Read Online Poor Tom Is Cold by Maureen Jennings - Free Book Online Page B

quite real, as if she had been dreaming violent, vivid dreams. However, her eyes were focusing properly now and even though her head felt as if she were inside a blanket, she was no longer under the influence of the sedative. She knew she was in an institution.
    She shivered. The water had cooled to the point of discomfort. She turned her head. There were three large bathtubs in the room and she was in the middle one. On her left was a woman whose face, with its well-defined nose and chin and good wide brow, showed some refinement of features. She wasn’t young but her hair was still brown and abundant, braided and pinned into a crown on top of her head.
    “Hello,” said Peg softly.
    The woman’s eyes were closed and she didn’t respond.
    “Good girl.” The woman in the other tub had spoken loudly. “You’ll go to heaven, my dear.” Her hair was white and stringy and Peg could see there were large bare patches on her scalp, the skin showing pink.
    “Hello,” she said.
    The woman looked over at her but her eyes were blank and unseeing. Suddenly she burst into harsh crying. Peg could offer no comfort but the tears stopped as abruptly as they’d begun and the woman started to sing a cheerful hymn.
    All three women were in the same position. A canvas cover was stretched across the iron tub. There was a hole for the patient’s head; the rest of the body was completely immersed. There was a canvas harness which sloped backward and Peg was fastened to it by a strap at the waist. Her arms were tied at the wrists and her legs were similarly restrained at the ankles. The bonds weren’t tight but she couldn’t slip out of them. Even if she had been able to get loose, she knew she wouldn’t be able to lift the canvas cover because it was tied to rings at the side of the tub.
    Somebody will come soon. Keep calm, keep calm
.
    But the panic swept over her and she couldn’t stop it bursting out of her mouth.
    A woman in attendant’s uniform came hurrying in. She was large and her features were strong to the pointof being masculine but her expression was kind. She clucked sympathetically.
    “What’s this now?”
    “Let me out, please let me out.”
    “Are you cold?” the attendant asked.
    “Yes, yes, I am. Can I get out?”
    “I’ll just warm up the water a bit and that’ll feel better. All our ladies show great improvement after a time in the tub. Wish I could do it myself; my beaters get real sore at the end of the day.”
    “I don’t care a frigging toss about your feet. I want to get out of this goddam tub.”
    The woman wagged her forefinger. “Nasty words like that won’t get you anywhere except into trouble.”
    Peg felt a wave of terror pinch her stomach. This attendant seemed quite kind really but she was like all of them. If you offended, retribution was inevitable. Sometimes it was angry and overt, more often subtle. Small withholdings. Leave her there longer, just fifteen minutes longer in the solitary room. Fifteen minutes that would make the difference between sanity and madness.
    She tried to gain back some control. “I’m sorry, truly I am. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean it. I was …”
    She was interrupted by her neighbour bursting into sobs again. The attendant nodded over at her.
    “Don’t worry about Miss Anderson. She’s quite harmless.”
    “Why is she crying like that?”
    “She is afraid she won’t go to heaven. She was a missionary most of her life.”
    She went over to the white-haired woman and leaned over close to her face.
    “Why don’t you sing us another hymn now, Miss Anderson? I do dearly love to hear ‘Waiting by the River.’”
    Almost without pause, the woman changed from crying to singing. Her voice was hoarse but the rendition was tuneful, years of habit still strong. The attendant came back to Peg and turned on the taps at the end of the tub.
    “Is that better? Do you want it hotter?”
    “No, thank you. I’m sorry I was so rude. What is your name