Alias Grace

Then I put on a clean apron, and stirred up the fire in the summer kitchen stove, which still had some embers left in it, and burnt my own clothes; I didn’t like the thought of wearing them ever again, as they would remind me of things I wished to forget. It may have been my fancy, but a smell went up from them like scorching meat; and it was like my own dirtied and cast-off skin that I was burning. While I was doing this, McDermott came in, and said he was ready, and why was I wasting time. I told him I could not find my large white kerchief, the one with the blue flowers on it, and that I needed it to keep the sun off my neck, while we would be crossing the Lake on the ferry the following day. At that he laughed in an astonished way, and said it was downstairs in the cellar, keeping the sun off Nancy‘s neck; as I ought to remember, seeing as how I myself had pulled it tight and tied the knot. At this I was very shocked; but did not wish to contradict him, as it is dangerous to contradict mad people. So I said I had forgot.

It was about eleven o’clock at night when we set out; a beautiful night, with enough of a breeze to be cooling, and not too many mosquitoes. There was half a moon, and I couldn’t remember whether it was waxing or waning; and as we went down the driveway between the rows of maples and past the orchard, I looked behind me, and saw the house standing there all peaceful and lighted up by the moonlight, as if it was gently glowing. And I thought, who would guess from looking at it what lies within. And then I sighed, and readied myself for the long drive.

We went quite slowly, even though Charley knew the road; but he knew also that this was not his true driver, and that there was something amiss; for several times he stopped, and would not go forward until urged with the whip. But when we’d gone several miles along the road, and were past the places that he knew best, he settled into it; and along we went, past the fields all silent and silvery, and the snake fences like darker braid alongside, with the bats flickering overhead, and the dense patches where there was woodland; and once an owl crossed our path, as pale and soft as a moth. At first I was afraid we would meet someone we knew, and they would ask where we were going on such a furtive errand; but there was not a living soul. And James became bolder and more cheerful, and started talking about what we would do when we reached the States, and how he would sell the things, and buy a small farm, and then we would be independent; and if we did not have enough money at first, we would hire ourselves out as servants, and save up our pay. And I said neither yes nor no, as I did not intend to stay with him any more than a minute, once we were safe across the Lake and among people. But after a time he fell silent, and there was only the sound of Charley’s hooves on the road, and the rustling of the slight wind. I thought I might jump down from the wagon, and run off into the woods; but knew I would not get far, and even if I did, I would then be eaten by the bears and wolves. And I thought, I am riding through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, as it says in the Psalm; and I attempted to fear no evil, but it was very hard, for there was evil in the wagon with me, like a sort of mist. So I tried to think about something else. And I looked up at the sky, which did not have a cloud in it, and was filled with stars; and it seemed so close I could touch it, and so delicate I could put my hand right through it, like a spiderweb spangled with dewdrops.

But then as I looked, a part of it began to wrinkle up, like the skin on scalding milk; but harder and more brittle, and pebbled, like a dark beach, or like black silk crepe; and then the sky was only a thin surface, like paper, and it was being singed away. And behind it was a cold blackness; and it was not Heaven or even Hell that I was looking at, but only emptiness. This was more frightening than anything I could think of, and I prayed silently to God to forgive my sins; but what if there was no God to forgive me? And then I reflected that perhaps it was the outer darkness, with the wailing and the gnashing of teeth, where God was not. And as soon as I had this thought, the sky closed over again, like water after you have thrown a stone; and was again smooth and unbroken, and filled with stars.

But all the time the moon was descending, and the wagon was moving along. And gradually I became drowsy, and the night air was cool, so I drew the cashmere shawl around myself; and I must have nodded off asleep, and let my head fall against McDermott; for the last I remembered was the feel of him settling the shawl tenderly around my shoulders.

The next thing I knew I was flat on my back on the ground, in the weeds at the side of the road, with a heavy weight on top of me holding me down, and there was a hand feeling up under my petticoats; and I began to struggle, and to scream. Then a hand came over my mouth, and the voice of James said angrily, what did I mean, causing such an uproar, did I want us to be discovered? I became quiet, and he took away his hand, and I told him to get off, and to let me up at once.

Then he was very angry; for he claimed I had asked him to stop the wagon, so I could get down and relieve myself by the roadside; and having done so, that I had spread out my own shawl, not two minutes before, and had invited him to join me on it like the hot bitch I was, at the same time saying I would now fulfil my promise.

I knew I had done no such thing, having been sound asleep, and I said so. And he said he would not be made a fool of, and I was a damned slut and a demon, and Hell was too good for me, as I had led him on, and enticed him, and caused him to damn his own soul into the bargain; and I began to cry, not feeling I deserved such hard words. And he said crocodile tears would not avail this time, as he’d had a bellyful of them; and he proceeded to wrench at my skirts, holding my head down by the hair. So I bit him hard on the ear.

He roared out, and I thought he might kill me there and then. But instead he let go of me, and got up, and helped me up as well; and said I was a good girl after all, and he would wait until he had married me, as it was better that way, and more proper; and he had just been testing me. Then he said I certainly had good strong teeth, as I had drawn blood; which seemed to please him.

I was much surprised at this, but said nothing, as I was still all alone with him on an empty road, with many miles to go.

Chapter 39

And so we went on through the night, and at last the sky grew lighter; and we reached Toronto a little after five in the morning. McDermott said we would go to the City Hotel, and rouse the people up, and make them cook breakfast for us, as he was almost starved with hunger. I said that was not a good plan, and we should wait until many people were about, as if we did as he said we would be very noticeable, and would be remembered. And he said why must I always be arguing with him, it was enough to drive a man into a frenzy, and he had money in his pocket which was as good as the next man’s, and if he wanted a breakfast and could pay for it, then he would have it.

It is remarkable, I have since thought, how once a man has a few coins, no matter how he came by them, he thinks right away that he is entitled to them, and to whatever they can buy, and fancies himself cock of the walk.

We did as he said; not so much for the breakfast, I now believe, but because he wanted to show me who was master. What we had was bacon and eggs; and it was a wonder to see how he strutted, and swaggered, and ordered the servant about, and said his egg was not well-enough cooked. But I could scarcely eat two bites; I was shivering with apprehension, because of all the attention he was calling to himself.

Then we found that the next ferry did not leave for the States until eight o’clock, and we would have to wait in Toronto another two hours or so. I felt this was very dangerous, as Mr. Kinnear’s horse and wagon were sure to be known by some in the town, as he had come there very often. So I made McDermott leave the wagon in the most out-of-sight place I could find, on a small side street, although he wanted to drive it about, and preen himself; but I found later that despite my precautions it had been noticed.

It wasn’t until the sun had come up that I got a good look at McDermott in a bright light, and realized he had got Mr. Kinnear’s boots on. And I asked, did he take them off the body, as it lay in the cellar; and he said yes, and the shirt too was Kinnear’s, off the shelves in his dressing room, as it was a fine one, and better quality than any shirt he’d ever owned. He’d thought to take the one off the body as well, but it was covered in blood, and he’d thrown it behind the door. I was horrified, and asked how could he do such a thing; and he said what did I mean, as I was wearing Nancy‘s dress and bonnet myself. And I said it was not the same thing, and he said it was; and I said at least I had not taken the boots off a corpse. And he said it made no difference; and in any case, he hadn’t wanted to leave the corpse naked, so he’d dressed it in his own shirt.

I asked which one had he put on Mr. Kinnear, and he said it was one of those he’d bought from the peddler. I was distressed, and said, Now Jeremiah will be blamed, as it will be traced; and I would be sorry for that, as he was a friend of mine.

McDermott said much too close a friend, in his opinion; and I said what did he mean by that? And he said that Jeremiah had looked at me in a way he didn’t like, and that no wife of his would be allowed to hobnob with any Jew peddlers, and gossip with them at the back door, and flirt in that way; and if she did, he would black her eyes, and knock her head about her shoulders for her. I was becoming angry; and I was on the point of saying that Jeremiah was not a Jew, but even if he was, I would marry a Jew peddler any day, rather than marry him; but I knew that if we had a quarrel it would not be to the good of either, especially if it came to slaps and screaming. So I held my tongue; for it was my plan to get safe across to the States without incident, and then give McDermott the slip, and be quit of him.

I told him to change his costume, and I would do the same; for if people came asking after us, it might throw them off. We did not think that would happen at least until Monday, for we did not know that Mr. Kinnear had invited some friends to Sunday dinner. And so I changed my dress, at the City Hotel, and James put on a light summer jacket of Mr. Kinnear’s. And he told me with a bit of a sneer that I looked very elegant, and quite the lady, with my pink parasol and all.

Then he went to get himself shaved; and this was the moment I could have run for help. But he had several times told me that we must hang together or we would hang separately; and although I felt myself innocent, I knew that appearances were against me. And even if he was to be hanged and I not, and even though I desired no more of his company, and was afraid of him, still I did not wish to be the means of betraying him. There is something despicable about betrayal; and I’d felt his heart beating next to mine, and however undesired, still it was a human heart; and I did not wish to have any part in stilling it forever, unless I should be forced to it. And I reflected as well, that in the Bible it is written, Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I did not feel it was my place to take such a serious thing as vengeance into my own hands; and so I stayed where I was until he came back.

By eight o’clock we were on board the steamer Transit, with the wagon, and Charley Horse, and the boxes and all, and pulling out of the harbour; and I was much relieved. The day was fair, with a fine breeze, and the sun sparkling on the blue waves; and by this time James was in high spirits, and very proud of himself; and I was afraid that if he got out of my sight, he would go about boasting, and strutting in his new clothes, and showing off Mr. Kinnear’s gold trinkets; but he was eager to keep me in view, in case I should tell someone what he had done, and he stuck by me like a leech. We were on the lower deck, because of Charley, as I didn’t wish to leave him alone; he was nervous, and I suspected he’d never been on a steamer before; and the noise of the engine, and the paddle-wheel going around, must have been frightening to him. So I stayed with him and fed him crackers, which he loved because of the salt. A young girl and a horse will always attract attention from admiring youths, who will pretend to be interested in the horse; and soon we did; and I found myself having to answer questions.

James had told me to say that we were brother and sister, and had left our unpleasant relations, with whom we had quarrelled; so I chose to be Mary Whitney, and said that he was David Whitney, and we were on our way to Rochester. The young fellows did not see any reason why they should not flirt with me, as James was only my brother, and so they did; and I thought it my part to return their sallies with good humour, though it told against me at the trial; and at the time I got some black looks from James. But I was only attempting to allay suspicion, both theirs and his; and underneath my show of happiness I was very downheartened.

We stopped at Niagara, but it was nowhere near the Falls, so I was unable to see them. James went ashore, and made me come with him, and he ate a beefsteak. I did not take any refreshment, as I was nervous the whole time we were there. But nothing happened, and we went on. One young fellow pointed to another steamer in the distance, and said it was the Lady of the Lake, a United States vessel which until recently was thought to be the fastest boat on the Lake; but she had just lost a trial-of-speed race to the new Royal Mail Standard boat, the Eclipse, which outran her by four minutes and a half. And I said didn’t that make him proud, and he said no, because he had a dollar bet on the Lady. And all present laughed.

Then something came clear to me which I used to wonder about. There is a quilt pattern called Lady of the Lake, which I thought was named for the poem; but I could never find any lady in the pattern, nor any lake. But now I saw that the boat was named for the poem, and the quilt was named for the boat; because it was a pinwheel design, which must have stood for the paddle going around. And I thought that things did make sense, and have a design to them, if you only pondered them long enough. And so perhaps it might be with recent events, which at the moment seemed to me entirely senseless; and finding out the reason for the quilt pattern was a lesson to me, to have faith. Then I remembered Mary Whitney reading that poem with me, and how we would skip through the dull courtships, and move on to the exciting parts, and the fighting; but the place I recalled best was the poor woman who’d been stolen away from the church on her wedding day, kidnapped for a nobleman’s pleasure, and had gone mad from it, and wandered about picking wildflowers, and singing to herself. And I considered that I too was being kidnapped after a fashion, though not on my wedding day; and I feared I might end up in the same plight.

Meanwhile we were coming into Lewiston. James had attempted to sell the horse and wagon to those on board, against my better judgment; but he asked far too low a price, which aroused suspicion. And because he’d offered them for sale, the Customs Officer in Lewiston put a duty on them, and detained them because we did not have the money to pay it. But although James was angry at first, he soon passed it off as being of little importance, and told me we would sell some of the other things, and come back the next day for the rig. But I was quite anxious about it, as it meant we would have to spend the night there; and although we were in the United States, and should think ourselves safe, as we were in a foreign country now; yet that never stopped the slavers up from the States from seizing runaway slaves they said were theirs; and altogether it was far too close for comfort. I tried to make him promise not to sell Charley Horse, though he could do as he liked with the wagon. But he said, Horse be damned; and I believe he was jealous of the poor horse, because I was so fond of him.

The scenery in the United States was much the same as that of the countryside we had just come from, but it was indeed a different place, as the flags were different. I remembered what Jeremiah told me about borders, and how easy it was to cross them. The time when he had said that to me, in the kitchen at Mr. Kinnear’s, seemed very long ago, and in a different lifetime; but in reality it was just over a week before.

We went to the nearest tavern, which was not a hotel at all, as was said in the broadsheet poem about me, but only a cheap inn by the wharf. There James soon swilled down a lot more beer and brandy than was good for him; and then we had supper, and he drank yet more. And when it was time to retire, he wanted us to pretend we were man and wife, and to take a room together; for, he said, it would be half the cost. But I saw what he was after, and said that as we had started on the boat as brother and sister, we could not change now, in case any remembered us from the boat. So he was given a room with another man in it, and I had one to myself.

But he tried to push his way into my room, saying we would be married soon enough anyway. And I said we would not, and I would sooner marry the Devil himself, than him; and he said he would have my promise off me anyway. Then I said I would scream, which would be a different thing in a houseful of people than in one with only two corpses. And he told me for God’s sake to shut my mouth, and called me a slut and a whore; and I said he should think of some new words to use, because I was heartily tired of those. And he left in a foul temper.

I resolved to get up very early, and dress, and steal away. For if I was forced in some way to marry him, I would be dead and buried in one shake of a lamb’s tail; as if he was suspicious of me at present, he would be more so later. And once he’d got me into a farmhouse, in a strange neighbourhood with no friends about, I would not give two pins for my own life, as it would be a knock on the head for me, and six feet deep in the kitchen garden, and I would be making the potatoes and carrots grow, a great deal sooner than I cared to think.

Happily there was a door that latched, and so I latched it; and then I took off my clothes, all except my shift, and folded them neatly across the back of the chair, as I used to do in the little room at Mrs. Alderman Parkinson’s where I slept with Mary. Then I blew out the candle and slid myself in between the sheets, which were nearly clean for a wonder; and I closed my eyes. On the insides of my eyelids I could see the water moving, the blue heaps of the waves as we came across the Lake, with the light sparkling on them; only they were much bigger waves, and darker, like rolling hills; and they were the waves of the ocean which I had voyaged across three years before, though it seemed like a century. And I wondered what would become of me, and comforted myself that in a hundred years I would be dead and at peace, and in my grave; and I thought it might be less trouble altogether, to be in it a good deal sooner than that.

But the waves kept moving, with the white wake of the ship traced in them for an instant, and then smoothed over by the water. And it was as if my own footsteps were being erased behind me, the footsteps I’d made as a child on the beaches and pathways of the land I’d left, and the footsteps I’d made on this side of the ocean, since coming here; all the traces of me, smoothed over and rubbed away as if they had never been, like polishing the black tarnish from the silver, or drawing your hand across dry sand.

On the edge of sleep I thought: It’s as if I never existed, because no trace of me remains, I have left no marks. And that way I cannot be followed.

It is almost the same as being innocent.

And then I slept.

Chapter 40

This is what I dreamt, as I lay asleep between the nearly clean sheets, in the tavern at Lewiston. I was walking up the long curved drive to Mr. Kinnear’s, between the rows of maple trees that were planted at either side. I was seeing it all for the first time, although I also knew I had been there before, as is the way in dreams. And I thought, I wonder who lives in that house?

Then I knew that I was not alone on the driveway. Mr. Kinnear was walking behind me, to the left; he was there to make sure no harm came to me. And then the lamp came on in the parlour window, and I knew that Nancy was inside, waiting to welcome me back from my journey; for I had been on a journey, I was sure of it, and had been absent a long time. Only it was not Nancy, but Mary Whitney who was waiting; and I felt so happy, to know I would see her again, restored to health and laughing, as she was before.

I saw how beautiful the house was, all white, with the pillars at the front, and the white peonies in flower by the verandah glimmering in the dusk, and the lamplight blooming in the window. And I longed to be there, although in the dream I was there already; but I had a great yearning towards this house, for it was my real home. And as I felt that, the lamp was dimmed and the house went dark, and I saw that the fireflies were out and glowing, and there was the smell of milkweed blossoms from the fields all around, and the warm damp air of the summer evening against my cheek, so mild and soft. And a hand was slipped into mine.

And just then there was a knocking at the door.

Eleven - Falling Timbers

Chapter 41

To Dr. Simon Jordan, care of Major C. D. Humphrey, Lower Union Street, Kingston, Canada West; from Mrs. William P. Jordan, Laburnum House, Loomisville, Massachusetts, The United States of America.

August 3rd, 1859.

My Dearest Son:

I am in the greatest state of apprehension, at not having had a letter from you, for so long. Do send me at least one word, to let me know that no disaster has befallen you. In these evil days, with a calamitous War looming ever nearer in the distance, a Mother’s chief hope is that her dearest ones, of which I have only you remaining, should be safe and sound. Perhaps it would be best if you would remain in that country, to avoid the inevitable; but it is only a weak Mother’s heart that urges it, as I cannot in all conscience advocate cowardice, when so many other Mothers will surely be prepared to face whatever Fate may have in store.

I do so long to see your welcome face once more, dear Son. The slight cough, which has troubled me ever since the time of your birth, has increased of late, and is in the evenings quite violent; and I am in an agony of nerves, every day that you are away from us, for fear that I should be taken away suddenly, in the middle of the night perhaps, without having the opportunity of bidding you a last fond farewell, and giving you a last Mother’s Blessing. Should War be avoided, which we must all hope for, I do so pray that I may see you well settled, and in a home of your own, before that inevitable date. But do not let my doubtless idle fears and fancies take you away from your studies and researches, and your Lunatics, or whatever you are doing, which I am sure is very important.

I hope you are eating a nourishing diet, and keeping up your strength. There is no blessing like a solid constitution, and if one has not inherited it, then even more care must be taken. Mrs. Cartwright says she is so thankful that her daughter has never been sick a day in her life, and is as strong as a horse. The inheritance of a sound mind in a healthy body would be the best legacy of all, to leave to one’s children; one which your own poor Mother was, alas, not able to provide, to her own dear Boy, though not for lack of wishing. But we must all content ourselves with the lot in life, in which Providence has seen fit to place us.

My faithful Maureen and Samantha send their respect and love to you, and beg to be remembered. Samantha says that her strawberry preserves, which you loved so much as a Boy, continue as good as ever, and you should hurry back for a taste of them, before she “crosses over the river,” as she puts it; and my poor Maureen, who may soon be as crippled as your Mother, says she cannot eat a spoonful, without thinking of you, and remembering happier times; and they are both most anxious for the renewed sight of your ever-welcome countenance; as is, to a thousandfold extent,

Your always loving and devoted,

Mother.

Chapter 42

Simon is in the upstairs corridor again, in the attic, where the maids live. He senses them waiting behind their closed doors, listening, their eyes shining in the semi-darkness; but they don’t make a sound. His footsteps in their thick schoolboy boots ring hollowly on the boards. Surely there ought to be some kind of carpet here, or matting; everyone in the house must be able to hear him. He opens a door at random, hoping to find Alice, or was her name Effie? But he’s back at Guy’s Hospital. He can smell it, almost taste it — that dense, heavy smell of damp stone, damp wool, halitosis, and septic human flesh. It’s the smell of trial and disapproval: he is going to be examined. Before him is a draped table: he must make a dissection, although he is only a student here, he hasn’t been taught, he doesn’t know how. The room is empty, but he knows he’s being watched, by those who are there to judge him.

It’s a woman, under the sheet; he can tell by the contours. He hopes she isn’t too old, as that would be somehow worse. A poor woman, dead of some unknown disease. No one knows where they get the cadavers; or no one knows for certain. Dug up in the graveyard by moonlight, goes the student joke. No, not by moonlight, you fool: by the Resurrection Men.

Step by step he approaches the table. Does he have his instruments ready? Yes, here is the candlestick; but he has no shoes on, and his feet are wet. He must lift off the sheet, then lift off her skin, whoever she is, or was, layer by layer. Strip back her rubbery flesh, peel her open, gut her like a haddock. He’s shaking with terror. She will be cold, inflexible. They keep them on ice. But under the sheet there’s another sheet, and under that another one. It looks like a white muslin curtain. Then there’s a black veil, and then — can it be? — a petticoat. The woman must be down there somewhere; frantically he rummages. But no; the last sheet is a bedsheet, and there’s nothing under it but a bed. That, and the form of someone who’s been lying here. It’s still warm. He is failing desperately, failing his examination, and so publicly too; but now he doesn’t mind that. It’s as if he’s been reprieved. It will be all right now, he will be taken care of. Outside the door, which is the same one he came in by, there’s a green lawn, with a stream flowing beyond it. The sound of the running water is very soothing. There’s a quick indrawn breath, and the smell of strawberries, and a hand touches his shoulder.

He wakes, or dreams he wakes. He knows he must still be asleep, because Grace Marks is bending over him in the close darkness, her loosened hair brushing his face. He isn’t surprised, nor does he ask how she has managed to come here from her prison cell. He pulls her down — she is wearing only a nightdress — and falls on top of her, and shoves himself into her with a groan of lust and no manners, for in dreams everything is permitted. His spine jerks him like a hooked fish, then releases him. He gasps for air.

Only then does he realize he’s not dreaming; or not dreaming the woman. She’s really here, in the flesh, lying motionless beside him in the suddenly too-quiet bed, arms at her sides like an effigy; but she is not Grace Marks. Impossible now to mistake her boniness, her bird’s ribcage, her smell of singed linen and camphor and violets. The opium taste of her mouth. It’s his thin landlady, whose first name he doesn’t even know. When he entered her she made no sound, either of protest or delight. Is she even breathing?

Tentatively he kisses her again, then again: small kisses. It’s the alternative to taking her pulse. He works his way around until he finds a vein, the one in her neck, throbbing. Her skin is warm, a little sticky, like syrup; the hairs behind her ear smell of beeswax.

Not dead then.