The Address, page 19
“I’m so sorry.”
“I guess it’s better I’m eating hot dogs instead of hitting a bar for a drink, which was my first impulse this afternoon.”
“My mom died, too, but when I was little. I didn’t really ever know her.”
For a few seconds Bailey stared, unabashed, into Renzo’s face. Words were inadequate, and unnecessary.
Renzo broke the silence. “How did you manage, after she passed away?”
“I went off to Parsons, studied, partied, pulled away from my dad, as he did the same to me. It’s taken me this long to realize there’s only so much running you can do. It’s weird, but seeing that photo helped.” She confided in him about the drawing, with its secret inscription, and Renzo’s eyes grew large.
“That’s an interesting turn of events.”
“I know. Somehow imagining I’m a descendant of the love child of Theodore Camden and Sara Smythe makes me feel a little better.”
“Like you belong to someone.”
“Yes. Exactly like that. Then Melinda and I would be true cousins, not fake ones.”
“You sure you want that?”
“Yes, and not just because it might come with a share of the Camden trust fund. I want to feel like I’m part of a legacy, that it’s not just me spinning alone in the world. Then again, who knows what happened in the past? Maybe it’s better it stays that way.”
“If it were up to me, I’d put my money on it. Just on that eyebrow thing.”
He touched her gently on the temple and she flushed with self-consciousness. She took a couple of steps back, the moment broken. “How did you end up back here after Alaska?”
“I never imagined I’d come back to New York. But when my dad passed away, it seemed like a good thing to do, until I figured out my life.”
She wasn’t the only one hiding out at the Dakota and licking wounds. “And did you figure out your life?”
“I guess. I love the building. Not all the tenants, but some of them. Sure, every so often I get treated like I’m an idiot who only knows how to unclog a toilet, but it’s an honor to live there.”
“That’s lovely.”
He blushed under the lamplight. “Not something I tell most people. Don’t want them to think I’m a puddle of mush.”
“‘Puddle of mush’? Anyone who uses that phrase is, indeed, a puddle of mush.”
“You know what I mean.”
“In fact, I do.”
The building soared above them, and they both paused and studied its grand facade.
“She’s a beauty.”
Even without looking at him, Bailey could hear the smile in his voice.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
New York City, January 1885
Breakfast the next morning was a chunk of stale bread along with some tepid brown liquid that one of the other inmates referred to as cocoa. Sara downed the brew in one gulp and gnawed on the crust until it became soft enough to swallow.
Today she’d explain that she was not one of the dribbling ladies or maniacs, that they’d made a mistake. In fact, she’d awakened this morning feeling better than she had in several weeks. The headache and lethargy had dropped away. Her clearheadedness had come too late to save her from the trip in the tub of misery, as a nurse had referred to the ferryboat this morning.
After breakfast, they were again made to sit on the benches in the octagonal room. No movement, no speaking. Sara took the time to study the interactions of the nurses—there were five that day—and the doctor. Four of the nurses were stolid, nasty sorts, but the youngest one hadn’t yet turned bitter. Her interactions with the inmates were calmer and more patient. Sara heard her referred to as Nurse Alden. Dr. Fields preferred Nurse Alden, and seemed to go out of his way to speak with her instead of the others.
Many of the other patients were foreign and had little or no mastery of the language. Sara was certain the majority of these were also of sound mind but hadn’t been given the chance to plead their cases in their mother tongues. Of the others, the ones who spoke English, a few babbled to themselves endlessly, at the risk of being on the other side of a striking hand, and some were nasty, stealing bread from others’ plates or grabbing themselves inappropriately. Sara avoided eye contact with them, pulling into herself when they passed, trying to be invisible.
A bell rang and the group was herded outside into the January morning, where hundreds of other women huddled against the building or valiantly walked the grounds. Sara marched to the water’s edge and stared across the gunmetal waves of the East River at Manhattan. In the cold, clear air, she found what she was looking for immediately.
The Dakota.
The three triangles that made up the east roofline pointed into the bitter sky like beacons. She wondered if Theo had gone up onto the promenade to see if he could find her. He must be mad with worry. No doubt as soon as he figured out where she’d been sent, he’d get her released. It was only a matter of time.
“No point staring at the city. Will only make you sad.”
A woman with olive skin and black hair stood close by, arms wrapped around her chest for warmth. She looked to be around forty years old, with creases like kitten whiskers across her cheeks and a streak of gray in her hair.
“I’m Natalia.” Her foreign accent made the word sound delicious. Or maybe Sara was just hungry.
“I’m Sara. Sara Smythe.”
“You got here yesterday, right?”
“I did.” Sara looked back at the asylum.
“Don’t worry, no one’s in sight. They hate going out in the cold, so this is one of the few times we get for freedom.”
They began walking together along the pathway.
“How long have you been here?” Sara asked, fearing the answer.
“Five years, I think. Non lo so, time gets lost here.”
The blood drained from Sara’s head. She wouldn’t make it another week, never mind five years. “Why were you sent here?”
“I stole some jam from my employer, a rich signora on Twentieth Street. I worked as her kitchen maid. My kids were sick; I could sell it for their medicine. She searched me and found it, and when I told her what I thought of her stingy ways, she had me committed.”
“How could she do that? You seem perfectly normal to me.”
“I see that in you as well. How are you here?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I’d been feeling off the past month or so.” A hand went to her belly, a reflex. “I work for a large apartment house, and when a necklace went missing, they insisted I’d taken it. But I have no memory of it. How can that be?”
“You seem sano di mente to me. Very good, very smart.”
Natalia’s bright comment lifted her spirits. “I feel that way as well. I’m going to explain that to the doctor today.”
Natalia stopped. “Best not to. They don’t like the idea that they are wrong.”
“But I can’t stay here another minute.”
“Take care.” Natalia blew into her cupped hands, the spectral steam escaping through her fingers. “If you make a fuss, they put you in the Retreat or the Lodge. You don’t want that.”
“What happens there?”
“They’re the wards where they put the worst, most violent patients. You’re in danger if you end up there.”
“I won’t be violent. That’s the whole point. I’ll be civil and logical. I’ll show them that I’m sound of mind.”
Natalia didn’t respond. Another bell rang. “We go inside.”
As they retreated back inside, a thought occurred to Sara. “What happened to your children?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do they know that you’re here?”
“Probably no. I didn’t even know where they were taking me.”
“Nor did I.” If she had known, could she have done anything to change the mystifying turn of events? If she’d kicked and screamed, she would have ended up in jail. Poor Natalia, having to leave her children to fend for themselves. She struggled for something kind to say. “You speak quite good English.”
“I listened carefully, picked it up fast when I came from Italy.”
They stood in a line behind the other inmates funneling back inside the octagon. Like hens going back to the henhouse. “It’s wrong, what they’ve done. To you and to me. An injustice.”
Natalia laughed. “Do you think we band together, fight back? No good.”
“We must do something.”
“Others have tried.”
“How?”
Natalia made a motion with her arms. “Swim across, to escape. Drowned.”
Sara looked back at the frigid expanse. Even in summer, powerful currents roiled the brackish water, as if giant sea serpents thrashed just below the surface.
They were getting nearer to the door, and Sara was reluctant to enter. It was such a comfort to speak with someone, someone who understood. Ahead of them, a young girl with matted hair and a sweet face garbled out a song.
“An idiot. We have many,” said Natalia. The girl’s song faded out into a hum. “But at least she doesn’t know where she is. I am jealous, sometimes.”
Lunch was a chunk of rancid beef, eaten with the hands due to the lack of a knife or fork, one boiled potato, a bowl of soup, and another piece of bread. Sara was so hungry by then and chilled from the cold walk that she ate and drank as much as she could, trying not to look at the greenish tinge of the bread crust. The strength in her appetite gave her hope for her general health, as the past couple of weeks she’d been unable to eat much and figured that had contributed to her mental lapses.
The work assignments that were handed out at the end of the meal offered a chance to move around and get the blood flowing again. Sara was assigned to scrub the octagon’s stairways with a half dozen others. Nurses handed over buckets and brushes, and the women spread out, each taking a landing and a stair. Although the water made her fingers cold, the joints in her shoulders and knees welcomed the activity. She looked up at the skylight high above her. Theo would have appreciated the grand Ionic columns that lined the balconies.
“Keep on scrubbing.”
A nurse glared at her from the balcony above. Sara went back to her work, and even though her staircase was finished in thirty minutes, she noticed the other women stayed at it, going over what they had scrubbed before, so she did the same. It wouldn’t do to attract attention by announcing that the job was done. As she was working on the lower steps, a couple of nurses walked by.
“Superintendent Dent is due in an hour. Dr. Fields said to lock up the noisy ones until he’s gone.”
“They’ll miss supper.”
“No matter. There’ll be another meal tomorrow.” At this she laughed. It was Nurse Garelick, and she caught Sara staring.
“What are you looking at?” She stepped over and placed a dirty boot on the step Sara had been working on. “Clean that up, will ya?”
The other nurse guffawed and they walked away. Superintendent Dent. Sara would pick her moment and approach him, tell her story. Even though she was no longer wearing black silk, and her hair was braided down her back like a schoolgirl’s, she still had the accent and the countenance of a good English girl. She’d stop him in his tracks, raise one eyebrow, and ask for a private moment. It had always worked before, and she knew it was best to do so now, as a fresh arrival.
With renewed energy, she scrubbed off the dirty footprint and when the next bell rang, she followed the other girls, dumped the dirty water outside, and stacked her mop and bucket on the landing. They walked out into one of the wings and entered a long room with tall, barred windows along one side. Severe-looking yellow benches ran along each wall. Most of the women rushed for the seats opposite the windows, and only later did Sara realize why.
They were to sit for hours at a time. If yesterday’s wait to be seen by the doctor had been excruciating, it was a mere blip in a day compared to the afternoon’s torture. Sara took up a bench under one of the windows, a cold wind blowing on her neck and down her back. The women who sat across from her looked out the windows, their eyes lifted to the light like churchgoers to the cross, while she had only their worn faces to watch.
If a woman shifted in her seat, the nurses—all sitting around a table in the middle of the room—would yell for stillness. No one spoke, but a couple of inmates dozed off while remaining upright.
After an hour, Sara did indeed wonder if she was mad. She wanted to stomp out of there, yell at the top of her lungs. Her eyes played tricks on her; the light in the room changed from gold to green to blue. When she closed her eyes, the colors still shimmered behind her eyelids. If she wasn’t careful, she’d lose her mind here anyway, and it would be no different than if she’d been mad in the first place.
The door opened and a man in a black suit, with white whiskers, walked in. The nurses all rose.
“Superintendent Dent, welcome,” said Nurse Garelick.
“Ladies, thank you.” He put a hand in one pocket and with the other fingered his timepiece, as if he were worried it might be grabbed off of him at any moment.
“How do you do?” The superintendent walked the full circle of the room, hardly pausing to hear an answer. Not that he got one. Few women dared speak, other than to say “Fine” and “Thank you, sir.”
As he headed along her row, Sara braced herself. She had to say something. Now.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Nurse Garelick cut in. “Superintendent Dent, I hate to cut your visit short, but Dr. Fields was hoping to get five minutes of your time, if you please.”
“Of course. Lead the way.”
Nurse Garelick shot Sara a nasty look as she turned. The woman knew exactly what she’d been planning. Like she’d read Sara’s mind. She might have won this round, but Sara would outwit her. She had to.
More sitting. With the dregs of the supper settling badly in her stomach, Sara took a seat between Natalia and the woman with the long gray hair who’d cried in the night. Sara tried to make eye contact with her, to make a connection even if it was by blinking, but the older woman only stared down at her feet.
“So cold.”
It was only a murmur, but in the silence of the room it sounded like a scream. Sara made a soft shushing noise. The nurses were just outside the door, jabbering on about a new dress shop that was opening up somewhere in Manhattan, which might as well have been Russia, it seemed so far away. Oh, for the luxury of speaking of dress shops, something she’d taken for granted before being thrown into this dungeon of filth and misery. How she wished she’d not been too caught up with the pettiness of daily life to appreciate such freedom.
“Cold. My feet. So cold.”
Sara leaned close. “I know, we’ll be done sitting soon and we can go to bed. But no more speaking.”
The woman looked up at her with trusting eyes.
“It’s all right. What’s your name?” Sara whispered.
“Marianne.”
The woman must have been lovely once, the bone structure of her face sharp under paper-thin flesh.
“It’s a beautiful name, Marianne.” Sara took the woman’s hand in her own and rubbed it.
“No. No. Cold.” Her teeth chattered in between the words.
“No talking,” said Natalia from the other side of Sara. “You’ll get us all in trouble.”
Sara kept ahold of Marianne’s hand. “She can’t help it.”
Without warning, Marianne leaped up from the bench.
She whirled around and began hopping, her hands crossed tightly over her body. Her mouth opened wide and a guttural yowl erupted. Over and over, she screeched out her anguish, the sound echoing around the vast room.
The nurses charged in, Nurse Garelick leading the way. “What’s going on?”
Marianne ran to the far side of the room, still hopping and howling.
“She’s cold,” offered Sara.
“Don’t say a word.” Natalia, speaking under her breath.
But it was too late for that. Nurse Garelick turned on Sara. “Quiet.”
Unused to taking commands, Sara stiffened. “She’s simply cold. Is there any way she can get another covering, a blanket? Please, you can see how thin she is. The cold goes right through her.”
Marianne was busy evading the grasp of the other two nurses, running around the table with them trailing her. Nurse Garelick stuck out her arm, which was the size of a tree branch, and grabbed her by the throat.
“You about finished there, dearie?”
Marianne nodded, but when Nurse Garelick loosened her grip, she screamed louder than Sara would have imagined possible. The sound came from her very core, embodying all of the hunger, cold, and hopelessness of the place. Many of the inmates shrank from the sound, but Sara stood. “You must help her.”
Nurse Garelick laughed and shoved Sara back down with her free hand. She turned to Marianne, studying her like a wicked child would an injured butterfly. “I hear this one used to be a dancer, back in the day.”
Marianne’s arms dropped to her sides.
“That got your attention, did it? I think you should dance for us, then, since you’re incapable of sitting still like the rest of the patients.”
Marianne shook her head.
“Dance. Or don’t eat for three days.”
Sara flinched, ready to spring to the woman’s aid, to try and distract the nurses, but Natalia grabbed her arm. “Don’t do it. Stay put.”
“Dance. Now.”
Marianne hopped like a robin, wary and watchful.
“That’s not dancing. No dancing, no food.”
Tentatively at first, the woman began moving her feet in dainty steps, then her hands fluttered and she hummed a tune under her breath.
“That’s right, keep on.” Nurse Garelick stared hard, licking her lips.
