The House of Closed Doors (14 page)

FIFTEEN

W
inter still held us hostage when April arrived. A few patches of miserable yellowed grass showed through the tired snow, and the Farm rang with the sounds of livestock impatient to regain the fresh air.

Leaving Sarah with Lizzie, I dressed myself in my warmest clothing to enter the insane wing and urged Tess to do the same. Her job was to note down measurements as I called them out. A large, flabby man called Jimmy had been assigned to help me measure, as Blackie was needed elsewhere.

Mrs. Lombardi, warmly wrapped in a red wool coat and plaid beret, fitted a key into the elaborate lock of the insane wing door and turned it. The well-oiled lock moved easily; Jimmy put his large, soft hands to the handle and pulled the door toward us.

It swung open without the slightest creak and an unpleasant, musty smell filled our nostrils. Mrs. Lombardi sniffed, a worried expression on her face.

“It smells damp, somehow. Different than the last time we came in here.” She took a few steps forward, peering along the corridor. “I hope the roof is not leaking. The last time we visited this wing was in September, wasn’t it?”

“Just before you were so sick, Mrs. Lombardi,” said Tess. “I missed you when you stayed at home.”

“I missed you too, Tess,” said Mrs. Lombardi, smiling fondly.

Closed doors lined the long corridor. Our breath steamed on the cold air, and I pushed my hands into my pockets.

“Are the doors locked?” I was anxious to get done with this gloomy place as quickly as possible.

“They are closed, not locked. In case there are insects or vermin. Tess, write down what we tell you about any work that needs to be done.” Tess nodded vigorously, her eyes on Mrs. Lombardi.

“Ten rooms for the ladies,”‌—‌Tess’s pencil moved carefully across the paper, and Mrs. Lombardi gave her time to write‌—‌“and six for the staff. The padded cells,” she turned to address me, “can be converted into storage rooms, and there are two large washrooms at the far end.”

“Those are prison doors,” I said, eyeing the one nearest to us with distaste. “I would not like to sleep in a room with those doors, even if they remained unlocked.”

“Blackie can put on ordinary door handles instead of those iron plates and locks. It will give the wing a much more homey feel.”

Mrs. Lombardi swung the first door open. A bare room with an iron bedstead greeted us. Cobwebs in the barred windows were the only signs of life.

We measured the windows in each room‌—‌they were not all the same size‌—‌and inspected it for damp or cracks in the plaster. On the whole, the rooms were in good condition and needed only a few alterations to make them pleasant. There were, to be sure, bars on the windows, but the locks could be taken off the casements to admit fresh air. “After all, this is no worse than many a nursery,” was Mrs. Lombardi’s remark.

I did not like the rooms. Some of the beds still had restraints on them, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the sight.

We reached the four padded cells without finding any evidence of damp, rot, or insects. The doors of these last four cells fitted very tightly on account of the padding, and Jimmy had to tug hard to get them open. The padding was torn and streaked here and there with brownish marks. I shuddered, thinking of all the possible reasons for those marks. Were the inmates punished in those days?

The third cell that we opened had a particularly recalcitrant door. Jimmy braced his fat leg against the doorjamb, wrapped both hands around the handle, and tugged with all his might. The door gave, swung open, and something fell out into the corridor. Jimmy jumped back and uttered a word I was surprised he knew.

A noise behind me made me look around. Mrs. Lombardi had crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

I
fell to my knees next to Mrs. Lombardi, ignoring the object in the doorway. Behind me, Jimmy was making a sound like “AAaaaaAAAAaaaaAAAAaaa”; I did not know whether he was upset or laughing. Tess was stuttering words that sounded like “Jo” and “Bey.”

“Jimmy!” I said sharply to the young man. “Be silent at once. This is helping no one.”

He fell silent, and at the same time Mrs. Lombardi began to stir. I shuffled around on my knees so that I was between her and the object, making very sure no part of me touched it.

Mrs. Lombardi opened her eyes and pushed herself into a sitting position.

“Are you all right?” I asked anxiously. “Perhaps you should not stand up just yet.”

“I’m sorry,” she said incongruously. “That was a body.”

“I know,” I said. I did not want to look at it.

“It’s Jo Ma, Mrs. Lombardi. And her little baby,” said Tess.

That got me to my feet, and I turned to face the body. Bodies.

The larger one had been a young woman, wearing a green-striped dress and brown jacket. She had on a muffler, gloves, and knitted hat, from which pale blonde hair escaped in wisps and curls. She would have been shorter even than Tess.

Most of her face was left; only the lips had withered back from her teeth, while the rest had become something resembling leather. A large stain on the floorboards showed where she had lain, huddled up against the door. It was so cold in the insane wing that there was no strong smell, just the musty odor we had all noticed.

Still clutched in its mother’s arms, a little wizened face peeped out from a bundle of blankets, withered eyes half-closed in eternal sleep.

I felt quite calm and detached at that moment. “There have not been any maggots.” I had seen enough dead animals on the prairie to understand decay.

Mrs. Lombardi rose to her feet. Her voice trembled, but she made an effort to pull herself together.

“You are right, Nell. But she could only have been here since the cold weather started. It was cold that day… but I had a fever; I was hot and cold at once. I do not understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I am certain that I accompanied Jo and her baby to the cart that was to take them to Chicago. Dear God, what happened?”

“Maybe she ran away from you, Mrs. Lombardi. Maybe she hid.” Tess had retreated behind me so she could not see the bodies.

Mrs. Lombardi furrowed her brow and sighed. “Jimmy, go and find Blackie. The two of you go to Mr. Ostrander’s house‌—‌if he is not already somewhere on the Farm. Blackie will know.”

Jimmy shot off down the corridor faster than I would have expected.

“Tess, will you go find Edie?” Mrs. Lombardi laid a hand on Tess’s arm. “Tell her we need coverings: good, clean sheets. You may tell her what has happened but nobody else. And then go check on little Sarah.”

I knew I would soon have to nurse my baby. But I also knew that Mrs. Lombardi’s request to Tess was designed to keep her from returning to the distressing scene before us.

“Nell, will you stay with me?” Mrs. Lombardi said. Her beautiful face was marred by two deep lines between her brows, and her hands hung limply as she stared at the bodies. “Just until Mr. Ostrander comes. I feel so guilty‌—‌I have done a terrible wrong.”

T
he expressions on the faces of the three men were strangely incongruous. Jimmy seemed placid and detached, Blackie guarded and unemotional. Mr. Ostrander’s face was twisted into a grimace that reminded me of a mask from Greek tragedy.

Mrs. Lombardi knelt by the bodies, praying. I bowed my head, listening to her melodious voice asking earnestly for forgiveness for some sin of negligence and fastened my eyes on the corpses. How did they die? There were no marks of violence or even of struggle to leave the room. The padding on the door was intact.

Hunger or thirst may have caused the demise of these two, but I doubted it. There was something about the way that the young woman was curled up, as if sleeping, which recalled the descriptions that Bet had given me of my father’s body. I hoped I was right and that the easy death of cold had been the end of the little fair woman and her baby.

Mr. Ostrander did not wait for Mrs. Lombardi to finish her prayer. “A body, Mrs. Lombardi,” he gasped. “A body! And a baby too! How can this possibly be? What am I going to tell the Board of Governors?” The pallor of his face made the large brownish blotches on his forehead and left cheek stand out unpleasantly.

Mrs. Lombardi’s lips compressed. “This is Johanna Mauer, Mr. Ostrander,” she said, indicating the remains on the floor, “and baby Benjamin.” Mr. Ostrander did not react; I wondered if he already knew their identity or if he cared at all.

“We should send an orderly to the town for the constable.” This got Mr. Ostrander’s attention; he stared at Mrs. Lombardi as if she had gone insane.

“For an idiot girl and her bastard?”

Mrs. Lombardi’s teeth positively gritted. Blackie winced and began humming softly. Mr. Ostrander took a step backward under the combined force of our glares. “No, no, you are right. But it’s clear what happened. She locked herself in.” He twisted his sandy beard tightly around his index finger.

“Even so,” said Mrs. Lombardi in a tight voice. “We‌—‌I have failed her in some way I cannot fathom.” Her voice hardened. “Before we worry about what we tell our governors, let us make arrangements to give these poor creatures Christian burial. I will then write a full report, and if I am to blame in any way, I will bear any responsibility I must.”

SIXTEEN