by Rachel Simon
“They call them cottages?” Nah-nah said. “Each one’s bigger than my school.”
“This is an impressive place,” Daddy said. “It covers twelve hundred acres.”
There were even larger buildings in the center of the property—“That must be the laundry, gymnasium, classrooms, hospital,” Daddy said. “They’re self-sufficient here,” he added, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Hannah. “They even grow their own food.”
Lynnie looked. Beyond all the buildings were fields with crops growing, pastures with cows, chicken coops, all of it tended to by men in denim overalls and gray T-shirts—“working boys,” Daddy said they were called. Beyond where they could see, Daddy said, was a power plant that serviced the school. Near the power plant was a baseball diamond, and beyond that were huts for the staff, whose salaries included room and board. Far beyond the huts, on the other side of a rise, was something Daddy did not know about, so he did not point it out. Only later did Lynnie learn about the cemetery, on the day she resolved to stop speaking.
All this was connected by walking paths, and beneath the paths were underground passages that were there, Mommy said, “to keep you warm during the winter.” Except for two men in white uniforms, one with three snarling dogs, no one was on the paths. “I think they keep everyone busy,” Mommy said.
“With school?” Nah-nah said.
“Sure,” Mommy said, though she didn’t sound sure.
“And training,” Daddy added. “They teach them to make rugs and how to repair shoes. Good skills for when people get older.”
As they made their way to the parking lot, they did see someone else: a woman in white pushing a boy in a wheelchair. “Oh, these grown-ups must be attendants,” Mommy said.
“Attendants?” Nah-nah said. “I thought this was a school.”
“It’s a different kind of school,” Daddy said, his voice curt. “I told you that.”
Nah-nah looked again at her with guilt, and that was when Lynnie began to get scared.
“And you, Lynnie, stop with the ashtray,” Daddy said.
“It’s only another minute,” Mommy said, and her mouth seemed full of water.
Their car continued up the hill. Lynnie looked one more time to the tower and tried to make sense of the hands. They were standing up straight, pressed tight together. Like the covers of a book that no one wanted to read.
Clarence yanked Lynnie out of the sedan. She stood, wobbly from the trip, and as Uncle Luke talked to him about “you being adequately compensated for extending your shift,” she looked to the cloudy sky. Although she still couldn’t see stars, she remembered how, for the longest time, stars had been nothing more to her than twinkling dots. Then Buddy pointed to the sky on some nighttime landscapes she’d drawn, crushed one of his sugar cubes over the paper, pushed the powder into patterns, and used his signs to teach her the names of the constellations: Cup, Feather. By tomorrow night, the clouds would have lifted. They’d look at the stars together as they ran away again.
With Clarence at her side and Uncle Luke in the lead, they mounted the marble steps for the building with the tower. It stood out from other cottages, with its oak door, brass handrail, plush hedges, and windows that had no bars. Lynnie, waiting while Uncle Luke removed his keys, shivered inside the old lady’s dress. As much as she hated being bound into the camisole, she was glad for it now, as it shielded her from the wind. She also realized, when Uncle Luke opened the heavy door, that she needed a bathroom and had never used the one in here.
Still in pain from the birth, she wasn’t sure she could hold it in. Yet she could not bear the thought of revealing her need to go, so she squeezed the tops of her thighs. Beneath her dress she felt the pad the old lady had given her, a reminder of what all her time with Buddy had showed her: She could do much more than she’d ever believed.
Although Lynnie hadn’t been in this office since her first day, it looked the same: the desk for the secretary, Maude; the Persian rug; the Windsor chairs; the grandfather clock; and, off to the side, the wooden door to Uncle Luke’s office. It smelled the same, too: leather, tobacco, books. Lynnie inhaled, enjoying the scents, as Uncle Luke retrieved a cigarette from a silver holder, then looked at Clarence, waiting until he got the hint. His jaw set, Clarence lit the cigarette with his lighter. Then Uncle Luke turned his back on them both and lifted the phone. Lynnie heard a ring across the grounds, and with a pleasant skip in her throat, she realized it was nearby—maybe even A-3, Lynnie’s cottage. If so, maybe Kate might be there, and Lynnie would be safe.
Kate, like most staff, put in overtime. There was too much to do, with one attendant to every forty residents. Maybe that was why some staff had a mean streak toward residents and one another, though fortunately some staff didn’t. The best ones even brought in snacks from home, showed photos of their children, ignored the nasty nicknames—“Left-Hook Larry,” “Mr. Magoo,” “Poopy-pants,” or the one made up for Lynnie, “No-No.” They might even try to develop a resident’s skill.
That’s what Kate had done. Five years into Lynnie’s stay—five years after Lynnie’s intake IQ test classified her as an upper division imbecile and they stuck her in a cottage with other low grades—Kate noticed that Lynnie wasn’t just pushing the mop around when she did the janitorial work that was part of her treatment. She was making designs on the tile with the mop, the suds sparkling like iridescent crescents in the light. Kate told a psychologist, who ordered a new IQ test, and then Lynnie was promoted to the moron cottage. That’s where she met Doreen, a short, blond girl with Chinese-looking eyes, whose iron-framed bed was twelve inches from her own. A little while later, when Kate bent the rules and brought crayons to the dayroom, she observed that Lynnie drew horses—proud blue horses with flowing green manes. “That’s so good, sweet pea,” Kate said, and arranged for Lynnie to come to her office in the staff cottage. Kate told everyone it was so Lynnie could help out, but really it was so Lynnie could sit at Kate’s desk and draw. Kate kept pads and colored pencils in her file cabinet. When Lynnie arrived, Kate would lock the door and unlock the cabinet, and when Lynnie left, Kate would place Lynnie’s art in the drawer and turn the key in the lock.
Down the hill, the ringing phone was picked up.
“We’re here,” Uncle Luke said. “Come get her.”
He set down the phone. Then he opened the door to his office, passing a seated Clarence without a glance, and closed his door.
Clarence’s lips got thin. If Lynnie hadn’t heard that Clarence’s friend Smokes was Uncle Luke’s brother, she wouldn’t have figured it out. Uncle Luke never let anyone see him favoring his brother and Clarence over anyone else. Yet everyone knew he did, because Smokes and Clarence got away with everything. They were the only ones with dogs. They were the only ones who smelled like alcohol. They were the only ones who—
Lynnie turned to the window. She had something better to think about: Buddy holding the baby high and laughing; Lynnie feeling new warmth when she held the baby in her arms.
The door opened. She spun around.
Kate!
Lynnie let out a joyful sound but held herself back from running for a hug.
Kate looked at Lynnie with a sad smile. When Kate first arrived, after losing her husband to another woman, she’d been curvy, with nice makeup and dresses with full, colorful skirts. Over time she’d gained weight, lost the makeup, and taken up smoking. She still embroidered her attendant’s coat, though she wore gray or brown skirts now and a necklace with a gold cross. She’d also grown weary, and inside her eyes, Lynnie was sure she could see Kate’s smaller self.
“Do a careful intake,” Uncle Luke was saying. “We have no idea what he did to her.”
Kate said, “Forty-two is such a gentleman. He wouldn’t do anything.”
“If he was so trustworthy,” Uncle Luke responded, “he wouldn’t have pulled this stunt.”
Kate said nothing as Uncle Luke then went on, instructing her on what to do with Lynnie. Lynnie t
urned and saw Clarence’s gaze on her. She closed her eyes and sucked in her lips.
Then Lynnie felt a hand on her arm, and she and Kate were moving forward. From behind, she heard, “It seems worth time and a half to me, Doctor.” The door opened and she was outside.
The clouds had cleared, and constellations gazed down upon them. Lynnie looked up, and the names came back. Over there was Pony. Down near the horizon was Cup. And right above was the one she loved most, Feather.
Lynnie reached for Kate’s hand, and they walked. Past the classrooms that never got used, the gym with rusty hoops and a moldy ceiling. They crossed to the next path. The boys’ colony was down the hill on the left, the girls’ on the right. Sometimes she heard high brow boys at night, beating one another, doing vulgar things. Tonight was as quiet as the moon.
Finally Kate squeezed her hand extra hard. “I was so worried about you,” she said.
Lynnie looked into Kate’s face. Lynnie longed to tell her, The baby was coming, and we snuck away, and it hurt, but it felt so good. She longed to tell about the love she felt for her baby, holding her aloft from the floor of the abandoned bomb shelter where she’d given birth. She longed to tell about the kiss with Buddy in the old lady’s bedroom, the kind of long kiss they’d shared only in the cornfield when the stalks were high enough to hide them. She longed to tell about the walk down the lady’s staircase, the police, Buddy running into the woods.
But except for those times with Buddy in the cornfields, her mouth had fallen into such disuse, she’d mostly forgotten how to speak. She spoke with drawings—though she wasn’t near any pencils. If only she could speak as well with her hands as Buddy. But only she understood his hands, and even she wasn’t perfect at that.
“Just tell me if you’re okay,” Kate said.
Lynnie nodded.
“Thank goodness. I was just sick with worry.”
They reached the hospital cottage. Kate mounted the first step. “I asked if you could sleep here tonight, so you’d have one night where I could stay with you, and only you.”
Lynnie pulled her back down the step.
“What’s wrong?”
She pointed to A-3.
“You really want to go back tonight?”
It’s where he’ll look for me, she wanted to say, only she could not. Instead, she nodded.
“All right,” Kate said. “I’ll get in trouble, but better me than you.”
They continued on. Past the first cottage with the girls, A-1. Then A-2. Finally, A-3. All along, Lynnie thought of how much harder it would be a second time. They’d planned their escape for the busiest hour, when the staff was herding everyone into bed. She’d slipped out the door, knowing she wouldn’t be missed till later. They’d even packed pillows in her bed—Doreen had helped earlier in the day, saying, Packed you in there like a mummy. Now they’d be watching.
Lynnie and Kate climbed the three steps to the door of the cottage. Of course Kate had to tug at the rusted knob. At last it gave way, and they stepped inside.
The smell, the smell. The first time Lynnie took it in, she’d tried to run off, and the attendant had caught her, and she’d bit him. It was a smell that got inside your nose and under your eyes and beneath your teeth. A smell so hard to breathe through that some attendants smoked just to taste something else. It made Lynnie sleep with the blanket over her face.
Kate, if only you knew how good the night smelled when I found the right place. I couldn’t sign to Buddy with the baby in my hands, so I made a sound of happiness and set my lips on Buddy’s, and he made his voice move up and down until we met at the same sound, and then we held that note, the baby between us, our bodies humming together.
They crossed the short lobby. Suzette, the other night attendant, was leaning back at the desk, a book open across her eyes, her mouth open beneath it. Suzette didn’t break up fights fast enough, though from what Lynnie could tell, the girls didn’t fight as much as the boys. The only trouble was if the boys made it to the girls’ side of the school. It had happened only once. Suzette wasn’t there that night, and Kate wasn’t, either, and—Oh, do not remember.
They entered the dayroom. The benches and plastic chairs were empty. The floor was dirty, waiting for working girls to wax it during breakfast. Even the TV was off. Lynnie remembered how much worse things were before the TV. They’d sit in the room with nothing to do except crack jokes and make up games—or make fun of one another and try to steal the few items someone had gotten from her family. Residents claimed their seats and held them for years.
Kate whispered as they moved in the direction of Lynnie’s sleeping room, “You’re going to get punished somehow, but I’ll try to get you off light.”
At the end of the dayroom, they turned toward the lavatory. Good.
They passed the sinks. The toilets. There were ten, all lined up behind what looked like separate metal doors, only inside there were no dividers, so one attendant could watch ten residents do their business all at once. Lynnie reached for them, but Kate didn’t notice. She was saying, “Let’s get you bathed. I’ll tell them you were cooperative, and maybe they’ll be less severe.”
Kate stopped at the edge of the bathtubs and, moving behind Lynnie, began unbuckling the camisole. “I can stay and watch you here tonight. But I have to go home in the morning.”
The camisole came off. Kate tossed it to the side.
“Where did you get such nice clothes? Your hair rolls down this dress like Rapunzel.”
Lynnie grunted with gladness.
“I’m sorry you won’t be able to wear this.” She began working the top button loose.
That first night so many years ago, the receiving nurse had said Lynnie could keep her clothes for special occasions, which turned out to mean whenever Uncle Luke showed officials around, bragging about how wisely the public’s money was being spent. Lynnie didn’t know that when the School first opened in 1905, residents wore uniforms for visits, the boys resembling military cadets, the girls domestic workers. Now they wore clothes from home, which were inevitably nice because they were kept in lockers for which the residents had no keys. Even so, sometimes clothes vanished. “No one has anything of his own here,” Tonette told her that first night. “Not even a toothbrush.” She was right. Every morning the lavatory had a line as they all waited to use the one toothbrush.
Lynnie felt the dress drop to her ankles. “Honestly,” Kate said, “I wish you’d gotten away.” She unhooked the old lady’s bra, noting it with admiration; it was the first bra Lynnie had ever worn. The state recently approved funds to fix a hole in the barn roof though once again rejected the request for brassieres. It was Buddy who’d fastened this one onto her.
What will Kate do when she finds out? Lynnie hadn’t had to work too hard at hiding her growing belly, with the oversize clothes, the mushy food, the sweating she did in the laundry. She’d hid nothing else from Kate all these years. Will she be angry? Will she tell?
Kate reached up and hooked her thumbs around the panties and pulled them down.
Lynnie stood naked in the chill room, so much she’d not said revealed.
“Dear God,” Kate croaked. She came to Lynnie’s front and took her into her arms.
That night, Lynnie lay in her bed next to Doreen, looking across the rows to see Kate pacing back and forth, smoking. She knew Kate would watch over her tonight, which left her free to sleep and dream and wake. It would be the same fitful night as any other—but on this night, she would not be afraid.
In her first dream, she hears sounds from the boys’ side. They start nice and then get frightening, with one word rising above all the shouts and groans. She plucks that one word—no—and practices speaking it in bed, and soon that word is her own.
The dream turns like a page in her drawing pad, and now she is in a dream where that one word is all she has. The door opens and she backs away and the bucket falls. “No, no, no, no!”
She woke with a start. Where—what— Oh, yes,
it all washed back inside her. As if she needed proof, there was Kate, on a chair in the doorway, staring at her cigarette.
Back into dreams. Lynnie is in the laundry, and a dryer breaks down, so she wheels a bin of clothes outside. There she stands before the clothesline, inhaling grass and trees, freshly plowed fields. A spring breeze lifts her shirt, reminding her that something is happening inside her body, something that came into her on a night she could not “No” away but is starting to understand. As she pins laundry to the line, she hears a motor puttering and, above that sound, hands clapping. She looks around. A tractor is drawing near, and on its seat is a colored man in a straw hat. She has seen him doing handyman chores, bringing corn to the kitchen. Once she saw him digging a grave. Now he is sitting high, smiling, tapping the seat beside him.
Girls and boys are not allowed near each other at the School, at least not when anyone is watching. She looks around. No one is watching.
The man makes signs with his hands. She understands he means, Come up here. She sets her bowl of clothespins on the ground. He reaches down and hoists her up. She sits beside him, and he fishes in his pocket and pulls out one white feather, two, three. He collects them into a bouquet and hands them to her. She wonders how his wrist would feel against her lips.
She woke. Kate was standing again. This time Suzette was nearby.
“But are you going to put it on her chart?” Suzette was whispering.
“Of course I will. She had a baby.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“A baby. And it’s somewhere out there. And someone in here is responsible.”
“That’s my point. You want to stir things up like that?”
Kate said nothing.
“You know what they’ll do to you?”
“What about her?”
“They get over it. It happens to them all the time.”
“To the point of pregnancy?”
Suzette said, “You know there’s that doctor in Harrisburg who gets rid of it.”
“No one caught this one. It got to full term, from what I can tell.”
