Chapter One-1
2282 Words
Chapter One
Lucretia gripped the back of the chair and took a deep breath, the corset pressing in on her waist and chest as she tried not to breathe. “Ow!” she winced. It hurt, but it was the pain of one more inch her waist had been cinched and well worth the discomfort. “That’s enough,” she said with a gasp.
She’d chosen the blue dress for today’s outing. As she waited for her slave to get the rest of the dress out of the wardrobe, Lucy peeked out the window and across the road. Heads covered with tight, woolen hair and straw hats or handkerchiefs bobbled up and down in the field beyond. Joe, the overseer, dressed in khaki colored trousers and a white shirt, sat tall and proud on the huge chestnut stud. The butt of a rifle rested on his hip while a whip hung on the opposite thigh.
Behind her, Dinah spread Lucretia’s hoop and over-skirts and, finally, the blue dress itself out on the bed. It was such a chore to get dressed. Lucretia secretly wished she could forget all about being a proper Virginia lady and run naked through the house and fields. Even more thrilling would be to run down to the creek and swim with nothing between her skin and the water. What a delicious scandal that would cause! The very idea made her skin go all goose-bumped and her heart quickened. Joe moved the horse with ease down the rows of potatoes that the slaves harvested. Without even realizing it, Lucy gave a soft moan when she saw the sun reflecting on the black leather boots he always wore.
“Too tight, Miss Lucy?”
“Hmm?” Lucretia snapped out of her daydream.
“You sounded like you was in pain, Miss. Your corset too tight?” Dinah set the closed hoops down on the floor for Lucy to step into then pulled them up into a bell-shaped cascade of fabric. She quickly began adjusting everything until it was smooth and flawless before turning to get the first overskirt.
“No such thing as too tight a corset, girl. You know that.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” After the first and second overskirt, Dinah held up the dress so Lucy could push her arms up through the puffy sleeves. “Where is Father taking me today? Do you know?”
The slave carefully slipped each of the buttons into its place at the back of her Mistress’ dress. “Heard him say something to your mother ‘bouts a new doctor just the other side of the city.”
Lucretia scowled and nearly stomped her foot. “It’s not a doctor I need! Can’t Father see that? It’s a husband!” She was tired to death of all the doctors she’d been taken to for the past five years. They didn’t do a thing to quiet her restlessness or anxiety. She’d had her fill of herbal teas and special medicines that did little other than make her sleepy. It was all so pointless and a waste of the family money. “Oh, stop looking so frightened, fool girl. Go and tell Father I’ll be right down.”
Lucretia went again to her window to watch Joe. Eyes riveted to the whip that lay coiled on his thigh; she shivered and felt that uneasy knot in her stomach that almost always meant she was going to be ill again. There was no doubt why the slaves were afraid of Joe with a whip like that. She’d never seen him use it, but Lucretia was certain he knew how.
Twenty minutes later she was in the back of her father’s best buggy, sitting at his side. He was a gruff, heavy-set man who demanded respect and obedience from all his “ladies” as he called Lucretia and her mother. “I don’t see how this doctor is going to be any better than the rest.”
“Oh, he’s a very different kind of doctor, Lucy.”
They rolled along the dirt road several minutes before she commented again. “What makes him so different?”
“He’s trained in New Orleans and Europe. Learned some new techniques for ladies with your condition, I am told.”
Lucretia wasn’t sure what her condition was other than she was twenty years old already and unmarried. “Like what?”
“French techniques. Some nobleman in France had a certain way of doing things.”
“French?” Lucretia thought for a while. “Is he French then?”
By the sound of his exhale, her father was growing tired of the questions. “No, I do not believe he is French.”
“How did you hear about him?”
His coal black eyes turned to look at her. There would be no further questions on this subject, they told her.
Lucretia leaned back, turning her parasol at a better angle to block the sun. No more questions. She hated when he silenced her like this. The rest of the trip passed in uncomfortable silence although, inside, she seethed with curiosity about this new and mysterious doctor.
On the eastern side of Winchester and several miles from the city itself the houses were spaced very far apart. The nearest neighbors anyone had were a mile or more away. Lucretia leaned forward, straining to see the house they approached through thick foliage.
Twin, square columns painted ghost white and topped with massive cast iron planters stood guard on either side of an iron gate into which had been worked an impressive letter ‘A’. Vines poured from the tops of the planters and reached out in opposing directions. Their delicate stalks twisted along the top of the fencing to create a thick, tangled drapery of vines and leaves. If they had ever been trimmed, Lucy considered, it was not within her lifetime. Behind the fence, two more sentinels loomed tall and foreboding in the guise of sweeping, gray Dutch Elms. Their yellow-tainted leaves shivered in the wind.
Further back stood the house. A ripple of fear stroked Lucy’s spine and set the hairs of her arms on end. Bone white with black shutters, the front facade boasted a wrap around porch with thick, lathed spindles on the railings. Half a dozen steps led up to a wide door topped with a fan window and glass side panels. Two more urns, like the ones atop the front columns, squatted on either side of the front door.
As they passed between the elms, Lucy turned her attention to the right. A single s********m of some sort jutted out from the main body of the house. Solid colored drapes prevented any chance of seeing what was inside. In fact, Lucy noticed, all the drapes of the house were tightly shut against the sunny day. To the left another addition, this of white-washed brick, stood. It had a tower-like feel about it though its roof was no higher than that of the main part of the house. More of the familiar vines spread their long, greedy fingers around the corner and had worked their way halfway across the front, almost touching the narrow windows.
Wisteria grew at random lengths over the porch while shrubs stood tall and jagged at the corners as if someone had forgotten to clip them all summer. In the center of the circular carriageway they now rounded, a scantily clad statue of a woman stood poised above a rose brier gone wild. The few blossoms that remained attached were dead and withered. This was the home of a doctor? Lucretia looked around unsure; but, in some peculiar way, she was charmed by the feral energy of the place. This was madness on the outskirts of civility. It made her smile as she shivered for a second time.
Two other carriages with their horses waited in the wide driveway. Lucy didn’t recognize either of the gentlemen who leaned against the porch railing, cigars clenched between their teeth. Their conversation lulled as Lucy and her father alighted to the ground. With a tip of his hat and a nod, Lucy’s father acknowledged the men who resumed their chat with a soft, knowing laugh between them.
As her father directed her to the side door of the sprawling front veranda, the door that clearly would take them into what she considered a tower, Lucy noticed that the back yard of the house was completely shut off from the front by a very high, brick wall. Like the house and grounds, this wall was choked with vines and a thrilling sense of secrecy. More rampant rose bushes created a formidable layer of thorns in front of the wall. Had she been allowed, Lucretia would have run to that wall and climbed the vines to see what was beyond it. Instead, she followed her father through the door and into what appeared to be a side parlor.
A strange, medicinal smell nearly made her faint. Lucretia shuddered and placed her hand protectively over her nose and mouth. “Oh,” her father said seeing her reaction. “Doctor Addams is also an embalming surgeon.” The knot in Lucy’s stomach twisted.
The small waiting room they entered was simply decorated. It was very quiet and except for one other woman who looked even more uncomfortable than Lucretia felt, they were alone. Lucretia caught the glassy, desperate look in this other’s eye and quickly looked away. Was this what she looked like? She hoped not. This patient rocked ever so slightly in the wooden chair, twisting a small handkerchief in her delicate hands.
“Go and sit, Lucy.” Lucretia found a chair as far from this anxiety-riddled woman as she possibly could. Her father rang a small bell beside a tiny sliding door in the wall. The door slid open, and he made known their arrival to whoever it was on the other side. Lucretia heard a woman’s soft voice and assumed it was some sort of nurse assistant. No sooner was he seated beside her than the only interior door opened and another woman emerged. If there were ever two people of completely opposite disposition, then these two other patients were it. This second woman glowed with health and happiness. She smiled at the two of them, nodded and passed by, slipping into her bonnet before she left. The first patient practically leaped to her feet when the door opened again and she was called in.
“I have already met with the doctor, Lucy,” her father spoke in a low voice. “You will go with the nurse alone when she comes for you and you will do as she tells you and as the doctor directs. Is that clear?”
Lucretia rose to her feet, suddenly furious. He spoke to her as if she were still a ten-year-old little girl. “How dare you?”
“Sit down, Lucy.” Her father remained calm but commanding.
She did not sit. “I am a grown woman. I can decide for myself what I will and will not do.”
This time her father rose, “And I am your father. You still live under my roof and I still decide what you will and will not do.” His face was livid with rage. “Now, sit down and act like the lady you pretend to be so well!”
Still, she did not sit. “Pretend to be!?” Had he been any other man but her father she would have slapped him in an instant. “My own father insults me so! My own father! I will not stay here any longer. I will not see this strange physician you have brought me to! He shall have to embalm me before I allow him to lay one hand on me alive!”
Her father’s strong, pudgy digits pressed into her bicep and forced her back to her seat. He had never struck her in anger; but, by the looks of it, she’d not put it past him now. Lucretia remained seated; her body flushed and trembling with rage. “You will stay and you will do as you are told! If you do not I will have you sent to the nearest sanitarium.” He was dead serious. Lucretia had heard tell of those wretched places full of the insane. “These hysterical fits of yours are known by half the city, my dear. None would blame me for such an action. Now, I suggest you see Dr. Addams and submit to his examination and treatment. It’s either that or I shall ship you elsewhere.”
She wanted to scream at him and rip her hair out by the root. She was not crazy! She was not like those other women! How could he consider sending his daughter and only child to such a terrible place? Lucretia’s eyes burned with tears of insult and pain. Her teeth clenched and she held her hands tightly to her lap. The tightness in her stomach grew to an almost unbearable level. She felt she would pass out or vomit, or both.
“Miss Borgia, the doctor will see you next.” A woman dressed in a plain gray dress and smooth pressed apron stood in the doorway waiting.
Maybe I am crazy, Lucretia’s mind whispered. Her frustration was so intense she could barely stand. At any moment, she just knew she’d collapse to the floor, but her feet moved forward as the woman took her arm. How could she stop this trembling inside? What was he going to do to her? If only she could get the shaking to stop for a moment, she knew she’d be able to think clearly and not be so frightened.
Beyond the door that separated the two areas was a long hallway. The bell of her skirt brushed against the walls on either side and a sweet smell of high-end leather filled her nostrils. Somehow it calmed and excited her in the same breath. The woman, who Lucy reckoned was Mulatto; opened one of the doors and introduced Lucretia to the room beyond. There was a folding dressing shade in the corner and a leather-bound fainting sofa against one wall. The hardwood floor was covered with a colorful Persian rug. No light shone through the closed drapes while opposite the sofa stood a massive dressing closet.
“The doctor will want you to undress, at least down to your drawers and chemise.”
Lucretia’s blood ran cold. “I don’t think so.”
The woman smiled an oh-so-wicked smile. “Suit yourself.”
“I shall,” Lucretia sat on the sofa and folded her hands on her lap. “I shall suit myself.”
“We’ll see about that.” She left, closing the door firmly as she went.
- Writer
