House of Silence

by Sarah Barthel

  “It is more than I expected.” Mother nodded, but did not make any movement to hug or even touch me. I suspected she knew that would be too much.

  “Dr. Patterson will discharge me to Aunt Clara’s care, but I would rather your signature on the paper.” I swallowed. Mother rarely admitted she was wrong, and a large part of me didn’t really believe she’d put it on paper.

  “I already have spoken with the doctor. He is drawing up the paperwork now.” Her words made me dizzy with relief. “You are free to leave when you wish, and as soon as Lucy’s swelling subsides, we’ll return to Oak Park.”

  “Oak Park?” I repeated like a dullard. “I’m not sure I wish to return there, and I know Lucy doesn’t.”

  At that, Mother’s face hardened. “Oh, I know all about Lucy. I promised her mother that were I to find her, I’d bring her home. Her parents are worried beyond all belief. I’ll not let them go through what I went through.”

  I closed my eyes and laughed. “When will you learn that you cannot control everyone? Lucy loves Patrick and is going to marry him no matter what. And I . . .” I paused, unsure how to continue. Samuel and I had shared only one kiss, but I knew I wanted to keep him in my life. “I have my own reasons for staying in Batavia.”

  Mother’s eyes grew round, but she nodded. “All right. Perhaps allowing Lucy to continue with her choices will convince you that I’ve changed my views.”

  Despite myself, I smiled. “Perhaps it will. Thank you, Mother.”

  With deliberate steps, I walked across the room and kissed her cheek. When I pulled back, her eyes were glassy. Instead of speaking, or allowing herself to cry, she took my hand and squeezed it. All was not mended, but there was hope that it might be someday.

  Aunt Clara must’ve been listening at the doors, for the next moment she flung them open and gushed, “Thank goodness for small miracles!”

  CHAPTER 34

  At that moment the front door burst open.

  “LUCY!” a man’s voice exclaimed. “Lucy D’Havland?”

  It was Patrick!

  I rushed to him, blocking his way to the stairs. “Patrick, she’s here. It’s all right.”

  If I hadn’t known him so well, I don’t think I would’ve recognized him. In a three-piece suit and a bowler hat, he looked much older than before. He was thriving, and it made my heart swell with pride for him and Lucy.

  He rubbed his face and glanced about the entryway. “She’s here? Thank God. I’ve read the papers. What an ordeal! Is Lucy well?”

  I led him into the sitting room, where Mother gave up her seat for him. “Her cheek is swollen, as is her nose. She’ll be fine.”

  “Thank goodness.” Patrick sat down and put his face in his hands.

  Mother, clearly displeased with Patrick’s arrival, sulked in front of the window. However, I couldn’t worry about her misconceptions.

  “Dr. Patterson has given her a compress to help reduce the swelling. She’s sleeping right now, or she was before you started yelling.” I poured a cup of water from the side table and handed it to him.

  “When she left before our wedding, I was sure she’d run home. I was sure she’d gone to marry another.”

  Mother’s feet pounded upon the floor as she grabbed Patrick’s arm. “You’re not married?” she exclaimed. “That girl gave up everything, and you didn’t marry her?”

  “Stop, Mother,” I insisted.

  Patrick pulled his arm back. “I tried, but she left. The minister is only in town every two or three weeks, and I wanted to do it right, in a church. She deserves at least that.”

  “They had a minister and the church reserved, but Lucy chose to come here instead and help me,” I explained. “She risked everything for me. It isn’t Patrick’s fault.”

  Mother looked down at Patrick and tilted her head, considering. “He really loves her?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “And her him?”

  “More than anything,” Patrick said.

  “Then I shall call upon the church and make the arrangements,” Mother said briskly. “Isabelle, do you think Lucy will be well enough by week’s end?” She stood and put her gloves on.

  I couldn’t believe my ears, but said, “To be wed? I believe she’d be ready today.”

  Patrick rose. “Mrs. Larkin, I don’t know what to say. Are you certain?”

  Mother straightened her shoulders. “Recently I have learned that sometimes daughters know what’s best for themselves. Perhaps assisting you will heal some of the pain I’ve caused Isabelle. Besides, you must marry, and sooner rather than later.”

  Emotions battled for attention within me. I still wasn’t ready to forgive Mother, but was grateful that she saw a way to help Lucy and Patrick.

  The floor creaked behind us. “I heard shouting,” Samuel explained as he slipped into the room.

  “Samuel, this is Patrick, and I’m sure you remember Mother.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Patrick. Lucy speaks often of you.” Samuel reached out and shook Patrick’s hand.

  Stepping back, Samuel stood beside me and rested a hand on my back. He whispered in my ear, “I’ve missed you.” His breath was warm, and I smiled.

  “Isabelle, why don’t you take Patrick to see Lucy. She’s awake, I believe.”

  Mother cleared her throat. “We have not yet finished our conversation, daughter.”

  I hesitated, but Patrick was already in the hallway waiting for me.

  “It will do Lucy good to see Patrick, and I owe her that,” I explained.

  “Very well,” she said reluctantly. “But have him wait for her on the veranda at least. It’s unseemly for a man to visit his lady’s bedroom.”

  Patrick grinned. “Nothing I do shall ever tarnish Lucy’s reputation. Isabelle, I’ll wait for you and Lucy in the back gardens.”

  Tilting her head appraisingly, Mother tapped her lips. “Lucy may have chosen better than Mrs. D’Havland ever imagined. We’ll speak more later, Isabelle.”

  Before she could take back her words, I slipped out of the room and rushed upstairs to tell Lucy all the good news.

  * * *

  True to form, Lucy insisted on being presentable before she saw Patrick. She was awake when I found her, but her hair, normally in perfect ringlets, had hardly been brushed through since we’d returned.

  “Izzy, he can’t see me like this. I’m horrid!” She plopped herself on my vanity stool.

  I laughed. “Oh, Lucy. You could have the plague, and Patrick would think you the most beautiful woman. He loves you.”

  Lucy unstoppered a vial of rose-scented perfume. “Please, Izzy, help me.”

  “As if you even have to ask,” I assured her.

  I dampened a washcloth and began to clean her cheek.

  “While you were gone, I got to thinking, Izzy,” Lucy began as I untied her bandage to work on her hair. “Without a fiancé, there is little holding you here. I know you and Samuel are close, but just in case you aren’t ready for another man in your life, I wanted to offer you a home. There are so many opportunities out West. The towns are just forming and much work is needed. I doubt anyone would blink at your time here, and your skills with organization and politics would be of great use.”

  I pulled the brush through her hair. “I think I’m done with politics. It was Papa’s dream, not mine . . . not really. I just want to be useful at something.”

  Lucy nodded. “You could be useful out West. And if you moved, I wouldn’t have to miss you.”

  In the silence, I brushed the snarls from her curls and piled her hair back off her face. Moving didn’t sound as awful as it once had. Actually, the idea of it felt freeing, to be in a place where no one knew me, or my history. I smiled at Lucy in the mirror.

  “I think that would make me happy,” I admitted.

  Lucy beamed. “I can’t wait to tell Patrick!”

  I looked her over once more before sending her off to find her beloved. Once she was gone I sat down and tried to
figure out how to explain my decision to Samuel.

  CHAPTER 35

  The next day Mrs. Lincoln was taking an afternoon carriage ride when I found her son Robert waiting for her in her room. He sat at her desk thumbing through her letters. I left Lucy to pack my gowns and walked across the room.

  The clacking of my shoes upon the floor alerted him to my presence, and he turned toward the door. “Isabelle, what can I do for you?”

  “Robert.” I walked into the room and shut the door behind me. His eyes widened at the impropriety, but I didn’t care. “Your mother is suffering here. She needs to be released, and I believe she has found a compromise which will be amenable to you both.”

  Robert glanced from me to the door again before asking, “When did you start speaking?”

  I thought Dr. Patterson had promised to explain that fib. “I always could. The day we first met, I was angry with your mother and didn’t want to cooperate. I know it caused some further conflict between the two of you and for that I am sorry.”

  The room was still as Robert considered my words. Lucy dropped something across the hall. I shifted from foot to foot and waited. Finally, Robert stood from his desk, crossed the room, and opened the door.

  “Thank you for clarifying that misunderstanding. However, my relationship with my mother is none of your affair. I’d thank you to please leave.” His voice left little room for argument.

  Defeated, I walked back into the hallway. Then I spun back to face him. “Just let me say this—no matter what has happened between the two of you, she is your mother, and that is more important than anything. Trust that I know it is hard to forgive, but your mother is heartbroken and desires only to be loved.”

  Robert squinted and his grip on the doorframe tightened. “You are too bold. Now, leave me.”

  I nodded and swallowed the rest of all I wanted to say on behalf of Mrs. Lincoln.

  “Thank you for listening, Mr. Lincoln.” With that, I retreated to my room.

  * * *

  When Mother is determined, nothing stands in her way. In just three days she hired the church and arranged a ceremony at which Queen Victoria herself would marvel. Perhaps the only thing missing was an overdesigned wedding gown. Personally, I thought the white dress Lucy chose to wear was beautiful because of its simplicity. I had pulled her hair up and pinned small roses in between her curls. Yet, nothing could compare with the glorious smile on her face as she held Patrick’s hands and promised to love him forever.

  After the ceremony, our small group gathered on the front lawn of the church as Patrick and Lucy climbed into their carriage. I ran over and grasped Lucy’s hand.

  “You are the bride of my dreams.”

  Lucy reached down from her seat and kissed my cheek. “We’ll see you soon?” she asked, her eyes searching mine.

  “Once things are settled with Mrs. Lincoln and Mother, I’ll come.”

  After blowing everyone a kiss, Lucy beamed at Patrick and the carriage lurched into motion.

  Once they passed the church gate, most of the crowd dispersed, but I stayed until they turned a corner and I could no longer see them. After a moment, Samuel sauntered up beside me.

  “She’s the happiest I’ve seen her,” I said.

  Samuel gazed off to where they’d disappeared. “They make a handsome pair.” He paused. “Are you still thinking of moving out West?”

  “I’ll have to live somewhere, and returning to Oak Park doesn’t feel right. The stigma of Bellevue will always shadow me there. And Lucy says there are a lot of opportunities for women out West.”

  Samuel turned to face me. “You know, Patrick mentioned that there aren’t many licensed doctors in his area. A man with my training could make a good life for himself.” He smiled.

  His words were everything I wished to hear, but I couldn’t let him give up his blue house or any of his other dreams. Not for me. I began to step away, but he grasped my wrist tightly and gently kissed my lips.

  “Isabelle,” he whispered into my ear. “You know how I feel about you. If you care for me even a fraction of that amount, I know we’d be happy.”

  “But your plans . . . your house.”

  Samuel laughed. “I want you. The rest is simply geography.”

  A small fluttering started in my toes and crawled up my body. Could this really be happening? Was Samuel really willing to uproot himself and move hundreds of miles away just for me?

  He took my hand and got down on one knee. “Isabelle, will you be my wife?”

  I paused and thought of all he was giving up. Then I forced myself to stop. If my reputation were sound, I’d follow him anywhere. A warm feeling spread throughout me, ending in a smile. I never thought I could care about someone so much.

  I knelt down so our faces were level and ignored the wet grass beneath us. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Samuel.”

  Samuel pressed his forehead to mine. “My strong, smart, and beautiful Isabelle. Forever shall not be long enough, but it is a start.”

  His hands wrapped around my waist. When his lips met mine, his passion swept me away.

  Opening my eyes, I saw Mother standing at the edge of my vision. For a moment, I thought she was frowning, but as I focused on her, she smiled and tipped her hat to us. Leaning my cheek against Samuel’s, I smiled back at her.

  Mere months before, I’d promised myself to a man I felt little for and a life that held little for me. And now, I was planning a new life out West where my life would matter and I’d have Samuel by my side. This was a life I’d never envisioned . . . one I never could have imagined. And I had created it on my own.

  I never thought I’d feel so alive.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  One of the first places I visited when I moved to the Fox Valley area was Bellevue Sanitarium. I was driving through Batavia and saw a sign that read, “Bellevue Sanitarium, Home to Mary Todd Lincoln in 1875.” Having nursed an interest in the Lincolns for most of my life, I turned off the main road and drove up to the two-story yellow brick building. It is now a set of condos, but the exterior is much the same. I sat in my car imagining what life was like when Mary Todd Lincoln stayed there, and what had caused her to be admitted.

  I tried to approach this story from many different angles before Isabelle’s character came to me. One of the constraints my research presented was the stigma that was placed on sanitariums and how it could ruin a young woman’s life. Knowing that stigma existed, I wondered if there was any reason a woman would choose to live there. From that one thought, Isabelle’s story began to take shape.

  Bellevue Place was a home for upper-class troubled women. In May of 1875 there were about twenty women living there with a wide variety of ailments. At least one woman suffered from eating disorders, as Marilla does in this story. Another woman had to keep her hair very short because she pulled it out otherwise. And others were simply in need of a break from their lives. Some women lived their entire lives there, but others were genuinely cured by the Pattersons’ care.

  Dr. Patterson was the director of the sanitarium. His wife was in charge of the day-to-day staff duties. Some sources state that Dr. Patterson’s son was his assistant. In my research I wasn’t able to confirm the fact that he had children. Some sources supported the son, others claimed there was a daughter who possibly had severe autism. Due to the lack of consistent information, I chose not to include children for them.

  Dr. Patterson believed in a regimen of a good diet, outside activity, regular bathing, and mental stimulation. He said in an ad for Bellevue that they would not use drugs on patients unless absolutely necessary. The only exception I found in my research was the use of sedatives that were administered to some patients at bedtime to aid in sleep and to others when they got out of hand.

  Much of Mrs. Lincoln’s story was omitted from this book, as it is Isabelle’s story. Mary Lincoln’s life was filled with sadness. After the death of her third son, Tad Lincoln, Mary Lincoln’s behavior became erratic. She sent telegrams t
o her eldest and only surviving son, Robert, claiming visions of him on his deathbed. She also insisted that he was trying to murder her. She wrote letters complaining of an Indian spirit who would rip off her scalp and replace it with another one, stick pins in her eyes, and beat her head with a tomahawk. Eventually, Robert feared for his mother’s health and made the tough decision to have her declared legally insane. The process for this involved taking his mother to trial.

  There have been numerous debates as to the reasons behind Robert’s decision. Some claim he was worried about the amount of money she was spending. Others say he was justly worried for her mental health. Others point to the laundry list of embarrassing events she caused and say that Robert needed to put her away. I chose to take the view that Robert was both worried for his mother and embarrassed with her behavior.

  Like Isabelle, Mary Lincoln obtained her own freedom from the sanitarium. With the help of a lawyer friend, Myra Bradwell (and Myra’s husband), Mrs. Lincoln gained enough interest in her case to get Robert to sign her release papers. A year later, in June 1876, the courts declared her sane. Her sister offered her a room in her house in Springfield. Mrs. Lincoln didn’t stay there long, however, due to too many painful memories of her life with Abraham before the war. She died July 16, 1882.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are many people who helped bring Isabelle’s story to life. I’d like to thank my agent, Steven Chudney, for championing Isabelle’s story and finding it a home, Martin Biro and the whole Kensington family for bringing her to life, and my wonderful critique partners for listening to endless versions of these pages. Jennifer, Jenny, Natalie, Jenn—this book would not be here without you. And last (but never least), I have to thank my wonderful husband, who has listened to me fret over Isabelle for years. Thanks to all for the love and support.

  SARAH BARTHEL found her passion for writing historical fiction from her interest in classic films and old-time musicals. She often says she was born out of time, but appreciates modern toothpaste and chocolate! Her hometown, just outside Chicago, is full of old-fashioned charm and serves as inspiration for much of her work. Before writing House of Silence, she drove past Bellevue Sanitarium often and wondered what life was like there for women like Mary Lincoln. After many years of wondering, Isabelle’s story was born. Sarah Barthel lives with her two beautiful daughters and loving husband. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, or at www.Sarahebarthel.com.