Innocent Darkness

by Suzanne Lazear

  Noli’s heart skipped a beat and it was hard not to make a sound. She’d counted on letters from V, Jeff, and her mother to keep her sane in this dreadful place.

  She didn’t get even a glimpse of any other girls on the tour nor did they view the sleeping rooms. Actually, they didn’t venture upstairs at all.

  They returned to the sitting room. Noli still couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling.

  Miss Gregory turned to her mother and Officer Davies. “I’d like to speak to the both of you privately.” She turned to Noli. “Be a good girl and sit quietly. I’m sure you have some sewing to occupy yourself with.”

  “Yes, Miss Gregory.” Her valise held a sampler—and a book. After they left, she withdrew the book and the sewing. The book belonged to V. Nicomachean Ethics by Aristotle. One of his favorites and quite fascinating. Miss Gregory probably wouldn’t approve. Noli read until footsteps echoed down the hall. Quickly, she tucked the book into her valise, and began sewing. Her mother, Officer Davies, and Miss Gregory entered.

  “Magnolia needs to say her goodbyes now if she’s to settle in before supper. I’ll leave you alone for a few moments.” The headmistress left and Noli tucked her sewing away, leaving her valise on the floor next to the settee.

  Noli’s knees shook under the heavy fabric of the blue traveling gown as she hugged her mother, whishing she didn’t have to say goodbye yet. “Please don’t make me stay,” she whispered. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

  “We don’t have a choice, remember? Adjust quickly; learn well, so you may come home.” Her mother’s eyes glistened with tears and she drew her thumb down Noli’s cheekbone.

  Emotion choked Noli. “I won’t ever become an air pirate, I promise.”

  Her mama’s eyes widened, but she didn’t comment on Jeff. Instead, she gestured to the room. “It does look like a lovely place, such nice girls.”

  Such vapid, pretty dolls. That’s all most society women were.

  Her mama proved a bit of an exception, but she always struggled to hide anything possibly construed as “improper,” or even worse, “madness.”

  “This place is successful only if you cooperate, Noli. I want you to give Miss Gregory your full cooperation.” Officer Davies’ tone held a finality that she felt down to her very core.

  “Yes, Officer.” Casting her eyes down, Noli looked at the toes of her dainty black boots. Before Noli could add anything, the ominous clack of heels brought Miss Gregory’s return. “It’s time for you to go, Officer Davies, Mrs. Braddock.”

  Noli gave her mother one last hug and she choked back a sob. “I love you.”

  Her mother stroked her hair. “I love you too, Noli. Be good so you can come home.”

  “Yes, Mama.” That would be the only way she’d get out of here honorably. Even if her mother hated this place, bringing her back to Los Angeles meant Noli would go before the judge.

  Miss Gregory showed Noli’s mother and Officer Davies to the door. “Thank you again for choosing Findlay, Mrs. Braddock. I’ll send you regular progress reports.”

  “Thank you for fitting Magnolia in, Miss Gregory,” Officer Davies told her.

  “We always have room for a girl in need.” Miss Gregory smiled again. Noli noticed how her smiles never met her eyes.

  “Goodbye, Noli.” Her mama waved sadly, Officer Davies escorting her down the path and through gate to the waiting hired carriage.

  “Goodbye, Mama. Goodbye, Officer Davies.” Noli waved from the doorway. Her heart swelled with sadness and she choked back tears. Two or three years? She’d figured months. How would she manage?

  When the carriage left, Miss Gregory ushered her inside and shut the door. “Come now, Magnolia. We’ll go over the rules and you may meet the other girls.”

  “Yes, Miss Gregory.”

  Miss Gregory’s hand made contact with Noli’s cheek. Pain shot though her face as a loud crack resounded in her ears.

  “That didn’t require an answer,” Miss Gregory scolded. “Your mother wants you educated like a lady, though from the looks of your record, I’m not sure how we’ll manage to reform a hoyden with your temperament. Good daughters only speak when spoken too. Understood?”

  Heart racing, Noli bit her lip and cast her eyes down, shoulders rounding in defeat and humiliation. She nodded.

  Miss Gregory’s bony hand made contact with her face again. “Are you brain-addled besides being disobedient and willful? A question demands an answer.”

  “I … I understand, Miss Gregory,” she whispered. Her cheeks burned where she’d been struck.

  “Good.” Miss Gregory stood in front of her, tall and imposing. “Understanding is another core foundation of Findlay, as is obedience. If you are obedient, your stay at Findlay will be as brief and pleasant as one could expect for this sort of situation. Come now.”

  Turning, Miss Gregory quickly made her way through the foyer, heels clacking on the polished, dark wood of the floor. Noli followed.

  Understanding and obedience? Discipline? Hard work?

  Prickles of foreboding shot up her spine, chilling her through and through until she wanted to wrap her arms around herself and shiver.

  Where in the world had they sent her?

  Five

  Charlotte

  Pulling the thin, patched, rough, grey blanket over her head, Noli curled up on the rickety cot, burying her face in the lumpy pillow. Findlay was a reform school, pure and simple. They simply sugarcoated it so society families wouldn’t feel shame for sending their daughters to such a place.

  Had her mama known?

  No. If her mama knew they’d take her things away, she wouldn’t have filled her trunk with finery. Miss Gregory took nearly everything. Her clothes. New girls don’t have the privilege of wearing their own clothes. Her books. Socrates, Plato, Shakespeare? Much too stimulating. No wonder you have Ideas. Certainly, you don’t wish to become a bluestocking.

  Miss Gregory allowed her to keep her botany book, a gift from her father, which Noli hid her photographs in. But not the letters from Jeff or anything other than basics such as soap and undergarments. The headmistress gave her some ugly grey dresses and head covers, and scratchy grey nightdresses.

  Findlay House had two rules—always do what you’re told or you’ll be punished, and if you’re punished, perform your punishment quickly and silently.

  “Privileges are earned here at Findlay.” Miss Gregory had looked sharply down her nose at Noli. “The further you progress, the more privileges you’ll earn. You control how fast you progress by being obedient and polite; mastering your private, scholastic, and decorum lessons; doing your chores and duties correctly and quickly; and taking to your treatments.”

  Treatments? Her blood had turned to ice and her belly churned.

  Next, the school doctor, Dr. Martin, examined her—a violating, humiliating experience.

  First he did innocuous things. He took her heart rate. Tested her reflexes. Looked in her ears and eyes. Tested her hearing and vision.

  When he started asking questions, she squirmed on the hard wooden stool in the sterile little doctor’s office. One set of glass cabinets held a variety of jars and boxes. Another held other strange things—geared metal boxes, odd contraptions, and large brass spoons.

  “Do you have any urges, Magnolia?” He’d circled her, looking her up and down.

  “What sort of urges, Doctor?” Something about him made her want to hide.

  “What makes you do naughty things? Does something whisper in your ear? Do you have dark feelings deep inside?” He’d given her a look which tried, and failed, to be fatherly. “You can tell me anything.”

  “I don’t mean to do bad things.” Noli had bitten her lip and twisted her hands. “I didn’t mean for everything to happen this way.” If only she could do it over …

  “There, there.” He’d patted her shoulder, hand moist and sweaty. “It sounds as if you simply have too much unsupervised time. Easy to remedy. Any other urges? Yearnings to touc
h yourself—or perhaps be touched by a man?” His expression became a leer.

  Noli had shaken her head, shocked. “Good heavens, no.”

  Taking his clipboard, he’d asked more questions, asking about school, illnesses, even her monthlies, which made her blush. He’d even asked if she’d ever lain with a man, been touched intimately, or been kissed.

  She’d answered with a resounding no. Why did he need to know? It smacked of impropriety and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  Finally, Miss Gregory returned. “How did we fare, Dr. Martin?”

  “Splendid. I’ll administer her first treatment tomorrow.”

  “Does she need to start in isolation?” Miss Gregory seemed to relish the thought.

  Consulting his clipboard, the doctor had shaken his head. “No, a girl like her needs to be kept busy with meaningful work. I see no reason to keep her from the other girls.”

  “Any other restrictions? What about mental stimulation?”

  “Yes. The things she reads are far too taxing. Your normal curriculum is fine, but reading anything other than Godey’s or Harper’s is far too strenuous.”

  Since when were books overtaxing? She wasn’t feeble minded in the slightest. Noli had opened her mouth to protest. How dare they not permit her to read books!

  One well-appointed glare from Miss Gregory had caused her to remain silent.

  At supper, Miss Gregory had introduced her to the other girls, who, if they responded at all, replied only with a vapid welcome or how do you do. The girls in grey, who sat at the far end of the table, didn’t speak much. Unlike the others, their eyes still held some sparkle—especially one with red hair, freckles, and green eyes.

  Noli’s “private lesson” after that soulless dinner had terrified her. Miss Henderson’s expression while she drilled the lesson over and over with the aid of a long, black, leather whip lingered in her mind’s eye. Aching welts covered Noli’s legs and bottom.

  “A lady doesn’t play with tools or fix cars.” Crack.

  “A dutiful daughter always obeys her mother.” Crack.

  When Noli had cried out, the punishment intensified.

  After her lesson, Miss Gregory had excused her from the evening activity, permitting her to retire early. Noli had washed, pulled on the itchy grey nightdress, and returned to the tiny, plain room she shared with five other girls. A pale, sickly green covered the walls—to promote calmness. Nothing decorated them, not even pictures. No rugs lay on the polished, wooden floors. Crisp, white curtains covered the barred windows.

  Four narrow cots with tattered grey blankets lined up against one wall. Over each bed hung a single shelf where a few personal possessions sat tidily. The other side held two proper single beds, made neatly with blue quilts and fluffy pillows. A trunk rested at the foot of each bed. Four new girls lived in the room. Two girls making good progress, the blues, served as examples. The very successful girls, the fancies, had their own rooms.

  Noli curled in the narrow cot, afraid and unsure, bruised and humiliated, her legs still burning from the whipping. Clutching the necklace from V, she sobbed.

  The door opened and she froze, not wanting to be punished for crying. Excessive weeping signified many womanly problems.

  “Are you all right, new girl?” The sweet voice held a slight accent. “The first few days are the worst. They’re still at the evening activity. Because I showed signs of overstimulation, they sent me to retire early.” She sounded relieved.

  Tucking the pendant under her dress, Noli turned to see who spoke. The girl with the red hair and mischievous green eyes sat on the next cot. She looked about Noli’s age.

  “I’m Charlotte Wilson. What are you in for?” Dainty and pale, something in her eyes made her look like trouble, as her mother would say. Girls like that always seemed more fun.

  “In for?” Legs screaming in pain, Noli eased into a sitting positing, pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

  Charlotte spread her hands. “Everyone’s in for something. Moodiness, willfulness, hysteria, and nervousness are the most common. We have one trouser wearer, and a few girls who are overly independent or frigid. I’m a nymphomaniac.”

  Noli blinked while Charlotte cheerfully labeled everyone as if going over the supper menu. “I’m Noli—Magnolia Braddock. I’m a willful hoyden prone to youthful disobedience.”

  “Three labels?” Charlotte grinned. “I’m surprised they didn’t start you out in isolation.”

  “What’s a nymphomaniac?” The unfamiliar word rolled uneasily off her tongue.

  Charlotte giggled. “They say I’m man-crazy and suffer from over-stimulated genitals.”

  How exactly did one treat that? None of these “illnesses” sounded scientific at all.

  “How long have you been here?” Noli asked. Could she withstand three years of “private lessons” and not become a vapid pile of mush?

  Perhaps that was the point.

  “A year.” Charlotte seemed nonplussed.

  “A year? And still a new girl?” Noli shivered, pulling the threadbare blanket around her.

  “I’m not showing enough progress. But I don’t understand why being a little flirtatious is a problem. It’s not as if I’d actually do anything.” Charlotte rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t you want to have more privileges?” She couldn’t wait to write letters.

  “And become one of them?” Charlotte shuddered. “Progressing means you give in, allowing them to suck out your soul, making you into another mindless doll. That’s exactly what the improved girls are—nearly perfect girls who starve themselves and never have an original thought in their heads.”

  “If you don’t improve, you don’t get out, right?” Somehow she needed a way to get out without bringing more shame to her mother. How would Mama explain her going away to boarding school in the middle of April, anyway?

  “If you get worse they send you someplace else. Any place is better than here.”

  Noli didn’t agree. A detention center might be better. But an asylum …

  The very thought made bile rise in her throat.

  “Watch out for the blues,” Charlotte added, meaning the good progress girls. “Some of them are nasty, especially Margaret.” She jerked her chin towards one of the blue beds. “Claire’s nice enough.”

  Claire. The girl with the tea tray. The unmarriageable one.

  “What makes a girl unmarriageable?”

  Charlotte’s face contorted in pain. “Never let them classify you as unmarriageable.” With a sigh she stood and got something off her shelf. “I should go before someone checks on me. We get in trouble for everything.” She held a grey bundle, a washcloth, and a bar of soap in her hand. “You get used to it—the chores, punishments, treatments, even private lessons.”

  How did one grow used to being beaten?

  “Welcome to Findlay House.” With a smile, Charlotte left to wash.

  Welcome indeed.

  Six

  Enemies

  Morning came too soon and Noli’s legs ached. Charlotte assured her the whip wouldn’t leave marks—on her body at least.

  Before breakfast they all did their chores. Noli had to scrub the kitchen and dining room floor. Breakfast was bland mush eaten in virtual silence. Inspection came after breakfast. Lessons disappointed her. She’d covered these simple things years ago.

  Her mind could easily rot from boredom here, though that, too, could be the point. More bland gruel for lunch. Miss Henderson taught decorum, sans whip. Both she and the schoolmistress, Miss Nelson, used their canes liberally. Noli scrubbed more floors, then worked in the garden until dinner. After dinner, the new girls did their schoolwork in the library in silence, under Miss Gregory’s watchful eyes. An eerie hush blanketed the room, though Charlotte caught her eye and smiled. Once today Margaret had tattled that Charlotte “smiled excessively” and Miss Gregory had sent Charlotte to lie down for “over-stimulation.”

  “Magnolia,” Mis
s Gregory’s voice sent chills down her spine. “Dr. Martin wishes to see you in his office. Put your things away, then go directly there.”

  Noli gathered her books and put them away. Nervously, she made her way to his office.

  Rosemarie stood in the doorway. “Thank you, Dr. Martin,” she simpered, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. She left, completely ignoring Noli. Findlay had a pecking order.

  “Hello, Magnolia,” Dr. Martin greeted. “Today we’re going to go to Treatment Room A; that’s where you’ll meet me each day for your treatments unless I tell you otherwise.”

  Noli nodded, having been slapped several times and caned once for answering when she wasn’t supposed to. Dr. Martin’s smarmy smile and memories of yesterday’s exam made her shudder. She followed him, twisting her hands as her belly fluttered in anxiousness.

  Treatment Room A held a small room with a box resembling brass coffin with some sort of crank attached.

  “This is a sensory deprivation box,” Dr. Martin told her as she stared at it in disbelief. “Your body needs to be kept busy with meaningful work, but your mind needs to be taught to relax. In this box you will see nothing, hear nothing. You’ll be completely alone. All you have to do is relax and breathe deep. There is no need to think or do anything.” He smiled in a creepy way that made her skin crawl. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  “Yes, sir.” A blatant lie. It sounded dreadful.

  He turned the crank and the lid retracted. “Into the box you go.”

  Noli did as she was told even though parts of her screamed at the thought of climbing into that small box. Lined with soft red fabric, the box was large enough to lie down in, but just so. At least she didn’t need to undress. When he closed the lid, there wouldn’t be much more than a few inches between her nose and the lid.

  Panic rose within her. What would happen once he closed it?

  “Don’t worry, you’ll have enough air. Just relax and breathe deep, clear your mind of all your thoughts and worries. I’ll be back for you in a little while. He turned the crank, closing the lid over her.