Secrets from Myself

by Christine Hart

  “Great. I’ve been seeing a lot of my best friend and my old nanny. It’s really great having them both back in my life.”

  “Tell me about your friends back in Nelson.”

  “What friends?”

  “You don’t feel you have any friends or any social net-work at home?”

  “Not really.”

  “Let’s talk about some ways you can work on that.”

  Jane launches into a speech about how I can join clubs and sports teams through my school or in the com-munity. I tell her I’ve been thinking about it, but I haven’t made a choice yet. I’m looking for an activity I’m passionate about, something I will truly embrace. She agrees. Things are moving along smoothly. I couldn’t be less excited.

  Chapter 20

  The heat-wave weather has already seeped into my bedroom with the early morning light. The muggy air is perfectly still around me. The searing red charac-ters on my clock radio say 6:10. Nobody will be awake for almost an hour, but I know I won’t get back to sleep. This is a good chance to channel Akasha. I need more to go on if I stand any chance of finding her locket. Hopefully she’ll understand that.

  I pull my diary from under my mattress and pull my blanket back to give me a workspace. I smooth my fitted sheet flat and lay my diary open. Cross-legged, I close my eyes, pen in hand, and feel for the paper. The pages are rough under my fingertips. With my eyes closed, my sense of touch is heightened.

  I take a deep breath in, trying to feel as calm as possible. I exhale slowly, noticing my heartbeat and sensing my lungs contract. I breathe in and out until the scratching of my pen starts. I don’t open my eyes until my hand is finished.

  The bruise on my eye will last for a week at least, of that I am certain. The fleshy lump on top of my cheekbone is still sore to touch. I think that was Mr. Calhoun’s ring, but it does not matter.

  Only the future of my soul matters now that I know Sanjay is gone. There is little left for me in this life. Mr. Calhoun tells me the Komagata Maru finally departed back to Asia. Only a few people were let off and he is sure Sanjay was not one of them. Mr. Calhoun tells me that if I do not start entertaining the house’s gentleman callers within the fortnight, I will be turned out on the streets.

  I am not ready to accept that I will never get home again, or that I must sacrifice my virtue for mere survival. Sanjay may marry while I have to fight my way back home. But is it so farfetched to think that I can work here in Canada to earn my passage back to India? Mr. Calhoun tells me I will not be hired by anyone in Vancouver. He promises to pay me a modest wage if I work for him, and that he is being generous because no one else would ever make me such an offer.

  I am ready to run and starve before I give in to Mr. Calhoun. I have asked to leave, but he insists I stay. He keeps the front door locked day and night. This is for our protection. Now that I have seen the full force of his protection, I am harboring no further hopes that he means to help anyone but himself.

  The only variable that remains unaccounted for is the method of my escape. I think I will ask Mr. Calhoun to take me to see the seaside, under the guise of agreeing to work for him and wanting one last special outing beforehand. I will be able to run from there. I will still need help. I will still need to find work. But the next person I meet after Mr. Calhoun is bound to be a better option.

  Akasha has confirmed what I already believe. She was on the verge of being forced to work as a prostitute. I still don’t know exactly how her life ended, but the scenarios are becoming clearer. Did Mr. Calhoun murder her or was it a client? One of the other girls maybe? Even if I could know for sure, I can’t punish whoever killed her. It will be all I can do to prove she existed, let alone do anything to help her. How will finding her locket help me get justice for her? What does she really want? I angrily grab my pen and write below Akasha’s entry.

  WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO FOR YOU! A knock on my door stands me up with a start.

  “Jane needs to talk with you for a few minutes after breakfast,” says Mariah.

  “Okay.” I snap my diary shut. After Mariah is gone, I slip the diary under the mattress next to my Ouija board.

  It’s my turn to knock, this time on Jane’s door after Mariah’s satisfying pancake breakfast.

  “Come in,” Jane chirps brightly.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Katelyn, yes, I do. I have some exciting news for you.”

  “Really, what?”

  “I have arranged for a hypnotherapist to come see you this afternoon. If it goes well, we can continue this avenue of treatment.”

  “Hypnotherapy?”

  “I’d like us to do some work on exploring your deep feelings about your father. I don’t think we’ve had a productive discussion in that area. Hypnotherapy can put you in a relaxed state that will allow us to talk freely about how you’re really feeling.”

  I open my mouth, but close it quickly. We haven’t talked about my father because there’s nothing to say. He’s not in my life. Who knows where he is? Not me.

  On the other hand, maybe hypnotherapy can help me remember something meaningful from much further into the past, and maybe even something from Akasha’s life. But even if it only reveals something about my past, maybe I’ll remember an incident with my father and Jane can calm down for a while.

  “Great idea. Do you need me home early from Visions? It’s Tuesday, so I’ll be at work today.”

  “So it is. You’re quite right. You’re usually home around two o’clock,” says Jane. I nod. “Excellent. I’ll schedule the appointment for three.”

  I’m back home just after two o’clock. Mariah has saved me some of the vegetarian lasagna she made for lunch. The added heat from the oven still hangs in the air and the humidity spills into the adjacent dining area, making the hot weather even more unbearable, but I am hungry so I eat quickly.

  When I hear the front door chime my limbs tense. The hypnotherapist must have arrived. I put my plate in the sink and wash my hands before going to Jane’s office.

  The door is open and a tall, good-looking man is sitting in Jane’s guest chair. He has his hands folded in his lap and looks at me thoughtfully.

  “You must be Katelyn,” he says warmly. His large pale blue eyes unnerve me.

  “This is Matthew. He’s here to conduct the hypnotherapy session we talked about this morning,” says Jane.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, holding my arm out. Matthew shakes my hand.

  “Jane tells me we’re going to talk about some behavior issues you’ve been having.”

  “What about my memories? Can you make me remember stuff from my childhood?”

  “Memories are a funny thing, Katelyn. Hypnotherapy is more effective in helping you relax and control your behavior,” says Matthew.

  “So, that’s a ‘no,’ then?”

  “We can’t dig into your past and get to ‘true’ memories, if that’s what you’re thinking. In your case, it sounds like some previous trauma may still be affecting you. But we’ll focus on the present and what we can change about your future.”

  I take a deep breath. Great, this is going to be a total waste of time.

  “Why don’t you lie down on the couch? We only have Matthew for an hour, so we should make the most of his time,” Jane says to me.

  I follow her instructions and lie down on the couch. I fold my arms over my chest and get comfortable.

  “Okay, Katelyn, please close your eyes. I want you to stay completely still and listen to the sound of my voice,” says Matthew. “While I’m talking, I may ask you questions. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. It’s more important that you stay in a completely relaxed state.”

  I decide to start by not acknowledging him and Matthew keeps talking.

  “Take a very deep breath and hold it for the coun
t of one. Good. Let it all out. Notice how calm your body is. You are relaxing deeply now. Take another deep breath and hold it for the count of one. Good. Let it out again. Notice how deeply relaxed you’ve become. Your body is floating on a cloud.”

  It’s an interesting sensation, listening to Matthew’s voice. I do feel relaxed, but that’s because I’m lying comfortably on a couch. I don’t feel spellbound. I don’t feel much of anything.

  “Now that you’re completely relaxed, I want you to think of an object. This is your favorite thing in the world. When I count to three, I want you to tell me what you’re thinking of. One, searching your heart. Two, visualizing your treasure. Three.” Matthew pauses for my response.

  “I’m looking at a gold locket. It’s oval, but long. Like an Easter egg shape, but thick. It doesn’t open with a latch; you slide out a piece from the middle and that’s where the photos go,” I say. I can see the locket in my mind’s eye, but I’ve never seen it before. A rush of excitement hits me. This must be Akasha’s!

  “I want you to put your treasure in the palm of your hand. Hold on to it gently while we talk. If you feel upset, grasp your locket for comfort.” Matthew is silent for a long moment.

  “Picture your home with your mother back in Nelson. Imagine the outside of the house. You are walking up to your house and going inside. Your mother is waiting for you in your living room, but she’s staring at her laptop. Your mother is too busy to talk to you. How do you feel?”

  “She’s working; that’s fine. I can make a snack and watch tv in my bedroom.” I’m not so relaxed that I don’t see where Matthew is going. No more games for me.

  “Fast forward to after dinner. You made dinner for yourself and your mother is still on her laptop. You had macaroni and cheese. It didn’t turn out very well, but you ate too much anyway. How do you feel?”

  “Full. I don’t really eat like that, though. Let’s say I made some fresh tortellini with prosciutto and tomato sauce with organic red peppers and fresh basil. Mom buys good food.”

  My eyes are still closed. I can feel my mouth smiling. I’m thinking of how good the pasta and sauce would taste. I’m also getting a kick out of thwarting Matthew’s attempt to get me to whine about being lonely and ignored.

  “Let’s try another exercise. Let’s count backward from one hundred, going as far as we can before we lose track. Take a deep breath and count with me.” Another long silence from Matthew.

  “One hundred,” he says.

  “Ninety-nine,” we say together as I join in.

  “Ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-five, ninety —”

  Matthew’s voice is suddenly gone and I am back in the temple in India. The memory flashes and I am watching from a high window as Sanjay leaves the property. His father is waiting for him on the road. I feel a wrench of sadness over my whole body. Another flash and I am in Edwardian Vancouver, standing on a dusty road with Calhoun next to me. We are staring at a grocer’s shop window.

  “Katelyn, wake up, now!” says Matthew. He is shaking my shoulder.

  “I’m awake. I’m awake.”

  “You were muttering in another language,” says Mat-thew. His wide eyes are brimming with confusion.

  “I think that’s all we have time for,” says Jane. She stands and gestures for Matthew to do the same. I sit up on the couch and reorient myself as Jane escorts Matthew back to the house’s front door.

  Chapter 21

  I am in my bedroom at Mr. Calhoun’s home for girls. I am wearing one of his beautiful satin dresses. Some-one has laced me into a corset, so I sit straight up in the chair in front of my vanity.

  I look around the room. The decor is beautiful. A painting of a picturesque meadow is mounted on the wall behind me. The headboard of my bed is made of an oiled wood; I think it’s oak. Light salmon wallpaper is decorated with interlocking curved droplets. Each drop-let is dusted with gold flake. The walls are like curtains of sparkling water in the glow of my oil lamp.

  The mirror in front of me tilts on hinged sides. It is pointed up as though I were standing while looking in it, so I pull it forward to bring my reflection into view.

  I am Akasha, crisp and clear and close. My black eyes twinkle in the lamp light. My long black wavy hair falls like a veil around my ears and shoulders. I pick up a large silver-handled mohair brush and begin to work on my hair.

  My hair shines, smoother and smoother with every stroke of the brush. I put the brush down and pull my hair back, separating it into three sections with my hands.

  I braid until my hair runs out and I tie the end with a soft pink ribbon from the vanity’s counter. The servant’s bell jingles overhead. Long before my time, Mr. Calhoun had the house’s servant bell system reversed and from the closet next to his kitchen, he can summon one or all of the girls in the house. I stand, smooth out the folds of my skirt, and walk away from the vanity.

  Downstairs in the sitting room, my housemates are all lined up in a row, standing in front of the hearth. Mr. Calhoun stands in front of the piano on the far wall. My housemates are being evaluated by a rotund middle-aged man in a top hat. I join the line and meet his gaze.

  I am the only Indian girl in the house and I stand out in a row of mostly white girls. One Chinese girl stands farther down the line, but the top hat is not interested in her. He smiles at me and I look down at the ground.

  “I see you have someone new. She is a very exotic addition to your selection, Mr. Calhoun,” says the top hat to my captor.

  “Akasha is a very special girl, I assure you. A little lotus blossom,” says Mr. Calhoun.

  “I think I’d like to get to know her better,” says the top hat, smiling more broadly. His decision is made.

  Mr. Calhoun flicks his wrist, demanding that I come forward. My lungs freeze and I can’t breathe. I look the man in the eye. A shaft of sunlight accentuates the orange-peel texture of his face. His bloodshot eyes match the ruddy hue of his skin. His white moustache twitches as he licks his lips.

  I look at the other girls in the line-up. Their glassy eyes are lifeless. I don’t even know their names. Mr. Calhoun has not permitted me to socialize, so I don’t know how this life really is for them, but I can imagine.

  Panic takes over. I bolt for the front door. It may still be unlocked from the top hat’s entry. I reach for the doorknob and turn it frantically. The door doesn’t move.

  Footfalls close in behind me and I turn around. Mr. Calhoun has a ferocious look on his face as he reaches for my waist. He throws me up over his shoulder and carries me up the front stairs back to the bedrooms on the second floor. Mr. Calhoun throws me down on my bed and leaves the room. I hear the door lock. I sit up and recover my breath.

  I stand up and walk around the room. My heart pounds and my blood races, tingling throughout my body. What will happen to me? How will I be punished? Will he strike me again? Will I be turned out on the street tonight?

  A long time passes. I remove my gown and unlace my corset so I can lie down in comfort. Whatever the even-ing — or the rest of my life — has in store, I don’t want to face it locked into a skin-tight cage.

  I lay down on my bed and think of Sanjay. He will still be on board the Komagata Maru. Is he looking at my old spot behind the wall? Does he hurt as much as I do? What is he thinking about? Does he believe me dead, drowned in the steamer trunk? Will he marry as soon as his father can reschedule?

  I am too overwhelmed to plot another escape attempt. I let tears pour out of my eyes, not even bothering to rub them away.

  A key in my door stirs me from near sleep. I look up and see Mr. Calhoun at the door. He locks the door again behind him. I am now wide awake.

  “Akasha, it has become clear to me that you are under the impression you have options in your life. You believe that no matter what I have told you, a life outside this house may lay ahead of you, if only you choose
to make it happen. I am here to tell you now that you are mis-taken, my little lotus,” says Mr. Calhoun.

  He steps closer and closer until he stands directly in front of me. He caresses my face, but I pull away. He tries again. I flinch. He grips my jaw firmly in his large, meaty hand. He pulls my face forward to meet his. My fear satisfies him and he grins.

  “NO! Nooooo!” I cry out. I am sitting up in my bed at Arbutus House, panting, feeling around my body for the awkward confines of a loose corset. I am me again, but the memory of Akasha’s tragedy is fresh and sore.

  Moonlight floods my bedroom. I am alone in the muggy summer night. I get out of bed and take full stock of myself. I am wearing my old t-shirt and sweatpant shorts. I am unharmed, but rattled.

  There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep, so I remove my diary from under my mattress. I walk through the kitchen and out to the backyard where the bare picnic table is waiting for me.

  If Mariah finds me out here, I will tell the truth. I had a nightmare and need to write in my diary to get back to sleep. I open the book and start to document the dream as emotionlessly as I can. I concentrate so as not to let Akasha take over my writing. I want the information, but not the emotion of the incident.

  As soon as I finish writing — it doesn’t take long to stick to the facts — I go back inside and return to bed. I curl up, comfortable with my diary pinned securely beneath the mattress where I lay.

  I cannot sleep. I stare out the window at the small patch of hedge I can see while in bed. I blink. I look around the room. I can still see Akasha’s bedroom in my mind every time I shut my eyes. I keep looking at the moonlight hedge until daylight brightens the leaves and I get out of bed again.

  Breakfast is a tasteless mush of milk-logged cornflakes. I say as little as possible to my housemates, pack my bag, and leave for work.

  Visions Vintage is bustling with summer tourists. It is a mercy that I am too busy to think about my dream and the horror starts to fade, taken over by the immediacy of the real world.