Eleanor seemed confused. She looked around helplessly. Papa said, “Verna, get Eleanor’s things for her.”
Eleanor didn’t even say good-bye to us but followed Papa to the buggy as if she were a naughty child who was being sent to her room. Once he had settled Eleanor in the buggy, Papa came back into the house and into the front hall, where Aunt Maude was. His words snapped like a whip. “Maude,” Papa said, “you should be ashamed of yourself. I only hope your cruel and thoughtless words have not undone the help the asylum has given Eleanor.” Aunt Maude had a shocked look on her face, as if one step more and she would fall into a great pit that had opened right at her feet. Papa turned on his heel and walked out of the house.
Carlie and I sat on the steps of the front porch watching as the buggy carried Eleanor away.
“What if she doesn’t come back?” Carlie said. She was hanging on to me, afraid I would disappear as well.
“She will,” I said, but I wasn’t so sure. Eleanor hadn’t gone away as if she were coming back. I thought about what it would be like for Eleanor to return home, blaming herself. I wished Papa had seen what Eleanor’s father was like. He wouldn’t be sending her back. I didn’t understand why Papa cared about what busybodies said. I didn’t understand why Eleanor couldn’t stay with us. At last Aunt Maude was going, but Eleanor was leaving as well. It wasn’t fair.
We both heard the sound at the same time. At first we were afraid to go inside, but after a minute I made myself get up and walk through the door. Carlie followed me, hanging on to my skirt. Aunt Maude was in the parlor, sitting on a chair, her hands covering her face, her suitcases scattered about the floor. She was crying in great gulps. Carlie scrambled onto Aunt Maude’s lap and threw her arms around her. A minute before, when we were on the porch, I had hated Aunt Maude. Now, seeing how miserable she was, I tried very hard to forgive her, but my forgiveness was thin and grudging and cold as ice water.
TEN
After Aunt Maude left, Mrs. Luth, another patient from the asylum, came to keep house and care for us. Though Carlie and I pleaded with Papa to bring Eleanor back, Papa kept insisting that since Aunt Maude wasn’t there anymore, it wouldn’t be proper for a young woman like Eleanor to be working at our house. Mrs. Luth wasn’t anything like Eleanor. She was older than Aunt Maude and Papa. She had a blank face, as if she were waiting for an expression to come and settle there. She spoke in a whispery voice, and then just when she had to, but she was kindly and baked us molasses cookies. She never minded if Carlie made tents outdoors with the sheets or if I read all day, neglecting the chores Papa had assigned me. She would even do the chores for me, but she wasn’t Eleanor. Eleanor was at the farm. When we went to the chapel on Sundays and Eleanor wasn’t there, Papa still sang, but he didn’t sound like his heart was in it.
The leaves on the trees were turning yellow, and the fields were purple with wild asters. The potatoes had been harvested, cornstalks filled the asylum silos, and in the glasshouses Louis was potting up chrysanthemums that gave off a sharp, sour, spicy smell.
Sad letters came from Aunt Maude with their hopeful hints. If we needed her, she could return at any time. Wouldn’t it be helpful if she came to show Mrs. Luth how everything should be done? Carlie begged some chrysanthemums from Louis and put them in an envelope she had me address to Aunt Maude.
“They’ll be squashed,” I said.
“Aunt Maude will like them anyhow,” Carlie said. I knew Carlie was right.
Summer ended, and it was time for school. Carlie and I both had new straw hats and pinafores. The schoolhouse was a mile and a half from the asylum, an easy walk when we had a warm September sun to travel along with us. In the winter horses would take us on a sleigh. As we walked along the country road, we passed a farmhouse where three horses stood close together in a field. They were always in the same place and seemed to watch for us, following us with their eyes, their long necks turning as we passed by. Somehow, even though I missed Eleanor so badly, the patient horses made me feel better. They were always there.
After the farmhouse we came to an apple orchard where a few red apples still hung on the trees. Beyond the orchard was a field planted with winter wheat. Though the other fields were brown stubble, this one was spring green and hopeful. Beyond it were some woods. We caught sight of the deer bounding among the trees, and once a red fox with a bushy tail darted across our path. After the woods was the farmhouse where our teacher, Miss Long, boarded.
The schoolhouse was red brick with gray smudges where we sharpened our pencils on the bricks. In the back were a woodshed, a privy, and a well for drinking water. All twelve grades were taught in one large room. The kindergartners sat up in the front of the schoolroom, and the older students in the back, although some of the older boys were helping with the harvest and would be slow in returning to school. On the wall behind Miss Long’s desk was the blackboard and, above it, pictures of President Washington and President Lincoln with the American flag between them. There was a stove in the middle of the room, but the weather was still warm, and the stove hadn’t been lighted.
Miss Long wasn’t much older than the high school students. With her serious expression, her hair pinned up, and her long skirts, she looked like a young girl playing at dress-up. I felt sorry for Miss Long, always having to live in someone else’s house. Once when I stayed inside to clean the blackboard and she was outside settling an argument between two boys, I saw a list on her desk labeled RULES FOR TEACHERS:
You must be home by 8:00 P.M.
You will not marry during the term of your contract.
You are not to keep company with men.
You may not loiter in ice cream stores.
You may not dress in bright colors.
You must wear at least two petticoats.
I thought of Eleanor’s word eingeschlossen, shut in. With such rules to bother her, it was no wonder Miss Long’s expression was solemn.
Carlie and the other first graders were called up to the front of the room in the morning for their spelling recitation; then it was the second graders’ turn, and so on through the grades. I found it difficult to concentrate on learning my Latin declensions and the Constitution when I had to sit all day long listening to recitations of things I already knew. The classroom was warm and stuffy, and it was hard not to fall asleep. There was no clock, but I could tell from the shadows that moved from Miss Long’s desk to the firewood box to the water pail and dipper how close it was to the end of the school day.
When I complained to Papa, he sat me down at the dining room table every night and, placing his pocket watch on the table, gave an hour to drilling me on my Latin and history. He took time with Carlie as well, going over her lessons and admiring her pictures of houses with the sun shining on them. He knew we missed Eleanor and tried to make up for it, but I could see from the way he kept glancing at his watch that he longed to be in his study working on The Closed Door.
I had looked forward to school. Though I loved my sister, I longed to be friends with someone my own age, so I was happy to see that besides me there were two other girls in seventh grade, Norma and Alice. There was also a boy, John Walters. John’s family lived on the farm with the horses, and he sometimes joined up with Carlie and me in the morning, but when we got close to the school, he ran ahead so that the other boys wouldn’t see him walking with girls. He reminded me of his horses, for he had a lock of blond hair that fell over his forehead like a forelock and a quiet, patient way about him. He didn’t say much, but he listened hard. When I told him how I liked his horses, he said one day he might let me ride one. John and his father helped with the asylum’s corn harvest every year, working in the fields with the patients.
At first Norma and Alice shared gossip with me about the other students—how Sarah Clark and William Rush kissed on a dare and how Mary Lee put lemon juice on her hair and sat in the sun to make it more yellow—but they wanted gossip from me in return. They had heard where I lived, and they coaxed me for
stories about the patients. People like John and his father who had worked at the asylum knew what the asylum was really like, but others who had nothing to do with it imagined all kinds of strange things.
Norma asked, “Do you have anything to do with the patients?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Is the asylum a dangerous place to live?” Alice wanted to know.
“No.”
“What if the patients escaped?” Norma asked.
“Most of them walk around wherever they please.”
The girls were disappointed when I had no horror stories. They didn’t believe me when I said you couldn’t always tell patients from people who just worked at the asylum. Alice asked, “Are you sure your father is a doctor and not a patient? ”
At first I had eaten my lunch with Norma and Alice, but now they took their lunch pails and ate with some sixth graders. I saw them looking at me and whispering. I sat under a tree by myself and made up stories that I was sure Norma and Alice would like to hear, stories about wild men and women at the asylum who jumped out from behind the trees and chased you. If I told such stories, they would be eager to be friends with me, but if I told lies like that, how could I face Louis or Mrs. Luth or all the other people in the asylum? Most of all, how could I have faced Eleanor? Eleanor was always on my mind, a singing bird hidden high in a treetop.
One afternoon Carlie ran over to me at recess time, crying. “Someone pinned a note on my back, and I can’t reach it. Take it off.” She wriggled as if a poisonous bug had latched onto her.
Printed on the paper were the words “I BELONG IN THE CRAZY HOUSE.” I unpinned the paper, my hands shaking with anger. Carlie looked at the paper. “What does it say? I haven’t had those words in spelling.”
“Never mind. Who pinned it on you?” She pointed to Albert, an eighth grader. He was one of the boys who often had to sit up on the front benches with the little children for throwing spitballs or making rude remarks when someone had to be excused to go outdoors to the privy.
Albert towered over me, but I didn’t care. I marched up to him and stuck the note under his nose. “Did you put this on my sister?”
“What if I did?” Albert grinned and looked around to see if his wit had been appreciated.
John, who was watching, said, “You leave those girls alone.”
Albert looked with a smirk at the others on the playground who had gathered around us. “You telling me what to do?”
“You bet I am.” John moved in closer to Albert. Albert pushed him away. John pushed back. In a minute they were rolling around on the ground, pounding on each other. Miss Long appeared with a pail of water, which she threw on them. The rolling around stopped, and they both sat up, wiping the water from their eyes with their fists.
Miss Long said, “Dry yourselves off, and then go and sit with the kindergartners, where the two of you belong. I expected better things of you, John.”
Hurriedly I said, “It wasn’t John’s fault. Albert pinned this on the back of my little sister.” I held out the evil paper.
Miss Long glanced at it. “That was very wrong of Albert, but John must learn that ungentlemanly behavior will settle nothing.”
As usual, John ignored us as we left school, but Carlie and I waited for him at his farm. As he turned in to his path, I said, “I’m sorry you got in trouble over us.”
“That’s all right. I’ve been wanting to get after Albert for a long time.”
“You said you would let me ride one of your horses.”
He grinned. “You’re putting me to a lot of trouble today. All right, come on while I drop off my books, and then I’ll saddle one up.”
“What about me?” Carlie asked. “The paper was pinned to my back.”
“You can get up on the horse to see what it’s like, but you’re too small to take one out for a ride.”
A couple of collies that had been sitting on the back porch of the farmhouse raced to greet John, their tongues hanging out, their tails beating the air. He pushed his way past them and held open the screen to the back door, motioning us in. Mrs. Walters had been canning, and the kitchen was hot and steamy. She paused from putting jars of pears into a kettle of boiling water and wiped the perspiration from her face with the dish towel. “Come on in. You must be the girls from the asylum. John told me about you. John, give the girls a piece of pie and a glass of milk. I can’t leave this kettle while it’s on the boil.” She gave the pears a critical look. “These pears are full of worms, and digging the worms out has spoiled the look of them. I hear you’ve got some fine orchards over at the asylum.”
Before I could answer, Mrs. Walters started talking again. I guessed why John didn’t say much. Probably he never got the chance.
“I’ve got a friend whose farm is next to the Millers’. Their Eleanor worked for you. Mrs. Miller told me you lost your mother. I don’t know anything sadder than that. I suppose you got someone to look after you now, but it isn’t like your real mother. John, not the apple pie. That’s left over from last night’s supper. Look in the pantry. There’s a lemon meringue just baked this morning.”
I looked for a way to say something, but Mrs. Walters kept talking, so I followed John and Carlie’s example and just worked on the pie, which was delicious.
Mrs. Walters was saying, “It’s too bad about Eleanor Miller. My friend says Eleanor is in a bad way again. She doesn’t say a word to anyone, just sits staring into space. Her ma wants her to go back to the asylum, but her dad won’t let her. He blames the people at the asylum. He says they ruined her.”
I choked on my pie. Eleanor was sick again, and no one had said anything to us.
Carlie stopped eating. Her face crumpled, and she began to cry.
Mrs. Walter looked surprised. “I guess I talked out of turn. I thought you would know about Eleanor.”
John hadn’t been paying attention to his mother’s words, but now he could see she had upset us, and looking for a way to get us outside, he said, “I’ll pick up the saddle and take you out to the horses.”
Mrs. Walters ladled the boiling syrup into the jars of pears. She warned, “If you let them get up on a horse, be sure it’s Star. She’s the most gentle.”
“Thanks very much,” I said. “I think we’d better go home. Maybe we could come back some other time.”
I took Carlie’s hand and started for the door.
John looked hurt. He followed us to the road. “It was probably something Ma said. She talks so much, she’s bound to get around to saying something she shouldn’t.”
“No, it’s not your mother’s fault. It’s just that when Eleanor left us, she was nearly all better. I’ve got to find out what happened.” I snatched Carlie’s hand and began running. Over my shoulder I called, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Carlie and I couldn’t wait for Papa to get home from the asylum but met him on his way. He looked from me to Carlie. “What’s the matter, girls?”
I repeated Mrs. Walters’s story. Papa was half angry, half worried. “She must come back to the asylum,” he said. “She mustn’t stay there with that impossible father of hers.” Papa stopped himself. “I shouldn’t have spoken of her father in that way. I was only thinking aloud.”
“You have to go and get Eleanor,” I said.
“No, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Please, Papa,” Carlie said. “Eleanor’s sick. John’s mama said so.”
“Carlie, a doctor can’t go storming into a home and take away a patient, and I’m afraid it would amount to that.”
“Then what will happen?” I pleaded, “We have to do something.”
“I’ll speak to her doctor. In the meantime let’s hope her family will realize what is needed.”
But Eleanor’s father thought the asylum had ruined Eleanor. He would never let her come back. I decided that if Papa would not go get Eleanor, I would.
ELEVEN
Papa didn’t leave for the asylum until after Carlie and I left f
or school. I started off with Carlie as usual, knowing that if I said I wasn’t feeling well, Papa would return during the day to check on me; besides, I didn’t want to have to tell him another lie. Carlie and I were nearly at the schoolhouse when I stopped suddenly and clutched my stomach.
Carlie stared at me. “What’s the matter?”
“I have a stomachache. You go ahead. I’m going to rest a little, and then I’m going back home.”
“I’ll stay with you until you’re better.”
“No. Just tell the teacher I don’t feel well.”
Carlie looked puzzled. “You were all right until just now.”
“Stomachaches can come on suddenly. Just go ahead and let me be.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Carlie, don’t argue. You’ll be late for school.”
“You don’t look like you’re sick. You look like you’re going to do something and you don’t want to tell me what it is.”
“If you must know, I’m going to see what’s wrong with Eleanor. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”
“I’m going too.”
“No, you are not.”
Carlie stuck her chin out. “Yes, I am.”
I saw that there was no use arguing with her. “All right, but you have to swear to do just what I say.” Before I even finished my sentence, Carlie was running down the road on the way to Eleanor’s farm.
By eleven o’clock we had covered the nine miles and were turning onto the Millers’ road. The farm was familiar from our visit, but now it had a hushed look. The windows and doors of the farmhouse were shut. It was fall, and everything had stopped growing; even the animals were silent. We stood at the gate. Carlie pulled at me, but I had thought only this far. I didn’t know what to do next. When I didn’t move, Carlie ran up to the back door and called Eleanor’s name. The door opened, and Mrs. Miller stood there staring at us, her hand over her mouth as if she were afraid she would cry out. She looked around quickly and then pulled us inside.