Jackie wiped a tear as she ached for her husband. She would always love him, and her deep love made the suspicions even more painful. She hated it, and hated him for it, and at times she hated herself for not being strong enough to walk out. But those days were gone, weren’t they? Never again would she watch Dexter drive away to visit the sick and wonder where he was really going. Never again would she be suspicious as he counseled behind a locked office door. Never again would she notice the round backside of a young lady in church and wonder if Dexter was admiring it too.
The tears turned to sobs and she couldn’t stop. Was she crying out of grief, loss, anger, or relief? She didn’t know and couldn’t make sense of it. The album finished and she walked to the kitchen for something else to drink. On the counter was a tall, layered cake with red icing, a Christmas concoction Errol McLeish had dropped off for the kids. She cut a slice, poured a glass of milk, and returned to the den.
He was such a thoughtful man.
Chapter 12
After a large Christmas brunch of bacon, omelets, and buttermilk biscuits, they said good-bye to Marietta in the pink cottage, and to all the birds, cats, and dogs, and they loaded themselves and their luggage into the car for a road trip. Joel was the chauffeur again, evidently a permanent position because there was no offer of help from either of the two ladies in the rear seat. Both talked nonstop, cackling away and amusing their driver. WHBQ out of Memphis ran nothing but Christmas carols, but to hear them Joel was forced to crank up the radio. The girls complained about the volume. He complained about their constant racket. Everyone laughed and the road trip was off to a great start. Leaving Ford County behind was a relief.
Three hours later, they arrived at the imposing gate of the Mississippi State Hospital at Whitfield, and the mood in the car changed dramatically. Liza had been sent there seven months earlier and there had been almost no news about her treatment. They had written letters but received no replies. They knew that Pete had spoken to her doctors, but, of course, he had passed along nothing from their conversations. Florry, Joel, and Stella were assuming Liza knew about the murder of Dexter Bell, but they wouldn’t know for sure until they met with her doctors. It was entirely possible they were keeping such dreadful news away from her as protection. Again, Pete had told them nothing.
A uniformed guard had some paperwork, then some directions, and the gate eventually swung open. Whitfield was the state’s only psychiatric hospital, and it was an expansive collection of buildings spread over thousands of acres. It was called a campus, looked more like a grand old estate, and was surrounded by fields, woods, and forests. Over three thousand patients lived there, along with five hundred employees. It was segregated, with separate facilities for whites and blacks. Joel drove past a post office, a tuberculosis hospital, a bakery, a lake, a golf course, and the wing where they sent the alcoholics. With a lot of help from the backseat, he eventually found the building where his mother was housed and parked nearby.
For a moment, they sat in the idle car and stared at the imposing structure. Stella asked, “Do we have any clue as to her diagnosis? Is it depression, or schizophrenia, or a nervous breakdown? Is she suicidal? Does she hear voices? Or did Pete just want her out of the house?”
Florry was shaking her head. “I don’t really know. She spiraled quickly and Pete told me to stay away from the house. We’ve had these conversations.”
Trouble began just inside the front door when a surly clerk demanded to know if they had made an appointment. Yes, Florry explained, she had called two days earlier and spoken with a Mrs. Fortenberry, an administrator in building 41, where they were now standing. The clerk said Mrs. Fortenberry had the day off because it was, after all, Christmas Day. Florry replied that she knew exactly what day it was, and the two young people with her were the children of Liza Banning and they wanted to see their mother on Christmas.
The clerk disappeared for a long time. When she returned, she brought with her a gentleman who introduced himself as Dr. Hilsabeck. At his reluctant invitation, they followed him down the hall to a small office with only two chairs for visitors. Joel stood by the door. In spite of his white lab coat, Hilsabeck didn’t look like a doctor, not that they’d had much experience with psychiatrists. He had a slick head, squeaky voice, and shifty eyes, and he did not inspire confidence. Once situated, he arranged a file in the center of his desk and began with “I’m afraid there is a problem.” He spoke with an obnoxious northern accent, clearly condescending. And the name Hilsabeck was certainly not from anywhere in the South.
“What kind of problem?” Florry demanded. She had already determined that she didn’t like building 41 and the people who ran it.
Hilsabeck lifted his eyebrows but not his eyes, as if he preferred to avoid direct contact. “I cannot discuss this patient with you. Her guardian, Mr. Pete Banning, has instructed me and the other doctors to engage in no consultations with anyone but him.”
“She’s my mother!” Joel said angrily. “And I want to know how she’s doing.”
Hilsabeck did not react to the anger, but simply lifted a sheet of paper as if it were the Gospel. “This is the court order from Ford County, signed by the judge up there.” He looked at the order when he spoke, again preferring to avoid eye contact. “The commitment order, and it names Pete Banning as the guardian, Liza Banning as his ward, and it quite clearly states that in all matters regarding her treatment we, her doctors, are to have discussions with no one but him. All visits from family and friends must first be approved by Pete Banning. Indeed, Mr. Banning phoned yesterday afternoon. I spoke with him for a few minutes, and he reminded me that he had approved no visits with his ward. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”
The three looked at each other in disbelief. They had met with Pete for an hour the day before in the Banning home. Joel and Stella had asked about their mother, got no response from their father, and had not mentioned this visit.
Joel glared at Florry and asked, “Did you tell him we were coming?”
“I did not. Did you?”
“No. We had talked about it and decided to keep it quiet.”
Hilsabeck closed the file and said, “I’m really sorry. It’s out of my control.”
Stella buried her face in her hands and began weeping. Florry patted her knee and snarled at Hilsabeck, “They haven’t seen their mother in seven months. They’re worried sick about her.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Joel asked, “Can you at least tell us how she’s doing? Are you decent enough for that?”
Hilsabeck stood with his file and replied, “I will not be insulted. Ms. Banning is doing better. That’s all I can say right now. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He stepped around his desk, stepped over Joel’s feet, and squeezed through the door.
Stella wiped her cheeks with the back of a hand and took a deep breath. Florry watched her and held her hand. Under his breath, Joel hissed, “That son of a bitch.”
“Which one?” Florry asked.
“Your brother. He knew we were coming down here.”
“Why would he do this?” Stella asked.
When no one replied they let the question hang in the air for a long time. Why? Because he was hiding something? Maybe Liza was not mentally unbalanced and got herself shipped off because her husband was angry with her? That was not unheard of. Florry had a childhood friend who was put away while suffering through a bad case of menopause.
Or perhaps Liza was really sick. She had suffered a severe breakdown with the news that Pete was missing and presumed dead and perhaps she had never fully recovered. But why would he shield her from her own children?