Incomplete Diary of Good and Evil

By Judith St. King and Laura Langley

Ten year-old Janie Webster sees a runaway inmate from the Traverse City State Hospital, thus starting a chain of events that lead her through the summer of 1946. In her goal to right injustices, Janie tries to stop her best friend Eddie from being physically abused. When he disappears, Janie becomes determined to find him. During this search, she first becomes aware of adult bias and cultural stigmas.
Janie struggles to understand adult decisions; including the slow shattering of her parent’s marriage, the impending lobotomy of her eighty year old neighbor, hypocrisy in members of a fundamentalist religion, a neighbor’s domestic violence episode, a pedophile, and clandestine teen sexual encounter.
Janie attempts to reconcile the vast difference in what adults say, and what they actually do when they think no one is looking. These experiences lead Janie to search for meaning in her overtly racist and classist post war, religiously hypocritical, mid-west community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483586793

Book preview

Twenty-Six

Chapter One

April, 1946

I’M WALKING IN THE MEADOW, CHEWING ON THE END OF A STRAND OF prairie grass near Asylum Creek, so called because it winds around the state hospital for the insane, and to my surprise Helen wanders into view.

What’s she doing here? She should be locked up! How did she get out? What do I do?

I’m frozen for a moment. Before this I’ve only seen her through a chain linked asylum porch. This is scary. My heart beats hard.

She’s an inmate! She doesn’t belong on the outside!

Helen? My voice trembles with the effort to speak.

Hello, my child, she says in her slightly haughty manner. She smiles just enough to expose her toothless mouth. I’m looking for Princess Margaret. Helen looks like always, her long gray hair cascading around her wrinkled face and onto her shoulders as she lifts her chin. I must find her. She must be playing a hiding game with me. Have you seen her?

No. It takes a moment to correct myself, thinking to sneakily lead her back to her home. Maybe, yes maybe I did. I pause, guessing at what might interest her. Is she wearing her princess tiara?

Yes! Yes, she is. Take me to her post haste! Ah yes, Helen’s style. Require obedience. Feeling more confident I put my hand toward her as an invitation. Here, I’ll take you to her.

She doesn’t take my hand but does step closer. I start toward the alley way leading back toward the hospital and hear her shuffle, a close step behind me. When the inmate cottages appear though the trees Helen says, Is that where you saw her, dearie?

Yes, I think near that building. My hand shakes as I point toward the women’s cottage.

I’m not certain, but I think I can walk her over to her residence, the cottage where my mother works. My mother, who is a practical nurse, says that Helen really believes what she tells me, but that it is all an invention of her mind. It’s a delusion.

I really don’t care right now as it’s important to get her back to the asylum and safe.

Helen turns away from the direction I’m leading her. I don’t think so, dearie. She’d go that way! Over near those barns. The princess likes horses,

No, I say thinking fast. I’m really I saw her over here. Follow me.

Her weathered face reddens. I know the Princess! You don’t! You’re nothing but a servant girl! Do you want a whipping? She raises her right hand.

I don’t know what to do except run toward my mother’s cottage.

Helen’s out! Helen’s out!

Where is everybody? I stop and glance back. What’s Helen doing?

She’s changed direction, headed for the dairy farm. I don’t want to lose sight for fear she’ll get lost so I straighten myself up and follow. But if I get too close she might hurt me when she doesn’t find Princess Margaret. And it’s certain she won’t. If only there were some adult around, a grounds keeper or another patient, perhaps one with ground parole.

Maybe Mr. Golfer is nearby ready to practice his tee shots. Maybe Eddie is sitting in our favorite elm tree.

I look around. No. Think, Janie, think.

Helen has disappeared behind the administration building. I run until I spot her.

Helen, I shout. Nurse Webster says she’s inside with Princess Elizabeth. Tea is being served. Princess Margaret is waiting for you.

Helen turns around and waves. I’ll be right there. She walks away from me.

I make a turn and run into the administration building. A secretary is walking in the hall. Hurry! Helen has escaped. She’s right outside!

Oh yes, she says, her voice quiet and calm. I had a call that Helen has walked off. She’s done this before. We’ll find her. She waves her hand toward the door. Go on home now. We’ll manage. I’ll send security guards.

But I’m worried.

No, nothing to worry about. Go on home now or I’ll have to call your mother.

I leave the building, torn between disobeying and doing as I’m told. Helen could get really lost, just like my friend Rhonda did last year. Of course, that was at the fairgrounds and Rhonda isn’t crazy, so I guess that doesn’t count.

But I need to make certain they find Helen.

A couple of guards are walking around the farm buildings. I’ve talked to one of them before on my many trips to visit the women in the cottage. He waves and calls, Hey Janie. You visiting the cows?

Yes! And looking for Helen too.

Okay, but watch your step! And don’t worry. We’ll find her. We always do.

Good news. He’s not going to shoo me home. It seem like the best thing for me to do is scan the area and think like Helen. She has a goal and that’s to find a princess. I look around. Is there anywhere that looks like a princess might go? Off in the distance, high on a hill is a very large house that overlooks the hospital grounds. Maybe she’s gone in that direction. I’ll follow that idea. At least it’s a plan.

Helen is shuffling up the road. My guess is that her destination is the old mansion and it’s within shouting distance. Helen’s face is sweaty, her face gray, and she breathing hard from the effort put forth to climb the steep gravel road. There’s a tree stump at the end of the drive.

Come Helen, let’s sit down. I’ll get help and we can go have tea with the princess.

This time, she takes my outstretched hand. She seems too tired to resist. I guide her to the tree stump.

Here, sit here.

I keep my gaze on her as I run to the stranger’s door and knock. The elderly owner says he’ll call the hospital and get us a ride. He joins Helen and me to wait.

I’m happy I followed my heart and found Helen, but am I in deep trouble?

Both my parent’s lecture me about how adults are in charge for a reason. Adults tell me to follow what they say because they are responsible to keep a child safe. If an adult says, ‘go home,’ that means go home, unless some stranger says to come with him, of course.

But it turned out well, says Mom. I’m happy you found and took care of Helen.

My parents and I sit in the living room and listen to the Sammy Kaye Show. My mother reclines on our royal blue sofa near the piano and my father in his wingback chair next to our console radio. When the show is over my normal routine is to kiss my parents good-night and head off to bed. Tonight, however, Mom tells me to wait a moment and scurries into the bedroom.

Dad stretches, turns down the radio, uncrosses his legs, and leans toward me. I wonder what she’s up to? he says loudly in a mock whisper as my mother saunters back into the living room.

You might like to keep a record of the exciting events of your life or new thoughts and ideas. I had one when I was small. Heaven knows where it is now, probably in one of those trunks. Anyway it doesn’t matter. Since you are living this exciting life, this is a way to record it. It’s for you. From me and Dad.

It’s a thin, red, spiral, notebook with Janie’s Diary printed on the front. I can’t stop smiling as I flip through the pristine white pages. I imagine my thoughts all written there. I hug both of them. I hurry up the stairs to my room, put on my pajamas, and hop onto the bed.

The blue ink of the first word contrasts against the white sheet on page one.

April 7, 1946

Dear Diary,

My name is Janie Webster. I’m in fifth grade. I live in town now because we moved from Mr. Golfer’s farm where my dad worked during the war. Sometimes I miss the farm, the horses, and the cherry trees. We were all happier then.

My best friend is Eddie and also Rhonda and Marylou. Eddie doesn’t have any family like me. I’m so lucky to have a real home and parents. My mother is Mattie and my father is Bill. I am going to be a nurse just like my mother, except I’m going to attend college and be a head nurse. I helped Helen today. She lives in the asylum because she is crazy.

It’s really hard not to tell people what I really think, so I’ll tell you.

It bothers me that I lied to Helen, but it was a good lie, so maybe it’s not a sin. I don’t think it was. But is there such a thing as a good sin?

Janie

Just a lecture? That’s it? Eddie says. He tips his head to one side. Well, you did find her. And it wasn’t like it was your mom or dad that said to go home. Actually you did good, Janie. Real good.

I think so too.

With that Eddie waves his arms like a large, lumbering bird soaring into the heavens.

Freedom! he shouts. That’s what we want! Helen and me! Then he runs and waves his arms up and down.

Usually I run faster than Eddie, but today his energy has him leaping way ahead of me, tromping across the dried prairie grass with bits of early green crabgrass coming through. Irritated to be left so far behind I yell, Wait! Slow down!

Surprisingly Eddie stops and turns around to start back toward me. Using the same arm flapping ritual he quickly closes the distance between us, thunders by then stops two steps beyond me as though he couldn’t get his brakes on early enough. His arms rise over his head momentarily lifting the back of his too small jacket. Flashes of a yellow tinged bruise emerge inches above his waist.

I pretend not to see it. It’s best. Eddie wouldn’t like it. Adults don’t like it either. Grownups say they want to know everything but they don’t really like it much when a kid does say something. Like when I asked my mom why Dad wasn’t speaking to her. The whole question hung in the air sort of stinky.

So, what do I do? Nothing? That doesn’t seem right either. But what? Something. Like with Helen. Maybe something is better than nothing.

Eddie’s faded yellow jacket bounces across open acres that edge our neighborhood. The smell of new grass permeates the freshness of spring air. I tromp into the path that Eddie has created. Dried grass crunches beneath my tennis shoes and slows me as I struggle to catch up with him. Flickers of auburn curls bobble around his head as he dashes across the butterfly field toward Asylum Creek that borders the back of my house and winds around the State Hospital grounds.

Eddie’s my best friend since he moved into the foster home last year. Being a new kid and a poor one with no real family makes him the kid that most other kids avoid. Even so, I like him in a special way, like maybe if I had a brother. I’m glad I have a mom and dad even though they argue a lot. I pray and pray that they will stop fighting.

The Belcher foster house is on the corner. An old gray mansion with a round tower faces the street right across from the insane asylum. Three other kids, Bobby, John, and Lester also live there, but they are older, like fifteen or sixteen. Eddie’s the youngest kid. He’s twelve, almost two years older than me, but in the same grade. I think he’s in the same grade because his parents died and maybe he missed a lot of school that year.

We stop at the edge of Asylum Creek. The small stream bubbles across layers of stones. Stones I like to collect. Listen Janie. I hear something.

Eddie’s gaze moves from my face to something behind me. Placing his right forefinger to his lips, he drops his voice to a whisper. He has a habit of switching from one thing to another. Eddie’s left hand grasps my arm.

Listen. Eddie moves his right finger to my lips to shush me. I twist my arm free, but stay quiet. Eddie’s eyes sparkle with excitement. It is clear he sees something. He continues to stare over my left shoulder.

Stay still. It’s behind you. Pointing past my shoulder, he whispers. Here, turn quietly and look. Eddie takes my shoulders and slowly turns me toward the direction he has been pointing. Look, see that rabbit? I think she’s a mom on high alert. Maybe she has a nest. See?

Where?

Eddie points but I see nothing but grass.

There isn’t anything there. I shrug.

Eddie is frowning. It’s clear he is disappointed in my failure. My stomach sinks. This is a true reversal of how our relationship works. Eddie drops his arm and steps backwards into the water. It doesn’t matter, he mutters. Let’s go. I don’t want to scare her. We can come back later.

I try again, but there but there is only tall thick grass. I do see two large spiders, but that’s all. I want to point out the spiders, but find Eddie’s already turned away.

Let’s go over to the asylum and visit Helen. I want to play like usual with me leading so I take off toward the alley behind my house, only a half-block from Eddie’s place. Just as I had hoped, Eddie joins me as I reach the corner where the alley ends behind his foster home and across from the insane asylum.

A flicker of movement jars me to a stop. Mr. Belcher’s tall, skinny frame is outlined against the porch door.

Eddie, you haven’t finished cleaning your room!

Eddie freezes for a moment, his face expressionless. Ya, I did, he mutters.

He slowly steps toward Mr. Belcher and away from me.

Gotta go, Janie. His voice is more sigh than words. His shoulders slump.

Eddie ducks his head when Mr. Belcher reaches forward to take his shoulder and move him inside the house. The lump in my throat is bigger right now than when my parents yell at each other. Turning toward our original destination I glance back long enough to view the dark tower of the Belcher home looming in the quivering shadow of an elm.

Chapter Two

April, 1946

LOTS OF PURPLE SILK AND VELVET. HELEN MUTTERS TO HERSELF AS SHE steps onto the asylum’s enclosed porch and seats herself in a wicker chair.

The porch is enclosed top to bottom with chain link fencing. After skipping up each of the steps toward the encircled porch I grab onto the chain links to peer closer. Her faded blue eyes seem slightly empty like a dark pond. She frantically bobs her head.

You’re that little servant girl, aren’t you?

I find it easy to smile back and wait for her usual banter. After all she’s locked in now, like she should be.

She raises her chin a bit. I’m the favorite nanny to both of them.

I lower myself to a sitting position on the top step to listen but Helen’s story is interrupted by the scuffing of soft slippers. Nurse Miller, a co-worker of my mother is supporting another woman onto the porch.

Here Emily, that chair just in front of you it’s only a few more steps.

Even though I visit this porch about two times a week, I haven’t seen this patient before.

Like a lot of the other female inmates, Emily is wearing a cotton flowered dress that hangs over her like a loose robe, almost touching the floor. Emily shuffles forward, her knees bent, leaning on Nurse Miller. She’s staring straight ahead. Her face is expressionless.

Hi! I say in my friendliest voice. It’s really important to be helpful. When I’m all grown up and an adult I hope to be the best person I can be. Just like Mom says the key to life is to be of service.

Emily says nothing. She stares into space, her brown hair limp, falling straight down to touch the top of her shoulders.

Good job, says Nurse Miller placing Emily in an oversized wicker chair. Sit here. I’ll be back to take you in later.

Emily sits in a way that makes her brown dress twist cock-eyed across her waist, lap, and legs.

Nurse Miller nods at me as she brushes off her uniform. Hi, Janie, this is Emily. She needs visitors so it would be nice for you to chat with her. Okay? She doesn’t wait for an answer before bustling back through the open door.

It feels very grown up to be asked to help a crazy person

Hi Emily, I’m Janie Webster. My mother is a nurse here, just like Nurse Miller. Do you know her? She is Mrs. Webster, Mattie Webster.

Emily turns her head toward me, but otherwise doesn’t move or say anything. Her eyes are dull and lifeless like those in an old worn out porcelain doll. I grip the cold metal links of the fencing with more force.

I like to come and talk to everyone who lives here. I want to be a nurse when I grow up. That way I can help people, just like my mother.

It’s best to keep talking.

When you start feeling better you can get permission to come outside and walk around the flower gardens. The lilacs smell real sweet and if you like, I’ll walk with you. My friend Eddie will come with us if it’s okay. I think you’ll like him. Most likely he’ll come next time. I also have a friend Marylou and sometimes she’ll come with me. We could all picnic.

My enthusiasm seems to work as Emily gives a slight bob of her head. I take this as a sign that I’m doing a good job. My practice of talking to others on the porch and my experience with Helen makes a difference.

Do you like golf? Mr. Golfer practices his golf here almost every day. If you keep watching someday you will be able to see him. He is usually over there. I point toward my favorite elm tree. Right there just in front of the creek. My friend Eddie and I take turns being his caddy. Mr. Golfer’s not his real name, its Prezlimokos or something. Something like that. Okay?

I see her eyes follow where I point then she looks back.

Do you like golf? She doesn’t move. Her eyelids drop closed. Perhaps my talking has tired her out.

My bottom is getting cold so it seems like a good time to leave.

Bye-bye Emily. I have to go, but I’ll come again if you like.

Emily opens her eyes and stares at me.

Helen has stayed quiet through most of my talking. Her hands are busy moving in mid-air, as though she’s knitting something even though she’s holding nothing. I start down the stairs.

I think Emily liked what you told her. Helen says.

I glance at Emily and to my surprise her head bobs. My shoulders go back an inch. Even Helen noticed what a good job I did.

I run down the steps and am crossing the huge expanse of lawn when the pitiful wail reaches me.

Aghhh! Help!

An inmate screaming. This happens sometimes, a pained plea for someone begging to be let out or a loud scream, Help! My mother assures me that even the ones who scream are well taken care of and cannot get out. They are locked in separate rooms where they are bathed and fed. I tell myself everything is okay, but I feel a sad ache in my chest. I glance back as if to assure myself that all is right. Several brick resident cottages, three stories high with steeples on top, sit like old fort on a green field.

I walk across the asylum’s acres of grass and row of elm trees toward my street. Usually it’s a joy for me to climb these trees because I like to be alone and watch and think. I see neighbors, strangers, doctors, nurses, and even those people who are locked up. From high in these trees with a breeze rustling the leaves, I have a view of the entire world or at least my entire world. But not now. It’s dinner time. I pause long enough to enjoy the pleasant flickers of sun on my face. Then I catch a glimpse of the Belcher home and suddenly feel very alone.

I wonder if Eddie has finished his chores.

Maybe I’ll talk to dad about Eddie and his bruises. But I think my Dad likes Mr. Belcher At least I think he does. I’m still not certain what to do, but I’m going to do something.

I’m stepping into the street when a black car drives past. The driver stares straight at me. My stomach tightens. Something about that stare that jars my head. My mind goes blank. It takes a few minutes for me to regain my thoughts. As I tread into the street I continue to watch for him. I’m uncertain why the intensity of his look upsets me so. I wonder what could be wrong with me.

Why is he is looking at me?

I’m wearing a regular red plaid dress with a white lace collar that my mother had carefully stitched together. My short dark hair is a little windblown but not messy. My brown eyes and small scattering of freckles aren’t much different