“So, you think that because these chimpanzees were made calm by altering their frontal lobes that . . .”
“That my hypothesis may be right? Yes! It is quite possible that there is a relationship between aggressive and unpredictable behavior and the neurological conditions in the frontal lobe. Imagine if we could find these connections and sever the bad ones? We could eliminate negative behaviors. I am not sure of the mechanics of it all, but I am almost certain Dr. Moniz was thinking about the same thing. This could be the beginning of a whole new approach to mental health treatment! Something much bigger than my minor cerebral imaging. I don’t know exactly how or when, but I have a feeling that we are on the precipice of something huge.” Robert crossed back to Ruth, grabbing her hand and lifting her to stand. “I know you are tired, but I simply can’t let this evening go to waste. Please, let’s go out and celebrate!”
Ruth wasn’t sure she could keep her eyes open, let alone stand atop her two feet, but for Robert, she would try her very best. If he wanted to celebrate, she surely wouldn’t be the one to stop him.
Chapter Eight
Ruth had a spring in her step as she walked down the corridor. The shining sun reflected in the thresholds of the open doors, beckoning her inside each room. While she had enjoyed every moment of her honeymoon, she was overjoyed to be back to work. The stacks of papers that had accrued on her desk would take her days to organize and, she reasoned, if they had waited this long, they could wait a few more hours. Her most important order of the day was visiting her patients.
The low-level din of chatter, laughter, and even moans of discomfort sounded like music to her ears today. She had decided to reverse her usual order and started in the private wing, where the morning painting class was underway. This way she could see all her wealthy “ladies” at once before moving to the state-sponsored patients in the hospital’s other wings. As she entered the painting studio, she stood with cheerful enthusiasm, watching two women sketching with charcoals and waiting patiently for them to notice her. But the women were too focused on their canvases, so she approached them gently. “Good morning, ladies, what are you drawing today?”
“Miss Emeraldine!” An older woman leapt from her chair so quickly that the tall feather on her blue hat almost fell off. “You’re here!”
“Mrs. Leighton! Why, you look awfully festive today.” Ruth took in the woman, her face heavily made up, pink lipstick covering several of her front teeth. In addition to her elaborate hat, she had on a floor-length gown and several layers of necklaces and bracelets. “Your gown and hat, and those jewels . . . did you know I was coming?”
“These are paste,” the woman said with disdain. “I wouldn’t trust Louise here to get near my real diamonds.” Mrs. Leighton turned her head snidely away from the woman next to her. “Those are in the safe deposit at my bank. Won’t tell you which one. Don’t want you to try to steal them either.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Ruth smiled, happy to be back in the midst of this particular kind of crazy. Evelyn Leighton had been a well-known Broadway actress, until a rumored affair with one of her leading men had apparently brought on an incurable psychosis. Her husband brought her to Emeraldine claiming he could no longer manage her hysteria himself—plagued as he was by the shame of having been made into a cuckold—but Ruth knew he never stopped loving her. He still paid handsomely for Evelyn to have her own private quarters, moved in a good portion of her wardrobe, and even arranged for her to go on supervised outings to private stagings on occasion.
“See, Louise, I told you she would be back”—she twirled triumphantly—“and here she is!”
“Evelyn, you old hag, stop acting like a child.” Louise kept her gaze fixed on her paper, and Ruth felt she was refusing to look at her.
“Mrs. Dillington, were you worried I wasn’t coming back?” Ruth walked around to Louise’s chair. The woman wore a smart tweed suit, although her bobbed blond hair hung greasily on her head. When was the last time she had a bath? Ruth wondered as she took hold of Louise Dillington’s charcoal-blackened hands and bent down to try to make eye contact. “I was away for an awfully long time, wasn’t I?”