A White Room (17 page)

A feeling came over me, the same feeling a doll must experience when it’s dropped on the stairs on Christmas morning and watches its beloved child run toward a puppy with a big red bow around its neck.

As to your request, I’m sure you understand how difficult that would be for me, as I am so busy with a new job and already overwhelmed with wedding arrangements. Mother is so happy to have two of her children married. Of course, I am sure by the time you receive this letter you will have already overcome the difficulties of a new marriage.

This must have been the feeling the doll experienced as the puppy ripped its left arm off.

Mother and the three hens miss you dearly and are very proud of you. You should know they are very well cared for, thanks to you and the Dorrs. They boast of you often. You would be amazed to see how tall Ruth has grown. Lillian too is blooming and has been greatly improving her manners. Oh and how sophisticated Florence is becoming and popular too—thanks to the Dorrs.

I miss you ever so much and long to hear from you.

Sincerely Yours,

James

I dropped the letter onto my lap. Warm droplets slid down my cheeks and fell onto the paper in little black splashes. Every moment, for months now, had been a moment of waiting—waiting to leave. I’d used up all the strength I had just to endure and only because I had the assurance I wouldn’t have to maintain it. The only reason I’d made it as long as I had was that I used every ounce of my vigor, clinging to the idea that James would come for me. For the first time, I looked around the room and faced it as a permanent situation. No one was waiting for me. No one was planning for me. No one was coming. It was a white room, and I was trapped in it.

Fourteen

May 1901

T
he moon was missing, and darkness crept into my room like an intruder and disguised the white walls. I stared into the black, waiting for something to happen. I intended to escape from the bed, but I didn’t stir for a while. Each night, I would wait until Ella or Margaret retired for the evening and sneak out from beneath the covers and onto my feet. On the first night, I was desperate to move, but with each night thereafter, the simple acts of moving, standing, and walking were more and more like wading through mud. How many days of nothingness and nights of skulking had there been? I felt as if I had already spent an eternity trapped in this room.

Everyone refused to confirm my diagnosis, but hysteria or not, resting was certainly not a cure. The longer I rested, the more fatigued I felt. I awoke exhausted. I languished throughout the day. Rest was the only thing I was allowed to do. I wasn’t even permitted books or pen and paper. If my visitors found any contraband, they seized it. All I had to read was James’ letter, which, after rereading several times in search of some hidden meaning, I hurled across the room in a crumpled ball. With nothing to think of other than my prison and James, I submitted to sleep, abandoned the world, and found a fragile solace in the deep void of nothingness behind my eyes.

At night, a part of me wanted to stay in bed and never move, but my extremities were anxious, about to twitch if I didn’t force them to carry out their purpose. I laughed at myself, pitiful. I owned no will. The only freedom I experienced came with the footsteps I stole in the night. I didn’t enjoy them, though, because I took each step with trepidation for fear of waking the beings beneath or, worse, the monster in the empty room next to me.

I opened my eyes to the dark and waited for them to adjust. Finally, I raised the blanket and slid my lower limbs off the right side of the bed. They felt wobbly, like the stalk of a feeble flower. I placed my toes down first and lowered my feet cautiously. The wood felt cool beneath my feet despite the warmth in the air. I stood but didn’t expect the heaviness of my body, and I had to lean against the mattress to steady myself.

The beast crept along the wall, mimicking my steps. It had no need to attack—I was right where they all wanted me. The people in the empty rooms down the hall were in their beds. The little boy was made up peacefully, prepared for his burial—his keeper’s work complete. The young woman lay awake, staring with wide, glistening eyes at the tiny bottle on the floor. The little girl had sweet subtle dreams. As for the rest of the house, the furniture and decorations were at rest, but they were all well aware of my presence and the need to keep me in my place. Had that been their plan all along? The war had been won—they’d triumphed—and now I was their prisoner. The beast watched me constantly, followed me, ready to pounce if I revealed any strength of will.

I edged to my window. I twisted my hands around each other. My wedding ring pressed into the two adjacent fingers. I couldn’t see anything outside. I stepped toward the center of the room. The silence was so intense that my ears hummed to fight it. The air was so still that my own existence was suspect. The house made no sound, but I knew it was awake. Each night when I repeated those steps back and forth across my chamber, I felt it growing tired of me.

What were they doing down there unsupervised? I studied the floorboards and gradually lowered myself. I positioned my hands flat on the floor, brought down my right ear, and listened. There was nothing but silence drumming in my ears. I tried to disregard the constant hum of quiet and listen, but a startling thud sounded from the wall opposite the bed—the monster. I lifted my head but remained on all fours. I did not dare move.

I slowly rose, perceiving its stare through the wall. I concentrated in the direction of the thud as I shrank back to the bed, taking each step with caution. I lifted my limbs off the floor and buried them under the bedspread, which I promptly drew to my chin. I eyed the room. I wondered if anything was with me. It was so black that something could be lurking about and I wouldn’t know. I wanted to light a lamp, but I didn’t want to draw its attention.

I knew it had a plan for me.

They must have roused downstairs. I heard wood scuffing against wood. In my mind, I saw the furniture. I saw the leg of a table slide out from beneath it and drag its quadratic body out from its position. Then the other tables’ legs started to move. The cabinets noticed and began twirling their slender appendages. The sofa, chairs, and tables all woke up and began to slink about the parlor. The bugs on the dishes in the dining room took flight, and the salamanders slithered off the spoons. The sitting room started to contract and digest everything inside it. I could feel the people down the hall, stirring in their rooms, scrutinizing me, judging. The beast scratched at the walls like a sinister man scratching a chalkboard long and hard without letting up.

It was too much.

The scratching stopped and a deep groan slowly rose up out of the house’s gut—the dungeon. It started low with a rumble and grew louder and louder into an inhuman wailing that seeped through the cracks and crevices. I covered my ears and scrunched down. The beast started to beat the wall again, and the furniture wouldn’t let up clacking and clanking below. There was so much noise. I squeezed my ears harder and closed my eyes. I didn’t know how much longer I would last. How much longer could I last?

Fifteen

May 1901

B
y the time I met Miss Urswick, I had spent several days in bed crying, cowering, and floundering in boredom. My other keepers came only once or twice a day, usually bringing me all my meals at once and instructing me to space them out. Then they left me alone. Francis, Ella, and Margaret always remained downstairs. No one offered to stay or attempted conversation. They repelled my questions and thoughts, warning me of the consequences of stress. Aside from our initial greeting, any time I asked a question or spoke at all, Margaret would “shhh” me. All I had to look forward to was Miss Urswick, but when Margaret learned that she was one of my sitters, she made every effort to take or delegate away her shifts. I was elated when I learned she couldn’t stop the spinster from sitting with me for a night.

Miss Urswick had something I wanted: freedom. She was without a husband, without a brother, without a father, and she survived. I needed to know if I could survive outside this room. Could I do it alone? There had to be a way; I needed there to be a way.

By the time we met, my nerves were so rattled by the presences— I was so desperate—that I struggled not to burst into tears and beg her to reveal her secrets. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you,” I said.

Her eyes turned quizzical. “Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Call me Olivia.” Her voice rasped, and little wiry kinks of red hair stuck out of her bun and the little curls haloing her forehead. “Has resting done you any good?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I’d gather sleeping all the time would be awfully tiresome.” There was something about her—proper enough but not quite right.

“It has the opposite effect.”

“Why do you keep lying there then?”

“Um—” I hesitated until an uncomfortable feeling seeped into the space between us. It thickened the air. I tried to think of something to say—what could I say? What could I ask her? All I wanted to know was how she did it. How did she survive? How could I go about it gracefully? I felt anxious and impatient. I had to say something to rid us of this silence. “Why did you never marry?” I was stunned by my own words.

Her smile dropped and her lips pinched together.

“I mean—I’m curious how you manage on your own?”

“I do fine.”

“Forgive me—I meant without a husband?”

She raised her voice. “I do fine.”

“Forgive me, I mean how do you…”

“What?”

“Um—how do you survive?”

She didn’t move or speak.

I swallowed and waited.

She just stared.

I started to panic. This wasn’t polite or subtle. “Um—I’m asking for personal reasons.” I lowered my head. “I’m—not doing very well.”

She squinted. “I have a small garden, goats, some chickens.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would be enough.”

“Everything doesn’t have to be machine-made and purchased from factories.”

“How could you not marry?”

“What is it to you?”

“I’m not trying to offend you.”

She spoke carefully. “I am not one to be under the whim of a man.”

I perked up and leaned forward. “But—your parents, society—they must have pushed?”

“My parents died. I don’t give a holler about society.”

“You must have thought you couldn’t survive.”

“Special clause in the will—I inherited.” She lifted her chin.

I smiled at the thought and then frowned. She had money. That’s how she did it. I had no money. There was nothing to inherit. She didn’t have a family to care for. She had all the right circumstances.

“You aren’t happy?”

I gestured at myself, confined to my bed and a chamber pot.

“Suppose not.” She paused. “I’m surprised you’re not with child yet.”

“Oh—uh—we’ve only just wed.” The truth was, we had only been with each other the one time.

“Most don’t even wait on that.”

“Pardon?”

“You know many are with child prior to that.”

“My mother always said God only blessed married people with children.”

“Excuse me?”

I jolted.

“Do you really think I don’t know you already know all my business?”

“No.”

She grunted. “And if you do know, why are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

“I’m not. I apologize.” I put my hands up. “I didn’t think.”

“You know, though.”

I nodded, sheepishly.

“That was real clever—Margaret fighting tooth and nail to keep me away when you two are actually toying with me.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m just curious.”

“About what?”

“I—I don’t know.”

She raised her voice. “If you want to know something, don’t try to wring it out of me by poking me with a twig. Use your hands and squeeze.”