to Clive as he and Henrietta stood in the Hennessey’s crowded apartment dining room above Poor Pete’s.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hennessey,” Clive said politely and transferred a small square from the platter she held in front of him and set it carefully on the little plate he held.
“Just one? A big man like you?” Mrs. Hennessey asked. “Here, have some deviled eggs,” she urged, setting the cheese toast platter down and deftly picking up one which held the last of the slippery eggs. There were only three left, their filling unfortunately already crusted over.
“See? These is always popular. Lucky, I got more sittin’ on the back porch to keep ’em cold. There you are.” She slid them onto Clive’s plate despite him raising a hand in protest. “You’d think now that you’re married, you’d fatten up a little,” she said. “But then again, Henrietta was never too good at cookin’, was you?”
Henrietta’s face flushed, and she wanted to point out to Mrs. Hennessey that she was never allowed even remotely close to the kitchen at Highbury, whether she wanted to or not, but she knew it would come out sounding “high and mighty” no matter which way she framed it. But could Mrs. Hennessey really have forgotten that she now lived in a mansion filled with servants? More than likely, Henrietta mused, she simply didn’t think about it, much the same way Ma and most of her family seemed not to. Mrs. Hennessey no doubt still saw her as “little Henrietta,” trying to make her way in the world.
Henrietta took a bite of a cheese toast and supposed she was still trying to make her way in the world, just a different one than before. Actually, it was comforting there was at least one person, besides her family, that is, who still saw her as she really was, or had once been. Even Clive tended to forget, she suspected, which is why he was perhaps at times confused about why she wanted to attend events such as this one.
“Here,” Mrs. Hennessey was saying to Clive, “why don’t you hold your napkin in your other hand? That way it’ll be easier.” She took hold of a corner of his napkin and tried to move it. The poor woman was not successful, however, nor did her efforts solicit any gratefulness on the part of Clive, but instead caused a severe eyebrow-raising. Unabashed, Mrs. Hennessey tried again.
“You might find it better to sit on the sofa,” she suggested sweetly, gesturing toward the front room. “That way you can balance everything better on your lap. No? Fine as you are, eh? Well,” she said, looking around a little uncomfortably. “You must try more of the food, like,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen table where various dishes had been set out. “We’ve got pickled oysters, my famous veal loaf—Henrietta will tell you about that—deviled chicken, and then there’s ham sandwiches. And the relish tray, of course. Rose has been so helpful; you’d never believe it! Don’t know how I managed before. Winifred’s not done a thing! But of course I don’t expect it, not with caring for the baby, like, but still . . . ooh! There’s Winifred now, come out of the bedroom, finally. I’ll be back. Help yourselves; fill up your plates!” And with that, she squeezed her thick torso between several people to get to the other side of the room, where a frowning Winifred had appeared, carrying a similarly frowning little Prudence, who was bedecked in an enormous knitted pink bonnet.
Henrietta pulled her eyes from Winifred and the baby and looked over at Clive, who was staring disapprovingly at the fare piled onto his plate.
“Never had cheese toast before?” she asked, amused at the look on his face.
“Perhaps when I was seven,” he said wryly. “It looks mildly similar to something Nanny would concoct if we were hungry and cook was having her afternoon rest. “Deviled eggs are a new delicacy for me, however. They look . . . interesting.”
“Snob,” Henrietta chided him with a small grin. “Actually, Ma’s deviled eggs are quite good, when she used to cook, that is.” Henrietta nodded toward the kitchen table. “This is actually quite a spread.”
“Indeed,” Clive said. Gingerly, he set his plate down on a nearby table and looked around the room. “Do you know all of these people?”
“I recognize some of them from the neighborhood,” Henrietta said, arching her neck to try to observe people better. “Well, of course, you know Rose and Stan over there in the corner.”
“Yes, I noticed them when we came in.”
“And that big man over ther
e by the food is probably Rose’s brother, Billy, if I had to guess.” She moved to the right a bit to try to see more. “Oh! I think that’s Mr. Dubala, sitting in that armchair over there,” she said, nodding. “The one with the striped tie? Elsie used to sew for him. I wonder why she didn’t come? I thought Mrs. Hennessey had said she was going to invite her.”
Clive gave a small shrug. “Maybe she didn’t after all. Maybe to spare Stan and Rose?” he suggested.
“Yes, perhaps. But I was hoping to hear how Anna is doing.”
“Hmmm. Yes, a pity,” Clive said absently as he looked around the room.
Henrietta felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, then, and jumped. Quickly she turned to see none other than Mr. Hennessey himself! Henrietta gave a little cry and tightly embraced him, trying not to spill her drink as she did so. Mr. Hennessey held her for several moments before finally releasing her and grasping her free hand.
“Look at you, girl,” he said, holding her at arm’s length, his eyes bright with pride and pleasure. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Sorry I missed you the other day. But here you are, beautiful as ever!” he exclaimed. “Are you happy?” he asked with a smile, leaning close to her.
“Very,” she said and could not believe how comforting it felt to see him. She could not stop smiling.
“Married life agrees with you, I can see that. But why wouldn’t it? He treating you right?” he asked, nodding toward Clive, who was looking on with his own smile.
“Very much,” Henrietta said.
“Clive,” Mr. Hennessey said, releasing Henrietta and holding out his hand toward him. “How are you? Thank you for coming and bringing my girl back to see me.”
Clive shook his hand thoroughly. “We’re delighted to have been invited, Mr. Hennessey.”
“That’s all right,” Mr. Hennessey beamed. “But what are you drinking?” he said, glancing down at the glass Clive held.
“Cherry cordial I think is what Mrs. Hennessey said it was,” Clive said, holding it up uncertainly.