Caged Bird

Sunlight streams into the room through the blinds, I get out of bed, dress, and tell my servants to bring coffee and eggs into the sitting room, forgetting that Walt wanted me to save them for the guests. Nothing to be done now, we can buy more after all. I make my way through my routine, reading through the mail, and setting aside the bills for Walt until the list is done. Looking guiltily over at the piano, I’m reminded I should be practising my singing, but my throat is aching from last week's party performances. Walt reminded me that I should practice more because I sounded pitchy, but I don’t have the strength today. My jobs are completed surprisingly quickly, and after telling the servants to change out the flowers, dust, and put away the silverware for the next party, I’m left with nothing to do. A half-hour passes of me sitting and observing the gardens out the bay window, fidgeting with my hands as I long for something to do.

I know I shouldn’t fidget, it’s a bad habit my Mother hated, but at least Walt is kind about it, glancing at my hands to remind me to stop when we’re in public. He loves when I sing, and play piano, “His little songbird,” he says, at least it keeps my hands busy. I wish my voice were better, I do my best to make it worthy of his praise. Glancing up at the clock, I realise I have wasted an hour on daydreaming, likely because I’m unaccustomed to free time. Perhaps my hands yearn for a paintbrush or a good book to hold, and that is why I’m fidgety, but my painting was never even adequate. Reading is a waste of time, especially the novels I spent precious hours reading in my youth, so many hours wasted when I could have spent them on bettering my needlepoint, piano, singing, or any other skill. And yet Walt chose me anyway, I suppose that is a testament to how much he loves me, for I never was the best at anything. 

Suddenly, a servant walks in, Maria. “There’s a visitor for you Ma’am, your neighbour.”

“Let her in.” It’s been a long time since we had a visit from one of the neighbours, perhaps one of the fences on the property line is broken, or our hedges have gotten too tall. I’m a little stunned when Penny walks around the corner, she’s been rather quiet since I moved in, and I always had the sense she never liked me, with her snooty British accent and uptight mannerisms. “Elizabeth, how are you, hun? I feel it’s been such a long time since we last spoke, but I suppose it was only a week ago at that wonderful party you hosted here.”

“Yes, I was glad to see you attend, but it must have been some time since you called on us personally. Is something the matter with our property? I do hope our hedges are not encroaching.”

“Not at all dear, I had only wondered if you should like to call into town with me today. I require a new dress, and you do have such wonderful taste, I had hoped you would not mind advising me?”

“I normally check with Walt to make sure it is alright first, but I suppose a small outing couldn’t hurt. I would be delighted to accompany you into town. I’ll have the servants prepare a carriage.”

————

A short trip later we arrive in town, it has been pleasant, but I cannot help the nagging fear that I didn’t check with Walt that it was alright beforehand. I am sure it will be fine, as long as I do not spend any money. We have plenty of course, but he is right that it must be spent on worthwhile things, and not frivolously. 

Penny drags me from store to store, and I do my best to provide her with advice. She seems surprised at some of my comments, and I eventually confess to her, “Walt typically buys me whatever is in fashion and suits my complexion.” She seems stunned, commenting, “I would never trust my husband to pick my clothing, he couldn’t tell a maroon from a burgundy, I fear the results would be disastrous,” she jokes before we move on. My eye is suddenly caught by a pair of fabulous black pants in one of the many shops we visit, a pair for women that seem very fashionable indeed. Penny notices me eyeing them and I’m rather embarrassed, but to my surprise, she urges me to try them on. I really quite like them, and they seem to suit my body well, Penny says so too. Caught up in the moment I decide to make the purchase, stupidly forgetting about not spending money, before we both begin to make our way home, Penny with her several bags, and me with my one. It’s when we’re almost home that I notice the time, and feel immense guilt that I wasn’t home to accompany Walt at dinner and fulfil my duties, it’s bad enough that I didn’t confirm my outing today with him. As I wave Penny goodbye I notice a note pinned to our door, and I pick it up for Walt without thinking much of it, but as I try to open to door I realise it has been locked, and I realise that I forgot my set of keys in my hurry to leave this morning. 

I’m about to go around to the back door before I catch a glimpse of the envelope and see my name written on it. Opening it and reading it quickly, tears begin to form in my eyes. It’s from Walt, and he says he has locked the doors and that his disappointment is immeasurable. He doesn’t mean to be cruel, I know this, and I have made so many mistakes today. The eggs and not practising my singing, even going out without telling him could have been forgivable if only I hadn’t spent the money on silly pants that likely don’t even suit me. The poor thing, he must be so lonely in that big house by himself. I catch a chill in the air and am unsure of what to do, but I know how determined he is to teach me a lesson, he has done it before. Left without other options, I begin the walk to Penny’s and Rodger’s house, already trying to come up with excuses. I suppose I will say that I forgot my keys and that nobody is awake to let me inside, that sounds sensible enough, although it makes me sound rather foolish, which I really am. Despite how hard I’ve tried, I’ve never really grown out of being that silly little girl I was when I met Walt. I continue reflecting on this throughout the night, all the way to Penny’s house, into her guest bedroom, and even into my dreams, which provide no comfort from my stupid mistakes. 

————

I walk home in shame the next morning. Despite knowing Walt had good intentions, and that he was entirely right for punishing me, I cannot help but feel afraid as I walk up the steps to the front door, which feels more intimidating than ever. As I reach for the lock he opens the door, and I can see how angry he is, perhaps even more than I’d anticipated. It’s no use, I know nothing I say will make a difference, and even if I tried, my voice is so weak and scratchy he would be unable to understand anyhow, he would only find it grating. I follow him into the sitting room, unsure of what he wants from me, which is the thing that makes me most nervous. We both sit down, and I can’t bear to face him, so I keep my eyes on the ground.

“Don’t be pathetic. You’re not a little girl, despite what your actions might suggest, look at me.”

I look up, but only for a second, until he slaps me across the face. I deserve it, I know, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. “You’re such a stupid girl. It was bad enough when I saw you had eaten the eggs, you know we have to save those for the guests, and when the servants told me you hadn’t done any practice, I was ashamed enough, but to come home and find the house completely empty, what a disgrace! You could have been anywhere, with anyone, making a fool of yourself, without me to remind you to keep your composure, and disgracing me by going out alone! What would people think?”

“I- I- was j- just”

“Shut up. I don’t need your excuses or your yammering, and don’t you ever interrupt me again. You’re so useless, it’s pathetic.”

The room fills with silence, seeping in from the cold, tall walls that have seen this all too many times before. He’s right, I should’ve known better. My blood runs cold as he looks off into the distance, he’s thinking about punishment, I’m sure. What he says next surprises me, “I want another party, three days from now. My boss is in town and I need to make a good impression, I don’t care about your throat, it will be fine with more practice, I need my songbird at peak performance abilities, and you can take it as an opportunity to redeem yourself from your foolish, stupid actions yesterday. I want you in this room planning, and you’re not to leave until you’re done. Do you understand?” I nod, knowing my voice will only annoy him. “Good. I’ll have the servants bring you the guest list I wrote out last night and everything else you’ll need. No need to worry about expenses, it must be grand in order to impress the boss. Hopefully, this will be the last push for me to get that promotion he promised me. Now, I don’t want you talking too much until the party, so don’t worry about making any conversation with me, just focus on the party and your singing practice. I need you in top form.” He stands up and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. After that, the servants drop off my planning supplies, but I hardly notice, my blood still cold and my body frozen in place, staring at the wall. After the servants leave I finally let the tears flow, covering my mouth with my hands to keep from whining, desperately trying to stop myself from sobbing to preserve my voice, but I can’t. Nothing stops the sobs and the more I try the more the tears flow and the more I begin to whine and cry out. Eventually, I get so desperate I bite down on my own hand just to try and keep my mouth shut so that he doesn’t hear me. I want to scream. He’s never hit me before, and somehow I feel like this is too far. I know I can’t deserve this. “No need to worry about expenses.” I suppose that only applies to parties and not when I want a small treat or gift, not that he would even think to gift me anything. I hate him. I hate myself for hating him. Then it all seems so unfair. I swear he wasn’t always this bad… right? Right?

————

Over the day I can feel the anger boiling within my chest, growing and bubbling up whenever he makes a snide comment about my voice, my lack of practice, the party expenses - which he told me not to worry about, let alone all the comments about what I’m going to wear, what I’m eating and drinking before then. Today we will go through every detail of the party, and even though it’s only been a day since he asked me to plan, he’ll expect perfection. When he calls me into the sitting room I bring everything; the guest list, my sheet music, and my outfit, so that he can sit in judgment over me. He’s critical and unkind, I suppose he’s in a bad mood today, so his comments are harsh. Foolishly, and perhaps out of curiosity to see his reaction, I have brought the pants down from their hiding place upstairs, I want to wear them at the party. He doesn’t comment on them until we move on to my outfit, but he glances at them with disdain every so often. Finally, the moment comes when he asks to see what I’m wearing, and I show him. He laughs, he thinks I’m joking and I don’t know what to do except stand there, pathetically holding up the pants in front of me. I feel frozen, and my blood has run cold, and then the disdain and hatred rise in my chest again. 

“I never knew you were so funny, what a sense of humour!” I know he’s aware it wasn’t a joke. I know he can see the tears forming in my eyes. He twists the knife in, saying “I’ll have the servants bring down a selection from your wardrobe, would you like me to pick one for you?”

“Yes.” 

“Wonderful. I’m going to the kitchen to look at the food selection. You’re welcome to join me if you wish.”

My hatred seethes and writhes in my chest, deep and cold within me. I recall a story, in the paper, about the widows in town who had been forced into unhappy marriages, as I was. The women in the stories I read as children, and what they did to escape. Perhaps the only way out for me is to do the same. 

The next half hour I spend in the living room, planning, or perhaps plotting is more accurate. He’ll still be in the kitchen when I’m done, and if not there he’ll be in my wardrobe picking my outfit. I’ll grab a knife from the kitchen, and hide it in my dress. If now doesn’t work I’ll wait. I’ve waited plenty of time already, but biding my time a little longer won’t hurt if I can’t make it work now. He can’t know. That is key. 

————

My legs seem to have a mind of their own as I make my way towards the kitchen’s outside staff entrance, my body wanting to run ahead. I force it to walk, slow and quiet. The air outside is cold, it seems about to snow. I glance through the window, careful not to be seen. Walt’s back is facing away from the door, staring down at the menu options, alone. Good.

The door is creaky, but he doesn’t look up as I enter, obviously assuming I’m a servant. My soft, flat shoes tread quietly on the tile as I approach the knife block. The floor’s wet, and I have to be careful not to slip, they must have cleaned because they knew Walt would be in here. Approaching him slowly, I’m unsure of how I should approach the actual gesture. His neck is exposed, that seems the simplest way to get it done. I’m right behind him now, knife in hand, why am I hesitating? I hate him, he’s vile, cruel, and treats me terribly, where did the hatred go, that seething thing in my chest? What happened?

Suddenly he turns around to find me, knife raised, about to stab him in the neck. His face, that vile thing, contorts itself to confusion, then utter disdain. He lunges forward, attempting to grab my wrists, and I jump back, then he slips on the floor, falls backwards and hits his head on the edge of the kitchen bench, knocking him out. I put the knife away before checking the back of his head, he’s bleeding. Foolishly now I have his blood on my hands, at least it’s not on the knife. I scream out for a servant, Maria, and she runs in. “Walt slipped, he’s hit his head!” I exclaim, doing my best to sound utterly distressed, which I somewhat am. She looks horrified, there’s a fair bit of blood so it’s understandable. “I want to stay with him, take the carriage into town and get the doctor, quick, tell him to bring something to transport Walt. He’s barely breathing!”

“Yes, Ma’am.” She says, running off. As the other servants run in I ask them to help me lift Walt into the living room, and we manage to put him on the sofa. His vile face is blank now, without an expression. I pretend to press a towel to the wound in his head, but just let it lie limply against it. I can make this work, it just has to look real. He did all the work for me. Quickly the doctors arrive and the next part is a blur as they lift him out to their transport. I explain what we have done, that it’s the best we could do, sobbing as I talk. They assure me they’ll do their best. Then all is quiet again. I dismiss the servants for the rest of the day, I’d like to be alone. Things have taken such a strange turn. 

The house is deadly silent, the only sounds now are my breathing and footsteps, echoing throughout the large halls. After wandering about for a while I decide to return to the sitting room, allowing myself to daydream. I recall his face when he saw me with the knife. No sadness, no sense of betrayal, only a hint of confusion and then disdain. He went to attack me. I don’t know why this surprises me, he’s been violent in the past, but this feels different. It all feels so unreal, like those novels I read as a child. They never spoke about the aftermath, or how the women felt afterwards. It’s worse than emptiness, it’s relief.