A White Room (3 page)

After some time, I heard her skirts rustling down the hall. I knew she was coming back, so I left. I passed her and saw James in the hall. I quickly squeezed his hand and asked him to sit with Mother and then headed down the stairs. As I reached the middle step, I heard my mother wail, a sound I had been dreading. I rushed back up. James hovered at the top landing, his hands hanging limp and his transfixed expression unmistakable.

I grabbed his shoulders and he nodded. I wrapped my arms around him and clung tightly to him. I let go. “Mother?”

His eyes glistened when he glanced back toward the room. I charged down the hall. My father lay still and silent, just as if he were asleep, but his bulbous belly no longer rose and fell with gentle breath. My mother hung over him, her back to me, her hands covering her face. As she brought them down, something glimmered, and I realized she had scissors in her hand.

“Mother, what are you doing?”

She drove the shears toward my father’s face.

“Stop!” I lunged forward. I grabbed her, and she whirled around with a chunk of hair between her fingers. A small bald spot disfigured my father’s hairline.

She held it up. “He’s gone.” Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she nearly collapsed into my arms.

I grasped her as she bawled on my shoulder. I held her like that and looked down at my father’s face, his swollen belly, and his sagging skin. It felt as if we stood there for a long time. When Mother released me, her puffy red face was contorted.

“I should get James and the girls,” I said.

She covered her face with her hands, still clasping the scissors.

I peeled them out of her fingers and held them to my bosom. “I’ll be right back.”

James still stood there in the hall. He looked lost and confused. I touched his arm. “James, I have to tell the girls. Will you stay with Mother? I don’t think she can handle this.”

He nodded without looking at me, hesitated, and then walked toward the room.

I faltered halfway down the stairs and crumbled onto the step. My corset dug into my hips and my powder-blue skirt puffed up around me. Breathe, I told myself, breathe
.
I closed my eyes. They couldn’t see me upset. I had to be strong for them. I could cry myself to sleep later. Father wanted me to be strong. I dabbed my eyes to make sure there weren’t any tears and then fanned air at them. Just don’t cry, I told myself. You can’t cry. I inhaled deeply, stood, and walked into the front hall.

“Miss Evans?”

I halted.

John Dorr was loitering in the main entryway. “Oh.” I jolted and looked away.

“Good day,” he said. “Your servant just went to find you.”

I looked at the floor, the wall, all around. I couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. I always avoided those eyes. We were not well acquainted, but every woman who had been introduced to this man knew those eyes. “How do you do, Mr. Dorr?”

“I’m well. I hope you are not busy?”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Dorr, but I’m afraid I don’t—my parents cannot visit at this time. My father—”

“Yes. My father told me he’s not too well. I’m here to call on you, actually. My mother—and I—thought you might need a distraction. You must be terribly busy and not in the mood to visit.”

“No. I’m sorry, it’s just—” I couldn’t say it. Should I say it? I wondered—should I tell Mr. Dorr before I tell my own flesh? I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t look at him, let alone say it.

“Are you all right?”

“My father—my—he—he’s passed.” I unwillingly flashed my eyes up at him. They locked with his, and suddenly I couldn’t take it. “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t control it. It was real. I dropped the shears and brought my trembling hand to my mouth.

Mr. Dorr reached out and clasped my hand. “Forgive me. I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard. Your servant didn’t say…”

“It just happened now.” I gestured down the hall. “I—was—going to tell everyone.”

He straightened. “Oh, dear God.”

I nodded.

“Are you all right? Can—can I help?”

“I have to tell my sisters. I—I have to call for the doctor.”

“Please. Let me worry about the doctor. I have my carriage. I’ll go straightaway.”

I lowered my gaze to the warm hand clasping my own.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay? I can send my driver alone. I can stay.”

“Thank you, but no. I’m all right.” I wiped the tears from my cheeks and forced my eyes to meet his—to prove it.

“I’ll go straight to the doctor.” He paused. “My—my condolences.”

I sank deep into his black eyes and swallowed. “Thank you.”

He nodded, did an about-face, and left.

I lingered a moment until Kathy appeared behind me. “There you are, miss. You found Mr. Dorr then?”

I kept my back to her. “Kathy.” I swallowed and sniffed. “I need you to gather the girls. Father…he’s gone.”

I felt dizzy and on the verge of hyperventilation during the funeral. Afterward, at our house, I shuffled from room to room amid swollen faces and consoling glances, trying to make sure nothing went wrong, for my mother’s sake. The larger a funeral, the more that people assumed the family cared, and Mother wanted everyone to know how much we cared. Although we had a substantial parlor, people spilled out into the foyer and the dining and sitting rooms. My mother had filled the house with fragrant white flowers of every kind, and I struggled to breathe as I set out food in the parlor and checked on preparations in the kitchen. I just wanted to run away, but I had to keep an eye on Mother.

I struggled to find her in the ocean of black in our parlor. Black dresses, black slacks, black shoes, shawls, and gloves. The house itself was shrouded in black, too. We’d tied black crepe and netting around the doorknobs, hung black wreaths inside and out, and muffled the door chime. We draped my father’s portrait in velvet, locked the piano, and covered all the mirrors with black sheaths.

I had wrapped myself in a black silk-and-taffeta dress with lace details that scratched at my wrists and neck. I wore a long locket necklace with my father’s hair in it. Mother had made one for each of us, but I found it disturbing and planned to stop wearing it after the funeral.

I spotted my mother and weaved through mourners to get to her side. “How are you?”

She glanced up from a conversation that continued without her. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

I sighed. So far nothing had been ruined. She had gone on a frenzy planning the elaborate spectacle as her last grand gesture of love, but I knew she hadn’t let herself realize that he was gone. I expected an emotional collapse at any moment, and I knew that if one thing went wrong, she would crumble in front of everyone.

“Florence took your sisters upstairs.”

I sighed wishing I was with them, but my sister’s pure heart could calm better than mine could. “We have enough food?” My mother’s droopy eyes shot open.

“More than enough.” I held up my hands.

She looked all around, bobbing her head. “I should have gotten more flowers.”

“There’s plenty. It’s perfect.”

She touched my arm, her eyes wandering.

I took her hand in both of mine. “Mother?”

She looked at me.

“Let me worry for you.” I released her.

A man appeared next to her to express his sympathies.

I started to search for my brother. I walked into the foyer and gazed up at the staircase, where an avalanche of flowers flowed down the banisters. I was wondering if James had gone up, too, when I heard Dr. Morris’ voice nearby. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “He had more time.”

I froze.

“It was quite sudden, but isn’t that common after surgery?” I heard a woman with a heavy-bodied voice ask.

I turned to find the location of the conversation and saw the doctor standing on the left side of the staircase. He faced away from me but at such an angle that I could see him thrust his chin out and stiffen his expression as he gripped the glass of sherry in hand. He reached up with his other hand and scratched a touch of baldness on the back of his head. “I suppose, but there are usually signs, a suggestion as to what went wrong.” He shook his head. “Something—it doesn’t fit.”

He didn’t notice me, but I couldn’t just stare. I pretended to look for someone.

The doctor sipped his sherry. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What are you saying?” I didn’t know the blond woman he spoke to, and her dry eyes suggested she hadn’t known my father. “He was showing improvement?”

Dr. Morris ran his fingers over his mustache. “No. No. Surviving that disease is nearly impossible, but he could have lasted longer with a few more—”

A voice interrupted my eavesdropping. “Miss Evans?”

I looked up and John Dorr’s black eyes entranced me.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

I blinked. “Oh.” I took a deep breath and considered how to politely excuse him. Then I realized he gave me reason to linger. “Thank you.” I stepped slightly to the side so I could face Dr. Morris while talking with Mr. Dorr.

“Your father and my father were better friends than I realized. He said he owes him all of his success.”

I listened for Dr. Morris’ hoarse voice. I glanced away from Mr. Dorr and spotted the blond woman.

She lifted her hand to her chest. “I cannot imagine.”

“Are you all right?” Mr. Dorr asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I turned my attention back to him. “I’m…obviously…” I swallowed.

“Of course.” He lowered his chin. “I wanted you to know if you ever need anything, I—”

I kept my eyes on the attractive young man in front of me even though I listened to Dr. Morris. “More than half the bottle was gone,” he continued. “There’s no excuse for using that much morphine. I clearly instructed Mrs. Evans. I’m wondering if she accidentally…” He trailed off.

I peeked over Mr. Dorr’s shoulder and saw Dr. Morris lift his eyebrows and widen his eyes.

“What?” I whispered.

“What?” Mr. Dorr asked.

My mouth hung open. “Um,” I fumbled. “I should thank you for your assistance…that day.”

He lowered his gaze and spoke softly. “I only wish I could have done more.”

“You couldn’t.”

“If you or your family ever need assistance, I want you to know you can call upon me.”

Mr. Dorr said more, but I wasn’t listening. I could hear Dr. Morris again. I couldn’t help but move my eyes in his direction. “I won’t mention it,” he grumbled. “The situation is unfortunate enough, but to think Mrs. Evans may have been responsible…”

I suddenly felt hot and dizzy and bent forward a little, bringing my hand to my chest. My lungs constricted, and a lump in my stomach melted like butter.

Mr. Dorr reached out. “Are you…”

I tried to inhale. “I—I need—some—” I couldn’t breathe.

The people around me were so close. There were so many. My corset felt too tight. The black ribbons on the staircase, the black shrouds on the mirrors, the black wreaths on the walls, and my black dress swelled and merged into the rest of the black until everything disappeared.

It felt like falling.

Then I felt my feet moving, heard my locket clinking, and felt my weight in John Dorr’s arms. I saw flashes of my boots shuffling and clacking as he guided me to the right of the staircase, down the hall, and out the servants’ door just before the kitchen. The bright light and cool breeze jolted me. I gulped air desperately.

Mr. Dorr stood at my side, holding me up with his left hand wrapped tightly around my waist and his right under the crook of my arm. “Are you all right?”

“I—I—think—I might faint.” I breathed heavily.

My mouth salivated, nausea crashed into me in a huge wave, and my knees buckled. He tried to hold me up, but the black fell over my eyes like a full-length weeping veil, and a dizzying buzz in my head prevented me from thinking.

“I’ll take her,” a distant voice said.

Then the blackness gave way to light. I was on my knees, my hands flat on the ground. My stomach contracted and my sight returned. I vomited yellow bile into the grass.

I felt our servant Kathy next to me and glanced over my shoulder to be sure.

“I asked Mr. Dorr to leave.” Kathy nodded. “He knew you were sick. I knew you wouldn’t want him to see.”

“Thank you,” I said with an exhale. I wiped my mouth and cringed. I fell back onto the lawn and put my hand on my head. “Did anyone else see?”

“No, honey.” Kathy dimpled. The little lines around her eyes and the corners of her lips were like creases in warm bread. “He held you up almost straight. No one noticed you looked faint.”

“I don’t know what happened. I was listening to…” I remembered what Dr. Morris had said. What did he say about my mother? Did he really think—no, he said my father was losing the fight. He said he wouldn’t say anything. Was that right? Yes, I reassured myself. Thank God, I thought. But he told that woman—what if she spread a rumor? I panted, dizziness returning. My mother—my family—we wouldn’t be able to handle that. No, she wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t say anything. They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t. I rubbed my cheek and slid my trembling fingers to my lips. “I was listening to Mr. Dorr and all of a sudden—”

“You’re doing too much is all, miss. It’s all right. No one suspects you’re ill.” Kathy rubbed my back. “If anyone does, they wouldn’t expect anything less.”