House of Silence

by Sarah Barthel

  Carriages continued up and down the road beside me. It took all my concentration to keep my head forward and move onward. Gregory had driven north and my instincts said he wouldn’t return here to make a scene.

  * * *

  I walked through the crowd trying to figure out what his next move might be. Gregory must have a plan. He was too smart to just return to Oak Park and move on. There were too many variables. The only thing I was fairly sure of was that he wouldn’t come after me in public again. Then, as I passed by the General Store, someone grabbed my arm.

  “Let me go!” I exclaimed. I would not be taken by him again!

  “Isabelle, it’s all right.” The grip slackened, yet my eyes remained closed. I could not bring myself to turn and confront him.

  People commented all around us as I struggled to pull my arm away.

  “Isabelle, it’s me. It’s Samuel.” He released me, and I opened my eyes. My heart still pounded in my ears, and my skin throbbed where he had held me, but I was safe. It wasn’t Gregory. I took a deep sigh and tried to make myself stop shaking.

  “What’s scared you so?” Samuel’s face tightened.

  “I . . . He . . .” I couldn’t make any explanation make sense.

  The crowd around us grew until it blocked the entrance. I was forced to step away from Samuel when some people nudged their way through the crowd and into the store.

  A clerk came outside. “Are you all right, miss?”

  I nodded. “Of course.” Standing next to Samuel, I felt silly for making such a spectacle.

  “Very well. Then, please clear the entryway.” He walked back to his duties, and the crowd went back to their business as well, leaving Samuel and me alone.

  A few of the women clucked as they passed by, and my cheeks flushed at how disheveled I appeared. My sleeves were wrinkled, and there were a few rips in the bottom of my skirt. A large section of my hair had fallen to my shoulders. I twisted it around my finger to put it back in place when a bolt of pain radiated down my arm. I dropped my hair and winced as pain jolted through my elbow and up to my shoulder.

  Samuel noticed the motion, and his eyes clouded over with worry. “Isabelle, you are in pain! I didn’t mean to grab you so hard. I—”

  I rubbed my arm. “It wasn’t you.”

  Samuel looked around as if my attacker was waiting a few steps away. “What happened?” he whispered.

  I stammered, “I . . . I told him I knew, and he grabbed me. I fell. Nothing went right today.”

  If Samuel thought anything strange about my comments he didn’t show it. Instead he waved the remaining onlookers away, offered me his arm, and led me down the street. His bag swung freely from his free hand. I wondered if we looked odd together, me limping in my church dress and him in his rolled-up sleeves and suspenders.

  “Who hurt you?” he asked quietly.

  I expected him to placate me or argue about the truth in my words or at the very least question my loose tongue, but his tone and manner evoked sympathy. We reached the end of the block, and he led me to the left. I recognized the large oak tree on the corner. We were walking back to Bellevue, back to safety.

  I exhaled and said, “Gregory Gallagher.”

  My eyes stayed fixed on him and waited for any signs of disbelief, but instead shock and pity covered his face.

  “Your fiancé?” he asked.

  “Not anymore.”

  Samuel strode in silence before saying dryly, “That’s probably for the best.”

  Bellevue was now directly in front of us, a short, two-block walk. I stopped walking before we could be overheard by anyone working outside.

  “Are you badly hurt?” He took my hand in his. For an instant, despite everything, I felt my skin tingle at his touch. Samuel was all business, however, as he lifted my injured arm out to the side and up and down. “I think you’ll be fine. If it still hurts this evening, come see me and I’ll wrap it for you.”

  I nodded.

  “And your ankle?” His voice trailed off.

  “I fell on it when I jumped out of his carriage. I’ll find you if the pain persists.”

  Samuel looked like he wanted to ask dozens of questions, but he couldn’t find the words.

  “Isabelle!” The call of an all too familiar voice shot down the lane to us.

  “Mother?” She shouldn’t be here. She was waiting for me at Aunt Clara’s.

  She stepped out of her carriage, which was parked in front of Bellevue, and stalked down the sidewalk toward us. She was merely a block away, but I could feel the anger seething from her.

  She ignored Samuel and grabbed my injured arm so that I was nearly face to face with her. I cried out from pain. Her fingers had found the exact place Gregory had clutched me not an hour before.

  “She is injured, ma’am.” Samuel tried to separate us, but Mother positioned herself so as to exclude him from our conversation.

  Instead of letting go of me, she gripped tighter, and her nails embedded themselves in my bruises. “When I want your opinion, Dr. Deston, I’ll ask it.” Returning her attention to me, she demanded, “What did you say to Gregory?”

  We both knew what she was referring to. I twisted my arm to get out of her grasp, but she only held tighter. At least I knew where he’d gone so quickly.

  Lifting my chin, I replied, “I told him I knew the truth.”

  Her grip became so tight that her nails punctured my skin, and blood appeared through my thin white sleeve. Samuel’s eyes were fixated on her hand, and his eyes squinted as if he once had felt similar pain.

  “The truth? You mean your lie!” Mother’s voice was so loud I wondered if she had forgotten we were in public. Her grip tightened as her voice softened. “What have you done, Isabelle? How could you do this to me?”

  “To you?” I exclaimed.

  “As if you don’t know how your actions could ruin me as well.” Mother gave a disgusted snort. I bit my lip to avoid reacting.

  “You are hurting her,” Samuel interjected, his eyes still on my stained sleeve. “He hurt her.”

  Mother turned and looked him square in the eye. “She is none of your affair.”

  Samuel glanced at me as if seeking guidance and I motioned for him to leave. This was between Mother and me. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but retreated to the garden shed, a place he could surely overhear every word. His slight defiance against Mother gave me strength.

  Once he was out of sight, she continued. “Mr. Gallagher wants nothing to do with us now and will surely spread ill will when he returns to Oak Park. He uncovered where you’ve been staying, and he intends to make sure everyone knows in order to protect himself from your slander. No man will have you now! I don’t know what to do with you, Isabelle. This isn’t you. You don’t lie, and yet here we are. You’ve ruined yourself, and I don’t understand why.”

  Even with Mother’s frantic fears and the trickle of blood down my arm, all I felt was relief. Gregory was no longer interested in my life; I was free. Perhaps he truly thought all he had to do was discredit me in order to keep me silent. If that was true, I could go home.

  “But I am well now. I can speak again, and Gregory is out of my life. Let’s go home,” I said.

  Mother’s face froze, and she turned a cold eye to me. “We are going to do nothing. I am going to return home. You shall remain here.”

  “What?” My head shook in confusion. “Am I to stay here with Aunt Clara?” It wasn’t the worst idea. No one knew me in Batavia. I could start over.

  “No. I am not releasing you from Bellevue. I told Dr. Patterson I didn’t believe it was safe for you to leave until this foolishness had left your mind.”

  It took a moment for her words to seep in. If she didn’t arrange my release, I wouldn’t be allowed to leave—ever. Marilla’s panic made more sense now.

  “But . . .” I began.

  Mother released my arm and gave me a satisfied smirk. “Everyone will soon know where you are. You cannot return home af
ter a month or two and expect your life to be waiting for you. It doesn’t work like that. However, I will write you. If I play my cards right, our friends will, no doubt, pity the mother of such a damaged daughter. If I act quickly, I shall not lose status.” She patted my cheek.

  “You cannot leave me here,” I said. “There is nothing ill in me. I am your daughter, your flesh and blood.”

  Mother crossed her arms. “A daughter? Daughters are obedient, loving, and subservient. But you have none of those qualities. Every single thing I’ve done has been to aid you, and yet you still tried to confront Gregory with your wild accusations. He is a good man, Isabelle. Until you remember that, I have no daughter.”

  I reeled at her words. “But Mother, he is the reason Katerina is dead.”

  “Despite all I have done, that is what you still believe? There is nothing to be done, Isabelle. Even if you were to confess your lie now, you’d have to stay here. People must believe you are healed before I can let you come home. I’ll not be mocked for harboring a lunatic or worse, a spiteful liar.”

  She dragged me up the porch steps and through the front door of Bellevue. Mrs. Patterson rose from the sewing circle and greeted us in the hallway. The tall grandfather clock boomed its quarterly chime.

  Mother shoved my arm out toward Mrs. Patterson. “I’ve come to return my daughter to you. She is beyond help. Thus I am returning home for the remainder of her care.”

  Mrs. Patterson put an arm around me as Mother dropped my arm and stalked out of the house. There was no good-bye, no remorseful glance over her shoulder, no kindness at all.

  That was how she left me: shocked beyond tears in the front room of Bellevue, which was now my home. Forever.

  CHAPTER 25

  Back in the hallway, fatigue overcame me. My arm throbbed and my legs were sore from my fall from the carriage. Despite all that, when I saw Mrs. Lincoln’s door open I was overcome with an angry curiosity. She had broken her promise, but there must have been a reason. She wouldn’t have abandoned me without cause. Before I succumbed to anger, I wanted to know the reason. More than one figure made shadows over the floor. Mrs. Lincoln’s pacing was audible even in the hallway. She only paced when angry, and I wondered who was with her. That she was well enough for visitors ate at my heart. Why hadn’t she sent her promised help?

  As I approached it was impossible to ignore the raised voices coming from Mrs. Lincoln’s room.

  “Mother, you are not well. This is where you must live for the time being,” a man’s voice declared.

  “I am well, Robert,” Mrs. Lincoln cried out. “It is you who are keeping me in here. Why? Do you wish to have all my money? Take it—just give me my freedom.”

  I was close enough to see into the room as Robert took a step backward at his mother’s outburst.

  “Your money is far from my mind, Mother,” he insisted. “I am worried about your health.”

  Hand on my doorknob, I peered over my shoulder in order to gain a better view. Mrs. Lincoln twirled a piece of ribbon around her fingers. She threw it onto the table as she demanded, “Speak to Dr. Patterson when he gets back.” Mrs. Lincoln stood, walked toward Robert, and placed a hand on his cheek. “Please, aid me. Surely as my son you owe me some allegiance.”

  Robert stared at his mother and slowly nodded his head. “Very well, Mother. I will inquire after you, but if you are refuted, you must stay here willingly. I want no more of this foolishness.”

  “They will affirm my well-being.” Mrs. Lincoln stood straighter. “I have been the perfect patient.”

  I decided that I had heard enough and opened the door to my room. I’d gain no answers from eavesdropping. The slight click of the doorknob must have alerted them to my return, for immediately they both were in the doorway staring at me.

  “Isabelle, a moment, please,” Mrs. Lincoln requested. Her face was flushed and her eyes pinched.

  Robert stepped back to give me room to enter. Even if I wanted to speak with her at that moment, I couldn’t. Just looking at her caused my throat to clog with emotions, but I didn’t know how to refuse without damaging my relationship with Mrs. Lincoln further. As always, the blush pink quilt on her bed looked odd in the bleached starkness that was Bellevue, but it looked childish today, not sweet.

  “My mother says she’s developed quite a relationship with you,” Robert began, offering me a seat at the table.

  “We have become close,” Mrs. Lincoln explained. “Haven’t we, Isabelle?”

  Mrs. Lincoln sat across from me and folded her hands on the table. “Isabelle, you have nothing to fear in this room; you know that. Robert will not repeat anything that is said here.”

  To that Robert raked his fingers through his hair. “Mother, you know I cannot keep such a promise.” His honesty impressed me.

  As Robert paced the room, I avoided both of them by staring at the floor. Please, I prayed. Give me a way out of this confrontation.

  He turned to Mrs. Lincoln. “Mother, this is a waste of time. Even were she to talk, it would matter little.”

  “Robert, is there a problem here?” Dr. Patterson stood in the doorway and looked in at us. “Isabelle, I did not know you had returned.”

  I swallowed and turned my gaze to the doctor. His face was expressionless, and that made me feel less safe than ever.

  Robert walked over to Dr. Patterson and crossed his arms over his chest. “The girl refuses to speak.”

  Dr. Patterson shook his head sadly. “That is because Isabelle does not speak. She’s mute, Robert.” Samuel had not betrayed our confidence. Then in a softer voice, “Your mother believes they have a relationship?”

  Robert nodded. “She claims they spend the evenings conversing.”

  “She had once mentioned something along those lines. Interesting.” Dr. Patterson tilted his head in thought.

  Mrs. Lincoln was staring at me as the men spoke in hushed tones, as if we were not in the same room. Our eyes met and guilt nudged me.

  “Isabelle,” she begged softly. “Isabelle, tell them. Tell them how we talk late at night. Tell them of your nightmares and how you saved me from being a fool at Madam Rosetta’s. Do not let them think less of me.”

  Dr. Patterson’s head snapped at Mrs. Lincoln’s words. “Late night talks? But what about your nurse? Does she not lock you in?”

  Mrs. Lincoln didn’t hear him; she was focused only on me. “Tell them!” Her voice rose in pitch to the point that she’d sound insane even if she read the Constitution. “Tell them of our talks so I can leave. You are the only one who can. Tell them!”

  Dr. Patterson strode to Mrs. Lincoln’s side and took her wrist, counting her pulse. “She’s overly excited. What on earth put you in such an argument?” He shot Robert a questioning gaze as he soothed Mrs. Lincoln’s brow. Her breath was ragged and I wondered if she was in physical pain as well. Everyone knew how quickly her headaches came upon her. “Stay with her while I get a tonic. She’ll settle for us.”

  Not able to take the guilt another moment, I looked from Dr. Patterson to Robert and back to my former friend. Then, as if I were truly insane and hadn’t heard the desperation in her voice, I stood up and walked out of the room. Dr. Patterson followed me out the door. Mrs. Lincoln spoke not another word.

  * * *

  As Mrs. Lincoln slept, I curled up on my bed and gazed out the window. There was a breeze that afternoon, forcing the tree branches to blow from side to side. They had not the strength to oppose the wind’s will. After the breeze released its grip, a single green leaf broke away and floated to the ground. Why shouldn’t I break away as well? Mother had left me; I owed her nothing. I’d have control over my life.

  I jumped to my feet and rummaged in my wardrobe for the carpet bag I had brought with me. Yanking it out from the far corner, I began pulling my gowns off the hangers and shoving them into the bag. For a second I wondered if I should fold them properly, but dismissed it as Mother’s advice and continued packing. I moved to the vanity table and
began doing the same with the powders and brushes. The door creaked open behind me.

  “What are you doing?” Agatha shut the door behind her.

  “Leaving,” I replied, not even glancing at her.

  Agatha walked through the room and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Samuel told me what happened and that you were finally speaking freely.”

  I didn’t stop to look at her. If I paused, I’d lose my nerve.

  “I wish you had told me what was keeping you silent. Perhaps we could have helped you.”

  I snorted. “What do you think you could have done?”

  Agatha placed her hand over mine and stopped me stuffing a blouse into the bag. “No one should have to go through what you’ve gone through—but you can’t leave.” Her young eyes pleaded for something I didn’t understand.

  I shrugged her off me. “Mother’s left me here to rot. Why shouldn’t I leave?”

  “The Pattersons will come after you.” She spoke so simply, I knew it wasn’t a lie, but I could not accept her words.

  “No, they won’t. If they were so concerned about keeping us here, why did they let me ride out with Mrs. Lincoln? Why did they let me out with Mother today? They had no way of knowing I’d come back. No one locks the front door. I could walk out any time.” Just to prove it, I rammed my last comb into the bag and snapped it closed.

  Agatha sighed. “They let you leave with a chaperone to bring you back. If you leave now, if you flee, they will find you. No one wants an insane woman roaming the—”

  “I am not insane!”

  Agatha slid a few inches away from me. “Do you think that really matters? Listen, I always knew you could speak. We all did. I knew you weren’t deranged, not permanently anyway, but now you’re going to have to prove your sanity.”

  What a flip my life had taken. Twenty-four hours before, I was working to maintain the appearance of insanity, and now I’d have to undo all that and demonstrate that the quality of my mind was good.