A White Room (18 page)

“What?”

“What do you want?”

“I—I just wanted to know how you did it.”

“Did what?” She was angry now. “Lose my child’s respect?”

“No!”

“What game are you playing?”

“None.”

“You have no right to my business.”

“I’m not trying—”

“No.” She stood quickly. “I’m not staying here if this is how I’m going to be treated.” She stomped to the door and slammed it behind her.

“Wait. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me alone. Please! Please!” I listened to her clomp down the hall and down the stairs. There was a long silence and finally the slam of the door. I was alone. It would be dark soon, and I was alone—alone with the house.

It was another night with no moon, just utter darkness, and this night it was only me and the house. There were no shadows; the white house had become black. I lay awake for most of the night. Finally, I drifted off but roused quickly when I heard sadness in a dream. I realized the sound was the little girl’s crying. I turned my head toward the wall her room shared with mine, then to the beast’s wall across from my bed.

I became aware. For some reason, the wicked presence decided it would no longer tolerate me. I could feel it lowering its antlike body between bent limbs, hairy arms outstretched. Its energy, its rage built. I could see it in my head. As it let the feeling boil in its abdomen, it crouched and nearly disappeared in the shadows of the empty room. I wondered for a moment if it had gone, if it slept. But it sprang up and released every ounce of its frustration at the wall. My vision fell back into my room. Pounding. Pounding. Then I heard scraping sounds, as if a rat had been trapped with a snake. It was coming for me.

Screams like light burst into my mind, and I was momentarily disoriented. When I found my way back, the scratching was louder, and I knew I couldn’t remain within my chamber any longer. I thrust off the covers, felt my feet hit the floor, and flew toward the door. I took the doorknob in my hand. I sensed the house’s unrelenting hunger for me. I gripped the knob and hesitated, fearful that the beast would do the same at its door in the next room. I feared that if I made a sound, something would snatch me up, but I couldn’t flee silently. I couldn’t move with caution, not when it was trying to get me.

The scratching gave way to banging. The wife within me told me not to go. I wouldn’t be able to live beyond the white walls—nothing I cared for would survive. Loud thuds sounded. I had to stay. I was supposed to get better. My family needed my marriage. I had to be a good wife. Pounding. Scratching. James wasn’t coming. I couldn’t abandon my obligations without help. I should be loyal. Banging. I had to honor my father and mother and everything that depended on me and my marriage. I couldn’t do it on my own. I needed the Dorrs to take care of them. I had to maintain the walls. James had abandoned me. Pounding. I had no choice. I had no one. Pounding. I had to stay. I must stay. Pounding. I had to stay. You have stay. You have to stay. You have to stay.

I screamed, “I will not stay!”

I stepped back and yanked the door open. When I saw the flash of the empty corridor, I ran. My feet slapped against the wood floors. The people in the rooms whipped their heads around as I blazed by. They kept their eyes on me, twisting their necks just beyond what was natural. I quickened my step to escape the hall and ended up in the stairwell.

The moment I fell into the cave of steps, the walls moved in. Wailing sounded as they narrowed toward me. I tripped and fumbled. Before, I’d never been sure if I truly heard the house creak and moan, but now, as if it knew my urgency, it left nothing to my imagination. I slammed against the wall where the stairwell curled left. I sensed something reaching out for me as I hit each step. At the final corner, my right foot reached too far, and I felt my heel hit two or three steps in a row as my left leg bent under. I put my hands out as I fell forward and hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs. I heard the clawing and scraping sounds of oddly shaped feet thrashing down the second-floor hallway. The beast had broken out and was coming for me. There was no time for either pain or grace. I pushed myself up and began a sprint.

My feet bound down the hall, and all the rooms in the house lunged at me. Ella and Francis must have opened the doors. As I dashed past, I caught glimpses of things inside the dining room and the library, alive. I rounded the corner and rushed down the hall to the front doors. As I pulled them open, I spotted the furniture in the parlor clanking, leaping, and reaching toward me. I burst outside and did not waste time shutting the door behind me. I ran as fast as I could into the woods beyond the house. I could hear the house call after me in my head, screaming:
You must stay! You must stay!
But I ran. I ran.

I flew into the woods and tore through fallen branches and brush, but then I felt something clawing at my nightgown. I had completely forgotten the wolf stalking outside the house, waiting for this moment. It knew what I had done, knew I deserved to be ripped apart, and some part of me wanted it—wanted to be held accountable—but every other part of my being screamed to run, just run. I shrieked. I didn’t look. I just tugged and yanked until my gown ripped.

I heard crinkling and the sounds of flailing as it rushed after me in the thicket.

I ran and I ran. The scrambling behind me faded away, but I kept running. Branches scraped my arms. I scrambled over bushes and through unknown vegetation creeping up from the forest floor. I ran long after the call of the house faded into the distance. I did not care about my health. I did not allow my feminine weakness to have its say. I didn’t care about my lack of clothing or my bare feet. The chill air did not sway me. I heard leaves crackle and twigs snap, but I didn’t feel them beneath my feet.

Finally, I slowed. It must have been close to morning because a haze of light filled the forest, revealing a white mist. As I moved farther and farther from the house, the trees spread and gave me room to move. The air felt cool and thick. The green faded as I moved into the fog. I kept on and on until suddenly I stumbled onto a beach. It was the banks of the Mississippi. The river was blanketed with the thick vapor, which formed a wall so high I could not see the end and so thick I could barely see where the water began. It was salvation, freedom.

I collapsed onto the sandy bank and lay there. I had escaped. I had escaped the house—the room. I had escaped my marriage. I was free. What should I do? I could do whatever I wanted. I could do anything. I could take the steamboat to St. Louis. I could live in a boardinghouse. I could go back to school and become a nurse. I wouldn’t go to my brother or my mother. I’d disappear—be missing for a while. I could do it on my own, without James. He would regret abandoning me. When I reappeared, I would have made something of myself. I’d be able to provide for them, and they wouldn’t shame me or think me a failure.

I sat up and folded my legs under my filthy nightgown. I leaned back, and my hands sank into the moist earth around me. If I didn’t tell them about my escape, they might assume I’d perished. I hoped they’d mourn me. I hoped they’d lament. What if they realized I’d run away? Would they just discard me, disgraced by my failings? Would they ever accept me again? Would I ever see my sisters or mother or James again? Abandonment was reprehensible. Anyone who knew I’d deserted my husband would not want anything to do with me. Out of everyone, I was least concerned about John. He would probably shrug off the entire experience and remarry someone of worth.

I would need to explain myself to the men on the steamboat. I ran my fingertips over the fine soil. I regarded myself. My white nightgown with ruffles and ribbons was torn and streaked with muck. I shifted my gaze from my grubby garments and exposed flesh to my sullied and abraded feet. They were caked with sludge and blood. I had been treading through branches and rocks. My feet didn’t hurt, though. How would I explain my appearance? I could claim I had been assaulted. Perhaps if I told the men on the boat that the attackers had stolen everything I had and I needed to get to my home in St. Louis, they would take pity on me.

I should have been panicked. I should have realized I had to go back. But I was calm. I was at peace. I could have been in heaven, and I might have thought I was if I had been fully dressed and my feet hadn’t begun to throb. Still, I was enraptured, sitting in ethereal wisps on the banks of the Mississippi, free from the house, the creatures in it, my obligation, and my marriage—that white room. The sheet of vapor would lift soon, but it would still be a while before the boat came along. I decided to fill the time by basking in my freedom.

My reverie was interrupted by a horrific noise that slashed through my calm. I jolted and whirled around to the forest behind me, my heart thumping. I saw nothing but fingers of fog dipping in and out of the trees. Was it the house? No, the house was different. I began to fear for my safety. I was vulnerable, a woman alone, not to mention without clothing. I heard it again: a high-pitched wail. It sounded like the ragged edge of broken glass. It was a woman’s cry.

My first thought was to find someone, a man to assist me, but that wasn’t an option. I was on my own. Without resolving to move, I stood and headed into the gauzy veil. The howling continued, drawing me closer to its source. I stepped carefully with my arms outstretched, fondling the mist to avoid running into a tree. Sifting through the murky white was like walking through a wall. All I could see were the outlines of the trees. I tottered on, with bushes and twigs scraping at my ankles.

I stopped when a groan sounded, like a blow to the stomach, not ten feet from me. I couldn’t make out anything. I squinted and bobbed my head as if I could peer around the dense mass. I proceeded slowly and saw a figure on the ground. As I approached, it sharpened into the form of a person. I scanned the area for danger—an attacker, an animal, the wolf? There was nothing but this person. I was afraid to speak. “Mi—iss?”

She gasped and lifted herself onto her elbows. “Are—are you a ghost?”

“No—no. Forgive me.” I must have appeared as an eerie shape. I moved closer. “I heard your cries.”

“I—I’m,” she said between short breaths.

As I moved closer, we became visible to each other. I saw a scraggly thing with an oversize swelling where her stomach should have been. She was with child. “Mrs. Schwab?”

“Mrs. Dorr?” She was so surprised that she momentarily forgot her pain. “What—what are you—” She shrieked.

I winced. “Are you injured?”

“No.” She pulled her lips back and clenched her teeth. “It’s coming.”

“What?”

“The child. It’s coming!”

“What should I do?”

She shuddered, unable to respond. Pieces of her normally pinned-back hair were glued to her face with sweat. In a small desperate voice, she whispered, “Help me.”

I tried to think—did I know what to do? I had read so many books—the nursing courses. Nothing came close. My mother had taught me home medicine, but this hadn’t been among the lessons. I had aided Mother when she was expecting my younger sisters, but I was not allowed in the room during the final moments. I remembered her cries, though.

Mrs. Schwab pointed between her limbs. “I need—wait for the baby.”

“What?”

There were lectures, lectures, the voices of my mother and college professors coursing through my head. “Remember, Emeline, this is important—if your child is bleeding, stop it right away—class, laudanum helps with severe pain, but morphine is better—the state of Missouri has outlawed midwifery—when a woman is with child, she must be seen by a physician—at this school, when it’s serious you contact a physician—Emeline, if you are ever unsure, send for a physician—you’ll need a physician—send for a physician.”

I staggered around her and fell to my knees. I looked. A bulbous mass stretched the delicate flesh between her limbs. “Oh, Lord!” I shouted. “You need a physician!”

“No!”

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“Can you see a head?”

I looked back and then away again. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you see?”