CHAPTER 25
Margot met Dr. Creedy at the door to Aunt Adelaide’s ward and greeted him. “Father asked me to tell you how much we appreciate your help with this situation.”
Creedy nodded. “Of course, Margot. You don’t mind if I call you Margot?” He smiled at her with the familiarity of long acquaintance. “After all,” he said, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his white coat, “I’ve known you since you were a toddler.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m grateful you’re here to explain things to my aunt and uncle. I doubt they see me as fully qualified.”
“Families are like that,” Creedy said. “My mother never let me prescribe anything for her, much less examine her! But I’m happy to help. The Benedicts are keeping me busy these days.”
“I know. Here’s my uncle now. I’ll introduce you, and we can go in.”
Uncle Henry looked wary as he shook Creedy’s hand, and the look he directed at Margot could only be called truculent. They went into the ward, and Margot asked the nurse to bring them a privacy screen. Adelaide was sitting up in bed, her arm in its cast supported by a sling, with a thick pillow under her elbow. Without the cosmetics she always wore, and with her hair lying loose on her shoulders, she looked younger. Softer, somehow. Margot could see, also, that she was frightened.
She touched her hand. “Aunt Adelaide, how do you feel this morning?”
“Why are you all here?” Adelaide asked in her reedy voice. Her eyes flicked from one to another of them, and Margot thought it must look like an inquisition to her. “What’s the matter?”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Margot said. She turned to Henry. “Uncle Henry, why don’t you bring that chair over so you can sit beside Aunt Adelaide? Dr. Creedy wants to talk to both of you.”
When Henry was settled, she moved to the end of the bed to let Creedy manage the consultation. As he talked, she watched her aunt’s fear dissolve into resistance, and then denial. Her face set in stubborn lines. Henry’s eyes darted from side to side, as if he were trying to escape, as if he didn’t want to hear any of it.
Creedy was good, speaking in clear, simple language. He mentioned the osteoporosis, and the poor condition of Adelaide’s teeth. He described the heart murmur he had detected, and discussed the possibility of anaemia.
“These could all have different causes, Mrs. Benedict,” Dr. Creedy said. “But in my view, the simplest explanation is usually the right one. Because of your extremely low body weight, I think my diagnosis is correct. You’re exhibiting symptoms of malnutrition.”
“What’s that?”
“Malnutrition, Aunt Adelaide,” Margot said quietly. “Starvation.”
“Ridiculous!” Henry erupted. He seemed to select Margot as the troublemaker. “That’s a preposterous thing to say. No one is starving in my house.”
Margot gave him an exasperated look. “Uncle Henry, two people are starving in your house. Why don’t you see that?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Adelaide said, “I’m not starving! I eat perfectly well.”
“If that’s the case, Mrs. Benedict, then we should conduct other tests to assess why you’re not absorbing nutrition from your meals.”
Henry said, “Margot, why did you say two people?”
A burst of impatience made Margot snappish. “Have you looked at your daughter recently?”
Dr. Creedy raised his eyebrows at this, but did Margot the courtesy of letting the conversation continue. Henry said, with the air of someone much put upon, “I don’t have any idea what you mean.”
Adelaide said, “Allison is slender, as a young girl should be. I’ve made sure of that.”
“How?” Margot demanded. She realized she had put her hands on her hips, like an angry parent, but she didn’t bother to correct the posture. “Tell me, Aunt Adelaide. How have you made sure?”
Adelaide sniffed. “That’s between a mother and a daughter. I think I know what’s best for my—”
“Stop it,” Margot said firmly. “You’ve made yourself ill—how, I don’t know, but I expect between us, Dr. Creedy and I will figure it out. I won’t have you making Cousin Allison ill as well.”
Creedy rose at that and beckoned to Margot. She followed him past the screen and on to the far side of the ward, where a nurse was preparing medication trays. Creedy leaned against the wall and pushed his spectacles higher on his nose. “What’s this about a daughter? Does she have the same symptoms?”
“Extreme thinness. Probably amenorrhea, although she hasn’t confessed that. Oh, and quite low blood pressure. She fainted a few weeks ago.”
“What do you think it is, Doctor?”
Margot didn’t realize at first that he had called her by her title. She was too absorbed by the problem before them, the puzzle to be solved. She said, “Allison has been living at Benedict Hall for two months. I noticed how thin she was, of course, and then realized she wasn’t eating her meals. Our cook was upset, and I was worried. Have you read the studies on a condition called anorexia nervosa? The studies are French and German—they’re hardly exhaustive, but Pierre Janet seems to have done the best work. His opinion is that it’s a psychological condition. He distinguishes two types—obsessive and hysterical. I didn’t know which might apply to Allison, but listening to her mother just now—”
Creedy was nodding, rubbing his upper lip with a forefinger. “We could ask one of the psychology men, but obsessive seems to fit. So the girl—how old?”
“Nineteen.”
“Young Allison starves herself, and Mrs. Benedict has some other way to make herself thin.”
“I should mention the Simmonds opinion about pituitary insufficiency as a cause for extreme weight loss, but I found a paucity of clinical evidence. His paper didn’t convince me.”
“I haven’t read it, but I’ll take your word for that, Doctor.” Creedy pushed away from the wall. “I’ll test your aunt for anaemia, and recommend she see her own physician for the heart murmur. If both Mr. and Mrs. Benedict deny there’s a problem, I don’t know if there’s anything further we can do.”
“I’d like to keep Allison at Benedict Hall, though. She was getting much better—that is, she was until her parents arrived.”
He considered this, alternately pulling on his lip and pushing at his spectacles. Finally, he said, “I could recommend a rest cure for Mrs. Benedict. I believe there are a number of reliable places in California. Expensive, though.”
“I don’t think the money’s a concern.”
“Good. Well, if Mrs. Benedict takes a cure, no doubt the two of them would be willing to leave their daughter with your branch of the family. You can call me if the girl doesn’t continue to improve.”
As they walked back to the patient’s bedside, Margot felt the knot of worry that had been tightening in her belly begin to release. Perhaps, somehow, they would find a way through this.
The whole family was at lunch when Henry and Margot returned. Allison tensed at the sound of her father’s voice in the hall, but when he came into the dining room, he looked subdued, and said little beyond greeting Aunt Edith and Cousin Ramona. Uncle Dickson said, “How did things go at the hospital?”
Henry said only, “Fine. Creedy’s a good man.”
At this, Uncle Dickson raised his eyebrows at Cousin Margot, but she—looking more rested than she had in days—only gave a small shrug. She felt Allison’s gaze on her and winked across the table. Allison’s cheeks warmed with pleasure. They were friends now, she thought. They had been through a great adventure—well, a tragedy, of course, poor Cousin Preston!—but they had come through it together, with Major Parrish to help, and everything was going to be fine.
Aunt Edith was just as she always was, composed, well groomed, inattentive. Cousin Ramona had roses in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye, and Allison was sure she was so happy about the coming baby that even her sorrow for Preston couldn’t spoil her mood. Cousin Dick and Uncle Dickson had gone to their office this morning, but come home for lunch, and Hattie had made a special effort. There was a shepherd’s pie, hot and filling on this icy December day, and silver baskets filled with hot bread. The Christmas tree had been delivered, and rested now in all its piney fragrance on the back porch, ready to be brought in on Christmas Eve. Fat new candles, red as rubies, waited to be lighted at dinner, and someone—Leona, Allison suspected, who had the most initiative of all the maids—had made twists of greenery down the center of the table. They filled the dining room with spicy scent.
Allison collected her thoughts enough to ask politely, “How is Mother, Papa?”
This might have been an opening for him to chastise her again for causing the injury, but he looked distracted and uncertain. He said, “Your mother is going to need a long rest, Allison. Dr. Creedy recommended a place he knows in Monterey.”
“Oh! California,” she said.
“We’ll speak about it after lunch.”
Uncle Dickson leaned forward. “Henry. If Adelaide is going to take a cure, why not leave Allison with us? We’ve enjoyed having her so much.”
Allison held her breath. It was said so easily, as if it didn’t mean everything in the world.
Her father said, with his customary scowl, “I don’t want my daughter to be a burden, Dickson.”
Cousin Dick, with a grin at Allison, said, “That could never happen, Uncle Henry. We’ll put her to work.”
Margot said, “You know, Uncle Henry, Allison could take some classes at the University. I did my undergraduate work there. They have excellent courses for young women.”
Allison squirmed in her chair and twisted her fingers together to keep from begging.
On any normal day, under ordinary circumstances, this would have been Henry Benedict’s cue to expound on the pointlessness of higher education for girls. In Benedict Hall, with his accomplished niece sitting just across the table, this avenue of argument was closed to him. Allison could have predicted that.
What surprised her, what she would never have predicted, was the hesitance in his answer. It was unlike her father to doubt himself, but whatever it was that had happened this morning, he clearly doubted himself now.
He said, “Very kind of you. All of you. It might be . . . that is, with Adelaide away, and only Ruby . . .”
Cousin Ramona said sweetly, and pointedly, “Oh, won’t that be marvelous, Cousin Allison? When the baby comes, you’ll be here to help!”
Angela Rossi came to Margot’s office and knocked on the open door to get her attention. Margot glanced up. “Are they here?” She pushed the surgical manual she had been studying back into its place on the shelf beside her beautiful new desk and gave it a satisfied tap with her fingers. Her father had insisted on providing the very newest editions of all the books she had lost, and the up-to-date research was both fascinating and useful.
Angela said, “Yes, Doctor. That is, Miss Benedict is. I believe your driver is waiting in the motorcar. Shall I show Miss Benedict back?”
“Please do,” Margot said. “And if we have no more appointments today, you can go home. I’m sure you have things to do for the holiday.”
“I do,” Angela said. “I have all that baking still to get done, and a few gifts to wrap.”
“Gifts!” Margot breathed. She spread her hands. “I haven’t done a thing about gifts.”
“A bit late now, I think,” the practical Angela said. “But I’m sure your family will understand.”
Margot had to chuckle at that. The Benedicts were used to her never getting around to Christmas shopping, and they were well accustomed to her yearly apologies.
Angela disappeared down the short hallway and returned in a moment with Allison, red-cheeked from the cold. She wore a scarlet wool coat with fur trim on the cuffs, black stockings, and a pair of strapped pumps. Her fair hair had gotten damp somehow, destroying her careful spit curls. It curled charmingly around her head, making her look like one of the cherubs on a Christmas card.
Allison waited until Angela closed the office door, then burst out, “They’re gone, Cousin Margot! I kept worrying Papa would change his mind at the last minute, but he didn’t, and they’re gone! Ruby, too!”
“That was a good choice. You don’t really need a lady’s maid, and your mother can use the help, since she only has the use of one arm.”
“And all her dresses will need altering, to fit over the cast,” Allison said. “I pointed that out to Mother, and that convinced her.” She took the chair opposite the desk, perching on the edge as if she might fly away at any moment. “She is going to be all right, isn’t she? Mother, I mean?”
Margot considered her answer with care. “Her arm will heal, Allison. It will be slow, because she’s not very well, but it should heal well. It was a clean break.”
“And the other—thing?”
“The other ‘thing’ is why I wanted to see you, and see you here, in my office. As a physician.”
The nervous energy seemed to drain out of Allison all at once, and she sank back in the chair and began rather listlessly to fiddle with the buttons of her coat. “Oh. I thought perhaps we were just going to talk about the University.”
“We will talk about that, Allison,” Margot said firmly. “I’m going to help you with your admissions, and if you like, help you choose a course of study. Nothing has changed.”
Allison brightened noticeably. “Oh! Thank you! I can hardly wait.”
“Excellent. Now.” Margot rested her linked hands on the desk blotter. “You know Dr. Creedy suggested your mother spend some time in a sanitorium, Allison. She’s much too thin, and he feels—and I agree—that we need to understand why that is. It’s not only her bones that are affected. She shows signs of anaemia—fatigue, weakness, thin fingernails—some of which you exhibited yourself. I believe there is also some cognitive impairment, which—well, you don’t need to worry about that. Dr. Creedy discussed all this with your father. In the sanitorium, your mother should be able to put on some weight, and—”
“Oh, she won’t,” Allison said with confidence.
“Pardon?”
“She won’t put on weight. She’ll see to it she doesn’t.”
Margot frowned. “What do you mean? How can she ‘see to it’? She’ll have a lot of rest, and nourishing meals—”
“She throws them up, Cousin Margot.” Allison emitted a gusty sigh.
“What—do you mean, she vomits?”
“Yes.”
“Does food make her ill?”
“No, I don’t think so. She does it on purpose. All the time.” Allison spoke with resignation. “Mother stays thin because after she eats she puts a spoon down her throat and—” She gave a slight shudder. “I know it’s disgusting. It’s because she doesn’t want to get stout like her mother did.”
Margot pressed a fingertip to her lips, thinking. In truth, despite all her experience, it was disgusting. She thought back over the papers she had read. Neither Simmonds nor Janet had mentioned behavior like this. After a moment she dropped her hand and said, carefully, “Allison—do you do this?”
“No!” Allison shook her damp curls. “She gave me a spoon of my own, but I—”
“She did what?” Margot stared at her young cousin in horror. “She wanted you to do the same thing?”
Allison fell silent, gazing at Margot with wide eyes and parted lips.
“Oh, my dear,” Margot said helplessly. “I can’t—I hardly know what to say about that.”
Allison looked away, and spoke in a small voice. “I didn’t like it, Cousin Margot, but Mother said I was getting fat. I just—I couldn’t make myself do what she wanted. It was easier not to eat in the first place.”
“Fat,” Margot echoed. “She said you were fat.” She eyed the slight girl opposite her, nearly swallowed by her scarlet coat. Her cheeks were hollow, her neck slender and fragile-looking. “Allison, you’re not fat. You’re the opposite of fat.”
Allison lifted her eyes to the window, and Margot followed her gaze to the view of the bay. The early winter darkness had already fallen, but white ship lights glimmered here and there like stars dropped into the water. Margot waited, giving the girl time. It was a moment to be silent. To let understanding grow in the empty space that must exist in Allison’s young heart.
Allison let her coat fall from her shoulders and sat hugging herself as she gazed out into the night. “Sometimes,” she said mournfully, “I know I’m not fat. Sometimes I can see it in the mirror, that my stomach and my—my bust—that they look normal. Even sort of thin.” She turned pleading eyes to Margot. “But other times, when Mother’s been telling me, I see this awful shape. My thighs, and my waist, they look like they belong to someone else. Someone I don’t recognize. Sometimes I think I’m hideous.” Shining tears rose in her eyes, and she wiped them away with her fingers. “Sometimes,” she finished in a whisper, “I get so confused I think I must be crazy. Because I don’t know what’s real.”
Margot took a clean handkerchief from a desk drawer and handed it across the desk. She wanted to get up, to put her arms around the girl, but she made herself wait. It was too soon. Just now Allison needed a doctor, not a friend. She spoke as gently as she knew how. “Allison, I think your mother is even more confused than you are. I don’t know if we can help her, but I want to help you.”
“Hattie says my mother loves me,” Allison said, her voice catching in a sob. “Do you think so?”
“I’m not much of a judge of love,” Margot said. “I wish I were better at it.”
Allison blew her nose and dabbed at her wet eyelashes, then crumpled the handkerchief in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Margot said. “You’re having a natural reaction to an unhappy situation.” She tapped her fingers on her blotter and tried to think how best to proceed.
“Is my mother crazy? Is that why she does these things?”
“I don’t think crazy is the right word,” Margot said cautiously. “But I do think Aunt Adelaide has gone too far. For both of you,” she added. “She’s created a situation, for whatever reason, which has made her ill. My concern is that it threatens to make you ill, too.”
Allison surprised her with a tremulous, tearstained smile. “I’ll be all right, Cousin Margot,” she said. “I’m working on it.”
“May I help you with that?” Margot asked. “One reason I wanted you to come here was to weigh you, check your blood pressure, examine you—because these are the things I know how to do, and because I hope I can help that way.”
“Yes. Yes, we can do those things, and I think it’s really nice of you. Also—” Allison hesitated, her gaze shifting away, and then back. “I hope you won’t think it’s strange, but Hattie helps me, too. I know she’s just your servant, your cook—”
Margot chuckled. “I think you’ve guessed by now that none of us thinks of Hattie or Blake as just servants.”
Allison’s smile steadied. “Hattie’s kitchen is my favorite place in Benedict Hall.”
Margot thought of her early-morning chats with Blake at the white enamel table, while the whole house slept around them. It was nice that even in an enormous place like Benedict Hall the kitchen felt like home, at least to one or two of the family. “Well, then. As long as you’re amenable, let’s get you on the scale, and I’ll record your blood pressure. Can you promise, do you think, that if you feel you’re having trouble, you could come and talk to me?”
“Yes. And I can talk to Hattie. I always feel better when I talk to Hattie.”
Margot knew what her mother would think of such an answer, and even more, what Aunt Adelaide would think of it. But since she herself had relied on Blake countless times, over the entire length of her life, she could only say, “Yes, Allison, you could certainly talk to Hattie. Sometimes we find comfort in the most surprising places.”
In the circle of someone’s prosthetic arm, for example. But she couldn’t think about that now.