An Inconvenient Wife (34 page)

I looked past him to where David and the other boy stood looking hesitant. The two men stood waiting for me, one of them holding
my bag. I was too tired to resist, and I wanted to be away from my husband. When each of the men took one of my arms, I went
with them down the dock and onto the steamer. They took me into some little cabin, a room I’d never seen before, appointed
with comfortable settees and lamps, with windows that clouded as the ship began to move from the dock into the sea.

When the door closed behind us, one of the men stood beside me, too close. He put his hand on my arm, and I started to chastise
him when I saw what he held: a syringe. He was rolling up my sleeve.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a carriage. The leather shades at the windows had been drawn, but now the door was open, and
I saw past the darkness to dim lights that illuminated a stone wall, an entranceway.

“What’s happening?” I murmured. “Where am I?”

I heard the creak of leather. I felt the press of warmth against my leg. It was then I recognized the tall man who sat across
from me. Dr. Little. I looked at him, and he gave me a thin smile. “Welcome to Beechwood Grove, Mrs. Carelton. I expect you’ll
be very happy here.”

Beechwood Grove Asylum

July 1885

M
y God,” I said. I grabbed on to the strap hard. “No. No. Take me back. Take me back this moment.”

Dr. Little smiled. “Come, come, Mrs. Carelton. Everything’s taken care of.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No. I don’t belong here.”

“I’m afraid everything is quite in order. Your husband secured the opinions of two doctors, and a judge has agreed with them.
Please, Mrs. Carelton. We’ll take good care of you here. You need a rest.”

“I don’t want a rest.” I backed into the corner, disbelieving. “I don’t belong here.”

The doctor sighed. “Please, Mrs. Carelton. It would be best if you didn’t make this difficult.”

“Take me back. I want to go back.”

“I would rather not do this, but I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” Dr. Little opened the carriage door and motioned to two
women who stood outside. They came forward. They were stronger than they looked, twin monoliths. One grabbed my wrist, twisting
it from the strap so I cried out. The other seized my other arm and yanked me forward. I fought them, but they pulled me stiff
and struggling from the carriage, wrenching me down the step so hard that I stumbled and slid on the wet grass and mud.

“You see, Mrs. Carelton, we can be quite persuasive,” the doctor said. “Do you think you can walk now, or do you still need
assistance?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

Dr. Little turned to the second man who had brought me here. “I do think we can take care of things from this point on,” he
said.

As the man turned to leave, I called out in sheer panic, “No! No! Don’t leave me here!”

He didn’t pause but climbed into the carriage and shut the doors. I struggled against the women, who held me fast. One of
them said, “Now, now, dearie, it’s best if you don’t fight.”

The driver slapped the reins, and the carriage was off. I tried to think what to do, but my mind was still so fuzzy. It was
dark; the road the carriage had disappeared down was deserted. It ended here, at a tall iron gate that was being closed by
two men. There was darkness all around: trees, bushes . . . the only lights were the lamps at the entrance, whose light we
stood within.

“Your husband is quite concerned about you, Mrs. Carelton,” Dr. Little said in a soothing voice that only fed my fear. “It
seems you have lately caused your family much worry.”

“No,” I whispered.

He said, “Please believe me when I tell you that it would be best if you let Charlotte and Greta show you to your room. I
believe you will be quite comfortable.”

There seemed no other option. I was drained, and all of this was impossible, like some terrible nightmare. I wanted sleep.
I wanted to wake up and find this was all an illusion.

He led the way from the gate onto a cobbled path that opened to the vast stone entryway. Lamps gabled from the door, which
he opened to usher us in. The nurses did not release their hold, and I was grateful for it. My legs were weak with my acquiescence,
with my growing horror.

They took me upstairs to another great door, which the doctor opened with a key from the chatelaine hanging inside his suitcoat.

“This way,” he said, and we were past the door and into a hallway that was softly lit by gas lamps and lined with doors, all
closed. For a moment I relaxed. I felt oddly as if I were a guest in some well-appointed house in the country, being led to
my room for a fortnight’s stay; there would be chocolate brought in the morning with freshly baked buns and nothing but a
day of riding and socializing to look forward to.

Then I heard the scream. One of the nurses tightened her grip on my arm. The doctor looked up but kept walking.

“Mrs. Meyers again?” he asked.

“She wouldn’t take her medicine tonight, Doctor,” said the other nurse.

“Send Maddy to take care of it,” he said. Then he smiled at me. “These interruptions are quite infrequent, I assure you. They
shouldn’t intrude upon your sleep.”

Before I could answer, we stopped at a door. Dr. Little swung it open easily. “Your room, Mrs. Carelton.”

I had a vague image of dimity curtains closed against the darkness, hangings of chintz, carpets, a bed.

“It’s quite late,” Dr. Little said. “Will you need anything else this evening?”

I shook my head, feeling numb and strange. “Nothing.”

“Then we’ll wish you good night.”

He backed from the doorway. The nurses released my arms. I didn’t move as they left me there. The door closed; I heard the
clinking of his chatelaine, the key in the lock, and then their footsteps.

I stumbled to the bed, hitting my shin at the corner, which was oddly sharp. I lifted the bedcover and saw that the wooden
posts were heavy, with iron bands fastened by screws. The whole of it was bolted to the floor, as were the bureau and the
chair in the corner.

I sank onto the mattress, burying my face in a pillow that smelled vaguely of dirty hair and sweat beneath the scent of harsh
soap. I turned my face away. Then I saw what had been carefully hidden by the closed curtains: the pattern cast on the window
by a light from outside. Narrow bars.

I woke to a loud, insistent knocking on my door. I slitted my eyes—it was still dark outside—and turned over, ignoring it.
I heard the click of the lock, the door opening, and then someone was shaking me.

“Get up, Mrs. Carelton.”

“It’s too early, Sadie.”

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

The shake was rougher, the voice coarse. 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 breasts and stood back to watch. I poured tepid water into
the basin, splashing 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-glass
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 pushing 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 bump 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
passed 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.