Escape From Purgatory

by Scarlet Darkwood - BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

  George stood closer, brushing against her shoulder. “Not to worry, Claire. Won’t charge you a penny of rent. I’m just glad you’re here.” His hand lingered in the middle of her back. “You’re helping me more than anything by using this house. I really hated to see it empty.”

  The sincerity in his eyes and the softness of his voice nearly sent her reeling. His cologne held the gentle fragrance of a fine brand she knew must have been ordered straight from some fancy Parisian men’s shop overseas. She held a hand on her cheek, hoping the coolness of it might calm her.

  “Maybe we can discuss a job for me once I’ve settled in a bit?”

  His only answer, a tender look, caring eyes, and a light nod.

  Claire glanced up toward the door. Mitchell rested easily against the frame, watching them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mitchell slipped Claire some bills. George had already opened the car door on the driver’s side. “Keep this safe and sound until you get to a bank and open up an account.”

  She took the money, knowing this amount was a more than a generous gift for the current times. “I don’t know how to thank you enough. I’ll definitely pay this back.”

  “Don’t worry about paying me back. This should hold you over a bit until you get on your feet. We’ll find a job somewhere for you.” Smiling, he opened the passenger door. “Take care of yourself, and let me know when you need something. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Can’t you at least stay one night and leave tomorrow? That’s a lot of train-riding.” She grinned down at her brother-in-law, who’d finally settled himself in the seat.

  “I’m going to check on a few accounts while I’m here, and then it’s back to the factory. And don’t forget, someone has to look after you-know-who.”

  She winced and nodded. “True. What’ll you tell him if he keeps asking about me?”

  “I may just tell him you’ve escaped for good because nobody could find you. With any luck, he’ll simply forget about the whole thing. As sad as it sounds, I wish he would.”

  “Me too. Let’s just hope for the best, because it’s all we can do.” Claire glanced down a moment, kicking at the gravel.

  George leaned over. “Claire, I’m just dropping Mitchell off at the trolley stop. I’ll come right back.” His reassuring smile lifted any trepidation inside her. At least his presence eased her mind, lightened anxiety, and instilled a sense of security. This time in her life more than ever, she needed security and the comfort of someone strong. In her quick estimation, George seemed strong in many facets of his life, as a businessman, friend, and perhaps a father.

  “Bye, Claire.” Mitchell waved one last time and pulled the door closed.

  She stepped back as the car moved out of the driveway, tires crunching against the gravel as it glided out onto the main road. In the distance, the drone of the engine soon faded, leaving nothing but the twitter of birds, buzzing insects, and teasing whispers from the breeze.

  She was finally alone. For the first time, she didn’t know what to do with herself. There was no food in the house yet, so drumming up a quick meal remained impossible. A quick walk to one of the streetcars, and she’d be on her way to a local store for groceries, but he said he’d be back. No reason to scare poor George by running off somewhere strange. He’d seen her through this far. Surely, he wouldn’t let her starve.

  Claire turned around and headed toward the porch. Inside a pocket, she held the house keys. Hers. Not Adrian’s, not Mitchell’s, but hers—and George’s. As a property owner, she knew he had a spare key secreted away, but he’d promised more than once that this house was for her use and enjoyment.

  Closing the door behind her, she studied the open living room in more detail, taking in the decor with a keener eye. His wife had fine, simple taste. Just enough furnishings for comfort and utility. Dark wooden floors and paneling along the room cast the area in gloomy darkness, and she walked around the room, opening the curtains in each window. The dining room and kitchen held more ample lighting, giving off a cheerier ambiance.

  Prowling through the drawers and cabinets, she found elegant china stored in the china cabinet, with sterling silver inside special lined drawers. Crystal glinted behind the glass panes, water goblets, wine glasses, relish bowls, fruit bowls, vases. In the kitchen, the everyday ware held as much a beauty and elegance as the formal ones. The cabinets held a host of drinking glasses, coffee cups, and teacups with saucers, and below the counter, a blender, and mixer had been stored. The drawers held another set of flatware for daily use, napkins, and dish cloths and towels. A small table for two sat next to the window.

  She wondered if George and his late wife had shared secrets while sipping coffee or tea at that table. Did they rent this house out after they married and lived where George did now? Mitchell hadn’t told her much information. But a house this comfortable surely couldn’t have been without occupants. The river. Claire viewed the back door. The lawn outside led to one place, and she wanted to see it. With a quick twist of the lock, she stepped out into the back yard, flanked by green pastures on either side, with more trees scattered in the distance. The back lawn remained empty, wide and grassy green, stretching to the river.

  How she longed for girlhood, to be young again, when youth caught you up in its hands and you danced, carefree and happy. Today the old feeling stirred inside her, and along with it an urge to go barefoot, to touch the ground with bare soles and wiggle her toes into the soil. She quickly slipped off her shoes and waded through the yard, giggling as blades of grass crushed against her feet. Pure earth hit her skin with magnificent coolness, infusing energy and vitality she’d lacked for such a long time. She’d been too rushed, too urgent, too anxious, and the timing too cruel, to appreciate the woods the day she slipped out the back door of the asylum. At last she’d enjoy nature the way one should enjoy it, raw, wild, untamed, yet tender and loving.

  Several paces later, she reached the river, gazing down a steep embankment at muddy water careening by, it’s lazy whisper barely audible. Yards away a barge moved onward, with slow but sure determination. Where would it go, and what did it carry? Much to her disappointment, George was right. There were no steps or dock leading down to the water’s edge, and picking one’s way down the bank seemed harrowing at best. So much for wading in the water, but she envisioned future picnics here, a blanket spread across the ground and an eyeful of scenic beauty and peace. With a smile, she turned away and walked back to the house.

  Upstairs, silence hit her ears as loudly as the strongest boom from an explosion. The paradox of it might have almost suffocated her, driven her mad had it not been for a recent life of never-ending clamor. Now she welcomed silence as a gift, a luxury allowing the mind a chance to think, plan, and dream. Heavy wooden doors to the rooms held their original hardware, brass locks outfitted with their corresponding skeleton key. She shuddered, remembering tales from her grandparents as they recounted times when they’d been locked in a room for what she personally determined as mild transgressions at best. No access to the outside world or dinner if behavior had been “bad” enough. Yes, in the hands of a wicked master, one could be locked inside a room as easily as using the key for shutting oneself in for safety.

  Claire explored each room, admiring the ample space and furnishings. All drawers in the dressers were empty, except for one holding bed linens. Closets held nothing but a few hangers. The rooms seemed sunnier than downstairs, and the ambiance in this space wrapped her in a blanket of tranquility. She ended up back in the master bedroom where George had left her bag. Everything she owned in the world filled that simple travel bag. Sitting on the bed, Claire thought back to her old room in Ash Grove, where she had a closet filled with nice outfits, drawers filled with jewelry, cosmetics, and glinting hair clips—a room where she’d once shared a bed with Adrian. What would it be like sleeping alone? Would her body ever feel a man again, with strong arms around her, whispering loving words?

  How long would it t
ake to make friends, become self-sufficient, settle into a new life of living in a new town with strangers? In Hatchie River her friendships, no matter how small, had meant the world to her; they were important not only for companionship, but for survival. The clock on the nightstand showed eleven o’clock. In another hour, Ruth would be eating soon, along with Millie and the others. Part of her felt a twinge of guilt about the women she left behind. While they languished, she’d have sunshine, a beautiful house—and George. She shook her head and got up from the bed, making her way to the dresser.

  Why did this new man suddenly intrigue her so much? She’d never been one for believing in love at first sight. She didn’t know him, a widower with a young daughter, who still remained an enigma. Claire walked to the dresser, reached out, and pulled one of the knobs of a smaller drawer, cringing when the bottom gave off a shrill squeak as it scraped across wooden runners. Inside she spied an ornate metal jewelry box with a motif of rosebuds and vines in relief over the top. Furrowing her brow, she pulled out the box and opened it. Resting on light blue silk lay a pearl necklace, complete with matching earrings, bracelet, and ring. Pushing aside the pieces, she discovered a matching brooch.

  She held up the necklace, noting the cold touch of pearl against her fingers. Studded with small emeralds and tiny seed pearls, the ornate clasp gleamed in the sun. Claire’s eyes widened. Either this was a family heirloom or George lavished expensive gifts on his wife. Why on earth would he have left such a box like this? She replaced the necklace into the box. Her jewelry boxes in Ash Grove held pretty paste imitation pieces, but she had loved the small ruby pendant Adrian gave her as an anniversary gift one year, and a set of gold-drop earrings for Christmas. What she’d give for her old jewelry right now. She wished Mitchell had taken a few extra minutes and found those pieces. Focusing her attention back on the box, she admired even more this breathtaking set. How irresistible.

  Gripped with temptation, she fingered through the pieces and slipped on the pearl ring, holding out her hand and marveling how it slipped effortlessly onto her middle finger. A ray of morning sun from the window lit up the small row of brilliant green emeralds cushioned within a pearl cluster. She picked up the brooch and fastened it on her blouse. How elegant it looked, though too ornate for casual wear. Some of the dresses and scarves she owned back home would have gone quite nicely with this piece. Losing all sense of discretion, she lifted up the earrings and slipped them on, shaking her hair away so they showed off elegantly against the side of her face. Engrossed, she gazed down and took up the necklace, scrutinizing the pearls and fingering the stunning gold and gem-studded clasp before wrapping the piece around her neck and fastening it. When she lifted her head to admire herself in the mirror, she froze in horror at the reflection.

  George had entered the room and stood studying her with intense interest. In his eyes, she couldn’t determine if they reflected quiet irritation or some other emotion. He moved quietly behind her, placing his hands lightly on the sides of her shoulders. Claire didn’t know what initiated the weakness in her knees more, the fact that she’d been caught snooping or him touching her with an ease as if they’d always belonged together, in this house, in this room, and these jewels were nothing more than a token of his love and undying devotion. She decided it was most likely embarrassment.

  In the mirror, Claire noted her crimson cheeks in glowing contrast to George’s white ones. The longer they stood together, appraising each other, the brighter his eyes lit up. Stranger still, his hands on her didn’t create the slightest unease, and for a moment, she forgot the past and Adrian. Standing tall and proud behind her, she shamelessly enjoyed the sense of protection he provided. After her ordeal in the asylum, protection rated high on her list of wants, like breathing, eating, and sleeping.

  “You look beautiful wearing those.” His voice rolled over her as easily as the water traveled down the Holston River.

  “I-I’m so sorry. I was just looking at everything, and I opened this drawer and found this.” She turned around and faced him. “When I saw what it was, I should have just told you so you could take everything home for safe-keeping.”

  “No need for apologies.” He rubbed his finger over the pearl necklace, and the heat from his hands radiated through the rest of her. As if aware of his behavior for the first time, George stepped back. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. You must think I have no regard for boundaries or respect for a lady. Normally, I’m not this forward.”

  “Now it’s you who doesn’t need to say I’m sorry.” Claire smiled up at him. “I took the liberty of handling something that didn’t belong to me. That was forward of me.” She removed the jewelry and placed each piece gently back into the box. “Here you go. Are there other boxes in here I don’t know about?”

  “Keep the jewelry where it is. It’s already home.” He sat on the bed and stared off into space, lost in thought.

  “Are you okay?” Concerned, she sat down beside him.

  He smiled, eyes warm yet reminiscent. “You see, Anita and I lived here after we married and stayed until her dying day. This was her parent’s old place, along with thirty acres of surrounding property. When she died, I just couldn’t bear living here alone. So, I bought a small farmhouse on down the road. Before you came, I removed her clothes, cosmetics, perfumes, but not the jewelry. Part of me just couldn’t do it. I really didn’t see any harm in leaving them. This house and everything in it was Anita’s, and getting rid of things meant getting rid of her.” His eyes filled with tears, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Seeing her personal items made me sad all over again.”

  “You two did live here, then. I wondered about that.” Claire rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Then you caught me trying on her jewelry. Thoughtless on my part.”

  “I don’t blame you. They were in the drawer. But seeing them on you . . .” He turned away, dabbing his eyes.

  “I’ll put them away and never touch them again. But those pieces were the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. It’s been such a long time since I’ve enjoyed something feminine and pretty.” She lost her train of thought and stared down at her hands.

  He gazed at her with wet eyes. The silence between them spoke volumes, of pain, loss, futures that didn’t turn out as planned. When he spoke again, his words came out in a hoarse whisper.

  “You’ve seen the ugliest of humanity, haven’t you? Mitchell came clean and told me just a little bit about what happened to you.”

  She nodded. “There’s an ugly side, all right. Nastiness I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But your wife, you loved her, didn’t you?”

  “I did. Anita was the best thing that ever happened to me, other than my little girl Anna. She’s the living memory of her mother. She’s the most important person in my life right now.” George blinked a few times and wiped his eyes again. “You don’t have children of your own, do you? I vaguely remember Mitchell telling me you didn’t.”

  Claire sighed. “Tried several times. Almost had two, and the last one didn’t make it very long after he was born. I don’t have much luck in the motherhood department, I’m afraid.” Rubbing her finger over the bedspread, she smoothed out imaginary wrinkles as her mind drifted back to Ash Grove. “Everything I ever loved is back home, and now I find myself in a new place, alone, confused, not knowing what will happen.”

  “You’re scared, aren’t you?” His hand found hers, and the touch settled her nerves. “I was scared, too, after Anita left me. How would I get on without her? How would a man like me raise a little girl by myself? How could I be a good father and successful businessman without her?” His eyes fixed on Claire’s. “Those questions weren’t much different from the ones you have now. It seems at some point we find ourselves in a new place, thrown there, kicking and screaming, demanding an explanation for such injustice. I hadn’t done anything to deserve that loss.” He lightly squeezed her hand. “Nor did you deserve what happened to you. Let me tell you something.
We have an asylum here, Eastern Psychiatric Hospital, and I’ve heard the horror stories. Everybody here avoids that place.”

  Her eyes widened, and the pressure in her chest increased. The thought of another mental institution here hadn’t crossed her mind. “How close is it?”

  “It’s a little distance from here.” George leaned over, his face inches from hers. “As long as there’s breath in my body, you’ll never go to a place like that ever again.”

  She looked away, aware of the heat in her cheeks. Why did he care so much? Was he always this nice with everybody? “Thanks, George. I’d really like to not ever go back to a place like that. I think I’ll be plagued with nightmares forever.”

  “Time does heal wounds. May not seem like it now, but the pain will slowly ease, and you’ll be ready to live again.” His lips turned into a soft smile.

  “Are you living again, George, after being without her?” Claire’s eyes had found their way back to his face, one that captivated her.

  “I’m a little more ready now for the other part, for feeling, for letting others in. It’s time for more than just going through daily routines, pretending nothing’s wrong and everything’s okay.”

  The feeling part, letting others in. She understood well what he meant. Though her ordeal didn’t last anywhere near the length of time since Anita’s death, the toll it took on her spirit equaled the time, and in her opinion, surpassed it. It didn’t take long to learn that shutting others out became a survival mechanism at Hatchie River. Shutting down and not thinking kept you from going mad, because actual living acknowledged a hellish existence and death staring you in the face. Each day survived only reinforced your choices.

  George stood up and offered his hand. “Mighty heavy talk, but it felt good to get it all out. Tell you what, let’s get back to town and grab a bite. While we’re out, maybe you can run some errands.”