In my last story you all commented about how caring the community was in the 18th century. Here I'm exploring how it wasn't always.

Warning: there's an implied non-consensual sex scene at the end and a graphic institutionalisation description

Hysteria

Dora had given Mother Andrews one last chance. Ralph had spoken with his mother about boundaries, emphasizing that removing their children, no matter how imperative his mother's motives, would never be countenanced, under any circumstance.

That week Ralph had visited Harmon to have a little chat about the situation. Over a cup of coffee in the parlour he broached the subject, "Father, I'm worried about Mother."

"How so?"

"Did you hear what she tried the other day, just before Henry was born?" Ralph explained.

"No?"

"It was just as well Mrs Blythe was there. Mother walked into our house and tried to abduct Sara saying she'd be better off in a crippled asylum."

"She did? She never mentioned it to me. Well Sara is walking now, so the worry is over, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but I need her to understand why it was unacceptable behaviour. Can you back me up, please?"

At dinner that night Harmon gently enquired about the incident.

"Yes, well I was sure she needed help Harmon. I was just doing it for her own good," Ruth explained.

Harmon raised his eyebrow at her.

"Don't be like that Harmon, I'd never touch a hair on her head, I was just worried is all." Ruth ate the last mouthful of her dinner and got up from the table, pushing her chair out with a loud squeak. "I think you're over-reacting, Harmon. I'm just being a concerned grandmother."

Baby Henry was growing fast. He had woken up from his nap and was lying on a rug on the floor in the parlour watching his big sister Sara play. Dora and Mother Andrews were taking tea as they watched the children and chatted of this and that. Dora was never terribly relaxed around her mother in law, and even less so after the attempted abduction, but Ralph had assured her that his mother would behave.

"I see the Bells are having another grandchild," Mother Andrews stated. There was no judgement in her voice, she was genuinely happy for Mrs Bell.

"Is that Frank's child?" Dora knew Frank from school.

"Yes, that's right, Mrs Bell announced it at the Ladies Aid last week."

"How lovely for them, that would be baby number...?"

"Number three. They already have two daughters. I suppose they'll be hoping for a son now."

At least in Mother Andrew's eyes, Dora was ahead of Frank and his wife, Martha. She had given her mother in law a son to continue the family name. Dora, personally, didn't give two hoots about what gender her children were, she loved them both equally.

Sara got to her feet and toddled over to croon in baby talk to her little brother, lying on a blanket on the floor. Mother Andrews started and went to ward her off, but Dora gently laid a restraining hand on her thigh. "It's fine. She just wants to chat to him. He adores her." She could feel Mother Andrew's anxiety buzzing off her as Sara continued to crouch down next to her brother. Odd. "It's fine Mother."

Ruth glanced back up at Dora, "yes, yes. I suppose so." But she kept a close eye on Sara lest she hurt the baby.

Dora took the children over to Marilla's for morning tea. By afternoon tea these days, one or both babies would be napping, so mornings worked better for her. Naturally, Marilla was flexible and understanding.

"Is Ruth behaving herself these days?" Marilla enquired as they had both sipped their tea.

"Yes… mostly I think."

"Only mostly?"

"Well, I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's just me. I can't relax when she's around. She's always on edge."

"How so?" Marilla prodded.

"I don't know how to put it. It's just she's terribly worried that Sara will hurt the baby. Sara's just interested in getting to know her little brother. I don't think it's anything out of the ordinary. I see the other children playing with their little brothers or sisters, what Sara does is nothing unusual."

"Hmm, what does she do?"

"She pats him on the head, brings toys over to him, kisses him on the cheek. Nothing to be concerned about, and of course if she does get too rough, I'm never far away."

"Sounds like perfectly normal sibling behaviour to me," suggested Marilla, who really had little experience in the matter, except what she'd witnessed with Anne's children.

"That's what I thought, but Mother Andrews gets very upset if Sara approaches Henry. I spend her visits keeping her calm and the children safe. It's very tense."

"What does Ralph say about it?"

"Well of course, he's not around to witness it. He thinks I'm exaggerating."

Marilla rolled her eyes at Dora. If there was one thing Dora never did, unlike Anne for instance; it was exaggerate. Evidently something her husband had yet to learn.

A week later Mrs Andrews came around again. To be honest, Dora had not invited her. She was finding it uncomfortable to have her around all the time, but Mother Andrews would not be gainsaid. She barrelled into the house on Tuesday morning, telling Dora that she would take some tea. Yet again, she fussed over the baby, this time admonishing Sara to be more careful as she played around him.

"Mother Andrews, it's fine. I'm keeping an eye on them both. Please, relax. I have it." Dora was getting increasingly frustrated at the way her mother in law kept interceding, as though she, their mother was incompetent.

"I don't know if Dora is coping with the children, Harmon," Ruth said over dinner that night. "I think she needs help," her voice raised at the end of her sentence as she voiced her concern.

"Ruth, you're somewhat excitable tonight."

"But the baby, Harmon, I'm worried about him."

"Now dear, he will be alright, Dora is an excellent mother, Henry will be perfectly safe."

"I don't think so, Sara is always touching him, playing with him, sitting on him. I'm worried she's going to hurt him one day and Dora has her hands full with the house. I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to our grandson. I think …"

Harmon watched her, only half listening, this was not the first time Ruth's imagination had gotten away from her. Perhaps a visit from the doctor was in order. The next day he paid Doctor Mustard a visit and told him about the latest occurrences. He was concerned that Ruth was over anxious about her grandson.

"Yes, I quite understand your concerns Mr Andrews. Perhaps a spell away might calm her down. I can take her now if you like," Doctor Mustard reassured Harmon.

"Do you think it's absolutely necessary?"

"Yes, I think you are right to be worried about her. She sounds quite hysterical. Leave it to me, I'll make the necessary arrangements. I shall come by your house later today."

A couple of hours later the doctor arrived at the Andrews' house with two attendants.

Harmon attempted to gently explain the situation to his wife. "Now dear, I think you need a little rest. Doctor Mustard has arranged everything. Don't make a fuss, dear. It's for the best, you've been a bit overwrought of late."

"Harmon? What are you talking about? I'm fine, I'm just fine."

Two burly men approached her with a special jacket. Ruth struggled to free herself, but they were too strong. In no time she was wearing the jacket and straps were tightened so she could not escape. She struggled against the constraints as she was forced into the carriage. "Harmon! Harmon!" Ruth shrieked. "Harmon, you can't do this to me Harmon! No no no…," her screams disappeared down the road. Harmon put his hands over his ears, she really was unwell.

The sinister walls of the asylum loomed over Ruth as they bundled her out of the carriage. She looked up at them with a shudder.

"Come along then," a nurse looked at her notes, "Ruth, is it?"

"I am Mrs Harmon Andrews," she replied imperiously, hoping this name would carry some weight.

"Nah, here you're just Ruth; come along with me." Ruth tried to bolt away, but her attendants took her by the shoulders and dragged her inside.

They walked her into the reception area. Distant screams could be heard echoing around the corridors. There was a stench of urine, faeces, despair and worst of all, fear. Brown walled corridors with regular spaced doors stretched into the distance. The place seemed to be populated with patients in thin cotton nightgowns and bare feet. Some were staring vacantly; some were moaning; some were rocking back and forth.

Now Ruth was really scared. Was Harmon really going to leave her here?

The men dragged her by the armpits into a bare room, ripped her clothes off her, dumped a bucket of cold water over her naked body and covered her with a thin shift. Next they dragged her to a small cell and dumped her on a grubby bed, securing her to it with strong straps. A last attendant stood over her, then bent over so she could count the hairs on his prickly chin and smell his sour breath. He stroked her cheek with one grubby fingernail then luxuriously and wetly licked her cheek. Standing up, he closed the door and left her there.

She was quite alone. Then the bed bugs appeared. That was when Ruth started to scream.

Mrs Harmon Andrews was missed at the next Ladies Aid meeting. The other ladies asked Dora about Ruth's whereabouts.

"She's gone away for a little vacation," Dora explained. "She was rather tired."

This was how Harmon had explained it to the family.

"Really, she never mentioned anything to me?" Mrs Bell exclaimed. "It must have been done in a rush?"

"Yes, I believe it was," Dora murmured. Truth be told, she had been rather shocked too. One day Mother Andrews was visiting and the next she was gone.

"Are you in touch with her at all?" Mrs Bell enquired, "please let her know I'm missing her."

"I'll tell her, thank you for your kind thoughts." Dora was being polite, she had no idea where Mother Andrews had disappeared to. She thought back to the conversation she and Ralph had had with Father Andrews the night before. Ralph had enquired as to his mother's whereabouts and Harmon had told him that he had sent her away for a rest. They knew she was unwell, she had been getting increasingly strident about Sara's relationship with her little brother, but Dora didn't think she needed a vacation.

"But where is she, Father?" Ralph pressed.

"She's fine, Ralph. There's no need for you to worry," Harmon evaded. "She's perfectly safe."

"Safe? Why would you say she's safe if she weren't in any danger? Father, where is Mother? Please give me a straight answer."

"Now son, I am your father. I know what's best for your mother. I have sent her away for a short vacation to rest. I spoke with the doctor and it's all the for the best. I don't want to talk about it anymore. She will return in due course, happier I am sure."

When Ruth did eventually return home, she was subdued. She seemed to have lost weight and stood in the hallway with her eyes cast downwards. Dora was shocked to see her looking so, what was the word? Still. Mother Andrews usually had opinions. She was always getting involved in her children's lives, but now she was quiet. Dora asked her how she was. In a small voice Mother Andrews replied, "I'm quite well, thank you."

"Shall we have some tea, Mother?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

They sat down on the sofa together, the children played on the floor. Little Henry was sitting up by now and Sara was just that little bit bigger. Ruth watched them play dispassionately, not even twitching when Sara barreled past her brother, knocking him sideways. Dora chided Sara and told her to be careful, glancing across at Ruth who sat quite still and made no comment. Where had she been, and why was she behaving so strangely?

Harmon walked into the room and saw the tableau. "Now, now dear, you know the doctor's orders. You're to stay in your room. No excitement now. We don't want you to get over-stimulated. Excuse us Dora, I'll be right back." Harmon took Ruth's arm and gently pulled her up off the sofa and led her out of the room.

Dora was shocked at the ease with which Harmon had removed Ruth from the room. Mother Andrews had made no noise as she was led away, not even a word of farewell. Dora could hear doors being opened and closed upstairs as she listened intently. Sara came over to give her a wooden block and she took it absentmindedly. Shortly afterwards, Father Andrews reappeared, "I'm sorry about that. I hope she behaved."

"Behaved? What do you mean?"

"Well, although she had a very nice, um, vacation. Mother Andrews is still in quite a delicate condition. The doctor believes she still has some recovering to do. We must all do our bit. She's to stay in her room for the time being. I don't know how she got out this afternoon."

"Father Andrews, is she being kept prisoner?"

"Prisoner? Goodness me no! Not at all, it's for her own good. I've put her back to bed. It's for the best," blustered Harmon in reply. It was proving hard work to keep Ruth safe, she did keep getting out, how he couldn't say. Perhaps it was time to find new servants? Ones who were not as sympathetic to his wife, tougher folk who would keep her safe from her wilder desires.

Dora told Marilla about it when she saw her next. "I think Father Andrews is keeping Mother prisoner."

"Prisoner? Whatever do you mean? How was her vacation?" Marilla enquired.

"I don't think she went on a proper vacation and she's come back changed."

Marilla scoffed, "changed? Well that's for the best isn't it. As I recall she was rather getting on your nerves beforehand, do you recall?"

"Yes, I do. But I don't think she's changed for the better. She's sort of gone away. It's as if she's not really there, or at least she's here, but her mind is elsewhere."

"I don't understand?" Marilla responded. "Can you describe what she's like?" Henry was starting to grizzle a little, so Marilla picked him up and jiggled him on her knee.

"I don't know how to put it. She's just sort of absent, passive. I wasn't with her for long."

"Passive, now there's a word I'd never use to describe Ruth Harmon," Marilla smiled.

"No, don't smile, Marilla. It's worrying me." Sara came over to her mother and Dora hugged her before she wandered off to play with the blocks.

"I'm sorry, Dora. What's worrying you?"

"It just doesn't feel right. Something's wrong. I don't like the way Father Andrews is treating her and I don't like the way he's closing down any discussion about the situation."

"Hmm. Is there anything we can do?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I just wish... Oh I don't know? Maybe I'm over-reacting."

"I'm sure she will be fine, dear," Henry was really getting upset now, he started to arc back in Marilla's arms. "You better take him, perhaps he's hungry?"

Dora spoke to Ralph about it that evening, "I'm worried about your mother, Ralph. Have you spoken with her?"

"We had a small chat."

"What did you think?"

Ralph sipped his coffee, remembering how his mother used to be. "She's ... different."

"She is. Do you know where she went? Did your father tell you, did she tell you?"

"No, he's never said, and she didn't say either. Do you know anything?"

"No. I don't think she went on a vacation though."

"You don't?"

"At least, not anywhere nice."

Ralph reflected on his mother's recent demeanour, "No, I think you might be right. Where do you think she went then?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. I can't imagine your father sending her anywhere too ghastly."

"Hmm." Ralph wasn't so sure his father did have a ruthless streak at times.

At church that week, Mrs Bell enquired about Ruth once again. Dora truthfully told her than her mother in law was home from vacation but was still resting.

"Resting? Why does she need rest?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. Father Andrews just said she was still recovering."

"Recovering? What is going on?"

Dora had no answer to give. She was unsure herself.

Up in her room. Ruth had nothing to do, no knitting, no crochet, even the windows had been blackened to stop the view. The Doctor had left strict directions that she was to lie in her bed and allowed to get up only to use the chamber pot, nothing else. Novels were considered too stimulating, as was conversation. She had been released from the asylum on the contingency that she be kept completely quiet. To say that she was bored was completely under estimating her situation. She was terribly relieved to be out of the asylum. At least the servants did not abuse her, but as desperately as she tried to engage them in conversation they would not reply. If she had not been mad before, and she was sure she had not been, maybe a little anxious, but far from mad. She could feel her sanity slipping away now.

When the same bland meal was delivered on a tray; different food was considered too stimulating; she tried to engage the servant in conversation. Asking desperately how her family fared, what the weather was like, when she might be freed, but it was as if the woman was deaf, for all the attention she paid her. She would not even look Ruth in the eye, but merely placed the tray on the side table and left, locking the door behind her.

Ruth tried to keep her brain active, playing simple word games or counting the flowers in the wallpaper, but it was so hard. She acted out long conversations with herself, trying to recall the plots of the novels she used to read with such abandon. She tried to waste time by sleeping, but there was only so much sleeping she could do, especially without any exercise. Left alone all night, she saw things; things that scared her, causing her to shriek in fright.

Harmon had a peek hole drilled in the door, so he could keep an eye on her. Her crazed conversations with herself worried him. Rather than improving, Ruth seemed to be getting worse. If she did not recover soon, Harmon was worried another stint in the asylum would be required. He missed his wife, he missed her company and he missed her in his bed.

After Ruth had been home about a month, Harmon asked the doctor about the resumption of marital relations. The doctor looked at him, stroking his beard. "Hmm, well perhaps that is not such a bad idea, Mr Andrews. There has been some research on the matter, sometimes a wandering womb can cause the sort of hysteria your wife has been experiencing. Marital relations can help the problem. I say it's worth a try, but while I want to stimulate her womb, I do not want to over stimulate her brain. I think we might give her some laudanum first."

That night, Harmon entered her room for the first time in weeks. Ruth was laying in the bed, asleep. He looked at her. She was not looking as beautiful as she once did. Her face was haggard, and her body was thin, but he loved her all the same. She was unconscious, the drugs had done their work. He crawled onto the bed and lifted her nightgown. Afterwards he felt relief and hoped it had done her some good too. The doctor assured him that it might help her wandering womb, perhaps in time, she would come back to him.