“A jailer,” said Patrick. “Do they … always need to be ‘watched’?”
“Usually, when the imperative needs of a man are under a child’s lack of control. Well, then. Call Patricia.”
Patrick rang for a maid, and she was told to send down Mrs. Garrity at once. Then the three men waited in a desperate silence. Patrick puffed at a cigar he had not lit; Jason turned a cigarette in his trembling fingers. The doctor looked at each man with compassion. Long minutes passed. Patricia did not appear. Patrick rang impatiently again. The maid came down and said, her eyes downcast, that Mrs. Garrity “did seem to sleep very sound” but that she had been aroused at last and was dashing cold water on her face and combing her hair.
“She’s not well,” said Patrick. “Always so frail, yes. All her life. Too delicate for this world.”
The doctor glanced aside; his white hair glistened like snow in the bleak light of the early-September sun that came through the windows. The trees were fading; only the late annual flowers, in brilliant profusion, kept the garden as colorful as summer. The mountains beyond had paled to a dim lavender. A new family, with four girls and one boy, had recently bought the house next door and their laughing voices drifted into the room like a mockery. Sebastian and Nicole had had their first encounters with their neighbors two or three weeks ago and had not recovered from this unusual experience. Patricia had never wanted her children to “associate” with inferior people, but on investigation she had discovered the newcomers “acceptable if a little rowdy and heedless.” She had been introduced to the mother, Mrs. Crimshaw, at a “welcoming tea,” and on finding out that she was from New York and of a “good, well-to-do family,” had graciously condescended to be friends. Mr. Percy Crimshaw was “retired.” That is, he was on the boards of two banks in Philadelphia, but had been forced to move to the country after a heart attack. He was a semi-invalid, though of a very robust appearance and given to long hunting and fishing trips. His health also did not prevent him from discreet visits to Mrs. Lindon’s establishment or business trips to Philadelphia. His wife was a fat pink-cheeked woman, good-tempered and devoted to her family, although not very perceptive. She was what Bernard would have called “simple.” She had already begun to adopt the Garrity children without question or criticism, and believing Sebastian to be timid, she had become his second mother. She did not know that Sebastian, who was only very fond of her, treated her as if she were younger than Nicole, and that Nicole affectionately tolerated her for her very goodness.
To Jason, this early evening, the children next door seemed too loud, too exuberant, too painful a reminder of his own flawed son. He suddenly exploded, “Why the hell can’t they keep those brats quiet for once!” Dr. Conners said nothing, but Patrick said, “Now, then, Jase, they’re only playing. D’you want them to be grieving, too?”
Patricia came down, walking slowly and carefully, with the new sweet scent floating about her. All her motions were lethargic and sluggish; her face was pale and without expression; she concentrated all her efforts on walking straight. The hair about her face was damp but combed. She had put on a fresh frock, a dark blue linen with a sailor collar and a black silk tie. She stood in the doorway; the men rose. She blinked, then said feebly, “What’s the matter? I was resting. Is it important?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Conners. “Sit down, Patricia. I want to talk to you.” She did not look at her father and husband, but fumbled for a chair and sat down. “I hope it’s important,” she said with resentment. “I’m tired. Such a hard day at the Altar Society bazaar.” Her voice was uncertain.
“You do too much, my darlin’,” said Patrick, kissing her cheek. But Jason could not look at her. He sat down again. It was ridiculous, but he felt guilty, as if her coming anguish were his own fault.
“You know that Jason took Nicholas to Philadelphia for examination,” said Dr. Conners, “and that they returned this morning.”
Patricia gave Jason a glance of pure venom. “Yes! How ridiculous! Jason, you knew it was absurd! And it was humiliating for me.”
Dr. Conners lifted his hand. “My dear, it wasn’t ridiculous at all. It should have been sooner.”
Patricia turned on the doctor. “You’re all wrong! He’s just too active a child! He’s alive, not like some children.” She gave Jason another venomous look.
“Patricia,” said Dr. Conners. “Listen to me. There’s something wrong with Nicholas. He … he’ll always have the mentality of a four or five-year-old. Always.”
Patricia shrieked. She clutched the arms of her chair, the cords straining in her neck. Her face was wild and frantic, turning from one to the other. “A lie, a lie, a lie! I don’t believe it! It can’t be! You are trying to make me sick, suffer! Dada …!”
Her father came to her again and tried to take her hand, but she pushed him away and glared up at him with frenzy. “Dada! Why do you let them lie to you about Nicholas! They must hate us, Dada. Jason’s just trying to hurt me. Even his sister says he’s sly and stupid! People like that want to hurt, because they know they’re cheap and inferior—they try to take revenge on us!”
Her head swung round to Jason. “I hate you, hate you, hate you! I always did! Now you’re trying your tricks on my father, who loves you like a son! How can you be so vicious, so cruel, you and your pet, Sebastian! He’s another trickster, like you, always wanting to make people feel miserable! He’s made my life a curse—he’s the one who should be sent away! Even Miss Flowers …”
Patrick and the doctor were appalled; Patrick stood immobile near his daughter, looking down at her. Patricia’s eyes were still on her husband, gleaming with hatred. “Yes, yes, I know all about you! That’s why I hate you.”
She seized her father’s hand, and her face grimaced convulsively. “Dada, Dada, save me! Don’t listen to these lies about a perfectly normal, happy little boy, full of life! And so bright, too! Never making trouble, always loving, always laughing. Dada, help me. Send Jason and Sebastian away, out of this house. Then we’ll have some peace. Just you and me and the twins, Dada. Oh, God, just us four! Peace!”
“Patricia,” said Patrick in a faint voice, “don’t talk like that. You don’t mean it, darlin’. You’re just upset. You—”
She flung his hand from her with savagery. “Oh, they’ve got you believing those wicked lies about my child! You’re in it with them, Dada, or you’re fooled. Why do you want to do this to me?”
So, thought the physician, she’s known instinctively something was wrong with the child, and that’s what she’s denying.
Patricia literally leaped from her chair, screaming, and ran from the room. No one tried to stop her. She pounded into the hall, then halfway up the stairs. In her distraught state she expected at least one of the men to come running into the hall, calling to her. But there was silence. She stopped, gasping, leaning over the balustrade, sucking in her breath in order to hear. There was no sound. She pushed back her damp hair and listened more intently. She tried another scream, beat her feet on the stairs. She might have been alone in the house. She groaned and looked about hopelessly. No one was coming to embrace and pet her and say it was “nothing,” as had been done during her childhood when she was asked to face a crisis.
She clutched the railing, and not since that day of her “renunciation” of Lionel had she felt such despair. Her eyes filled with tears. She searched the hall for one loving face. She was helpless, no one was coming. She had the sensation of walls crashing about her, leaving her open to catastrophe. She could not by cajoling, weeping, or protesting make the terrible fact disappear. But she continued to whisper to herself, “No, no. Of course not. It’s all wrong. They’ll see!” She glanced up the stairway and thought: I’ll take Nicholas away with me, somewhere lovely and quiet, and he’ll be all right, and we’ll laugh together. We’ll be … safe.
She sank down on the stairs and dropped her head on her knees. Then a new thought struck her. She sprang up and raced down the stairs and into the library.
“Patricia, darlin’,” said Patrick, rising. His eyes were streaming, and all at once he looked old and broken. But she did not look at him. She looked at Jason, and her eyes burned with hatred.
“You!” she exclaimed. “You did this to my child! There’s bad blood in you. Your hateful crippled sister! Your crazy grandfather! Your consumptive mother! Bad blood, diseased’ blood! You gave it to my baby, my poor little Nicholas!”
“No,” said Dr. Conners, standing up. “No, Patricia. No one knows why this happens to a child. You must simply accept it. Nicholas will always be a happy little boy in his mind. He needs all the love he can get. And such children are often very lovable. They can bring much happiness to a family.”
Patricia flung her hands over her face and wept loudly. Jason came to her but did not touch her. He wanted to share her suffering. He wanted her to know she was not alone and that they needed mutual help.
“I’ll take my child away, and some decent doctor will tell me you all lied,” Patricia moaned. “There are good doctors, better doctors—if anything’s wrong, and there isn’t.”
It’s natural that she should frantically look for a way out, thought Dr. Conners. But to turn on her husband and father with such hatred, such accusations—that’s also a sickness. He said, “I’m sure your father and your husband will help you, Patricia. They’ll find someone else—I can give you other names.” He did not like to give her false hope.
“Operation?” Patricia sobbed, without removing her hands from her face.
“No. No. I don’t think so. But we’ll find out.”
Dr. Conners pitied her, but he felt a greater compassion for her father and her husband. The doctor led Patricia to a chair, where she crouched and moaned like a wounded animal. After a few minutes he deftly gave her an injection, a sedative. The very thin arm lay limply in his hand, and she did not start at the prick. Her pale face took on a tragic shine in the gloom. Her sobs abated, while the men watched her in silence. Then her head fell back against the chair.
Dr. Conners sighed. “Well, someone put her to bed. She’ll sleep for a long time. When she wakes up, she’ll be more … composed. Able to face this and make plans.”
It was Jason who carried his wife to bed and undressed her, suffering at the sight of her thin body and shriveled flesh. He put on her nightgown, covered her with the sheet and the soft blanket. She was beginning to snore. He looked down upon her and thought of what she had said in the library, and forgave her. In some obscure fashion, he believed he was guilty, guilty of not loving her, of loving another woman, and perhaps she had known this for some time and was heartbroken. Perhaps she had known it before he had done so himself.
The three men went up to the nursery, where the children were having their early supper. Nicholas came running, shouting. “Choo, choo, choo! We go on choo-choo, Papa. Now! Nickie and me and Bastie!” He danced with frenetic excitement, eyes bulging. “Papa, come!”
“In a little while, Nick,” said Jason.
Nicole, approaching, looked at her father with deep concern. It was not possible for the little girl to know, but she sensed some terrible disaster. Sebastian came over also, and took Jason’s hand without speaking. Jason looked down at him, and his eyes filled with tears. He had no doubt now that Patricia hated her eldest son, as she hated him. But it was Sebastian for whom he felt sorrow. Nicholas was still shouting and jumping and clutching Jason’s thighs. Dr. Conners studied the little boy. There was no question about it, none at all. The physician sighed.
It was Patrick who took Nicholas from Jason and hugged him with desperation and despair. The boy bobbed in his arms, screeching, “Choo-choo-choo! Ding-a-ling, ding, ding! We go on choo-choo. Now, now, now! Mama, Papa, Nickie, Bastie, Grandpa! Now!” and his voice rose to a yell and his mouth frothed and his eyes darted here and there without ever focusing.
Miss Flowers, who had been out of the room, now returned. The servants had heard everything; she had come from the kitchen and had just been informed. Her gray face was tight, vindictive, and she tossed her head. “May I have a moment alone with you, Mr. Garrity?” She stared at him like a triumphant enemy.
“Certainly,” Jason mumbled. He withdrew from the other two men. Nicole was again calming Nicholas, but not so successfully this time. He had become impatient with her efforts and had tried to kick her in the face.
“See that, Mr. Garrity,” said Miss Flowers. “I always suspected he was a loony. Dangerous. He’ll get worse.”
“What?” said Jason. He had not at first understood her. Then he did, and his haggard face flushed with anger.
“He’s a loony, sir, and you know it. Everybody else did, long ago. Now I’m frightened. Please accept my notice at once, Mr. Garrity.”
“Get out,” said Jason in a low, passionate voice. “Now.”
She tossed her head. “Gladly. I wouldn’t spend another night in this house. And don’t think the other servants won’t leave. The laundress is getting tired of all those dirty sheets and dirty filthy clothes. No one wants to work around crazy people.”
She gave little Nicholas an ugly glance. “Look at him, wiggling like a snake in Mr. Mulligan’s arms. He’s strong as a lion; they usually are. Look at him trying to kick his sister in the face! And I shouldn’t wonder Sebastian is a loony, too. The quiet ones are the worst.”
Within two days all the servants had left. Jason, in spite of the lull in the economy, had difficulty in getting replacements, though he offered far more than the current rate. Patricia lay sodden in her bed for several days, not speaking, turning her face away when anyone entered the room. When alone, she moved feebly out of bed and resorted to whiskey, which, with the sedatives, effectively made her unconscious for hours. Nicole brought her trays, and Patricia seemed more responsive to the child, who sat with her and tried to give her comfort. Nicole knew there was “something wrong” with Nicholas. She and Sebastian shared the same secret, though they did not speak of it. They only consoled each other and gave Nicholas a larger share of love.
The little boy was calmer when he took his syrup from Nicole. He would take it only from his sister. He now clung to her and in a lesser degree to his brother. Jason excited him with dim memories of a train. Patrick was too emotional, and the child sensed this and responded with screeching laughter. When comparatively calm, he gave evidence of his innate sweet temper.
Jason hired a young teacher who not only was a competent instructor but had had experience with children such as Nicholas. His name was Francis Doherty and he had the composure of a young Dominican priest, was kind but rigorous. The children liked him at once. Nicholas would perch on his knee and hum to himself while Sebastian and Nicole had their lessons. Often he fell asleep in the teacher’s arms, and Mr. Doherty did not remove him. He acted as if this was all very ordinary. He especially liked Sebastian and knew instinctively that the child was sorrowful. He called Nicole “Reverend Mother.” He was a short, slender man with a monk’s face, pale blue eyes, a Roman nose, a severe mouth, and much formality.
Patricia, on the rare occasions when she saw Nicholas now, would involuntarily shiver. It was not that she had an aversion to the child, but he had become vaguely threatening to her, and she tried to avoid him even though she loved him more than ever. To her, it was looking on the dying. She mourned as if for the dead and did not leave the house for over a month, and then only for a drive with her father.
She would not come down for her meals for another month, and then only if Jason were not there. She did not honestly believe his “blood” was the cause of her son’s condition, but as her hatred for her husband was now so intense, she could not bear to see him.
In some twisted way she thought that he was responsible for all her suffering, that in some fashion he had deprived her of Lionel, that if “things had been different,” Nicholas would not have been born this way.
She once went alone to see Joan. By this time the whole town knew of the Garrity “affliction,” and many th
ere were who felt pleased. Not that they actively detested Jason; they simply did not like him and therefore condemned him. As this was a weekday, Lionel was not with his wife. Joan received Patricia tranquilly, ordered tea for them both. She looks as old as death, Joan thought without compassion.
She had never been moved by anyone but her brother John and her husband, and was not stirred now. But her face expressed sympathy as she listened to Patricia’s sobs. It was not until Patricia began to speak with alarming viciousness of Sebastian that Joan quickened from her supernal calm.
She interrupted the stream of vituperation, saying sharply, “How is Sebastian to blame for any of this, Patricia?”
Patricia beat her bony knees with her fist. “He’s just … just … an evil influence, Joan! I honestly think if he were sent away, Nicholas would get better. I’ve heard of people like Sebastian. Dada told me stories when I was a child. They can cause … cause such things, with their wicked souls.”
Joan’s heart literally trembled for the boy she loved so dearly. “What nonsense,” she said in a hard voice. “You talk like a fool, Patricia. I sympathize with you, but such nonsense! Sebastian is a wonderful, intelligent, really noble child, and he will be a fine man. I know you hate him; I’ve always known that. But I must protest. He’s given you no reason to detest him, but you’ve hurt him terribly all his life.”
“Oh, you don’t know, the wickedness, the way he creeps about the house!”
“He’s only looking for affection,” said Joan, and her cheeks flushed. “You’ve always tried to turn Jason against him; I’ve seen that, and even his grandfather. I don’t know your reason.” Joan paused. “And I don’t want to know. But it’s not natural. People speak of it; you’ve been quite open about what you feel concerning Sebastian. They don’t admire you for it.”