The Evaluation
Doctor: Good morning, Mrs. Adams. How are you today?
Emma: Fine. Thank you.
Doctor: My name is Dr. Leopold Henley, and I have been appointed by the court to evaluate your mental condition.
Emma: Yes, I know. My attorney telephoned yesterday and told me you might be coming here today to see me.
Doctor: Good. Hopefully, this won't take too much of your time.
Emma: It doesn't matter, Doctor. It's not as though I'm going anywhere.
Doctor: No, I suppose you're not. Shall we begin then?
Emma: Sure.
Doctor: Tell me when you first began having trouble in your marriage.
Emma: It was while we were still living in the Poconos—that's a mountainous area in the northeastern part of Pennsylvania. Anyway, about three and a half years ago, Donald—that's my husband—left his previous job at the Mount Airy Lodge and became head chef for a major restaurant in Manhattan. Even though it meant having to commute to the city, it was a big step up in his career, not to mention a lot more money.
Doctor: And how did your husband's new job affect your marriage?
Emma: That job nearly destroyed us. Donald spent so much time in the city that we rarely saw each other. During the week he slept until nine in the morning and then left for work at eleven. He didn't get back home until one or two in the morning. On the weekends it was worse. He would often go to work on Friday morning, and sometimes I wouldn't see him until late Sunday night.
Doctor: Didn't he get any time off?
Emma: Mondays. That was the slow day at the restaurant.
Doctor: I see. Is there anything you are not telling me, Mrs. Adams?
Emma: All right, Doctor. It was more than just the long hours. I learned he was having an affair with one of the cocktail waitresses who worked at the restaurant, a young girl who was putting herself through college.
Doctor: I assume you confronted Donald with this information.
Emma: Yes.
Doctor: Did he deny it?
Emma: No. Surprisingly, he didn't. He readily admitted it, apologized and swore it would never happen again.
Doctor: But you didn't believe him?
Emma: God knows I wanted to, but the trust was broken.
Doctor: So you compromised?
Emma: If that's what you want to call it, Doctor. We decided to start fresh, in a new location. We bought an old Georgian mansion located along the banks of the James River in Virginia. The place needed a good deal of work, but I had inherited a trust fund from my grandfather so we had the money to hire an architect and a local contractor and have the place completely renovated. The first floor was converted into a restaurant where my husband and I both worked: he did the cooking, and I took care of the ordering, accounting and other administrative work. The upper two floors were our home.
Doctor: So you lived and worked in the same building with your husband. Was this so you could keep an eye on him?
Emma: I hate to admit it, but yes. However, we also agreed that we needed to spend more time together, that it was all the time we spent apart that put a strain on our relationship in the first place.
Doctor: How did Donald feel about being put on such a short leash?
Emma: He didn't seem to mind. He said he loved me and swore he was willing to do anything to try to save our marriage.
Doctor: You say you wanted to make a fresh start. What made you choose Virginia?
Emma: The weather mostly. I wanted to get away from all the snow in New England.
Doctor: Let's talk a little more about the house and the restaurant.
Emma: The exquisite brick building was the main house of a pre-Civil War tobacco plantation whose original owner was killed at Chancellorsville. Over the ensuing years, most of the seven hundred acres were sold off and the outer buildings torn down. The house served several purposes: it was a school for girls, a nursing home and a doctor's office. We put a lot of money and time into fixing the place up. The restaurant had a large period-decorated dining room and a modern kitchen. The work on the upper two floors—our living space—was mostly cosmetic. New paint, new tiles in the bathroom. What more do you want to know?
Doctor: I find it odd that you didn't mention your office.
Emma: When I first saw the house, there was a large room off the foyer with an original fireplace, crown moldings and beautiful old hardwood floors. The real estate agent told me it was the morning room. I knew that in many old houses the morning room was where women wrote letters and attended to their household accounts. I immediately decided it was the perfect room to use as an office. There was little that had to be done to it, other than to install a phone line and Internet hookup.
Doctor: Was it your private office?
Emma: No. Donald and I shared it, but since I did the majority of the administrative tasks and paperwork, I was the one who was usually behind the desk or in front of the computer.
Doctor: While all the renovations were being done on the house and you were busy making plans to open the restaurant, were you and your husband happy?
Emma: Oh, yes! I will always remember that time as being the best days of my life. Donald and I were finally spending quality time together as a couple. We looked forward to owning our own business and even talked about starting a family in the not-too-distant future.
Doctor: When did this happy domestic situation begin to change?
Emma: I was working late one night. It must have been just before midnight. The dinner guests were gone and the servers had just left, but the dishwashers were cleaning up the kitchen. I got up from my desk and went to the first-floor ladies' room, and when I was walking back down the hall toward the foyer, I heard a voice coming from the direction of the office. It was low, barely audible, but I knew it was a woman. I heard a whisper and then a laugh. "Who's there?" I called, but there was no answer. When I walked into the office, I saw that the room was empty.
Doctor: Did you tell your husband about this incident?
Emma: No. To be honest, I thought I might have imagined the whole thing.
Doctor: But you didn't forget about it, did you? In fact, as the days passed, that imagined conversation preyed more and more upon your mind, almost to the point of obsession.
Emma: It was the serpent introduced into the Garden of Eden. From that point on, whenever I worked in my office, I kept my ear open for the sound of a woman's voice.
Doctor: Why didn't you just ask your husband if there was something going on? Didn't he admit to his previous infidelity?
Emma: I didn't WANT to know. If my husband was cheating on me again, I wanted to remain blissfully ignorant.
Doctor: Your ignorance was not blissful; your doubts were tearing you apart inside.
Emma: It was still better than the certainty of knowing my husband was being unfaithful again.
Doctor: So when exactly did you make the leap from blissful ignorance to certainty?
Emma: It was three days before Christmas. I was upstairs wrapping presents, and I needed to ask Donald a question about a gift he ordered for his mother. I went downstairs to the kitchen, but he wasn't there. One of the waiters said he thought he saw Donald heading toward the office.
Doctor: And?
Emma: When I went into the office, I smelled perfume, and I knew it wasn't my imagination.
Doctor: What did you do?
Emma: I confronted him. "Where is she?" I demanded to know. "Where's who?" he asked innocently. "That woman with the perfume," I replied. His eyes narrowed; he was angry at me for accusing him. "You're never going to let the past die, are you?" he asked.
Doctor: And what was your answer to that?
Emma: I said, "Not as long as you refuse to change your ways." He didn't bother to deny that he was cheating. He simply got up from the desk and returned to the kitchen without another word.
Doctor: And later?
Emma: From that moment on, there was a pronounced frostiness in our relationship. Donald spent most of his time in the kitchen and rarely came upstairs until after I had fallen asleep.
Doctor: And what about the young woman in question? I believe your lawyer said her name was Loralee Humphrey.
Emma: I would rather not talk about her, if you don't mind.
Doctor: Ah, but you see I do mind. She's crucial to your case. Besides, you'll have to talk about her eventually.
Emma: Maybe, but I won't discuss her now, not with you.
Doctor: Why not with me? Didn't you discuss her with your attorney?
Emma: You won't believe me, any more than my lawyer does.
Doctor: All right, Mrs. Adams. We'll forget about Loralee Humphrey for now. Let's talk about what happened on March 18. You remember that date, don't you?
Emma: Don't patronize me, Dr. Henley. Of course, I remember that date. I'm not likely to ever forget it, am I?
Doctor: Had the cold war that existed between you and your husband managed to thaw out somewhat by then?
Emma: No. If anything, it was worse. We were more distant than ever.
Doctor: And you blamed him?
Emma: No. I realize we were both at fault: Donald for being unfaithful and I for refusing to make a decision.
Doctor: A decision regarding what?
Emma: Whether to forgive him a second time or to finally admit the problem was unfixable and put an end to the marriage once and for all.
Doctor: Why were you reluctant to make such a decision?
Emma: Isn't the answer to that question obvious, Doctor? I loved my husband! I would have preferred death to divorce.
Doctor: And by death, you mean Donald's, not your own.
Emma: That's not fair!
Doctor: But it's true. You would rather have seen your husband dead than with another woman. That's why you killed him, isn't it?
Emma: I didn't kill Donald! Why won't anyone believe me? She did it, not me!
Doctor: She? You mean Loralee Humphrey killed your husband?
Emma: Yes! It was her. Loralee. She killed my beloved Donald.
Doctor: That's pretty hard to believe, considering Mrs. Humphrey died in 1862.
Emma: You think I don't know that—now? But I didn't realize it back then. I honestly thought it was a real, live, flesh-and-blood woman that was after my husband.
Doctor: If you say so, Mrs. Adams. Why don't we get back to the events of March 18? I want you to walk me through what happened that day. Let's begin with the morning.
Emma: The morning started out like any other. I woke around seven. Donald was still in bed. Because of the late hours he worked, he usually slept until nine or ten. After a quick shower, I went to the kitchen, the small, second floor kitchen we kept for our personal use, not the restaurant kitchen. I drank two cups of coffee while I read the newspaper.
Doctor: Did you have anything for breakfast?
Emma: I don't see what that could possibly have to do with Donald's murder, but, no, I didn't have breakfast. I never eat in the morning. Since there were a few things I needed to buy, I decided to drive to Target.
Doctor: Did you tell your husband where you were going?
Emma: No. He was still sleeping, and I didn't want to wake him. I drove to Target, bought a few personal items, mostly toiletries: soap, deodorant, shampoo, that sort of thing. After I checked out, I got another cup of coffee at Starbucks. Finally, I drove home.
Doctor: What time was that?
Emma: I got back a little before eleven.
Doctor: Other than Donald, was there anyone at the restaurant?
Emma: I didn't see anybody, but there was a delivery truck at the side of the building, in front of the kitchen entrance. It belonged to the produce company, I think.
Doctor: What did you do when you first got home from your shopping trip?
Emma: I went upstairs, made the bed, did the dishes, straightened up the kitchen and put a load of laundry in the washing machine—the usual morning chores.
Doctor: And where was your husband while you were cleaning?
Emma: I assumed he was down in the restaurant kitchen.
Doctor: But you don't know that for sure?
Emma: No.
Doctor: Go on. What happened next?
Emma: Once the housework was done, I went downstairs. There were a few orders I had to place and an invoice I wanted to pay. When I got down to the lower hallway, I immediately noticed something wasn't right. The office door was shut, and I always left it open. Even more strange, when I turned the doorknob, I realized the door was locked. When I raised my hand to knock, I heard a woman's voice.
Doctor: What did she say?
Emma: I couldn't distinguish any words, but I knew the voice. It was the same one I had heard before. And then there was that low laughter. It was as though I'd been struck by lightning. Just beyond the door she and Donald ....
Doctor: That was when you snapped and killed your husband. Correct?
Emma: No. I told you I didn't kill him. Loralee Humphrey did.
Doctor: According to Billy Bob Winslow, the young delivery boy from Tidewater Produce, you were screaming at your husband, calling him all sorts of names.
Emma: So? I may have yelled at him, but I didn't kill him. I was upset. What wife wouldn't be under those circumstances?
Doctor: Were you upset enough to bash your husband's brains in with a fireplace poker?
Emma: How many times must I say it? I didn't kill my husband!
Donald: Why do you persist in denying the truth? Your fingerprints were all over the poker.
Emma: I never denied swinging that poker, but I wasn't aiming at Donald. I wanted to hit her!
Doctor: Loralee?
Emma: Yes. But she wasn't real. The poker went right through her and ....
Doctor: Let me get this straight. You were trying to kill Loralee Humphrey, and when you swung the fireplace poker at her, it went through her and struck your husband?
Emma: Yes. That's what she wanted, you see. She tricked me into killing him. When Donald fell over, dead, Loralee looked at me and smiled in triumph. Then she vanished.
Doctor: That's your story, is it, Mrs. Adams? You were tricked by a ghost into accidentally killing your husband?
Emma: It was no accident on Loralee's part, Dr. Henley. She wrote the script, set the stage and directed my actions. And the real tragedy is that I don't believe Donald even knew of her existence. He was faithful to me, after all.
Doctor: I'm afraid I just don't find your story believable, Mrs. Adams. It sounds to me like you are deliberately trying to lay the groundwork for an insanity plea.
Emma: Frankly, Doctor, I don't give a damn what it sounds like to you.
Doctor: Maybe not now, but you will when you're serving a life sentence for murder one.
* * *
Emma Adams stood up, ready to return to her cell. What neither the psychiatrist nor her lawyer realized was that she didn't care whether she was acquitted for her husband's murder or not. Without Donald, her life was over. In retrospect, she realized her life was over the moment she and her husband purchased the old house with the mourning room.
Yes, that's right: the word is mourning with a "u," not morning. The large room off the foyer with an original fireplace, crown moldings and beautiful old hardwood floors had been a room where the dead were laid out for viewing before burial. It was the same room where the remains of the once beautiful Loralee Humphrey had been on display when she died of a broken heart after her young husband was killed at Chancellorsville.
As Emma turned toward the door, she heard a female voice say, "I'll see you in court, you damned Yankee."
Emma turned quickly, just in time to see Loralee Humphrey's smile change from one of hatred to one of victory. Although startled, the accused murderess was not surprised to realize that there had never been a Dr. Leopold Henley and that she had been speaking to Loralee's ghost the entire time. No, she was not surprised at all, for she had realized after Donald's death that there was no quenching Loralee's thirst for vengeance on the enemy from the North who had dared invade her former home.
I would love to see the results of a psychiatric evaluation of Salem!
