Margaret Atwood - Alias Grace

She did not use exactly these words, but that was the gist of it.

But what am I to wear? said I, still in despair. Perhaps I was indeed unsettled in my wits, as a person altogether in her right mind would have asked first about the good home that was being provided, and where it was, and what I was to do there. I thought later about the way she had put it, A good home provided, it is what you say of a dog or a horse that is too old to work any more, and that you don’t wish to keep yourself or have put down.

I have thought of that too, said Janet. She was really a most helpful creature. I have looked in the storage rooms, and by some miracle the box you brought with you was still in there with your name on a label, I suppose it is because of all the petitions that were got up in your favour after the trial. They may have kept your things at first because they thought you were soon to be released, and then after that they must have forgotten all about it. I will have it brought up to your room and then we will open it, shall we?

I felt a little comforted, although I had some misgivings. And I was right to have them, for when we opened the box we found that the moths had been in and had eaten up the woollens, my mother’s thick winter shawl among them, and some of the other things were much discoloured and musty-smelling from being shut up for so long in a dampish place; the threads in some were almost rotted through, and you could put your hand right through them. Any piece of cloth needs a good airing every once in a while, and these had been given none.

We took everything out and spread the things around the room, to see what could be saved. There were Nancy‘s dresses, so pretty when fresh, now for the most part ruined, and the things I’d had from Mary Whitney; I’d prized them so much at the time and now they looked shoddy and outmoded. There was the dress I’d made at Mrs. Alderman Parkinson’s, with the bone buttons from Jeremiah, but nothing could be saved of it except the buttons. I found the piece of Mary’s hair, tied with a thread and wrapped up in a handkerchief as I’d left it, but the moths had been into that too, they will eat hair if nothing better is left and it is not stored in cedar.

The emotions I experienced were strong and painful. The room seemed to darken and I could almost see Nancy and Mary beginning to take shape again inside their clothes, only it was not a pleasant notion, as by now they themselves would be in much the same dilapidated state. I felt quite faint, and had to sit down and ask for a glass of water, and for the window to be opened.

Janet herself was taken aback; she was too young to have realized what the effects of twenty-nine years shut up in a box might be, although she made the best of it according to her nature. She said that in any case the dresses were now sadly out of fashion and we could not have me going to my new life looking like a scarecrow, but that some of the things could yet be used, such as the red flannel petticoat and some of the white ones, which could be washed in vinegar to get rid of the smell of mildew and then bleached in the sun, and they would come out white as anything. This was not quite the case, as once we had done it they were indeed lighter in colour but not what you would call white. As for the other things, she said, we would have to look about us. I would need a wardrobe, she said. I do not know how it was done — I suspect she begged a dress from her mother and went around among her acquaintance and collected up some other things, and I do believe the Governor contributed the money for the stockings and shoes — but at the end she’d gathered together a store of garments. I found the colours over bright, such as a green print, and a broadcloth with stripes in a magenta tone on a sky blue; it was the new chemical dyes that are now in use. These colours didn’t exactly suit me; but beggars can’t be choosers, as I’ve learnt on many occasions.

The two of us sat together and made the dresses over to fit. We were like a mother and daughter working on a trousseau, very friendly and cosy, and after a time I was quite cheered up. My only regret was the crinolines; they’d gone out of fashion and now it was all wire bustles and big bunches of cloth pulled to the back, with ruchings and fringes, more like a sofa to my mind; and so I never would have the chance to wear a crinoline. But we cannot have everything in this life. Bonnets were gone, too. Now it was all hats, tied under the chin and quite flat and tilted forward, like a ship sailing on top of your head, with veils floating out behind them like the wake. Janet obtained one for me and I did feel queer the first time I put it on and looked in the mirror. It did not cover my streaks of grey hair, although Janet said I looked ten years younger than I really was, almost a girl in fact; and it’s true that I’d kept my figure and most of my teeth. She said I looked a real lady, which is possible, as there is less difference in dress between maid and mistress how than there used to be, and the fashions are easily copied. We had a merry enough time trimming the hat with silk flowers and bows, although several times I broke down in tears because I was overwrought. A change in fortune often has that effect, from bad to good as well as the other way around, as I am sure you have noticed in life, Sir. As we were packing and folding, I snipped some pieces out of the various dresses I’d worn long ago, but which were now to be discarded; and I asked if I might have a prison nightdress of the sort I was accustomed to sleep in, as a keepsake. Janet said she thought it a strange keepsake, but she made the request for me and it was granted. I needed something of my own to take away with me, you see. When all was ready I thanked Janet with deep gratitude. I was still fearful of what was to come, but at least I would look like an ordinary person and no one would stare, and that is worth a great deal. Janet gave me a pair of summer gloves, almost new, I don’t know where she got them. And then she began to cry, and when I asked her why she was doing that, she said it was because I was to have a happy ending, and it was just like a book; and I wondered what books she’d been reading.

Chapter 52

August the 7th of 1872 was the day of my departure, and I will never forget it as long as I live. After breakfast with the Warden’s family, at which I could scarcely eat anything I was so nervous, I put on the dress I was to travel in, the green one, with the straw hat trimmed to match and the gloves Janet had given me. My box was packed; it was not Nancy‘s box, as that one smelled too much of mildew, but another one provided by the Penitentiary, leather and not much worn. It probably belonged to some poor soul who had died there, but I was long past looking a gift horse in the mouth. I was taken in to see the Warden, it was a formality and he did not have much to say except that he congratulated me upon my release; in any case he and Janet were to accompany me to the home provided, at the special request of Sir John Macdonald himself, as it was intended I should get there safely and they knew perfectly well I wasn’t accustomed to modern modes of travel, having been so long shut away; and also there were many rough men about, discharged soldiers from the Civil War, some crippled and others with no means of support, and I might be in some danger from them. So I was very glad for the company.

I passed through the gates of the Penitentiary for the last time as the clock struck noon, and it went through my head like a thousand bells. Until that instant I couldn’t quite trust my senses; while dressing for the journey I’d felt more numb than anything, and the objects around me appeared flat and lacking in colour, but now all sprang to life. The sun was shining and every stone of the wall seemed as clear as glass and lighted up like a lamp, it was like passing through the gates of Hell and into Paradise, I do believe the two are located closer together than most people think.