The Locked Garden

by Gloria Whelan

  The days were growing cold. In November there were only a few warm enough for Eleanor to sit outside. It was nearly Thanksgiving and the first warm day after a cold spell. The sun was shining, but there was a light dusting of snow in the garden that made it look like it had been painted over with white. Eleanor was looking for us, a smile lighting her face. “I’m to teach singing to the patients,” she said. “The patients are to have their own choir. We’ll practice every day and give performances for the whole hospital. I can pick any songs I want. I asked if some of the patients from the back wards could be part of the choir. I know I could get them to sing. My time will be after supper. Every night. One of the attendants plays piano, and she’ll play for us. Your papa came to talk with me. He said he would help.”

  I could see the old Eleanor. It was like the game of peekaboo Mama used to play with Carlie when she was a baby. Mama would put her hands over her face to make Carlie think she had disappeared. Suddenly she would take her hands away, and Carlie would laugh with relief. It was what I wanted to do, to laugh out loud with relief because Eleanor was there again.

  The trees shed their leaves, and only the evergreen bushes and the pine and hemlock trees filled up the emptiness of the November sky. In the mornings the grass stood stiff and white with frost. Eleanor grew busy and no longer went to the locked garden. Mrs. Thurston told us the new patients’ choir was a great success. “I love to stand out in the hall and hear them, Verna. The whole asylum seems filled with music. It lifts me right off my feet. You and Carlie must come and hear the choir for yourselves, and afterward Eleanor will be our guest for tea.”

  It was Carlie’s first visit to the asylum and to the Thurstons’ home. She anguished over what she would wear. “When will I have my skirts as long as yours, Verna? I hate the way my white stockings stick out from under my skirt like two of Papa’s pipe cleaners. Verna, let me borrow your blue hair ribbon. I put mine on Surprise. If Mrs. Thurston makes me drink tea, I’ll throw up. Will we have cookies?”

  There was cocoa for us instead of tea, and lots of cookies. Eleanor was there with good news. “I’m not just a patient anymore. They have given me a job teaching music. Even some of the patients in the back wards come to my class. My old friend Lucy Anster can come. She used to need someone with her every minute or she would poke herself with a knitting needle or a knife or anything she could get her hands on to hurt herself. She has scars all over her body. But she’s a lot better now, and they’re letting her sing with us. She’s French Canadian, and we’re getting her to teach us French songs.

  “And there is more,” Eleanor said. “Besides teaching music, I’ll be an attendant, helping to care for the patients, and I’ll sleep in the attendants’ dormitory. I’ll have a regular wage.”

  “Why can’t you come back and take care of us?” Carlie asked.

  Eleanor blushed. “It wouldn’t be right,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Carlie insisted.

  Before Eleanor could answer, Mrs. Thurston said, “I’m sure that Eleanor would love to return to you, Caroline, but it wouldn’t be proper for an unmarried young woman to live without a chaperone in the home of a widower.”

  “What’s chaperone?” Carlie asked, and I saw her lips move practicing the word so she could get a penny from Papa.

  “It’s a kind of protector,” Mrs. Thurston said. She handed Carlie the plate of cookies, trying to stop the questions, but Carlie wouldn’t be stopped.

  “Protect her from what?” I kicked Carlie under the tea table, and she gave me a fierce look. “Why did you kick me?”

  Eleanor had been growing more uncomfortable. Finally she said, “I have to go now, but I’ll see you Sunday. I’m going to be singing in the church choir again.”

  On our way home Carlie said, “I still don’t understand why Eleanor can’t come and live with us.”

  “Oh, Carlie, don’t you see? It’s because of Papa. Papa isn’t married anymore. Neither is Eleanor. People like Mrs. Larter would gossip if they saw Eleanor living in our house.”

  “If Eleanor and Papa got married, would it be all right? ”

  “Yes, but they aren’t going to.”

  “How do you know? Why can’t we make them?”

  “You can’t make people get married.”

  “I’m going to ask Papa at supper if he won’t marry Eleanor, and I’m getting a penny from Papa for chaperone.”

  Carlie didn’t have a chance to ask Papa or get her penny. We had just sat down at the supper table when a wagon pulled up in front of the house. We all recognized it. It was the wagon that had taken us to visit the farm and had brought Eleanor back to the asylum. Carlie and I jumped up from the table, expecting to greet Tom, but it wasn’t Tom who had come on the wagon. It was Mr. Miller. He hurried up the walk as if we were going to pull it out from under him before he got to the end of it. Carlie greeted him, but he brushed past us without so much as a glance. “You the doctor?” he said to Papa.

  “I’m Dr. Martin. I don’t believe I have had the pleasure.”

  “There’s no pleasure. I’m John Miller, Eleanor’s dad. Your girls here will tell you who I am. I come to find out what’s going on with my daughter.”

  My heart felt like someone had given it a terrible punch. I didn’t want Mr. Miller to have anything to do with Eleanor.

  Papa said, “You should make an appointment with Dr. Thurston, who is Eleanor’s doctor at the asylum, Mr. Miller. We are friends of Eleanor, but I have no professional relationship with her.”

  In a snarly voice Mr. Miller said, “What kind of relationship do you have? She worked here, didn’t she? You must have talked my boy into sneaking her away from our farm against my wishes.”

  Did that mean Mr. Miller was here to take Eleanor back? I knew what that would do to Eleanor, and I resolved to do whatever I must to keep her here.

  Papa kept his voice calm. “Eleanor was very sick. Mrs. Miller and Tom thought she should be here, and the doctors agreed. Dr. Thurston explained all that to you and Mrs. Miller. You gave Dr. Thurston permission for Eleanor to be here.”

  “He said he’d go to court if I didn’t. That’s all changed. Eleanor’s not sick anymore. I just saw a letter Eleanor wrote to my wife, and in it Eleanor says she’s working for the asylum now, teaching singing. If she’s so sick, what’s she doing working? If she’s well, she can be back at the farm, helping out her mother.”

  “I believe the doctor feels she would be better off here. The asylum is very pleased with Eleanor’s work. Certainly Eleanor is of age and able to make that decision for herself.”

  “What’s age got to do with it? She’ll do what I say. I’m her father. I’m not going to have her work here for nothing. I’m going to take her back with me.”

  “She’s not working for nothing. She is receiving a fair wage, and it’s up to her to decide if she wishes to go back with you. Now, if you have said all you want to say, I would like to return to my supper.”

  I could see from the stubborn, angry expression on Mr. Miller’s face that all this talk wasn’t changing his mind. It was up to me. I slipped out the back door determined to get to Dr. Thurston before Mr. Miller did and make him promise to keep Eleanor from having to go home. I could have found the shortcut to the asylum among the trees with my eyes closed. As I hurried into the asylum, I could see Mr. Miller’s wagon coming down the road. I had only seconds. I flew up the stairway to the Thurstons’. They were at the supper table with its neat white linen cloth, its pretty china dishes, and the beets melting red into the chicken gravy.

  As soon as they saw me, they jumped up from the table. “Verna, what is it?” Mrs. Thurston asked.

  I took a deep breath. “It’s Mr. Miller. He wants to take Eleanor back, and we can’t let him.”

  Dr. Thurston said, “I hope that Eleanor will not want to go back with her father. But it’s up to her to decide what she wishes to do.”

  “He’s a bully,” I said. “He’ll make her.”

&n
bsp; “We won’t let him take Eleanor against her will, Verna, but the decision will have to be hers.”

  We heard footsteps on the stairway. I knew who it was, but I didn’t know how to stop him. The receptionist hurried into the room with Mr. Miller right behind her. “I’m sorry, Dr. Thurston,” the receptionist said. “I told this gentleman you were at supper, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “That’s quite all right, Ethyl. Will you kindly go to the sitting room where Eleanor Miller is rehearsing the choir and ask her if she will come here?”

  Mr. Miller glowered at me. “So you sneaked over here to warn them,” he said.

  Since that was just what I had done, I didn’t see how I could deny it, but my coming didn’t seem to be doing any good. Why wasn’t Dr. Thurston sending Mr. Miller away?

  He took a step toward Dr. Thurston. “Let me tell you,” he said, “I’m here to take Eleanor home, and no one is going to stop me.”

  “The only person who could stop you,” Dr. Thurston said, “is Eleanor herself.”

  I crossed all my fingers, but I didn’t have a lot of hope. I remembered how Eleanor had given in to her father when he wanted her wages. I remembered the story of the deer.

  We could hear Eleanor’s voice and the voices of the patients singing and then silence as Ethyl brought in Eleanor. Eleanor was smiling as she entered the Thurstons’ sitting room, but the moment she saw her father, the smile disappeared and her face closed in. It was just what I was afraid of. Eleanor wouldn’t stand up to her father.

  “Eleanor, I come to take you home. You go and get your things.”

  For a moment Eleanor was quiet, and then she turned to Dr. Thurston and asked, “Do I have to go?” She wasn’t doing right off what her father said. For the first time I had a little hope.

  Dr. Thurston said, “No, indeed you do not. The decision is entirely up to you.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Mr. Miller said. “He’s got nothing to say about it. It’s between you and me. Now do as I say.”

  My heart sank as I saw that Eleanor was trembling. If she gave in and went home, I was afraid she would end up again on the back wards with patients like Lucy Anster once had been. I was desperately trying to think of something I could do to save Eleanor, and then I remembered how pleased she had been that her singing class was helping Lucy. Now it had to be Lucy’s turn to help Eleanor. Without letting myself think about what I was doing, I slipped out of the room and down the stairs to the ward on the first floor, knocking to get the entrance unlocked and telling the attendant, “Dr. Thurston has asked me to bring Lucy up to the Thurstons’ apartment.”

  The attendant looked puzzled. “I don’t know. Lucy doesn’t have privileges. She’s not supposed to be outside the ward.”

  “It’s perfectly all right,” I lied. “Dr. Thurston said I should bring her.”

  Reluctantly the attendant agreed. “I’ll have to come with Lucy.”

  Lucy had a worn-out look, like Carlie’s favorite doll that she had loved nearly to death. The attendant held one of Lucy’s hands. I took the other hand and shuddered as I saw the scars. “Lucy,” I said, “there’s a man who wants to take Eleanor away from the asylum. You have to help Eleanor. She helped you, didn’t she?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “All right then—tell Eleanor you need her and that she shouldn’t go away.”

  I had never done anything so hard as walking into the Thurstons’ dining room with Lucy. Everyone stopped talking and stared at me until I wanted to hide under the table. Dr. Thurston said, “Young lady, what do you think you are doing?”

  Surprise made Dr. Thurston’s voice harsh. I had never heard him use that tone of voice before, and its harshness made me realize how foolishly I had acted. Lucy was also alarmed by Dr. Thurston’s anger. She pulled away from me and the attendant. Before any one of us could stop her, she reached over to the dining room table and snatched one of the knives that the Thurstons had been using to peel their fruit. I was horrified to see her point it at her arm.

  Dr. Thurston said, “Put that down, Lucy.” He stepped forward and was going to grab for the knife, but Lucy said, “If you come any closer, I’ll stab myself.” Dr. Thurston stopped.

  We all stood there afraid to move.

  Eleanor said to Lucy, “Remember that song we were singing in rehearsal this evening, the one about the moon, ‘Au clair de la lune’? It’s your favorite.”

  After a long moment when no one seemed to breathe, Lucy nodded.

  “Let’s sing it now for everyone.” Eleanor began to sing. After a moment Lucy joined her. It was amazing how sweet Lucy’s voice was. It didn’t match what we were seeing at all. As Lucy sang with Eleanor, Eleanor reached for the knife that Lucy was holding. Lucy gave it to her. I began to breathe again, and Mrs. Thurston, who had sprung up when Lucy picked up the knife, sank down onto her chair. When the song was finished, Eleanor said to Lucy, “We’ll go downstairs now.” To her father, who looked like he couldn’t get out of the asylum fast enough, Eleanor said, “Don’t wait for me, Papa. I won’t be going home with you.”

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Eleanor was standing up to her father.

  Before he left, Mr. Miller said, “That’s the kind of crazy people you let my girl spend her time with. She’s just wasting her life.”

  Dr. Thurston said, “A month ago, Mr. Miller, Lucy was locked in a small room. She could not even have a mattress because she would tear out the stuffing and try to choke herself. Now, because of your daughter, Lucy is able to move about freely in her ward. I blame myself for what happened this evening. She was alarmed to find herself in strange surroundings, and worse, I spoke harshly to her. I am confident that she will gradually do better. As for Eleanor, Mr. Miller, she is going to be an attendant, and perhaps will one day even be a nurse.”

  Mr. Miller headed for the door. “You’re all crazy here,” he said. He stamped down the stairway.

  Dr. Thurston turned at once to me. “Verna, things have turned out well this evening, but you took a great risk. Lucy might have injured herself.”

  I heard Papa’s voice and his steps on the stairway. What would Papa say about my foolishness? I had just gone ahead and acted without thinking. I’d wanted to help Eleanor, but I’d put Lucy in danger. I looked at Dr. Thurston. He said, “You had no right to take a chance with someone else’s life, Verna, but if you are sure you have learned your lesson, there will be no need to mention this little incident to your father.”

  THIRTEEN

  The last of the leaves had long since disappeared in the November rainstorms, leaving vacant spaces of sky among Dr. Thurston’s tree branches. Wagons passed our house, carrying load after load of coal to feed the asylum’s giant furnaces. The locked garden had all but disappeared in the snow. We were so bundled on our way to school that we could hardly move, and the horses on John’s farm wore robes of ermine.

  Mrs. Luth was nice enough, helping us bake Christmas cookies and even knitting a scarf for each of us as a present, but you couldn’t really talk with her like you could with Eleanor, and Papa was busy with The Closed Door.

  It was the week after Christmas when Carlie said, “I’ve got an idea. Let’s have Eleanor come for dinner. Then she and Papa could sing together.” I guessed what she was thinking. It was what I was beginning to think too. Maybe it wasn’t proper for Eleanor to live with us because Papa was a widower. But suppose he and Eleanor got married; then Eleanor would be here all the time. “You ask,” Carlie said.

  My chance came when Papa had a visit from a famous psychiatrist who had come to see the asylum especially to meet Papa. Papa brought Dr. Magnum home. It was snowing out, and they arrived with little hats of white on top of their own hats. Dr. Magnum was a small, busy man with black chin whiskers like the Thurstons’ Scotch terrier. Papa carried him off to his study as if he were something precious, a bit of gold or an expensive diamond. Mrs. Luth brought them many cups of coffee, and Carlie and I could hear Dr. Magnum’s
high, sharp terrier voice yipping and then Papa’s deeper voice like a German shepherd barking. The yipping and barking went on for over an hour, and at last Dr. Magnum and Papa emerged from the study. Dr. Magnum shook our hands and yipped some pleasant words at us, making his chin whiskers go up and down.

  After he left, Papa said, “Well, that was most gratifying. Dr. Magnum has read my articles, and he came all this way to tell me that he believes in my theory of mental illness.” Papa was all puffed up and grinning.

  At once I pounced. “Papa, can we invite a friend to have dinner with us?”

  Papa’s mind had followed the terrier out the door, and he had hardly heard what I asked of him. “Whatever you like, Verna. Now you must excuse me. Dr. Magnum has given me some excellent ideas for the book. Go out and play. I must have quiet.”

  “But Papa, it’s getting dark and it’s snowing out,” Carlie said.

  “Anyhow, it’s time for supper,” I said.

  “Yes, so it is. Tell Mrs. Luth I will have my supper in my study.”

  Papa closed the door to his study behind him. I ran for pen and ink.

  “Tell Eleanor to come right away,” Carlie said, “before Papa asks who’s coming.”

  “Sunday afternoon is the only time Eleanor has off, so it will have to be next Sunday.” Carefully, with Carlie looking over my shoulder, I wrote the letter.

  January 23, 1901

  Dear Eleanor,

  We would like to invite you to have dinner with us next Sunday. You could come home with us after church.

  Sincerely,

  Verna and Carlie

  “Mrs. Luth,” I asked, “could Carlie and I have supper a little later tonight? We have an emergency letter we have to take to the asylum for Papa. Papa is having his supper in his study, and you could leave ours in the oven.”

  Nothing in the world bothered Mrs. Luth. She never asked questions. Now all she said was: “It’ll be in the oven.”