House of Silence

by Sarah Barthel

  To my darling Isabelle. May these flowers illustrate the complexity of my love for you. Recover quickly. I miss your smile, for it brightens the darkest parts of my soul.

  Eternally yours,

  Gregory

  My lips twitched. He sent more flowers!? What on earth was he after?

  Just standing in the same air as the flowers made me feel . . . dirty. Rage swept through every limb of my body until I had to expel it in some way or burst. Instinctively, I grabbed a flower from the vase, ripped the petals off it, and flung them across the room. The action felt so good I grabbed another and another and another. The stem’s thorns pricked my fingers and palm, but even that felt better than letting them reside in my home.

  Before I knew it, I was out of breath, and there was only one rose left in the vase. Gregory’s bouquet was destroyed. I had expected to feel better, but only felt empty. My situation had not changed, and now I had a mess to clean up. Flower petals and leaves lay over nearly every surface in the room, but it wasn’t enough. The petals mocked me still. Gritting my teeth, I dug my heel into a petal, twisting it back and forth until it was imbedded in the carpet. It looked broken and shredded, and satisfaction welled in me. Over the next few moments I mangled the rest of the petals, letting my feet say to Gregory what I couldn’t.

  That was how Mother found me. I hadn’t even heard the door creak open, but there she was, standing in the center of the doorway with her mouth open like a codfish. Calmly, I cleaned the bottom of my shoe off and turned toward her. I tilted my head slightly to the right, questioning the look of horror she gave me. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips pursed in a tight, thin line. For a moment I tried to view the scene through her eyes and realized what I must look like: crazy. The thought sparked more anger in me. I met her eyes, lifted my foot, and ground another petal into the carpet. I dare you, Mother, I thought. I dare you to call me crazy.

  Slowly, she reached up and unpinned her hat and set it on the rocking chair. As she unbuttoned her overcoat, her eyes darted about the room and widened when she discovered the crumbs and plate of jam. After what felt like a very long time, she cleared her throat. “Well, this is a mess. Abigail will have to clean it up before Lucy and her mother come for dinner this evening.”

  She’d achieved her goal. By pointing out the added work I’d created for Abigail, she’d made my fit seem childish. There was nothing I could say to undo the mess so I knelt to the floor and began collecting the remnants of the flowers into a pile. The shredded petals left little marks on the carpet. I traced them with my finger.

  Mother returned the vase to its place in the center of the table and sighed. “He really loves you, Isabelle. You must remember that. Men like Gregory Gallagher don’t come into your life more than once. I know you are struggling, but try to remember.”

  I looked up at her, searching for some revelation. All I found was anger. Hot tears burned my eyes as Mother fingered the card he’d left. I didn’t think, just grabbed the vase from the table and hurled it against the wall, sending shards of glass to the floor.

  Mother gasped, but remained motionless. Slipping the card into the bosom of her gown, she left the room whispering, “You’ll remember. You must remember.”

  No. You must understand, I thought as I collected the larger shards of the vase. But Mother had given me one small hope to cling to: Lucy was coming to visit. If anyone could help, she would.

  CHAPTER 6

  I secluded myself for the remainder of the day in my room, trying to find some way out of this impossible nightmare. Yet, every plan I came up with was ruined by the fact that Dr. Carson and Mother would refute my claims. Even the sheriff, who had listened to their suspicions, agreed that I’d been attacked and was befuddled as a result. As I hadn’t done since Papa died, I curled up in the corner of my room with my knees held to my chest.

  Everyone who could help me viewed me as a fragile doll. How was I to survive if no one gave my mind any credit?

  Lucy and her mother arrived promptly at seven, dressed in elegant silk gowns, fans hanging from their wrists. I watched in darkness from the second story landing as they entered and made their way through the main hallway. Mrs. D’Havland and Mother walked side by side into the living room, their heads bowed together so I couldn’t hear what they said.

  Right before they entered the room, Mrs. D’Havland turned around and snapped her fingers at Lucy. “Shoulders back, dear. No one likes a slumpy dumpy.” Once Lucy corrected her posture, Mrs. D’Havland followed Mother into the front parlor.

  The moment they were gone, Lucy lifted her head, and her eyes met mine as if she had known I’d been spying in the shadows the whole time. Still dressed in my afternoon gown, I stepped into the light as Lucy rolled her shoulders into a more natural position. Without a word, we met at the middle of the staircase.

  “Izzy,” Lucy gasped and took my hands, giving me support as we walked. “Are you all right? I can’t imagine! Attacked by a murderer? What would’ve happened if Gregory hadn’t appeared?” Her eyes were wide.

  Her questions sent a cold chill through me. Clearly there were stories already circulating. It went without saying that none would contain the truth.

  “What?” I was flabbergasted. “What have you heard?”

  Something in my tone made her look up at me. Ignoring the fear on her face, I clutched her arm and led us to the main floor.

  Lucy sat on the bottom step of the stairs and pulled me down beside her. “Mother heard that the man who killed that poor servant girl attacked you. They say if Gregory hadn’t carried you back to town, you’d be dead now. Is it true?”

  Had Gregory’s story grown to have him rescuing me as well? Anger welled up in my throat, but I forced it away. “No,” I began calmly. “Gregory carried Katerina to town, not me. She was already dead when—”

  “But Mother told me!” Lucy’s brow wrinkled, and she shook her head. “She said you’d be dead were it not for him. It’s very romantic.”

  “Romantic?” I gasped in shock. “Far from it.”

  Lucy patted my knee. “Well, Mother painted it as such. I’m sure reality is never so colorful.”

  If Mrs. D’Havland was repeating the story, the truth would never be known. A shiver slid up my neck. Gregory was intelligent. If he realized I’d been to Abigail’s at the same time he was with Katerina he might suspect I knew more than I should. Such a realization could put me in real danger.

  Mother would say anything to smooth Gregory’s concerns. He needed our connections to fulfill his aspirations, so I knew he’d forgive much. But I couldn’t let those soft hands touch me again. They were now tainted with Katerina’s death. The thought made my heart race and my stomach lurch.

  “You look pale, Izzy. Did I say something wrong?”

  Lucy couldn’t know the truth. I’d not put anyone in the path of danger until I figured out what to do next. “My ankle hurts,” I explained. “Have you heard from Patrick?”

  Lucy sighed. “I got a letter today. His mother died. He was thankful he arrived in time to see her before she passed. He’s going to work in his brother’s business in Montana. Hopefully by the end of the year he’ll have saved enough for my parents to accept him. Yet, I fear Mother will marry me off to Mr. Stewart by then.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I tried to find some comforting words for her. We both knew her fears were valid. “You always have a say. The choice may not be nice, but it is available.”

  “No,” Lucy insisted, shaking her head. “You know Mother. Once she finds a suitable man, she’ll pounce.” Lucy rubbed her hands upon her skirt.

  Perhaps she couldn’t stop Mrs. D’Havland, but she could prevent a gentleman from pursuing her. A woman’s reputation was her greatest ally, or so Mother always told me. “She may push you, but you can always change the man’s mind.”

  Lucy looked at me, her eyes showing that she knew I had a plan. “How?”

  I cleared my throat. “Patrick will marry you no matter what, cor
rect?”

  A dark expression spread over my friend’s face. “Of course. No matter what.” She paused. “You’re scaring me, Izzy.”

  My tongue felt swollen in my mouth as I thought of how distasteful Lucy would find this. “To avoid whomever your mother brings home, if the normal dismissals don’t work, you can have him running for the hills with a simple lie.” I paused, unsure if Lucy would see my solution as plausible, as I did. “Tell him you have had intimate relations with a man. No gentleman would marry an impure woman.”

  Immediately, all color drained from her face, and she pulled away from me. Shaking her head, she whispered, “No. I could never make such a declaration. I’d be ruined!”

  I flinched at her reaction, but grasped her hand as I insisted, “Patrick loves you and would marry you no matter what. You deserve the future you want. We have so little control over our lives. It isn’t the best course of action, but it would certainly set you free.”

  “What’s come over you, Isabelle?” Lucy exclaimed. “This isn’t you. You know how important a woman’s reputation is.”

  Her words made me pause. Lucy was right; this was unlike me. Had Katerina’s death altered me so deeply? “I guess I think you and Patrick belong together. Our parents’ opinions shouldn’t matter. It’s our lives.”

  Lucy flushed. “Oh, Izzy. At least one person is on my side.”

  “I guess recent events have made me realize that what you and Patrick share is special.”

  Lucy’s eyes clouded over. “Oh, Izzy. I’m so glad you finally recognized your love for Gregory.”

  As Lucy pulled me close, her chiffon sleeve caressed my cheek. I swallowed my disappointment in my friend.

  * * *

  As usual, dinner was one elaborate dish after another. I picked at my food as Mother and Mrs. D’Havland dissected the usual gossip. After they both gave me a startled look, neither commented on the fact I’d not changed for dinner, but I didn’t know how to take their neglect. Did they think I was past help or behaving childishly and thus unworthy of comment? For myself, it mattered little. I was preoccupied with bigger issues.

  Dragging a potato wedge across my plate with my fork, I wondered about my advice to Lucy. If one’s reputation was the only card a woman held, how could I use mine against Gregory? My virtue was already in question since Dr. Carson warned Mother my attack might have been sexual in nature. If I decided to give in and claim that, they would make the necessary explanations, and Gregory would, no doubt, marry me. I was his ticket to Washington and politics. No, if I were to get out of this union, I’d need to find something even more despicable.

  Lucy nudged me with her elbow. When I looked up toward her, she twitched her head toward her mother.

  “Well, Isabelle?” Mrs. D’Havland placed her fork on her plate. “What did you think of the opera?”

  My hand froze, and I glanced around the table. What opera? It had been months since Mother and I had gone to the theater. Glancing at Lucy was no help, for she was focused on her plate.

  Swallowing, I met Mrs. D’Havland’s eyes and said, “The soprano was a bit lacking.”

  “Exactly!” She turned back to Mother with a smug smile. “That is just what I said, but Mr. D’Havland insisted on attending the party in her honor.”

  Lucy nudged my foot and rolled her eyes. I sensed I should’ve known more about this dispute, but couldn’t place it in my mind. Luckily, Mother artfully steered the conversation in another direction.

  “You should see the flowers Isabelle chose for her bouquet. They highlight each other perfectly. I won’t ruin the effect by giving you the details, but—”

  “Mother!” I hissed. “Please?” Why would Mother bring up the wedding knowing how I felt?

  Placing her water glass down, she blinked innocently. “I’m not divulging details.”

  “No. I don’t want to discuss the wedding at all.” My cheeks burned in indignation.

  “Why? Come now.” Mrs. D’Havland patted my hand. “You only get married once.”

  “Mother knows why.” I grimaced. Hot anger flooded my face. Did I dare tell Mrs. D’Havland? She would be a powerful ally, but telling her she’d been spreading an incorrect story was never wise. Mother paled. “Darling . . .” she began.

  “Oh, stop,” I insisted and dropped my fork against the china plate. “You don’t care one snit about me. If you did, we’d not be here now having this conversation.”

  “Isabelle—” Lucy gripped her napkin, about to go on, when shouting erupted down the hall.

  A muffled voice echoed through the house. “I have to know she’s all right.”

  Gregory stalked into the dining room a moment before Abigail. His hat was in his hands and his coat was slung over his arm.

  “There she is, Mr. Gallagher.” Abigail gestured toward me with her hands. “Just as I said, she is recovering and eating with friends.”

  Gregory’s eyes glistened as he stared at me, his face full of worry. Yet for all his care, all I saw was the frantic twitch of his eyebrow and the anger brimming beneath the surface. Anger directed at me or something else, I wasn’t sure. I pulled my gaze from him and forced a bit of lamb into my mouth. Appearing as inconsequential as possible seemed best. Lucy noticed my discomfort immediately and scooted her chair closer to mine.

  “Izzy,” she whispered. “What’s wrong?” She glanced at me and then followed my gaze to Gregory.

  Mother stood and walked around the table to embrace Gregory. “Dearest Gregory, how good of you to check on Isabelle.” They separated, and she led him to the head of the table. “See how her cheeks are regaining their rosy hue. I suspect she’ll be quite well again soon.”

  “You do look pale, Isabelle. Are you in much pain?” Gregory asked.

  The closer he got to me the more I felt his anger. My hands were shaking so much now that I tried to clasp them together under the table, but that only made my legs shake as well. I needed him gone. Katerina’s dead stare sat frozen in my mind. She accused me as if I could do anything.

  Gregory took a step around the table toward me. All of my shuddering halted. Did he know what I’d seen? And if he didn’t, what did he want? I stood up so fast that my chair fell over. Lucy gasped and grabbed for my hand, but I yanked it away from her. “Please go away. Stop. I can’t see you anymore. Leave!” My words spilled over one another before I could think them through.

  “Isabelle,” Lucy soothed. She came by my side.

  “I can’t—” My voice caught.

  I wanted to say more, but couldn’t. Seeing him in person, he was too powerful, and Lucy didn’t understand. I couldn’t beg her for help. I had to find a way out myself.

  “Please, just leave.” I backed up until my back was against the wall. Lucy remained by my side, my only shield against him.

  Gregory took another step toward me, his hands raised as if he were approaching a mad dog. “Isabelle, what happened?” He glanced from Mother to me.

  “Stop this, Isabelle, immediately.” Mother snapped her fingers as if trying to end some trance. “She gets fear into her very soul and can’t control it. I’m so sorry, Gregory. Come now, Isabelle, end this foolishness.”

  Surrounded by disbelieving eyes, I thought I’d lose all fight, but instead strength welled up in me. I turned a cold eye to Mother and demanded, “No, Mother. You end this foolishness.”

  Not waiting for her reaction, I stalked out of the room, hiding my limp as best I could, and rushed up the stairs to my room. I paused on the landing so I could hear what they said in my absence.

  “I apologize for her behavior,” Mother said. “You are the first man she’s seen since the incident, aside from the doctor, and I’m sure she’s trying to sort her emotions out. What an ordeal! Perhaps, if you give her a day or two she’ll have recovered.”

  “I agree. A day or two and she’ll be the girl we know again,” Mrs. D’Havland insisted.

  “Yes, a few days.” Mother sounded tired. “She’s just shocked by th
e attack.”

  “Of course, I’m sure the attack distressed her,” Gregory said smoothly. “Such things change people. When she is calm, please convey to her my concern. She must fear that the fate of the servant girl would be hers as well. That is a great fear to live with, no matter your station. Luckily, she has you to protect her here at home.”

  Mother simpered at his compliment, but I heard the veiled threat in his words. Did he know I was a witness to his crime? Was he warning me to fear for my life? I’d be a fool to underestimate Gregory again.

  At the top of the stairs, I glanced over the banister and caught Gregory peering out of the dining room up at me. He gave me a forlorn look and smiled before turning back to Mother. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to help her. Surely if I hadn’t come upon that servant girl first, I might have prevented Isabelle this pain.”

  “No one can predict such things. What you did was heroic, no matter what else happened that day. Isabelle will be herself again in a day or two,” Mother promised. “Please join us for dinner, Gregory.” Pushing my bedroom door closed behind me, I clenched my fists. If there was one thing I knew now, it was that I would not do as Mother predicted.

  * * *

  Mother opened the door so fast that it slammed against the wall, the knob leaving a deep, angry mark.

  “What on earth is the matter with you?” She gripped my arm and stood me in front of her. “That display downstairs earlier was entirely inappropriate.”

  I yanked my arm out of her grasp and stepped clear of her dominance. “No, Mother. It was the only way to make my point. I am done with Gregory Gallagher. I don’t care how many flowers he sends or how many times he arrives to gallantly check on my injuries. I am done with him. He is a murderer, and I’ll not have him in my life. I know I can’t put him behind bars without your support, but I can—and fully intend to—dissolve the engagement.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Mother walked over to the window, looking down on the departing carriages. “He asked you to spend your life with him, and you accepted. You are not going to set idle tongues wagging over a story you fabricated to make your attack easier to deal with. I’m your mother, and I’ll not let you ruin our lives! If you continue down this path no decent person will so much as look at us. I can’t let you give up your life for a story.”