A White Room (42 page)

John buttoned up his shirt. I repositioned my dress and tightened the ribbon around my waist, and John helped with the buttons on the high collar. Then we sat next to each other, not speaking.

I felt oddly shy. “What now?”

“I don’t know.” He chuckled.

We sat there for a minute or so, silent.

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

He touched my cheek. “I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

“You never showed it.”

He took his hand away. “I was confused.”

“I don’t understand.”

He lowered his eyes and fiddled with his clothes. “I didn’t exactly want to get married.”

I stared at him. “Do tell.”

“I had feelings for you, but with your family’s loss…All of a sudden my parents arranged it. They didn’t ask me. They informed me.” John’s eyes dropped down. “I liked you, but I wasn’t ready to marry anyone. I didn’t even know you. I didn’t even know who I was yet. When we got here, I tried to be a husband, but everything felt so awkward and then I felt too stressed with work and pressured by my father to think of romance. Things were so awful at the firm. Lewis Coddington hated me when we first got here. I ruined everything I touched. Eventually, I was certain I couldn’t do anything right. I couldn’t be the lawyer my father wanted or the husband that you needed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No. It was my fault.” I brought my hand to my throat.

“What do you mean?”

“I asked your parents to arrange it.” We locked eyes and I gulped.

“What? But you’ve never shown any interest in me.”

“I know.” I lowered my eyes. “I—I asked because I wanted to help my family, but I was interested in you. You’re so—every girl was, but I didn’t think you were within reach. That’s why I didn’t show it before.”

We didn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t within reach so you decided to ask my parents to make me?” He laughed and I giggled at how ridiculous that sounded. Then we were quiet again.

“I’m sorry you had to marry me,” I said.

“I’m sorry you had to marry me.” He squeezed my hand.

“I thought I had failed you.”

“No. You’re wonderful.”

“Even after what I did?” I took my hand away.

He hesitated. “You said I drove you to that?”

“There were many things.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I did what I did today because Lott—Mrs. Schwab needed my help. It was the only thing to do.”

“Are you joking?”

I looked up.

“You didn’t have any idea what you were doing. She’s probably going to die. That’s what always happens.”

“That’s not true—not in your cases—”

John crinkled his nose. “You read my notes?”

“I—just—”

“Emeline, are you absolutely insane? Don’t you understand? You might be a murderer. You could be arrested. You are going to be committed.”

“Mrs. Schwab can’t care for her children as it is. If she had another, it would die or kill her!”

“You don’t know that!”

“She’s my friend. I had to help.”

He stood over me. “I’m your husband. You should have thought. You should have done what was right.”

I stood. “I did.”

“Emeline, I need to know that you will never do anything like this ever again. If you were to get caught—I should be taking you to the authorities.”

I blinked rapidly and looked away.

“Promise me you will never do this kind of thing again?”

I was supposed to give in, like I always did.

“Will you promise me?”

I was supposed to submit.

“Emeline?”

“No.”

He drew back. “What?”

“If you really cared for me, you’d listen to why I can’t.”

“If you really cared for me, you wouldn’t risk everything I have worked for.”

“I care for people in a way you can’t even comprehend.”

“No, Emeline. You’re not a doctor! You don’t know what you’re doing.” He pointed.

I pointed to myself. “I help when physicians won’t.”

He squinted and then widened his eyes. “That man, the one you and Dr. Bradbridge argued—you were playing nurse with him, weren’t you?”

“I was doing what a physician refused to do.”

“And he died!”

I gasped, brought my hand to my chest. “What?”

“You didn’t help him. He died today.”

“He died?”

“Did you kill him?”

“How could you—no.” Tears rolled down my cheeks, slipped under my chin. “No one could prevent it.”

“So you knew it was unnecessary to get involved with such a mess.”

“I treated his pain and helped his wife. I would never do anything to hurt anyone.”

“What about our servant?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Obviously, you don’t understand.” He marched to the door and opened it. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. You’re insane. You’re absolutely mad!” He slammed the door behind him.

I spent the next hour pacing, going over everything in my head. It was dark now. I thought about letting myself go insane so John would curse himself for what he had said. I thought about punishing him. I could keep doing things behind his back. I could get caught. I was so furious.

The beast rustled, writhing in pleasure.

What now? Should I stay now that I knew how John really felt, or should I flee with James? If I stayed, would anything change?

The beast snickered.

Would the house fade away or would it take me over?

It started scratching the walls. I could hear it reach to the top and slowly claw down to the floor.

I shook with anger. Should I talk to him? Should I insist—should I—?

Scratching.

Should I argue? How could I stop helping people? I couldn’t. I needed it. They needed it. It was the only thing keeping me sane. It was the only reason I had survived.

The beast cackled as it bobbed up and down. It returned to its scratching and noise-making.

I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t think with that noise, the rebellion. I couldn’t continue to live this way. I refused.

The evil creature scratched wildly and banged itself against the walls. It wanted to push me to the brink. It sensed weakness and wanted to strike.

I had to do something about John. I wanted to scream. The beast. The noise. The constant poking and prodding at my nerves. Scratching, banging, and scratching. I could hear the paint peeling under its talons. The scratching grew frantic, and I realized it had finally decided to tear through the wall to get to me. I couldn’t stand it.

I bellowed a curdling war cry and threw myself at the wall. “Quiet! Quiet! I hate you. No more,” I screamed as I pounded and scratched the wall. “How do you like the noise? Huh? How do you like it? Silence. Be quiet, damn you!” It stood back and cackled. I threw myself at the wall again. “Get out. I demand you get out of my house!” I stopped, teeth clenched. My lips curled. I looked at the door and then back at the wall. It saw my intention and stopped laughing. “You stupid beast, you think I can’t get to you.” I stomped to the door. I could sense it back up in fear. “Unlike you, I can use a doorknob!”

I threw my door open followed by the beasts door. I burst into its dark room and slammed the door behind me. I stood there in darkness and screamed with all my might and all my power. “Here I am. You want to take over? Do it. Try. I will rip
you
to shreds. Do something! I don’t care what I’ve done, I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you!” My throat hurt from the anger behind my threats, and my fingernails dug into my palms. I raised my voice again. “You are nothing. You aren’t real. You’re a punishment. I created you, and I don’t need you anymore. I don’t want it! I don’t want to be punished anymore! I don’t need you. Get out of my house. Get out of my life. Get out! Get out! Get out!”

The door opened and light cut through the darkness in the empty room, no beast to be seen. Gone. Quiet. I turned around, my arms folded, teeth clenched.

“What is the matter with you?” John asked.

“Is that convenient for you?”

“What?”

“To conclude I am mad any time you wish?”

He shook his head. “No—I—” He paused. “You’re acting crazy.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” He motioned his hands toward me.

I pointed. “If I am acting crazy, it is only in reaction to your lunacy.”

His eyes widened. He shook his head once. “Listen, Mr. Schwab is downstairs and—”

“What? Oh no.” I moved quickly, bumping John as I passed.

“Emeline, wait.” He followed.

Forty-One

October 1901

“E
meline, stop!”

I no longer cared. I rushed down the stairs and through the hall. I scanned the library and the parlor for Oliver as John called out behind me, but I ignored him. I ran to the front door and ripped it open. I saw the back of Oliver’s head, his scraggly peppered hair.

He turned around, revealing heavy eyes and a frown on his weather-worn face. “Forgive me. I had to come.”

John appeared behind me.

“Is she all right?” I intentionally took up all the space in the doorway, forcing John to stay behind me.

“No.” Oliver’s expression grew uncertain and worried as John bobbed about behind me.

I spun around to collect my kit, but John stood in my way.

“Emeline, you can’t.”

I circumvented him and went to the sitting room, where I had stashed supplies. They were in a brown satchel, but I didn’t need everything, so I dumped the contents onto the floor and began repacking the satchel, since John had thrown my normal bag into the forest. John stood at the door watching me scatter and pack what he would surely term incriminating evidence.

“Emeline, you have to stop!”

“What’s going on?” I heard James ask.

“Emeline!”

I weaved around the pink sofa and the little tables and shoved past him into the hallway, where James stood.

John followed me out, sidestepped me, and grabbed my arm.

Oliver and James watched in bewilderment.

“Let me pass, John.”

“Emma, what’s happened?” James asked.

“No. I won’t let you do this.” John’s grip caused pain to shoot through my bones.

“What’s happening? Are you leaving him?” James shouted, and I felt a rock in my stomach.

John’s face dropped, and he looked at me with hurt and questioning eyes that tore into me.

I knew what I needed to do to have a perfect marriage, the marriage I was beginning to truly want. I knew I had to stop, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I tried to wrench my arm away. “John, I mean it. Move!”

He grasped tighter. “No. I won’t budge, Emeline. I won’t.”

“Please.”

“John.” James rushed to us. “Let her go and we can talk this over.”

“I won’t move. I won’t let you do this.”

“John, if you don’t let me go, Mr. Schwab will have to take her to the Bradbridges and everyone will know what I did.”

John jerked his head back.

Oliver’s mouth fell open.

James’ eyes bobbed back and forth, his hands raised. “What did you do?”

John looked over his shoulder at Oliver, who gave a confirming nod. Finally, he loosened his grip and hesitantly stepped out of the way. I hustled out the door, with James trailing behind. “Emeline? What are you—”