A Dream Gone Miserably Awry
A D REAM G ONE M ISERABLY A WRY
G EORGE E LIOT’S ILLUSTRIOUS NOVEL Middlemarch was in the Institute’s small library. After her dinner each evening, Molly would go to her mother’s room and read to her from it. Eloise Wakefield would wake occasionally, recognize her daughter, and say quietly, “Molly luv.”
Molly would smile, take her hand, and make soothing sounds to her mother. She would also tell her mother about her time in the country and then in London. She did not tell her of the fate of their old home, or of Mrs. Pride’s death, or of the dire situation with her husband. Molly did not have to be learned in the field of mental illness to know that such revelations would not be beneficial for her mother.
Molly also had looked through the things her mother had brought with her, or more likely the items her father had packed for his wife—he was always inclined to oversee tasks like that. In the bottom of the armoire Molly found a picture of her and her mother that she had forgotten about. It had been taken at Hyde Park before the war. They were on a bench looking happy and content. Although, as Molly peered closer into her mother’s stilled eyes, she saw perhaps a degree of apprehension that she had never before perceived.
Maybe because I didn’t want to see it.
Molly had put the photo in a frame she found and placed it on the table next to her mother’s bed. If her mother saw it, Molly reasoned, it might make her… remember happier times. It was a simple contrivance, but one never knew. And at this stage Molly would do anything to ease her mother’s final days.
“I think she’s actually getting better,” she told Charlie and Oliver one afternoon. “Do you think it would be possible…?” She halted and looked at them uncertainly.
“What?” said Oliver.
“I was just wondering if it would be completely ridiculous to think about bringing her back to London to spend what time she has left there.”
“But where would she stay, Molly?” said Oliver.
“She could use our room and I could sleep on the floor in the bookshop,” offered Charlie.
Molly said quickly, “Charlie, I could never ask you to do that.”
Oliver said, “And surely she needs hospital care, Molly. And then there’s the question of transporting her. We can’t simply load her into the car and drive her back.”
Molly looked defeated, but then her expression changed. “I think I might have an idea.” She rushed off.
Later that evening Molly found Oliver and Charlie and told them what she had managed. “I had Dr. Stephens make some inquiries and he found a telephone number for the Tinsdales in Yorkshire.”
“Excuse me, the Tinsdales?” said Oliver.
“Rich relatives of Molly’s up north,” explained Charlie.
“Yes. They’re my mother’s family and they are quite wealthy. I don’t think they’ve been in touch for many years. Anyway, it took the poor operator three tries, but finally I spoke to Lucretia Tinsdale, Mum’s second cousin or something like that. They remembered Mum very well. They had no idea what was going on with her, didn’t even know she was still alive. They were extremely concerned when I told them about her condition. And they have agreed to help with her care and also in getting her back to London.”
“Why, that’s wonderful,” said Oliver.
“She could be in hospital in London and I could care for her there. And there might be some treatment for her kidneys. I thought I would go and tell Mum now. Do you want to come with me?”
Charlie said, “I will.”
But Oliver said, “I don’t want to overwhelm her with my presence.”
“All right. We’ll talk later.”
“Well done, Molly,” said Oliver.
Molly had been given a key by Dr. Stephens. She unlocked the door and they went into her mother’s room.
Molly drew close to the bed and said, “Mum, I’ve got the most wonderful news. We’re going to take you back to London. And your family, the Tinsdales, are going to help. Isn’t that so splendid?” Molly smiled at Charlie, bent down, and gripped her mother’s hand.
Eloise Wakefield’s eyes popped open and the person revealed behind them was not one with whom Molly was remotely familiar.
The scream resonated down the hallway. Eloise sat bolt upright, grabbed Molly’s hair and began pulling and twisting it. She then slapped and punched at Molly, knocking her down.
Molly screamed and said, “Mum, stop, it’s me, Molly.”
Her mother formed no words. She only grunted and shouted nonsense. Then she saw the framed photo and threw it at Charlie.
Charlie ducked and then jumped back as a punch she aimed at him barely missed. He grabbed Molly’s hand and pulled her up from the floor. They ran for the door, got through it, and shut it behind them.
Molly frantically locked the door, as more screams emanated from the room. Molly, her hands over her ears, ran down the hall, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m not sure what I was thinking,” Molly said in a trembling voice. She was sitting on her bed at the guest cottage with Oliver and Charlie and Drs. Foyle and Stephens all standing around her. After leaving her mother’s room she had found Dr. Foyle and a matron, and they had rushed to her mother’s room.
“She has fits like that, Molly,” said Stephens. “Not often. Most of the time she is totally calm and placid. But something triggers her and then off she goes.”
“She was hitting and punching me and screaming. She looked like she hated me.”
Foyle added gently, “I seriously doubt she even recognized it was you, Molly.”
“The human mind is an extraordinary instrument,” said Stephens. “It is the thing that makes us unique amongst all living things. But because of that when it goes bad, it goes terribly, terribly bad, I’m afraid.”
“Has she—is she better now?”
“She has been sedated so she won’t hurt herself,” said Foyle. “She is resting comfortably.”
“I suppose I should ring the Tinsdales and let them know that Mum won’t be going to London.”
“I think she does need to stay here, Molly,” said Stephens. “Until… She will be well cared for, I promise you.”
“And there will be no more procedures,” added Foyle. “Of any kind.”
They all left, leaving Molly on her bed, alone.
She slowly took off her necklace and opened the locket, revealing her mother’s picture inside. She needed to look at it now because she did not want the image of the raving woman back there to be the last one she had of her mother before she went to sleep tonight.
If I go to sleep tonight.
When she finally did start to nod off, she held the locket tightly against her chest.
No matter where I go, you will be right here with me, Mum.