Chapter Thirty-Four. Betty, 1964
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Twelve subjects (nine of them professed ‘psychics’…) were tested for their ability to cause mice to arouse more quickly from ether anesthesia than normally would be expected … The results were highly significant overall.”
—Journal of Parapsychology
The heart attack was relatively mild; it hadn’t killed Dr. Trimble.
There was a nurse aboard the flight who obtained aspirin and kept Dr. Trimble comfortable until the plane landed and he could be taken to the hospital.
After two nights he walked out, trailed by a protesting doctor who had wanted to keep him longer.
If Dr. Trimble had been driven before, now he’d tumbled into obsession. He seemed to be rushing to secure his legacy before a clock only he could hear stopped ticking.
“I don’t believe each of you girls independently sensed what was happening to me,” he told them after he’d summoned them to his office.
“My hypothesis is that one of your minds is delightfully porous, and it absorbed my experience and transmitted a message to the other three. So which one of you felt it first?”
“I can’t remember,” Kathleen said. “It all happened so fast.”
Dr. Trimble pointed at Betty. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“It could have been,” she admitted, secretly despairing that she could tune into his frequency.
“President Sherman came to see me in the hospital,” Dr. Trimble said. “He understands I’m on the cusp of writing what will be my most significant academic paper to date, one that will bring international acclaim to his university. But I told him I need more time. I know we can go a bit further.”
Betty took in Ivy’s breath catching, and Kathleen’s hands twisting in her lap.
“The cots are still in the basement of the library. I’ve arranged for other necessities to be brought in. We’ll stay there, the five of us.” He broke into a smile. “Can you imagine the potential that awaits once you girls are isolated from all outside interference?”
Betty glanced over at Ivy holding little Sandra in her arms. “But Ivy’s baby—” she began.
Dr. Trimble tapped his finger against his lips, frowning. He appeared to be thinking deeply. “My wife will take care of the infant.”
Ivy gave a faint cry. “But she’ll be no trouble at all!”
“My wife is a very capable woman.” Dr. Trimble’s voice was thunderous. “She can certainly feed and change a child.”
“I didn’t mean—I just—” Ivy seemed unable to form words, as if her throat had closed up.
“I need your full cooperation, Ivy.” Dr. Trimble glared at Ivy, and Betty watched as her friend withered under his gaze. Ivy was trapped; if she demurred, her husband would lose his job. Dr. Trimble had all the power, like he always had.
“How long will you need us?” Betty asked, reaching out to hold Ivy’s hand. Ivy gripped her so tightly her fingernails dug into Betty’s skin.
“A few days, perhaps. But that depends entirely on the four of you.”
The library basement had no windows. They’d be sealed inside with Dr. Trimble, breathing the same air, sharing meals and a sleeping space, even if they strung up a sheet for privacy, which Betty was already planning to do. Cut off from everything and everyone, they’d be at his mercy.
“Of course we’re always willing to be of service, but our husbands may object,” Betty ventured.
“I’ve already spoken to them. Your husbands understand their sacrifice is necessary,” Dr. Trimble said.
“Ronald said that?” Kathleen sounded surprised.
“He questioned it at first,” Dr. Trimble admitted. “But when I explained that you were essential to my work and that you wouldn’t be away long, he told me he’d always known how special you were, and that the choice was yours.”
“What will happen if I don’t go?” Kathleen asked.
“I can test my hypothesis with just the other three. It will take much longer, of course.”
Ivy released another small cry, holding little Sandra closer to her.
Kathleen looked at Ivy, the baby, then at the other women.
She lifted her chin. “I’ll go.”
She’d never looked more brave or beautiful, Betty thought, feeling a rush of love for her friend.
“A couple of days only, though,” Kathleen repeated firmly. “For all of us.”
“Mmhmm,” Dr. Trimble said. “Go home and pack your things. My wife will launder your dresses and I’ll bring them when I pick you up. We’ll begin the experiments tonight.”
Would Douglas still love her when she returned?
Betty wondered. He could easily find someone new in her absence, like the pretty girl with the English accent who smelled of roses.
Betty had seen Emily several more times in the institute, once coming out of the blackout room and another time being administered a questionnaire by Douglas.
The vision of Douglas spending time alone with Emily made Betty’s stomach heave. She had barely made it to her bathroom before she retched.
As she rinsed out her mouth in the sink, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
She looked a sight, with her hair frizzing and her lipstick gone.
Who could blame Douglas if he left her? She quickly fixed her face, then launched into a frenzy of sweeping and mopping.
She hurried to the grocery store while Douglas’s clothes spun in the washing machine, then baked two casseroles that promised to stick to his ribs.
She moved their wedding picture to the dining table so Douglas could see it while he ate.
She wrote a note telling him how much she’d miss him and sprayed it with perfume before propping it on his nightstand.
She barely had any time to pack. She folded clean underthings and her robe into her suitcase along with her toiletries.
She put her coat over her arm and stepped outside to wait for Douglas to come wish her goodbye.
The campus looked lovely in the golden fall light.
A girl walked past wearing her boyfriend’s letterman jacket, a textbook tucked into the crook of her arm, smiling the smile of someone in love.
A Ford Falcon drove past, notes of the Beatles song “I Want to Hold Your Hand” trailing in its wake.
Then Dr. Trimble’s Buick lumbered around the corner and Betty felt tears sting her eyes.
Douglas hadn’t bothered to come bid her farewell.
Dr. Trimble opened the trunk and she placed her luggage case inside next to the other girls’, then craned her neck to look down the street, futilely searching for a glimpse of her husband’s tall, lanky form. She wiped away her tears as she climbed into the back seat next to Ivy.
“I know we’ll miss our men and homes,” Ivy whispered, misinterpreting Betty’s tears. “And I can barely stand to be away from Sandra. But it’s only for a day or two. You shouldn’t fret. Have you sensed it yet, what’s happening to you?”
Betty stared at her, uncomprehending.
“It came to me in the hospital when I saw you. You’re pregnant,” Ivy whispered. “I just know it.”