House of Silence

by Sarah Barthel

  After a moment of silence, Jesminda scooted close to me and said, “I’m so sorry I scared you. Sometimes I have episodes of . . . illness. I hope we can start fresh.”

  She spoke so articulately I could hardly believe it was the same person who had been so out of sorts the day before. I nodded to indicate I’d heard her and was rewarded with the same soft smile.

  “We should ask her,” Marilla said, gesturing to me. I paused in the middle of reaching for the butter. “She lives in the residence, after all.”

  Mrs. Allan smirked as she turned her gaze to me. “We could ask her many things, but she’d not reply to one of them. Isn’t that so?”

  My tongue followed the line of my teeth as I did my best not to reply to her comment. Mrs. Allan had a way of heightening my frustration. She was right, of course, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. I sliced off a slab of butter with my knife and busied myself with spreading it across my bread.

  “Don’t discount her so quickly,” Marilla said. Then to me, “You’ll answer our questions, won’t you, Isabelle?” A piece of her brown hair fell from her braid. She tucked it behind her ear. She hadn’t eaten a bite off her plate, just moved the food around so it looked eaten.

  For a moment I was tempted to ignore Marilla as well, but I remembered her grief at her husband’s cruelty and didn’t have the heart to disappoint her. I nodded.

  “See, she isn’t stupid, just quiet.” Marilla pinched Jesminda’s hand playfully. Mrs. Allan must have said similar things about Jesminda.

  My silence never seemed more to me than a symptom of my supposed insanity, a reminder to all that I wasn’t well. I never imagined that it would make me seem unintelligent. Father had worked so hard to educate me, and now I’d gone and made people believe I was daft. Pulling myself up straighter, I stared down the table at them and awaited their questions with what I hoped was a look of startling intelligence.

  Mrs. Allan took a long sip from her juice glass before fixing me with her eyes. “There is really only one question to ask. Did someone move into your hallway yesterday?”

  A smile pulled at my lips.

  “And who was it?” Mrs. Allan asked, leaning forward on the table.

  Before I could do anything, Jesminda blurted, “Is it true? Is Mary Lincoln herself living here now?”

  “Don’t you answer that, Isabelle,” Mrs. Patterson demanded from the doorway. She took two loud steps into the room and placed a hand on my shoulder. “These ladies know how to mind their business, don’t you, ladies?”

  They all nodded their heads, but I caught Mrs. Allan rolling her eyes.

  Mrs. Patterson sighed. “But to answer your question, yes, Mrs. Lincoln is spending some time here. I hope I can trust you all to make her feel at home and to give her the privacy she requires.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Allan said. “We all need our privacy. It is all some of us have left.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Patterson agreed curtly. I wondered if she was trying to avoid another confrontation.

  There was a long silence in the room, only interrupted by Jesminda’s noisy smacking as she chewed her breakfast. I took a few bites of my bread. Marilla continuously wiped her mouth with her napkin. The more I thought about it, I didn’t think I’d ever seen her eat a meal. I wondered if the doctors noticed her lack of appetite.

  A knock came from the front door that caused every head to snap in its direction. There were muffled voices, and then Agatha appeared with an envelope in her hands.

  “Mrs. Larkin and Mrs. Haskins will be visiting within the hour,” she said, handing the envelope to Mrs. Patterson.

  Despite Mrs. Patterson standing behind me, I jumped to my feet and dropped what was left of my bread to the plate. Mother and Aunt Clara were coming to visit? A stillness crept over me as I considered the only reason imaginable for so soon a visit: Mother had decided to release me from both Gregory and Bellevue. It had been a week, enough time for her to see what life might be like with an inmate for a daughter. I clung to that idea and dashed to my room to dress.

  CHAPTER 15

  With my best dress laced around my tightest corset and the bustle Aunt Clara gave me, I was the vision of propriety. The rose fabric lay straight down my front and pulled back into layers of ruffles down the rear and smooth lines across my sides. The sleeves puffed over my shoulders and buttoned gracefully up my arms. Although I could not breathe freely, it was worth it when Aunt Clara and Mother entered the parlor and tears came to Mother’s eyes as she took me in.

  I stood in front of the fireplace, my hands held in front of me. The pink shine to my dress stood out against the dark brick behind me. The scene was set for her to apologize and beg me to return home with her.

  “I’m pleased you’ve remained a lady here,” Mother began, glancing around her. “It is too bad they don’t have a proper chair for you, but we can’t have everything, can we?”

  I hadn’t a clue as to what she meant, so I just smiled. Aunt Clara’s starched skirt shuffled loudly as she came to my side. Taking my face in her hands, she kissed each cheek, stepped back, and smiled at me.

  “Dear me, you look well. Look at her cheeks—do you see how they’ve gained more color? I told you this place would be good to her.” Aunt Clara settled into an oversized rocking chair.

  Mother perched on one of the settees and sighed. “Yes, rosy cheeks will bring many suitors for my insane daughter.”

  Why was she still insulting me? She should be asking me to forgive her by now.

  Aunt Clara winced at Mother’s rebuke, but quickly regained her charm. “There is someone for everyone, even if it mightn’t be who we originally intended.” She winked at me, and I allowed her a small smile in return.

  “Don’t put such thoughts into her mind. Her future is decided. All she needs is to focus on finding the truth through the thick fog of lies she’s allowed to fill her head. Then she and I can return home.”

  These words put a nail in the coffin of my hope.

  I ignored Mother and returned to my seat. The other ladies were outside working in the gardens, but every once in a while I caught one of them blatantly staring into the window, looking at me. For some reason, their spying comforted me. Mother waited patiently for me to turn around. For all I cared, she could wait forever. Luckily for her, Mrs. Patterson appeared.

  “Mrs. Larkin. Mrs. Haskins. We’ve been expecting you. I do apologize for not receiving you properly, but I’ve been tending to another patient.”

  I glanced toward them and saw Mother’s face light up. “I read about the Widow Lincoln’s trial. Is she about today?”

  Only I could be so stupid not to see the truth. Of course, Mother had come to gawk at Mrs. Lincoln. After all of Papa’s stories, how could I imagine she’d stay away? I counted my blessings that my own admittance wasn’t based on the result of a trial. Any annoyance with my neighbor’s nightly outbursts flitted away. She had reason to suffer nightmares.

  Mrs. Patterson patted my shoulder, forcing my concentration back to the parlor. “Your daughter has made excellent progress in the past few days. Perhaps your time would be better spent attending her, or would you like me to get Dr. Patterson so that the two of you may discuss her case?”

  Mother’s face turned red. In a small, controlled voice she asked, “She’s making progress?” When Mrs. Patterson smiled, Mother jumped from her seat and demanded, “Then why is she not speaking yet? That is what we are paying you for, after all.”

  “These things take time, Mrs. Larkin. Isabelle will come around when she is ready and not a moment before.” Mrs. Patterson looked at me. “Perhaps a stroll about the grounds will entertain you both.”

  “Is Mrs. Lincoln walking the grounds this morning?” Mother asked, returning to her true agenda.

  I turned to the window so she wouldn’t see the hurt pinching my expression.

  “Don’t be rude, sister,” Aunt Clara insisted. “We are here for Isabelle.” My heart went out to my aunt for pulli
ng Mother back.

  Mother glared at Mrs. Patterson. Then to Aunt Clara she insisted, “I would like to meet the woman my husband spoke of so often. I would like to meet Mrs. Lincoln.”

  Aunt Clara fidgeted with the strings of her handbag. “Now, now. If they say she’s indisposed we ought to believe them.”

  Mother practically snarled at Aunt Clara. To Mrs. Patterson, she demanded, “Is it true what the papers say? Is she so insane that her own son had to send her here? Was there really a trial? It seems too dramatic to be true.”

  “Sister, stop this.” Aunt Clara grasped Mother’s arm and pulled her back. “This is wrong.”

  Before Mother could ask more questions, Mrs. Patterson said, “Mrs. Larkin, this is not a zoo. We do not gawk at the patients here. If you do not wish to visit with your daughter, you should go about your day’s business.”

  “Well, actually, that reminds me, I ought to be going.” Mother tipped her hat to Mrs. Patterson. “Just stopping in to see that Isabelle was being looked after. Wouldn’t want her to be overlooked because of the Widow Lincoln.”

  “Isabelle, I am glad you appear to be doing so much better,” Aunt Clara said, pulling me toward her in a hug. “We will be back to visit soon.”

  Mother embraced me as well, though her arms were stiff. “I hope you are working hard. We both know that where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  Aunt Clara linked her arm through mine as we walked out to the carriage. She held me back as Mother climbed up the steps and took her seat.

  “You do what you need to do and come home to us.” She kissed my cheek and then climbed up next to Mother. Aunt Clara motioned to the driver and the horses clopped down the road away from me.

  “Let’s get you out of that ridiculous outfit, Isabelle,” Mrs. Patterson said. I nodded and started up the stairs to my room.

  Once there, Mrs. Patterson stripped me of my corset and gown, placing me back in my gray afternoon dress. Without another word, she simply left me alone to my thoughts.

  There were things to do in my room, cleaning and straightening, which would be productive for my mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. Instead I lay on my bed and succumbed to my disappointment. Sobs shook me and made the room spin.

  After a few moments, I heard shoes on the floor of my room.

  “Are you all right, child?” Mrs. Lincoln asked.

  I shook my head, though the answer should have been obvious.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked.

  I shook my head again, allowing my sobs to rattle my chest.

  I expected her to leave me to my misery, but instead my bed creaked and sank beside me as she sat down. Strong fingers grabbed me around my rib cage and pulled me up toward her chest, and she rocked me back and forth.

  “There, there, child. Let the tears out and restore yourself.”

  “Thank you,” I sighed out loud as I closed my eyes and allowed Mrs. Lincoln to rock me.

  * * *

  Dr. Patterson tapped his fingers against the desktop, waiting for me to start speaking. It was our little game. Every other day we met and he treated me like I was normal and I tried to show him he was wrong. In previous sessions, I had pulled on my hair, rocked back and forth, and made assorted clicking sounds, but I was tired of making such a fuss. Instead, I sat, dragging my fingernail across my shirt cuff. Having worked on it for thirty minutes, I had achieved the beginnings of a tear, which was a shame since it was my favorite blouse. A small strand of string appeared in the fray, which I grabbed and pulled. No one cared what I looked like in here anyway, so why preserve a silly shirt? As I pulled, the hole grew until I could put my pinkie finger through it.

  “Well,” Dr. Patterson started. “Perhaps we should talk about the servant girl.”

  Despite myself, I froze. Never before had he tried to discuss anything so personal. Only Cook had referenced that incident, and with her it seemed different somehow.

  “Catherine or Carmina? Her name must be here in my notes somewhere.” He flipped through some papers. “Cassidy? Cassandra?”

  “Katerina,” I whispered. For an instant, I could smell the wet, musty smell of her small home. Her eyes still cast their blame on me. I shivered.

  It was Dr. Patterson’s turn to freeze. His fingers were halfway through my file and his brown eyes on me. His lips twitched as if trying to conceal a smile.

  “Yes,” he soothed. “Tell me more about her.”

  As he waited for my response he pressed his fingertips together, making a pyramid with his hands. I knew that look—it was the same one Father had given me when he thought he’d caught me in a lie. Dr. Patterson thought he had me, thought he was about to break me.

  There was no way I’d let that happen.

  Thinking of Jesminda’s fits, I repeated Katerina’s name over and over in a muttering, frantic way. Then, just to prove my point, I tore a chunk of fabric from my sleeve and calmly folded it into halves over and over again. When it was small enough, I shoved it into my mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

  Dr. Patterson reached forward to stop me, but he was too late. His hand dropped onto the desk and his eyes widened. When he didn’t move I grabbed my broken sleeve again and tugged hard on the tear. A second piece quickly came free. The first was still sitting precariously in my throat, but I kept the discomfort from my face. Instead, as I prepared to swallow another piece, I twisted my foot beneath Dr. Patterson’s desk, trying to release some of the pain.

  Lifting the fabric to my mouth, I met Dr. Patterson’s questioning gaze. His skin had turned a bit green and his lip curled in distaste. He finally declared, “Oh, stop. I’ll not make you speak.”

  Still, I shoved the piece of fabric into my mouth, though this time I only pretended to swallow.

  Twirling his pen around his finger, Dr. Patterson pursed his lips. “If you ever wish to return home, you’ll have to speak.”

  Good reason not to, I snarled inwardly.

  “And, clearly you can speak, if you’ve a mind to.”

  I’d have to fix his impression of that.

  “Mrs. Lincoln says you spoke to her.” His declaration nearly choked me, and I couldn’t stop coughing. “Can you tell me about that?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Patterson waited for me to reply. Slowly, I obtained control of myself. The damage was done, however. He knew Mrs. Lincoln’s story was plausible, if not true. I returned his gaze, hoping to regain some footing, but it was no use. Mrs. Lincoln had given the doctor the winning card.

  “All right, that is all for today, then.” Dr. Patterson turned his back to me. “I’ll have Agatha give you a bath to help calm your soul this afternoon.”

  Before he could change his mind, I bolted from the room.

  CHAPTER 16

  Back in my room, I slammed the door behind me. Everyone was at dinner so there was no one to hear my rage.

  How had I become so lazy? Barely here for three weeks and I’d slipped by speaking to no less than three different people, one of whom had betrayed me to Dr. Patterson. I threw myself on my bed and hugged a pillow to my chest.

  To have someone hold and rock me was soothing, but it wasn’t trust and now never would be. I couldn’t afford to trust in the wrong person.

  Rolling to my side, I hugged the pillow tighter and stared at the tree branches moving in the wind. They reminded me too much of the oaks outside my window at home.

  A pair of voices outside brought me back to myself. They were low and raspy.

  “I’m tellin’ you, mate, she’s here,” one said.

  The bushes rustled before another man replied. “You must be mistaken, man. No respectable woman stays here.”

  I rolled my eyes. Apparently it didn’t take much time for the press to start stalking Mrs. Lincoln. No wonder she was so paranoid.

  Perhaps if they were reported to Dr. Patterson he could kick them off the property. I leaned out my window and marked their images in my mind. Barely had I noted their
brown suits when the shorter one nudged the plump one and pointed up to my window.

  “Gallagher insisted she was with that aunt of hers, but I knew better! There she is! See her?”

  I dropped from view and tried to catch my breath. Gregory hired men to find me? The thought sent shivers over me. He must have suspected something was amiss and that meant one of two things—either he missed me or he suspected I knew something. Either way, it wasn’t good for me.

  Well, I’d not lie like easy prey for him to surprise unawares. No, I’d sacrificed too much to let Gregory beat me now.

  With as little sound as possible, I slid from my bed and grabbed my hand mirror.

  Keeping a lookout behind me and checking every corner made for a slow descent to the first floor. After only a few minutes, I was exhausted. What were Gregory’s spies after? I slid the mirror around the final corner and descended the staircase. Once I was sure no one was there, I pocketed my mirror and ran down the stairs. Surely, they’d not look long; it’d be dark soon.

  My foot hit the smooth wooden floor and, despite my grip on the banister, my foot slipped and landed me on the ground. Hard. As I rubbed my buttocks, a familiar swishing sound came down the hall, announcing Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Patterson. For a moment they stared at me, taking in my disheveled skirt and awkwardly sprawled legs.

  “Didn’t think you were a clumsy one.” Mrs. Patterson frowned. When I didn’t respond, she grabbed my elbows. “Let’s get you up, then.”

  She had me on my feet in one pull and promptly moved around me, spanking the dirt and wrinkles out of my skirt. As she hit the left side of my skirt the mirror slid out of my pocket and shattered on the floor.

  “Heavens above,” Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed, backing away from me. “That’s seven years’ bad luck!” She crossed herself and continued retreating until her back was against the wall.

  I patted my hair, which was out of place from my fall, pretending I hadn’t noticed Mrs. Lincoln’s outburst, but deep inside I was relieved. Her mood swings were too extreme for me. I didn’t want to remind her of my foolishly spoken words. Perhaps her superstitions would keep her far away from me. Yet, without the mirror, I had no way of seeing who was around the bend—no way of protecting myself from the unseen.