The Typewriter Girl

by J. L. Jarvis

  Emma’s belly was knotting.

  “Are you feeling all right? Here.” Gwendolyn offered the bottle.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It won’t hurt you. The doctor prescribed it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just a little something to help you get through this.”

  Gwendolyn’s syrup-voiced urgings convinced her to take it.

  “That’s it. Just a little bit more,” Gwendolyn tipped the bottle into Emma’s mouth. A trickle escaped down the side of her chin before Fletcher righted the bottle and pulled it from Gwendolyn.

  “Good God, Gwendolyn, can’t you see that she’s had enough?”

  Roused by Fletcher’s sharp tone, Emma sat up and leaned forward to see where she was. She saw scattered trees with bare, immense limbs reaching out from a manicured lawn. She put her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. “What is this place, Fletcher?”

  Unable to face her child-like trust, he glanced at her, then stared toward the building. “Dr. Whitfield is going to help you. Trust him, Emma.”

  Cutting him off, Gwendolyn said, “That’s enough. Here we are.”

  “Where?” asked Emma, hearing her own muffled voice through a mist of thick thoughts. She squinted and blinked to bring the day into focus. The late afternoon sun was all but gone behind a dark cloud, making it seem far too late to be waking. But she was not getting up out of bed. She was in a wagon, fully dressed. Where was she going? She looked to Fletcher with trust. With some effort, she made her eyes and thoughts focus, but it was such hard work. She was weary. The weight of her sorrow returned.

  “Benjamin.” Her chest contracted at the thought of him. She remembered now, only to wish she had not. A strangled sob seized her and she sank back into the seat, but Gwendolyn hooked a firm arm around her, and pulled her out of the wagon.

  Fletcher said, “You’re on your own, Gwendolyn. They know me too well in there.”

  At her arched expression, he added, “From my charity work. I’ll wait here.”

  Unconcerned, she said, “Well, I could have used your muscles, such as they are, but suit yourself. Wait out here, if you must.”

  She turned her attention to Emma. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, Benjamin. You killed him. Remember? So we have to do this. There is no other choice. Move this foot. That’s right. Now the next.” She guided Emma forward and fed her the thoughts she wanted foremost in her mind. “In your sleep, you attacked him. Now. Lean forward. Yes. I was there. You lifted the pitcher with both hands and you pounded him over the head. No, hang on here, watch your step. Listen—lean forward. That’s it. Yes, you killed Benjamin. Now the other hand. Don’t lean back. Benjamin’s dead. See the pitcher? Can you see yourself striking him over the head? That’s how you killed him.” Emma started to swoon. Her knees buckled. “Emma, listen. Wake up and listen. They’ll ask questions.” She looked at the rough-cut stone walls of the building. “Stone. Your name’s Emily Stone. That’s what we will tell them. Remember?”

  Emma nodded vaguely. “Why?”

  “Say it.”

  “Emily Stone.”

  “Good. It’s for your own good—to protect you and your dear father, and to keep people away. I couldn’t watch you go through a murder trial. This way, we get the same results as a trial without all the scandal. It’s better this way. No one will bother you here—none of Benjamin’s friends, no reporters, just you—just as long as you do what I say. Understand?”

  Emma looked up at the dark stone citadel.

  “You’ll be safe here. So will everyone else. No more worries. You just have to remember your name: Emily Stone.”

  Emma turned to go back to the wagon. She had a bad feeling about this, but her feelings were all bad today. All her thoughts tangled together. Gwendolyn held her in place. “You’re uncomfortable. I understand. You’ve had quite a day, but you’ve got to be strong.” She pulled a small medicine bottle from her reticule and raised it to Emma’s lips. “Just a little more medicine, to help you get through all the questions they’ll ask you.”

  Emma turned her face. “I don’t want to.”

  Gwendolyn put the bottle to Emma’s lips. “That’s a good girl. Drink up.”

  Gwendolyn looked so sympathetic. “I’m so sorry we had to come here. But you killed him. We can’t let you go free. You might hurt someone else.”

  Emma looked at Gwendolyn’s face, but it wavered and blurred and her pain was detached. She knew it was there, but it was too far to feel. She opened her eyes wider to see what Gwendolyn told her to see.

  Gwendolyn quietly said, “I can hear Benjamin’s voice as I came in the door. He was begging you, ‘No, Emma, no!’ And you lifted the water pitcher and slammed it against his head.”

  “Why? Why would I do that?”

  Ignoring her, Gwendolyn went on. “And then he was quiet. He was just lying there. Still. Remember him now?”

  “I killed Benjamin?” Emma murmured.

  Her head bobbed. She was sleepy—no, she was dreamy. Awake but asleep. A hand slipped under her arms to support her and lift her limp body to guide it into a chair. Her brow creased as she strained to remember. Confused, she repeated, “I killed him.”

  A man walked out of the building with a woman on his arm. She walked close to him, looking down. They walked by as though unaware of Emma’s state. Gwendolyn forced a sweet smile and put her arm on Emma’s shoulder. Emma closed her eyes, and then opened then moments later. Two ominous towers and turrets of rugged red stone loomed over her head. Strange faces peered down at her and murmured as though she were not there. Why did they keep talking and bringing her back from her dream? Behind the strange faces, the portentous castle grew taller. Great menacing arms reached up to the dusky sky and blocked all hope of light from resting upon her. As its shadow crept over her, she looked up at the walls with a peculiar curiosity. Emma’s head thickened. Her thoughts slowed. Gwendolyn spoke and her voice faded quickly to nothing.

  “Benjamin?” Gwendolyn’s voice sounded distant and strange.

  “There’s no time to talk now. Look at you. You’re a mess. Button that coat. They won’t take you with pneumonia.”

  Emma looked down at her coat and wrapped it tightly around her. A north wind tossed the edges of their coats and their skirts as Emma was wheeled up the walk.

  “Won’t take me? Where?” She was groggy. Her vision was blurry. “I can’t think here. I want to go home.”

  “Don’t be difficult, or we’ll take you back home and lock you up there.” Gwendolyn pinched the tender skin of Emma’s upper arm until Emma’s eyes moistened with tears. After that, Emma did not complain.

  The sky was so blue, and the air was crisp and still. As its shadow fell over her, she looked up at the castle walls with a peculiar curiosity.

  Mercy draped itself over her, hiding her torment and dulling her grief. It was the laudanum soothing her, hiding her anguish. Before long, she could feel herself gliding along the long driveway, but her heart was so still, and her body was cold. Emma turned back toward the wagon. Fletcher watched from afar with fixed eyes and a rigid expression.

  Gwendolyn hooked her arm in Emma’s and turned her back toward the building. As they went through the large doors, Gwendolyn said, “You’ll be happier here. There are people to help you.”

  “They can’t help me.”

  “You didn’t mean it to happen. They’ll understand that.” Gwendolyn’s voice sounded gentle and kind. “She’s lost in her dream world. Her name’s Emily Stone.”

  “Emma.”

  Gwendolyn glared at Emma, then looked up and sympathetically smiled. “We call her Emma sometimes. Emma, dear, can you hear me?”

  The voice sounded too loud. Emma murmured, “Please leave me alone.”

  “Emma, these people are going to help you.”

  “Who?” There was something she needed to ask, but the words would not come. Why had Benjamin sent her away? Had she done something wrong? “Benjamin? What have I don
e?”

  “She’s been like this all day.”

  Emma wanted to sink back into the dream that was still within reach. It was back in the wagon. She just had to get back there to find it. She turned toward it, but she could not walk through the thick fog, with its arms reaching toward her and grasping her, pulling her.

  “No you don’t.”

  “Let me go. Let me go back.”

  She pulled a hand loose, then another, but still others replaced them and gripped her arms firmly.

  “Get the restraints,” said a dispassionate voice.

  Emma whispered, “Please let me go back. I just want to go home.”

  Emma knew her and turned toward her, reaching for her. They were all talking over her.

  “Won’t you come in? There are papers to sign.”

  “I believe Dr. Whitfield has taken care of all of that. Haven’t you, Dr. Whitfield?”

  Moments later, Emma was being wheeled in a chair. “Come along, Emma. We’ve got a nice room for you—all to yourself. You must be so tired. Sit back. Be a good girl.”

  Emma fixed her eyes on the arched entrance before her. The chair wheels spun their way down the long empty hallway. She turned back, but Gwendolyn was gone. She was inside the castle. The castle? The chair rolled down the hall as she drifted back into a dream world. It was better there.

  Emma dreamed about Benjamin. He was holding her close. They were watching the moon in the night sky. She reached out, large and luminous moon. How she wanted to touch it and feel the smooth surface. It soothed her. The giant pearl shone over her. Its light fell on her and filled her with peace. Benjamin’s hand was in hers. He was standing beside her. It was all right.

  “I love you.” He said it so simply, as if it were so plainly true there was no need to convince or explain. It was almost as if he had always been there, waiting to love her.

  Moonlight fell on the two of them, warming the breeze as it flowed through her light muslin nightgown. The air brushed her skin gently and enlivened her nerves. She felt his body come close, not yet touching. The heat from his body warmed her and drew her to him. How she yearned for his touch. Emma sank to the ground, and he hovered above her. His hands firmly slid from her ankles to her knees. His touch made her crave more as she rose up to meet him. She said his name with a sigh, as she begged him to come to her.

  But he arose and walked away. She reached out for him, calling his name. He looked back at her once. His expressionless face hurt and confused her.

  A shudder shot through her body as her own cry ripped through the stone cold night air. She was inside his bedroom. He was there, turning to face her. Blood covered one side of his face. In her hand was the handle, the only thing left of the pitcher. She looked at it and tried to let go, but her hand clutched it, and blood stained her ivory skin with its smears. No sound would come out to let loose her despair, but the cry echoed inside her heart.

  Benjamin faded away, reaching out to her, asking her, “Why, Emma, why?”

  She reached out, nearly reaching his chest with the touch of her fingertips. She opened her eyes.

  A young man looked down at her curiously. He was handsome and strangely sympathetic. But she did not know him, and he studied her closely. It made her uneasy. Emma dug her heels against the bed upon which she lay, she pulled back away, but she could not get a grip. Her hands and legs were strapped down to the bed.

  Someone else spoke. “Miss Stone.” The new voice was a woman’s. “Do you know where you are?”

  Emma looked for her, hearing the voice but unable to make out a face, only light and blurred patches.

  “Miss Stone.”

  Emma turned her head toward the sound. The light came into focus. A face emerged from the sharpening lines. A young woman peered at her. Emma looked at her, confused. Should she know this young woman in white? She could not seem to remember.

  “Miss Stone, you’re in a hospital.”

  “Am I hurt? Where is Benjamin?”

  “You’ve been sick, and we’re going to help you.”

  Emma tried to get up. She turned this way and that, writhing, unable to rise.

  “It’s for your own good, Miss Stone,” said the woman.

  A man spoke to her in smooth tones. “Miss Stone? Miss Stone, can you hear me?”

  The light came into focus and she saw a man and a woman on each side of her.

  “Miss Stone, how are you feeling?” he asked.

  As she thought of an answer, the feeling returned, a deep ache, and it twisted her stomach. She answered in a rasp. “May I please have some water?”

  “Miss Rees?” said the man to a nurse.

  Emma’s eyes fixed onto the pitcher as the nurse lifted it, pouring its contents into a glass. The nurse set down the pitcher, offered the glass. Emma lifted her head as far as she was able and drank.

  The man patiently waited, then asked her, “How long have you been sick?”

  “Am I sick?”

  As she drifted to sleep, Emma heard the man speak through the mist that enveloped her.

  The man in the mist spoke as the woman in white wrote it down. “Hysteria, most likely induced by a wandering womb” Emma floated back to Benjamin, turning away from the voices.

  The man went on as though Emma were gone. “Bluish tinge to the lips.”

  Fingers pried her eyes open. The harsh light bothered her. It made her head ache. He let go and the light disappeared. Emma drifted away.

  “Pupils constricted. Clammy skin. Breathing heavy. How much laudanum has she had?”

  “A tablespoon several hours ago.”

  “Very well. Keep her secluded; bed rest with restraints for the next twenty-four hours. Keep her calm. If she begins to exhibit the least bit of agitation, give her this every four hours until she is manageable.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Emma came in and out. Footsteps echoed. Voices whispered too far away to make sense.

  Emma awoke with a shiver. It was dark. She tried to lift her arms to wrap them around her body for warmth, but her hands were clamped down. She tried to roll over to her side, but her feet were tied down, as well. Her body was limp from exhaustion.

  Gwendolyn’s voice haunted her memory. “You killed Benjamin, Emma. Remember? In your sleep, you attacked him. You lifted the pitcher with both hands and you pounded him over the head. Yes, you killed Benjamin. Benjamin’s dead. See the pitcher? Can you see yourself striking him over the head? That’s how you killed Benjamin. In Benjamin’s bedroom. You lifted the pitcher over his head. “Hear him begging you? ‘No, Emma, no!’ And you struck him, and then he was quiet. He’s lying there now. Can you see him?”

  “No.”

  “You killed him.”

  “No.”

  “You killed him.”

  “No! No, I couldn’t! I couldn’t have killed him! Benjamin! No! No!”

  Emma cried out and cried until two nurses came in.

  “Here, drink this.”

  Emma smelled the same smell from before. “No, I don’t want it. I want to feel normal again.”

  The nurses exchanged looks. One said, “Doctor’s orders.”

  The other said harshly, “Drink it or we’ll give it to you somewhere else.” She caught a look from the other, and said, “Well, I’m not wasting my time. She can take it one way or the other. I don’t care which. I’ve got better things to do.”

  Emma refused, even as they tipped the glass. But they gripped her jaw and pried her mouth open enough to pour the medicine down her throat. Emma gagged and swallowed reflexively.

  Satisfied, the nurse said, “Now let’s take the rest,” and proceeded to tip the glass more.

  She struggled to free her hands, wanting to push them away from her. Violently thrashing back and forth any way she was able, she managed to knock the glass loose from the nurse’s hand. It shattered all over the floor. Emma’s eyes shone like bright steel. A backhanded slap hit her face with a force that sent Emma’s cheek flat to the bed in
the other direction. She did not turn back.

  She lay trembling. The nurses left, but the sting on her cheek remained. Her breathing was nearly steady again when the door opened wide and the nurses came back into the room. Emma tensed. Strapped to the bed as she was, there was nothing to do but wait and dread what would come next.

  “The doctor ordered this, and I follow his orders. On my watch you will follow mine.”

  With a muscular yank, she twisted Emma’s arm to expose the inside. Bending down close, she said, “And if you give me any trouble, there’s one last way I can give you your medicine.” The nurse grinned and punctured the skin with a syringe. With a satisfied smile, she watched it plunge downward. “There. Now let’s see who’s boss.”

  Chapter 12

  Emma slid back into the abyss, where she struggled no more. Through a tall, barred window a thin stream of sunlight pried its way into the room as though it were certain it would find welcome in so dark and cold a place. The crossed bars cast strange shadows more suiting a dungeon than a room.

  Emma lay still, not wanting to draw more attention should anyone outside be watching or listening for stirrings inside. Her head was clear of the medicine now. She could feel the consuming grief that she wished would swallow her and waste no more time making her suffer. But grief seemed to know she deserved no such mercy. How she dreaded the long stretch before her. Her life would be too long to bear without Benjamin Stark. The sob that came next echoed back from the shadows in large, looming corners.

  Emma whispered, “Come back. Benjamin, let me go in your place.” Her eyes shut. Silent screams rang out from deep places within. Her mouth opened wide, but no sound would come out. Her body contracted and flexed, but restraints on her wrists and ankles would not let her curl into a ball. There would be no protection, no hiding for her. “Forgive me,” she silently cried.