by Jan Watson
“If you need anything, I’m just next door, taking care of Mrs. Porter,” Nellie said, her voice as sunny as if she were tending flowers in a garden. “Talk about society. Her Highness thinks she’s Mary Todd Lincoln. Everything has to have a gold rim, else she won’t touch it.”
Copper had never felt at such a loss, not even on that dreadful night with Andy in Mrs. Archesson’s house. What was she to do now? What solace could she give to this poor woman? Help me, Lord, she prayed. Show me what to do.
“Mrs. Archesson? Birdie?” she said softly, slipping into the nickname she had given for need of a bit of comfort. “Birdie?” she repeated, easing herself onto the uncomfortable bed and stroking Mrs. Archesson’s shoulder.
Hooded eyes blinked once, twice. Birdie looked at Copper without a trace of recognition. “Are you an angel? Here to help me find my baby?”
“Don’t you remember me, Mrs. Archesson?”
Birdie struggled with the shackle, her face creased in frustration.
“I’m Copper Corbett. Dr. Corbett’s wife. I met you at the office when you came for a visit.”
“I feel so fuzzy-headed.” Mrs. Archesson took a big breath and shook her head. “I can’t remember where I put the baby.”
Marshaling her thoughts, Copper opened her mouth to explain about finding baby Matilda.
But Birdie spoke first, staring over Copper’s shoulder with faraway eyes. “He must be hungry by now. He’s a big baby, Robert Jr.—the apple of his father’s eye.”
The chain holding the shackle clanged as loud as a church bell, and Copper jumped up and stood looking down at Birdie.
“Can you get me loose from this thing?” Birdie cried, writhing on her bed. Dry corn shucks rustled in protest. “Aunt Annie will be mad if I don’t get supper started.”
Alarmed, Copper nearly called for Nellie.
But just as suddenly as she had started, Birdie seemed to give up and slumped back against the wall, whispering, “She never liked me, you know. Never liked me. We wouldn’t be living with her, Robert and I, if he hadn’t been hurt in the war.”
Copper stood beside the bed holding Birdie’s brown-speckled hand. Birdie must be over fifty, she thought, but she’s thinking she has a baby and that her husband, not to mention Aunt Annie, is still alive.
Birdie managed to pull herself to a sitting position at the end of her comfortless bed. She rocked there, back and forth, bony arms around bony knees. “I didn’t mean it, Robert. Don’t you know I’d never hurt our baby?” Falling back, she pounded the mattress with her fists. A fine dust made Copper sneeze. “Oh, why does she hate me so? What did I ever do to her?” Her eyes begged Copper. “Make Aunt Annie give me my boy.”
“Shh,” Copper said, reaching under her own full skirts and removing the muslin half petticoat she wore over her knee-length drawers. She ripped a small hole in the seam of Birdie’s mattress and removed some of its mildewed contents. Reaching down her bodice, she extracted a length of the blue ribbon from the lace and openwork top of her camisole, hooked it with her teeth, and tore it in two pieces.
“Shh,” she cautioned yet again, lest Birdie’s racket summon attention. Quickly Copper began to stuff the petticoat with shucks. This done, she tied a length of blue ribbon around each end of the petticoat. If she’d had her watercolors, she would have painted a little face.
“Look, Birdie.” She rocked the pillow in her arms. “Here’s your baby. Here’s Robert Jr.”
“Oh, my baby. My baby,” Mrs. Archesson crooned, taking the “baby” from Copper. “Mama won’t lose you again, never lose you again. Here, precious, are you hungry?” Gathering her corn-shuck baby to her flat chest, she looked up at Copper with the bright, clear gaze of a young woman. “Excuse me. I need to feed my baby now. Perhaps you can visit another time?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Archesson. Thank you for letting me visit.” Copper’s knees wobbled like jelly as she went to the door and called for Nellie.
“What do you have there?” Nellie questioned as she observed her patient. “She’s not allowed any contraband.”
“That’s not contraband.” Copper squared her shoulders, standing as tall as her five-foot-three-inch frame would allow. “The doll is a therapeutic remedy approved by her doctor. It is to remain at the bedside.” The shame of her lie colored her cheeks. But Simon would approve, wouldn’t he?
“Good-bye, Mrs. Archesson,” she said with a merry lilt to her voice as if she were leaving a tea party. “Nellie, will you show me out?” While Please, Lord, get me out of here was what she prayed.
Copper dressed carefully for her fifth visit to the lunatic asylum. The morning was hot and sticky, with not a breeze to cool the day, and so she selected a light poplin frock in a somber shade of brown. Choosing a plain straw bonnet, she tucked the last stray strand of hair under its brim.
“There,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “Tommy is sure to approve.” He was to be her chaperone again, and he had cautioned her to dress simply. Some of the inmates at the hospital were so starved for color, Tommy related, that they might rip a fancy hat right off her head.
They sat quietly as Copper guided the buggy down Fourth Street and reined the horse to a stop under the branches of a maple tree.
“Tommy, does it bother you to come here?” she asked as he gave her his gyrating hand and helped her to step down. “There must be some unpleasant memories.”
Tommy held himself as still as he could. He had a way of locking his hands behind his hips, which seemed to still the worst of his jerks. “The strangest sensation overtakes me. I’m afraid I’ll be sucked right back into my old ward. I know my bed is still there, just waiting for me. It’s not that I had such a bad life. People were good to me, and I had plenty to eat, but now I’ve had a taste of freedom. I don’t ever want to go back.”
“Why, Tommy, that won’t happen. You do perfectly well on your own.”
When they reached the administration building, Tommy stood back. “I wish I could go along. You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
“Sure, I will. But really, I’m not afraid of Mrs. Archesson. I don’t think she meant to hurt anyone. She just got confused.”
The stone stairway seemed familiar to Copper this time as Nellie led her down the dank corridor. In no time they were at Mrs. Archesson’s cell, and the shackle was applied as on previous visits.
The frail-looking woman lay on her side, cradling her corn-shuck baby.
“She’s been more content since you left her that doll,” Nellie said. “She even ate some breakfast, but now she’s wanting her dead husband.” She rolled her brown eyes and grinned. “Suppose you can make a man out of a shift and corn shucks? If so, there’s a few of us nurses wants to place an order.” She guffawed at her own joke before the cell door clanged shut behind her. “Call out if you need me.”
“Thank you, Nellie,” Copper replied, her confidence waning as she watched Birdie mother the pillow.
“Please sit beside us,” Birdie said, pulling herself into a semireclining position, resting her head against the bed frame. Her hair hung in greasy gray strings around her sallow face. “It’s so good to have a friend. When will you be taking me and Robert Jr. home?” She put the little bundle over her shoulder and patted it firmly. “And where is my husband? It’s not like him to be away this long. I’ll just bet it’s that awful aunt of his, that Annie. Really, Mrs. Corbett, she’s a dreadful person. A dreadful person.”
What do I do now? Copper thought. It doesn’t seem right to continue this charade. How did I get myself into such a mess? She’d visit for just a minute, then leave the tending of Birdie and her baby to Nellie.
A commotion in the next cell over pulled her from her thoughts. A great clinking and clanging nearly obscured the sound of a woman screaming, “Call me by my title or don’t address me at all!” More crashing continued before they heard, “My husband is the president of the United States, and I am the First Lady. Must I tell you servant girls the same thing every
day? I want my own china. I want flowers on my tray. My family, the Todds, will have you all fired!”
Nellie ran past Birdie’s room, her apron stained with what appeared to be tomato soup. “Mrs. Lincoln, indeed,” she muttered. “Even Honest Abe, God rest his soul, couldn’t put up with the high-and-mighty Abigail Porter turned Mary Todd Lincoln.”
“Just imagine,” Birdie remarked, her eyes sparkling, “what folks at church will say when I tell them Mrs. Lincoln and I had our lyings-in at the very same time . . . my baby born in the same hospital as President Lincoln’s son.”
Copper’s head was fairly spinning. Spying a chair by the door, she dragged it over and sat down. My goodness, she was beginning to understand why folks called this place the loony bin.
“Mrs. Archesson, Nellie has left your meal tray. Will you take a bite of this tomato soup? And look, here is a lovely piece of milk toast. Um, looks delicious.” Copper spooned soup into Birdie’s open mouth. “You need to eat to regain your strength.”
“I will eat every morsel if you will promise to take me home,” Birdie said before a great tremor shook her body and her eyes clouded once again. Her head dropped to her chest, and she wiped tears with the sleeve of her gown. “I don’t have a baby anymore, do I? Something has gone terribly wrong with my life, and I don’t know quite what it is.”
Copper spoke carefully, weighing each word, hopeful to make a connection that would last. “Mrs. Archesson, may I call you by your Christian name?”
“My given name is Mary Martha, like the ladies in the Bible, but you may call me Birdie. No one besides you ever liked me enough to give me a nickname, except for Robert, of course, and he called me darling. Robert called me darling.”
Pushing the tray table aside, Copper scooted closer. “Tell me about yourself, Birdie. Tell me about your life.”
Birdie’s face crumpled. “I’ve always been an afterthought, never important to anyone besides my husband. I was my mother’s change-of-life baby, and I grew up taking care of my parents.”
Copper fished in her pocket and handed Birdie a delicate, embroidered handkerchief.
“I don’t think they ever really loved each other. Not like my Robert and I did anyway.” The doll fell to the floor, but she didn’t move to pick it up. “What we had was so special. We married when I was eighteen. Our house had a red-tin roof. I remember like it was yesterday—the sound of rain on that red roof.”
Strange, Copper thought as she tried to figure Mrs. Archesson out. She seems to flit between stages of her life. If we could trap her mind in the present time, maybe we could help her.
“So, anyway, that’s how we came to be there in that awful house.”
Copper’s ears perked up.
“But I don’t blame Robert,” Birdie continued. “He was hurt fighting for what he believed in.”
“Pardon me, Birdie, but I missed something. Are you talking about the house with the red roof? I thought you loved that house.”
“We had to leave our house because Robert couldn’t work after his leg was amputated—an old war wound—and his army pension was a pittance. I helped as much as I could. I made the prettiest hats, you know, but then I got in the family way and couldn’t work anymore.” One thin hand twisted the mattress cover. “That’s when Robert went to his aunt Annie for help. Oh, I wish we’d just stayed in our place and starved to death. It wouldn’t have been much worse.”
“What was so bad about Aunt Annie?” Copper asked, leaning forward, sharing Birdie’s space.
“She hated me,” Birdie said, her voice flat. “I should have run the first time I laid eyes on that evil old woman, but Robert wouldn’t hear a bad word about her. She raised him after his parents died of the smallpox. So I was stuck. Stuck to do her bidding while Robert faded away before my very eyes. He never got over the awful things he saw in the war. He would wake screaming, saying his leg was hurting. He would beg me to rub it, and I would stroke thin air.”
A little smile creased Birdie’s lips. “The only thing that cheered him was thoughts of the baby. He said once it was born, we would move to Tennessee. I yearned for that day when we would be far away from Aunt Annie.”
“Wasn’t Aunt Annie excited to have a baby in the house?”
“She acted that way for Robert, but she let me know what a bother I was. She kept a log of every bite I took and counted every egg I ate. I lived for the birth of my baby so we could escape from her influence, but she was only biding her time. She was not going to let us go.”
Copper barely noticed when Nellie came for the meal tray. “What happened next? What happened when your baby was born?”
“This is the hard part,” Birdie cried. “This is why I needed tonic for my nerves. It helped me to forget.” She tugged Copper’s hand and drew her to the bed. “Oh, sit close to me. I feel as if I might come apart.”
“Should I send for the doctor?” Nellie asked from behind Copper. She hadn’t left with the tray. Copper understood. Birdie’s story was enthralling.
“Maybe you shouldn’t talk about it now, Birdie,” Copper said. “Maybe we should wait until your doctor is here.”
Lifting her shoulders, then letting them fall, Birdie said, “I need to tell it now while my mind is good. I need to sort out what happened to me. Just stay close to me until my story is finished.”
Nellie slipped around to the end of the bed and released the shackle. Catching Copper’s eye, she nodded. “We’ll both be right here,” she said as she rubbed a red mark on her patient’s ankle. “Take all the time you need, dearie.”
“The morning my baby was born it was raining sleet,” Birdie continued. “Ice covered every tree and bush. When the sun shone, it sparkled like jewels. The doctor took a long time getting there—the roads were so treacherous—but I didn’t really need him.” A blush crept up Birdie’s neck. “The doctor said I could birth a dozen.
“Robert Jr. was an easy baby. He just slept and ate, slept and ate. I would put him beside me in the bed, and he would eat until the milk ran out the corner of his little mouth. I loved that baby so. One night I tucked him in his cradle. It sat right beside me, next to my side of the bed. I slept the night through, and when I woke I was afraid because the baby was so still. ‘Robert,’ I screamed. ‘Something is wrong. Something is wrong with Robert Jr.’ My husband climbed right over me and grabbed his son. ‘He’s dead, Mary Martha!’ Robert cried out. ‘Oh, Lord, help us.’”
Copper couldn’t help but cry. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, and Nellie’s broken sobs provided tender music to Birdie’s story.
“Aunt Annie said I poisoned my baby. That my milk was tainted. She said healthy babies don’t just die of their own accord lying right next to their mother. She carried his little body out of the house and buried him under that twisted apple tree that sits beside the summer kitchen, said there was no need to spend money on a funeral.
“I begged Robert to stop her, to get a minister to bury him, but as always, he let her have her way. She always got her way. Robert was never himself again after that. It was almost a relief when I found him hanging from a rafter in the barn. Then I knew I had paid the price for killing my own baby. God took my husband, the only person who ever loved me. I never tried to leave Aunt Annie after that. It was my penance, caring for her.”
Finished, Birdie sat up and put her feet on the floor. As she took Copper in, her gaze begged for understanding. “At first I just took the tonic to help me sleep, but before long I had to have it to stand being awake; then I had to have it all the time. I took mine and Aunt Annie took hers, and then I wound up here thinking a corn-shuck baby was my own.”
“Oh, Birdie,” Copper said as tears dripped from her chin. “I am sorry you had to suffer so much. What can I do to help?”
“You help me by just being here,” Birdie replied. There were no tears in her eyes. Copper supposed she’d used them all up. “No one ever listened to my story before.” Her fist thumped her own chest. “No one saw me. They only sa
w a foolish woman in a fancy hat. Do you think I can make it, Mrs. Corbett? Do you think I could live like normal people?”
Folding Birdie into her arms, Copper answered, “If ever anyone deserved a normal life, it is you. Let me talk to Dr. Corbett and find out what we need to do. And, Birdie, listen to me. God has not been punishing you. He doesn’t work that way.”
Kneeling on the stone floor beside the hospital bed, Copper asked if Birdie and Nellie would pray with her. “Heavenly Father, surround Your daughter Mary Martha with the light of Your truth. Give her strength, dear Lord, and peace. These things we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“I believe,” Birdie whispered, sinking onto the bed, resting her head on the pillow Copper tucked under her head. “I believe God forgives me.”
A summer storm must have broken the sweltering heat, because Copper could feel the rumble of thunder through the soles of her shoes as it shook the very foundation of the asylum. It seemed she’d been underground for a very long time. Tommy would be worried.
Drawing a coverlet around Birdie’s shoulders, she signaled to Nellie her desire to leave. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised. “And I’ll send the reverend to pray with you.”
Birdie didn’t answer, just lay with her eyes closed, but it seemed to Copper that her face held hope.
Why would such a thing happen? she mused as she followed Nellie up the stairs. How can a person get so far away from God?
Nellie paused on the last step and turned toward Copper. “Miss, could you come back sometime and pray for me?”
Copper patted Nellie’s plump arm. “I would be glad to, but did you know you can talk to God whenever you want? You don’t need me.”
“You’ve got to be good to talk to Him, miss. And I’ve not always done them things I should.”
“Neither have I, Nellie. But God is ever forgiving if we have a repentant heart. You have but to ask.”
The wind and rain swept Copper through the door and into the foyer, where she stood for a moment furling her umbrella. As she put it in the tin-lined tray of the hall tree, she could hear Simon’s low voice mixed with Alice’s querulous one. She wished for a moment to catch her breath, to digest Birdie’s story, but instead she stepped into the parlor.
