A-Splendid-Ruin(30)
“I’m sorry,” I rushed in. “Truly. She asked me to visit with her, and I should have refused, but—”
He put up his hand to stop me. “Dr. Browne is looking in on her now. I think you should have a talk with him.”
He spoke to me as if I were a small child, and I felt myself flush. “I’ve learned my lesson, Uncle Jonny.”
“Perhaps. But it would ease my mind. Perhaps he can better put things into perspective for you.” My uncle rose and offered his hand. I tucked my sketchbook beneath my arm and went with him into the parlor to wait for the doctor.
My remorse was already overwhelming; in the crowded parlor, it paralyzed me. I sat nervously while Uncle Jonny smoked. Soon the room was as foggy as the harbor. When Dr. Browne finally arrived, I thought I might be ill.
He peered down at me from a height. His deep-set brown eyes were faintly hostile. “Surely you must be familiar with your aunt’s condition, given your own experience.”
“My experience?”
“I understand there’s a history of madness in your family.”
I stared, uncomprehending.
“Your mother?” he prompted. “Was she not troubled by delusions and fantasies?”
“Oh. No. No, I never—”
“Perhaps you did not allow yourself to consider it. We often try very hard to excuse the behavior of those we love.” Dr. Browne looked sympathetic. “Madness often runs in families. It would not be surprising for sisters to be equally afflicted.”
I was so stunned at his implication that I barely heard the rest, which was all about the best way to manage my aunt—laudanum and calm—everything I already knew. When he finally left, I was relieved. I didn’t like Dr. Browne or his assumptions, which were ridiculous.
My uncle asked, “Are you quite all right, May? I hope you did not find that too distressing.”
“No, of course not. I just wish there was something I could do to help.”
“It’s nothing for you to fret about. You should be out with Goldie, playing about the city.” He made a fluttering gesture with his hand. “One is only young once, after all.”
I tried to smile. “I think I’m not much for playing, Uncle Jonny. I feel rather useless.”
“Useless?”
“I’ve been here for three months now, and I feel I must find something to do with myself.”
“Do?” My uncle spoke the word as if it were distasteful. “Do? Why, what is there to do except for what you’re doing?”
“I should find a job. Perhaps I could become a governess, or . . . or something. I could take up charity work. I feel I’m taking advantage of your generosity.”
Uncle Jonny laughed. “I think of you as another daughter, May. Please, no more of this talk of doing things, or taking advantage. What would people say if I let my niece work for a living? Good God, no, you will do nothing of the sort. I wish you to do just as your cousin does, be frivolous and gay. It does me good to see it.”
My heart sank even as I tried to return his smile. “Still, Uncle. Aunt Florence did serve on some charitable committees.”
“It was a terrible strain. I believe it led directly to her affliction now.”
That? Or Alma Dennehy?
“Truly, May, I don’t wish you to end up like your aunt. You heard what the doctor said—it runs in families.”
“My mother was not—”
“Young women should not strain their minds or their bodies with too much work,” he said affectionately. “I’ll hear no more of it. In fact, I believe Goldie has a treat for you today. I hereby order you to stop thinking of these absurdities and enjoy yourself thoroughly. Am I understood?”
I nodded reluctantly. “Yes, Uncle.”
“Excellent!” He clasped my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Your old life is in the past, May. You have had too many years of worry. Now it is time for pleasure.”
He made my concerns sound so unreasonable—truly, who would wish for purpose when they had the choice of ease?—and yet a heaviness set upon me that I could not shake, and when Goldie came to me in my bedroom later, I was no better.
“Papa thinks you need a distraction, and so do I.”
“Goldie, I—”
“I won’t take no for an answer. Come along. We’re going on an adventure.”
“To where?”
“It’s a surprise.” There was that mischievous gleam in my cousin’s eyes again, that sly smile. “But I promise you will love it.”
Which is how I found myself with Goldie on a crowded streetcar on Clement. There were few businessmen on the trolley; it was mostly families, mothers and children, and young men who looked dressed for an outing. The clanging and screeching of the wheels and the steel cables and the excited talk coming from those clearly anticipating fun raised my spirits somewhat.
Goldie would not say where we were going. Neither would she tell me what she carried in the large carpetbag on her lap.
“You’ll see,” she said. “Now stop asking questions.”
Then, with a screech of brakes and a throng of racing children and mothers calling out for them to wait and boys jostling each other to disembark, we came out of the streetcar depot to Sutro Baths.
I had seen it from the Cliff House, but I’d not yet been inside. It was huge, a three-acre natatorium, a glass-topped, cupola-embellished, mammoth structure stretching just above the beach.