Free What She Left Behind by Ellen Marie Wiseman Page B

her lips twitching as she attempted to smile. Dr. Thorn glanced at the letter on Clara’s desk. “I see you’ve read your father’s letter?”
    “Yes,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “He said you would explain what was going on.”
    “Well, yes,” Dr. Thorn said. “That’s what I’m here for.” He gestured toward the man in the wool coat. “This is Mr. Glen. He’s from Ovid, a small town next to Seneca Lake.” Nurse McCarn took a step forward to stand beside Dr. Thorn, keeping her arm straight and slightly behind the side seam of her white skirt. Clara caught a glimpse of something long and silver in her hand. It looked like a syringe. Ice filled Clara’s esophagus, making it hard to breathe. She stood. The Bible slid from her lap, slamming on the floor with a loud bang. Then she saw two orderlies and a nurse in a blue cape waiting in the hall.
    Dr. Thorn held up a hand, as if to stop Clara from bolting. Nurse McCarn moved closer, her eyes wide and bright, as if on high alert. “Mr. Glen and a nurse are here to take you to Willard.”
    “Willard?” Clara managed. She swallowed. Her tongue felt like stone.
    “It’s a state-run hospital for the insane,” Dr. Thorn said. “Your father wants to make sure you get the help you need. Unfortunately, he can no longer afford your stay here.”
    Clara stepped backward, her hands clutching her sweater. “But I don’t understand,” she said, sweat breaking out on her forehead. “My father said this was just temporary. I don’t need help. I just want to go home!”
    Nurse McCarn stepped forward, bringing the syringe out of hiding. Dr. Thorn put up a hand to stop her. “I understand, Clara,” he said. “But you need to get better first. Go ahead and pack up your things. Mr. Glen has the car waiting outside.”
    “But the weather,” Clara said, searching for any reason to delay.
    “It’s clearing up,” Mr. Glen said. “We’ll be fine as long as we leave in the next few hours. We’ll be back at Willard by nightfall.”
    “There’s no reason to be afraid,” Dr. Thorn said. “You’ll be taken good care of at Willard.”
    Clara collapsed on the bed, her legs suddenly weak, her arms useless. It took all her strength not to fall in a heap on the floor. She searched for something to say to make them understand she was perfectly sane, that her only offense was arguing with her parents. She was being punished for standing up for herself, for standing strong for what was right and true. Words escaped her.
    “Nurse McCarn,” Dr. Thorn said. “Have one of your nurses come help Clara pack while you show Mr. Glen and his nurse to the cafeteria. I’m sure they could use a hot meal before the long drive back to Willard. And bring Clara some hot tea and something to eat before she goes.”
    Nurse McCarn and Mr. Glen left the room while Dr. Thorn remained in the entrance, one hand on the doorknob. “You’ll be all right,” he said to Clara. “You’re an intelligent young woman with a bright future ahead of you. You just need a little help figuring out the right direction for your life. If you cooperate, there should be no reason to fear going to Willard.” Then he closed the door and left, leaving Clara numb and staring at the wooden floor.
    In what felt like slow motion, she got up and pulled her journal from beneath her bed. She sat at the desk and opened to her last entry, the words a blur on the page. She’d written in the journal every day since her arrival, but had not mentioned anything about the baby. For some reason, she was afraid she might jinx her pregnancy, or the doctors would find the journal and tell her father. If Henry found out she was going to have Bruno’s baby, there was no telling what he might do. He would probably send her away forever.
    She wiped her eyes and picked up a pen, trying to think of a way to convey the feeling of being thrown away like a piece of trash, of being locked up like a criminal. She remembered