A White Room (41 page)

Thirty-Nine

1900

St. Louis, Missouri

A
few days after learning that John had agreed to marry me, I saw him on the street in St. Louis. I was so confused at the time, grateful yet terrified because it meant moving to Labellum. Mother had asked me to run to the bakery for tea cakes because of the callers coming to congratulate us on the betrothal. It was still early morning when I strolled out of the bakery with a box of cinnamon-raisin cake, lifted my gaze, and saw him across the way in a brown suit, his waistcoat visible under the unbuttoned jacket. I knew it was him right away because of his body’s angled structure, his pale face, and his dark slicked-back hair.

I saw him immediately because of the way he’d left the brick building, down and across the street from me. He slammed the door open hard and stalked out with long, powerful strides. His presence stopped me. He took several steps onto the walk, halted, put both hands on his hips and stood for a moment. Then he dropped his hands, turned and took a step back toward the building, stopped, and turned again.

It would have been perfectly acceptable for me to approach him, given that we were betrothed, but I hadn’t dared. Although I would never have characterized him as a violent man, he was suddenly intimidating. He paced, stopped, rubbed the back of his neck, and started pacing again. He acted as if he were arguing with someone in his head. A few times he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his face in one full circle. He ran his hands through his hair, touched his face and let out a long hard gust of air like a halted train. I was far enough away that he didn’t feel me staring at him. Still, I stepped to the side of the walk and pretended to fiddle with my box. I could make out his hardened brow and stern jaw line.

I wondered what could have made him so upset. On the building he had come from, there was a small sign above the door, and I tried to read the lettering. I could make out only one word, printed larger than the rest:
Law
. It had to have been his father’s law firm.

As I watched him pace in front of the building, I tried to imagine loving him. He wasn’t a robust man, but he was beautiful in his strange way, with his dark eyes, high cheekbones, long legs, and full stride. It couldn’t be hard to love a man who looked like that. Finally, he stopped and moved toward the door. I thought he’d stomp back inside, but instead he kicked the building. He stepped back, hopping in pain. I giggled to myself. He took several big breaths, unclenched his fists, and buttoned his jacket. Finally, he lowered his shoulders and calmly walked back inside.

I wondered if he got angry often. I wondered if he would get angry with me. I told myself I would never do anything to make him angry. I would forget my own fears and wants. I would do it for my family, for my father. I would serve John, care for him, and make our home his sanctuary. I would make him fall absolutely in love with me.

Forty

October 1901

Labellum, Missouri

J
ohn swung open the door and the house heaved. Without lighting a lamp, he pulled me behind him. He yanked me down the dark hall and marched us up the stairs. All the doors were shut again. Where was James? Without a lamp, I couldn’t see anything. I felt John pulling me up each step and heard feet scuffling. I felt my feet hitting the risers and tried to keep my legs from buckling. I felt him drag me around the first right. How was he able to see? My boots clacked and scraped with each step. He pulled me through the isolated portion of the staircase. I wondered if the walls might close in on me, seeing an opportunity to encase me in darkness, but they let us pass.

We reached the top of the stairs and he yanked me down the hallway. I couldn’t see with my eyes, but I knew the corridor in my mind. The people in the rooms watched through their doors. The woman who prepared the deceased boy turned from the vanity and gasped at the shocking scene. The young woman’s head shot up, distracted from her own personal horror. The little girl watched from her hiding spot in the corner.

We stopped. John fumbled with the door handle, and I turned my head in the direction of the beast’s room. I saw only black, could hear my breath as if time had slowed down. For all I knew, the beast could have been standing two feet from me, or inches from my nose. John opened our chamber door, light flashed across the beast’s closed door, and John yanked me by the wrist and swung me in front of him into our chamber. I stumbled into the middle of the room. The lamps were lit. I rubbed my eyes. I heard him step in and shut the door.

He stood in front of the door, his eyes accusing. The beast crept close to the wall to listen to us. The little girl hushed her cries. John paced, stopped and lifted his finger, but instead of scolding, he shook his head. His slicked-back hair had fallen out of place. He paced again and stopped in front of his dressing table. He leaned over, put his hands down, and lowered his head, his body rigid—full of angles. “How could you have done this?”

I held my hands up, palms down. They shook. “I—I’m—”

His eyes hit me and I stepped back.

“What?” He clenched his hands into fists. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

My lips parted, waiting for something, anything—another lie, another excuse—but nothing came out.

“I am disgusted.” His bottom lip curled up as the corners of his mouth dropped. “Why?”

“I—I—”

He stepped toward me.

I stepped back. His eyes locked on mine, and I feared looking away. “I wanted to help.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jaw clenched, teeth flashing.

“I—I’ve been—she needed me to—”

He grimaced. “You’re a—a—an abortionist?”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t deny it.

“A murderer.”

I stopped and looked up at him wide-eyed.

He stepped forward. “Why?”

I stepped back and put my hands up. “She—she was afraid—”

“No.” He brought his hands up and turned away. “I don’t want to hear this.”

I felt the beast press against the wall, leering.

“How long?”

“Never—never before.” I shook my head. “Nothing like this.”

He whirled around. “What?”

“I’ve never done that before.”

“But you’ve done other things?”

“I help people who are sick.” I glanced at him and then lowered my eyes to the floor.

His voice became calm, rational. “You—are you—” He lifted his eyes with his head down. “Are you that woman? Mrs. Free—”

“Yes.”

“You are what I am trying to stop.”

I avoided his eyes.

“You may have killed her—you are ruining me.”

“I know.”

“You know? Of course you know!” He laughed bitterly. “You are guilty. So what should I do?”

I shook. “I don’t know.”

He came at me with force. “Do you know what I have done for you? Everything I have done and you do this?”

I backed up and bumped against my vanity, against the beast’s wall.

“I have given everything for you.”

A tear streamed down my face.

“This is how you repay me?”

I shook my head.

“I have given everything for this household. I have suffered—for this?” His brow glistened with sweat.

I squinted and felt a blaze in my chest.

“You really are crazy!” He pointed.

I balled my hands into fists.

He leaned over me and put his face close to mine. I recoiled as he shouted, “I have done everything for you!” His voice sounded shrill, as if he were crying, too. He stepped away and turned his back to me.

I remained against my vanity, eyes clenched shut, my breath heavy.

He paced and, in a much lower voice, began to rant. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to. And you! Nothing. No affection. No loyalty. Nothing.” He stopped by his dressing table, paused and snatched a metal tray holding his cuff links and other items and hurled it against the wall. The crack, bang, and prattle of little metal objects hitting the floor startled the beast.

I’d spoiled everything? I hadn’t tried? I’d given nothing? No. I stepped away from the vanity. I grit my teeth. My nails dug into my palms. The sound of my voice was shrill and wet. “I…have…given…everything!”

John stopped pacing and cast his blazing eyes at me.

“I have put everything I have into this. You—” I pointed at him and took a step forward. “You are the one who has given nothing.”

His mouth fell open.

My voice trembled. “You provide for me? I take care of this cussed place.” I waved my hands and looked around at the insulted house that encased us. “I cook. I clean. And I hate this place. I hate this damned house! And I especially hate you”—I pointed—“because you brought me here. You have done nothing but bring me misery.” I put my hands to my head, recalling my frustration. “Whatever I have become is your doing—you made me this way.” Now I paced. “All I do is try—try to be a good wife—try to be perfect—perfect for you—and inspire the slightest sliver of affection between us, but you—you are a walking, breathing corpse! I have driven myself absolutely and completely mad for you. I was ready to leave. I was ready to run away, go back to St. Louis, and be a spinster rather than be your wife. The only thing that kept me here was helping those people.”

He stepped back.

I stepped forward. “And what I did for those people—for Lottie and for everyone else—”

“You—”

“Let me finish!” I screeched.

He stopped.

“Everything I have done was to help people, and I did it so I wouldn’t go absolutely piss-pot loony in this cursed, awful place with you.”

The monster stepped back from the wall, limbs tucked in close, fearing something would burst through and snatch it up. The little girl perked up in her corner, the people in the rooms down the hall stared in awe, and the furniture below cowered.

John looked shocked for a moment, but his face quickly returned to fury. He clenched his fists and turned red. “I don’t try?” He pointed to himself. “I don’t have affection for you?”

I realized I had said too much, pushed him too far. Would he turn me in? Take me to the authorities? An asylum? He took those long, powerful strides in my direction, and I backed up until I bumped into the wall. He grabbed me by the arm, pulled me toward him, and held me inches from his face. He sighed, closed his eyes, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you not understand how much I care for you?”

I trembled. “I—”

Before I could speak, his lips were against mine. His hand slid up my neck and into my hair. Then he pulled away and dropped his head. “I’m sorry.” He took his hands away from my body and placed them on the wall behind me.

I took deep breaths. I tried to catch his eyes with mine, but he hid them from me. My lips quivered, wanting to say something, anything. I brought my hand up to touch his face, hesitated. He really loved me. Then I imagined kissing him—how he’d feel if I did, how I’d feel—so I did. I kissed him.

Surprised, his eyes shot open, but I didn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around me tight and pressed his lips and body against me. I think I heard the little girl giggle. It may have been me.

We rose as if to go somewhere but lost our footing and fell against the wall together. The beast jumped in surprise. The mirror depicting the woman on the beach fell off the wall and broke on the floor. I heard a crack and the cling-cling and crackle of glass shattering, but I didn’t care.

We stumbled to the bedstead and fell onto the bed, but John stood back up and began unbuttoning his shirt. I reached back and unbuttoned my dress, starting with the high collar. John removed his shirt and began helping me undo the buttons I could not reach. When I felt the cool air on my skin, I remembered I wasn’t wearing a corset or a corset cover. At the sight of my bare flesh, John exhaled from his gut, abandoned the buttons, and lifted me farther onto the bed. He got onto his knees over me, lifted my petticoats and dress to my waist, and bundled them between us. He stopped and locked his dark brown eyes on mine, and for the briefest of moments I saw into him and felt him see into me, and in that moment we understood each other completely. Then he slid his hands into my hair and kissed me. I felt his hot skin on my hands, and he slid his down my back under my dress. Exhilaration flowed up and over me, followed by a sensation I did not know. I let go of something then. I didn’t know what, but I had never felt so out of control, so liberated. Free.