Part 30 (1/2)

”I ain't Sadie, Mrs. Carelton. Wake up now, dearie. We've a schedule here.”

The shake was rougher, the voice coa.r.s.e. I started truly awake, uncertain where I was, and then I remembered.

”Leave me be,” I said. ”Let me sleep.”

”Get up, Mrs. Carelton.” The woman's hands were on my arms, pulling me up. ”Come on, now. I guess you're dressed already-that won't happen again, will it? You can get yourself washed. Or you want me to do that too?”

I was bleary-eyed. Her face, round and plain as a potato with severely pinned brown hair, wavered before me. I blinked to bring her into focus. Her expression was unpleasant, her dark eyes narrowed.

”This ain't your house in the city, and I ain't your servant. You'll do what I say or you'll regret it. Do you understand me?”

I was taken aback. ”Who are you? Where is Dr. Little?”

”My name's Maddy. I'm your nurse,” she explained. ”If you just follow my orders, we'll get along fine.”

”I demand to see Dr. Little.”

Maddy smiled smugly. ”You'll see him, all right.” She grabbed my arm hard, so I had no choice but to get to my feet, and then she shoved me over to the tin washbasin painted in crude flowers. ”Let's just start off on a good foot, hmm? I'll ask you again. Are you going to wash yourself? Or do you want me to do it for you?”

”I'll do it,” I said.

She smiled again. ”I thought you might.”

I waited for her to leave, but she only crossed her arms over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stood back to watch. I poured tepid water into the basin, splas.h.i.+ng my face. I could not bear to do more than that while she watched me. It seemed to satisfy her, in any case. When I was finished, she said, ”We'll go on down to breakfast now.”

”I'd prefer to have it in my room.”

”Oh, you would, would you?” She shook her head, muttering something about the spoiled rich, and then she went to the door and opened it. ”Come on. They'll throw it out if you don't get there.”

I hesitated, and her eyes narrowed again.

”I'll put a jacket on you if I have to, dearie, and take you down in chains. I promise you won't like that one bit.”

I didn't know what a jacket was, but the thought of chains was too much, so I did as she commanded. I would not be here for long. I held to that conviction desperately. I could bear anything for a day, even two. I would tell Dr. Little everything the moment I saw him. I would explain it all: how William had sent me here against my will, not because I was insane, but because he was humiliated by my affair with Victor. I would tell the doctor how much better I'd become, how the fits that had once plagued me were gone, how I should not be here. I would demand that he call my father.

Other doors were open now, other women being led to the stairs. They were dressed soberly, for the most part, with their hair simply done. They were quiet and subdued, pasty-faced and sad-looking. I saw curiosity in some of their expressions. Others were so blank-faced they disturbed me. They all walked with their hands folded before them. I realized that some of them walked that way because their hands were encased in leather mittens bound by chains.

I tamped down my panic violently, forcing myself to remember that this would end soon, that it was a mistake.

They led us down the stairs and through the foyer. Beechwood Grove had apparently been a great estate once. The foyer was large, marble-floored, with a great wooden stairway rising from the center with carved polished banisters and stained-gla.s.s windows cut in patterns above. Paintings on the walls depicted calm, gold-lit landscapes and bucolic rolling farmlands dotted with sheep and horses. It was beautiful, much like our summer home on the Hudson, though much larger, and I felt it wrap around me with familiarity and comfort, as if to belie my words that I didn't belong here. That frightened me more than anything else.

We were taken into a large room that had been an elegant dining room. A gasolier hung overhead, and deep brown drapes were pulled back to reveal barred windows through which the faint light of dawn cast the sky slate blue, with dark trees shadowed against it. The room was nearly filled with two long tables, upon which were set bowls and spoons. The nurses ushered each of us to a stiff, high-backed chair. A far door opened, and out came two women pus.h.i.+ng carts of heavy, steaming pots laden with the scent of cornmeal. Together, as if they'd done this many times, they went down the length of the table ladling mush into each bowl with quick, efficient movements. They spilled scarcely a drop.

But for the wet slap of mush into tin bowls and the squeak of the cart wheels, there was not a sound. The nurses stood against the wall watching us, and as if on cue, each woman dipped into her bowl, eating silently. There was no sugar, no cream, and only black coffee to drink.

I did as the rest of them did, only because Maddy stared evilly at me from the wall. The women on either side of me kept their elbows close to their sides, as if concerned they might b.u.mp me, and neither even glanced at me as we ate. The mush was foul and tasteless, with lumps the size of peas, but I was hungry. It settled like a stone in my stomach.

When we were finished, the nurses came again. Maddy took me aside as the others were led out a side door. ”They're going for exercise,” she explained. ”You'll get your turn tomorrow. For now the doctor wants to see you.”

Dr. Little. I went with her gratefully as she led me from the dining room into the foyer and back down another hallway. We pa.s.sed more closed doors and one or two that were open to show nicely appointed sitting rooms, empty but for upholstered chairs and bookcases and small tables. At the end of the hallway, Maddy stopped and opened the door.

”Mrs. Carelton, Doctor,” she announced.

”Yes,” came an unfamiliar voice. ”Bring her in.”

I frowned. ”Dr. Little?”

”You'll see him later this afternoon,” Maddy said. ”This is Dr. Rush. He's going to do your examination.”

I felt hot. ”My examination?”

”Come along, now, Mrs. Carelton,” she said. Her hand curled around my arm, and she pulled me through the door into a small room that held a desk and two tightly jammed bookcases. A graying, jocular-looking man waited by a small window.

”Welcome to Beechwood Grove, Mrs. Carelton,” he said, squinting at me with rheumy blue eyes. ”You came in so late last night that we didn't have time to get acquainted.” He seemed to expect some kind of response.

”Yes,” I said.

”Every new patient receives a full examination. We'll be seeing each other regularly.”

Maddy closed the door. The room felt too small, too close. The doctor went to a door in the far wall and opened it, and I saw an examination table, instruments, things too familiar to mistake.

”I've had enough examinations,” I said.

”I'm sure you have.” He smiled, revealing stained teeth. ”I a.s.sure you, this is quite necessary. Dr. Little and I have taken over your care. Therefore I will need to examine you.” He jerked his head to Maddy, and she pulled me ungently to the other room.

”Let's get undressed, Mrs. Carelton,” she said to me.

There was no dressing screen, and when I glanced at her in question, she gestured to me roughly, and I understood that I was expected to undress in the open. When I did nothing, she came over and stripped off my gown and petticoats with practiced movements. Her broad, flat fingers tugged at the fastenings of my corset until it came loose. When I was clad in only my chemise, she bade me sit on the examination table, and Dr. Rush came in, wiping his hands on a towel.

I hugged myself, feeling exposed and miserable and powerless in a way that I had never felt before. I had had examinations like this so many times, but always because I wanted to be well, always because I hoped the doctor would find the answer.

”Now, Mrs. Carelton,” the doctor said. ”You've been diagnosed with uterine monomania. Your husband indicates that you've been unable to conceive during the length of your marriage.”

I could almost see the goose pimples on my thighs beneath the thin lawn of my chemise.

”I'm sure this is familiar to you, Mrs. Carelton. Maddy?”

The nurse forced me onto my hands and knees. I closed my eyes against her rough hands pulling my chemise up over my hips, baring me to the doctor. I felt his hands, the cold speculum, and I could not stand it. ”I don't belong here.”

The doctor sighed. The sound was tired and irritated; there was no attempt at pity. ”Yes, my dear, I know. No one does.”

Chapter 26.

Through all of this, I refused to think of Victor, though he was always hovering in the back of my mind. I told myself that I would think of him and his abandonment after I convinced Dr. Little of William's treachery. When I was free again, I would decide what to feel about Victor. Beyond that I would not contemplate. For now all that mattered was freedom.

When Maddy led me to Dr. Little, I was resolved. His office, through a maze of close hallways and many rooms, seemed to take forever to reach. When she closed the door behind me, I heard the squeak of a chair in the hallway-she was waiting-and that filled me with an odd sense of importance, as if they expected me to turn into a raving lunatic at any moment. Dr. Little sat at a large desk in the corner of the room, against a window where the sun came streaming in. The room was quite warm, and I had a moment of confusion-the office was so like the one I'd visited him in before, with its plaques and books. But here the wallpaper was plain brown with no design. Only the chairs, with their rich silk upholstery of deep maroon, and the highly polished desk gave any nod to decoration.