Stella Bain (20 page)

“What if you are not satisfied with the quality of the education he is receiving at the primary school?”

“I shall supplement his education where I feel there are gaps. I did that for his sister, Clara, when she was younger.”

Judge Kornitzer nods. “The court is sorry you were not here when your son needed you most.”

Etna, chastened, answers. “I am, too, Your Honor.”

“Mrs. Van Tassel, although I do not allow hypothetical questions in my court from counsel, I am going to put one to you now. If you were in my position, with this decision to make, would you allow a mother who had once abandoned her children to have custody of them again?”

Etna must say yes, she must. But the question, in its phrasing, is damning and makes her hesitate when she should not. There is no time. “Yes, Your Honor. I would give custody of that boy to his mother because she loves him with all her heart.”

“You may step down, Mrs. Van Tassel. Thank you.”

Etna, shaking, returns to her position beside Mr. Hastings. He gives her a long quizzical look to ascertain if she is well. She nods.

Counsel for the Relator wishes to read aloud a letter from Dr. August Bridge, surgeon, of Bryanston Square, London.

“Is this the letter you spoke of earlier today?” the judge asks. “Do I and Mr. Bates have copies of said letter?”

“Yes, it is, and yes, you do.”

“Very well, you may read it into the record.”

“Dear Mr. Hastings,

“I was very glad to have news of Etna Bliss Van Tassel, but saddened to learn that she is now involved in a custody dispute over her son. I have the utmost admiration for Mrs. Van Tassel, and I hope the courts will see fit to allow the woman to be mother to her child. She certainly has earned the right.

“I knew Mrs. Van Tassel as Stella Bain. This was not a pseudonym or an alias, but rather a name that came to her when she woke from unconsciousness in Marne, France, in March of 1916. In late October of 1916, the woman made her way, against great odds, to London, because she believed something at the Admiralty in London to be the key to retrieving her memory. She arrived, in a destitute state after her long journey, at the square in which my wife and I lived. We took her in, as anyone would an indigent. Because I was a cranial surgeon with a growing interest in psychological matters, Mrs. Van Tassel and I quickly discerned that my help might be useful to her. She had lost her memory, she said, and wanted it back.

“She became a guest in our household as well as a quasi-patient of mine.

“It is my opinion, based on what I observed during her stay and the study I have pursued since, that Mrs. Van Tassel was suffering from shell shock when she came to us.”

Etna flinches at the diagnosis. Though she thought it might be true when she met with Dr. Bridge in the orangery, neither he nor she ever said the words.

“Though I was at first reluctant to compare Mrs. Van Tassel to those whose minds have been shattered in the trenches, I have reached the conclusion that she suffered from a like illness.

“To my knowledge, Mrs. Van Tassel may be the first diagnosed case of female shell shock in my country. I have no doubt that there are other women with this condition who have not come forward. Logically, it must be possible. Nursing sisters and their aides abroad see nightmarish injuries and death all around them. Worse, they not only see the injuries repeatedly, they must touch them in the most unpleasant ways, and then watch most of the men die. These women must be plagued by the same physical and emotional symptoms as male soldiers.

“Although Mrs. Van Tassel’s shell shock took the form of memory loss, which my colleagues in this country are discovering is not an uncommon symptom in men who have returned from the front, Mrs. Van Tassel also suffered from intermittent seizures, a deafness that came upon her from time to time, and severe, not to say ghastly, pains in her legs, which rendered her incapable of moving for five minutes or so. To my knowledge, Mrs. Van Tassel no longer suffers from seizures or deafness, and I am quite sure that after all this time, the pains in her legs have gone away.

“Mrs. Van Tassel worked tremendously hard while under our roof to unlock her memory. She did this, with my help, by way of talk therapy, therapeutic drawing, and a strong hunch on her part that led to the place where she finally heard her true name spoken aloud by Captain Samuel Asher of the Royal Navy. He was a man who had known her when she lived in America. At the moment she heard her true name, she recovered her memory.

“The very first words Mrs. Van Tassel spoke when she realized who she was were
I have children.

“I believe a subconscious urgency to be reunited with her children led her, under desperate circumstances, from France to London to the Admiralty. It is my understanding from Captain Asher that Mrs. Van Tassel was able to leave London almost immediately after regaining her memory and travel by ship to America. I have had several letters from Mrs. Van Tassel since that time and have learned that she and her children have been reunited.

“In England, we struggle to understand shell-shocked victims. At the beginning of the war, such men were accused of malingering and sent straight back to the very arena they were incapable of enduring. Today, we have hospitals set up for these men, where they receive various forms of treatment. Memory loss is not an uncommon symptom of shell shock; indeed, these hospitals report memory loss for up to two years and possibly longer, since the men they refer to have not yet recovered their memories.

“It is my private belief that Mrs. Van Tassel’s shell shock was brought on not by a physical injury to the brain but rather by a previous trauma in America that was exacerbated by the trauma of her wartime activities and then sharply crystallized by the sight of Phillip Asher’s horrific wounds to his face. Mrs. Van Tassel lost her autobiographical memory at that moment, or shortly thereafter. And that was a rather good thing for her. I have no doubt that had she not lost her memory, she would have had an irreversible breakdown in her mental health. As far as I can tell, there is no known case of memory loss reappearing in a shell-shocked victim. In other words, there is little to no likelihood of Mrs. Van Tassel’s losing her memory again.

“Mrs. Van Tassel is a woman of exceptionally strong character, stamina, and determination. She is graceful in her bearing and in her interactions with others. In addition, I believe she has a great capacity for love. I should think any child of this woman would consider himself among the luckiest persons on earth.

“Please give Mrs. Van Tassel my regards. I wish you both a speedy conclusion to what must be for her a painful proceeding.

“Very sincerely yours,

“Dr. August Bridge”

A hush extends over the court. Even Mr. Bates is, for the moment, silenced. The solemnity and horror of the war has, perhaps for the first time, entered the chill courtroom.

Etna weeps quietly for the war’s victims, for August, for mothers who must see their boys off to war, and for herself. Mr. Hastings, beside her, covers her hand with his own. Although August has written with the best of intentions, and perhaps with great affection for her, he has unwittingly provided the one piece of information that will sink her case. The average person in America, Etna guesses, knows little about shell shock except that it is a terrifying diagnosis.

Judge Kornitzer gathers himself together and speaks into the silence.

“Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning, after which time I shall deliver my opinion in this case. Mr. Bates, make sure your client is present in the courtroom.”

T
he Honorable Judge Warren Kornitzer requests silence in the courtroom.

“Mrs. Van Tassel, I will direct my comments to you, since it is you and your lawyer who have brought the case to the attention of this court. You do not have to stand.

“I am convinced of your many excellent qualities. Your steadiness, your reliability, your good effect on your child, your ability to be an able mother, and your excellent character. In addition, I personally would like to thank you for your extraordinary service during this war, even though it took place before America entered the hostilities. Compassionate service to any soldier of any country is among the highest ideals of mankind. At the very least, your example must have given your British counterparts a good impression of an American volunteer.

“But being a good mother entails more than being of good character.

“I am minorly concerned that you left your children with no explanation as to how or where they could find you. I say
minorly
because I have no doubt that you would never, under any circumstances, do that again.

“I am disturbed that you would remove your boy from the only school he has ever known—one that is superior, moreover, to the one you would have him enter.

“I am very worried that you might not take your children to church. Society, and by that I mean the general body of citizens in this state, believes that regardless of the private beliefs of either the mother or the father, it is the parent’s sacred duty to provide religious instruction for the child.

“Mrs. Van Tassel, the information this court received yesterday as to your diagnosis of shell shock and the physical health matters that attended it are deeply troublesome. The state cannot release a young child into the care of a mother who might, for any amount of time, become physically incapacitated.

“If you wish to pursue this matter further, I am going to require you to undergo a course of therapy for six months, after which I will request your appearance in this court with affidavits of your complete cure from a physician recommended by the court. At that point, if you wish, we will continue with our proceedings. No parent or relative of Nicodemus Van Tassel may remove the child from the state at any time for any purpose. I will bring charges of kidnapping against any person accused of doing so. When we reconvene, I shall expect both Nicodemus and Clara Van Tassel to be present in the courthouse.

“Note, Mrs. Van Tassel, that I am not forbidding you to see your son in the manner in which you have been doing, nor can the father forbid you to do so.

“The court wishes you well in your treatments.

“Court is dismissed.”

E
tna lies atop her quilt, staring at the ceiling. Supine is the only position she can manage. Never has she felt so exhausted, defeated, unable to stand. Once again, she is amazed at the power of the mind over the body. Just a few words spoken in court have rendered her as helpless as she was after three days traveling from France to London under impossible conditions.

Averill Hastings apologized as he walked Etna to her motorcar, Etna upright, determined not to show any weakness while others might be watching.

“Mrs. Van Tassel, I thought Dr. Bridge’s very powerful recommendation of you to the court outweighed any comments about your previous illness, which he seemed convinced was cured,” her lawyer said. “I did not expect that his use of the term
shell shock
would go so hard on you. I was wrong, and I cannot tell you how deeply sorry I am. But I still have hope. In six short months, you will have done as the court has asked and will be reunited with your son forever.”

“Mr. Hastings, you are very young.”

Just as Etna was about to enter her motorcar, a large figure appeared beside her.

“Etna.”

She turned to look at the man who was once her husband. “Nicholas.”

“I am sorry you had such a difficult experience in Europe.”

Etna was astonished. And yet she remembered that empathetic face.

“And I am also sorry for the misunderstanding that made you flee my house.”

Misunderstanding.

My house.

“Nicholas, it was no misunderstanding.”

His eyes instantly filled with tears. She had seen this before, too.

Van Tassel sniffed the tears away. He did something with his chin that altered his appearance and closed a door that had, for a few seconds, been left open.

“Indeed. I shall pretend that this never happened,” he said and turned. She watched her husband, who was no husband, walk away.

Dr. Bridge, the unwitting source of her demise. She understands his letter in a way the judge did not. In England, people are encouraged to get on with life: a son has died, a man has shell shock, do your best. But here, where the war is only a year and a half old, the words
shell shock
must seem both foreign and terrifying. She worries about the judge’s recommendations. How will she find a physician in New Hampshire who will understand the nature of the diagnosis?

She hopes Dr. Gile can help her in this matter. A teaching hospital might have physicians who have studied the phenomenon. Or he will advise her to visit a military base. But what military doctor would have time to treat a woman?

She lies with her arms loosely at her sides, her feet slightly apart, as vulnerable as she has ever felt. A new thought enters her mind. She will have to tell Clara of her ailments; they are public knowledge now. Etna has no doubt that her daughter will love her just the same, but might the young woman begin to worry, to believe she must now be parent to the parent?

August…if only Etna could go to him, work with him again, and have him write a letter definitively stating that she is cured of all possible manifestations of shell shock. But then again Judge Kornitzer might not accept August’s letter. He seems to want an independent, American physician to pronounce her well.

“Nicky,” she says aloud, sitting up. She must go to see the boy today. Mr. Price will still be in his office, and possibly he will allow Etna, given the circumstances, to see her son for just an hour after classes. A glass of root beer in the hotel dining room will help Etna enormously, and it might, with any luck, lift Nicky’s spirits, too.