Margaret Atwood - Alias Grace

— he can just barely afford it.

He doesn’t begin to feel safe until he’s in the railway carriage, with the doors firmly shut. The presence of a train conductor, in a uniform, is reassuring to him. Order of a sort is reasserting itself. Once in Europe, he’ll continue his researches. He will study the many prevailing schools of thought, but he will not add to them; not yet. He has gone to the threshold of the unconscious, and has looked across; or rather he has looked down. He could have fallen. He could have fallen in. He could have drowned. Better, perhaps, to abandon theories, and concentrate on ways and means. When he returns to America he will bestir himself. He’ll give lectures, he’ll attract subscribers. He’ll build a model Asylum, with well-tended grounds and the very best sanitation and drainage. What Americans prefer above all is the appearance of comfort, in any sort of institution at all. An Asylum with large comfortable rooms, facilities for hydrotherapy, and a good many mechanical devices, could do very well. There must be little wheels that go around with a whirring sound, there must be rubber suction cups. Wires to attach to the cranium. Apparatus for measuring. He will include the word “electrical” in his prospectus. The main thing must be to keep the patients clean and docile — drugs will be a help — and their relatives admiring and satisfied. As in schools for children, those who must be impressed are not the actual inmates, but those who pay the bills.

All of this will be a compromise. But he has now — very abruptly it seems — reached the right age for it. The train moves out of the station. There’s a cloud of black smoke, and then a long plaintive wail, which follows him like a baffled phantom along the track.

Not until he’s halfway to Cornwall does he allow himself to consider Grace. Will she think he’s deserted her? Lost faith in her, perhaps? If she is indeed ignorant of last evening’s events, she will be justified in so thinking. She’ll be bewildered by him, as he has been by her.

She can’t know yet that he’s left the city. He pictures her sitting in her accustomed chair, sewing at her quilt; singing, perhaps; waiting for his footfall at the door.

Outside it’s begun to drizzle. After a time the motion of the train lulls him to sleep; he slumps against the wall. Now Grace is coming towards him across a wide lawn in sunshine, all in white, carrying an armful of red flowers: they are so clear he can see the dewdrops on them. Her hair is loose, her feet bare; she’s smiling. Then he sees that what she walks on is not grass but water; and as he reaches to embrace her, she melts away like mist.

He wakes; he’s still on the train, with the grey smoke blowing past the window. He presses his mouth to the glass.

Fourteen - The Letter X

Chapter 50

To Mrs. C. D. Humphrey; from Dr. Simon Jordan, Kingston, Canada West. August 15th, 1859.

Dear Mrs. Humphrey:

I write in haste, having been summoned home most urgently by a family matter which it is imperative I respond to at once. My dear Mother has suffered an unforeseen collapse in her always imperfect health, and is presently at death’s door. I only pray that I may be in time to attend her in her last moments.

I am sorry I could not stay to bid you farewell in person, and to thank you for your kind attentions to me whilst I was a lodger at your house; but I am certain that with your woman’s heart and sensibility, you will quickly divine the necessity of my instant departure. I do not know how long I may be away, or if indeed I shall ever be able to return to Kingston. Should my Mother pass away, I will be needed to tend to the family affairs; and should she be spared to us for a time, my place is by her side. One who has sacrificed so much for her son, must surely deserve some not inconsiderable sacrifice from him in return.

My return to your city in future is most unlikely; but I will always preserve the memories of my days in Kingston — memories of which you form an esteemed part. You know how I admire your courage in the face of adversity, and how I respect you; and I hope you will find it in your heart to feel the same, towards,

Your most sincere,

Simon Jordan.

P.S. In the attached envelope I have left you a sum which I assume will cover any little amounts which remain outstanding between us.

P.P.S. I trust that your husband will soon be happily restored to you.

— S.

From Mrs. William P. Jordan, Laburnum House, Loomisville, Massachusetts, The United States of America; to Mrs. C. D. Humphrey, Lower Union Street, Kingston, Canada West. September 29th, 1859.

Dear Mrs. Humphrey:

I take the liberty of returning to you the seven letters addressed by you to my dear Son, which have accumulated here in his absence; they were opened in mistake by the Servant, which will account for the presence of my own seal upon them, in place of yours. My Son is at present making a tour of Private Mental Asylums and Clinics in Europe, an investigation very necessary to the work he is engaged upon — work of the utmost significance, which will alleviate human suffering, and which must not be interrupted for any lesser considerations, however pressing these may appear to others who do not understand the importance of his mission. As he is constantly travelling, I was unable to forward your letters to him; and I return them now, supposing that you would wish to know the reason for the lack of reply; although I beg to observe, that no reply is in itself a reply. My Son had mentioned that you might make some attempt to reestablish your acquaintance with him; and although he very properly did not elaborate, I am not such an invalid, nor so cloistered from the world, that I was unable to read between the lines. If you will accept some frank but well-intentioned advice from an old woman, permit me to observe, that in permanent unions between the sexes, discrepancies in age and fortune must always be detrimental; but how much more so, are discrepancies in moral outlook. Rash and ill-advised conduct is understandable in a woman placed as you have been — I fully realize the unpleasantness of not knowing where one’s husband may be located; but you must be aware, that in the event of the demise of such a husband, no man of principle would ever make his wife, a woman who had anticipated that position prematurely. Men, by nature and the decree of Providence, have a certain latitude allowed them; but fidelity to the marriage vow is surely the chief requirement in a woman. In the early days of my widowhood, I found a daily reading of the Bible quite soothing to the mind; and some light needlework also helps to occupy one’s thoughts. In addition to these remedies, perhaps you have a respectable female friend, who may comfort you in your distress without wishing to know the cause of it. What is believed in society, is not always the equivalent of what is true; but as regards a woman’s reputation, it amounts to the same thing. It is as well to take all steps to preserve that reputation, by not spreading one’s misery abroad where it may become the subject of malicious gossip; and to that end, it is wise to avoid the expression of one’s feelings in letters, which must run the gauntlet of the public posts, and may fall into the hands of persons who may be tempted to read them unbeknownst to the sender. Please accept, Mrs. Humphrey, the sentiments I have expressed, in the spirit of a genuine desire for your future well-being, in which they are offered, by,