The Nut Hut Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Nut Hut

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Author Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  About the Author

  Read the Tory Bauer Mysteries!

  The Nut Hut

  A Novel

  By

  Kathleen Taylor

  Dedication

  Without Jane Shanley Bahr, I would not have gone there. And without Terry Taylor, I would not have stayed.

  Acknowledgements

  I finished the first draft of this book with the help of family and friends who cheered me through my usual neurotic writing cycle. Three days after I wrote "The End", a series of family health crises took over my world. This story never found a proper home, and I was content to let it slide as we coped with the year from Hell.

  That was eleven years ago. In the interim, my writing took a different turn-- I've written six knitting books and now travel around the country, teaching and speaking at workshops and festivals. Needlework has always been a large part of my life, and I love this phase of my career. But I never forgot about The Nut Hut, and neither did my son.

  This book is finally available in this form because Curtis Taylor, the designer of my Tory Bauer eBook covers, nagged me into getting the work done. And thanks to my amazing editor Kelly Brewer, it has almost no excess commas (those that remain are my fault entirely).

  But most of all, this book would never have been written without the friendship and encouragement of Jane Dystel and Miriam Goderich, who have been with me for eighteen years. They're the reason that The Nut Hut is finally being released into the wild.

  Note: The cover photograph is courtesy of the Maryland State Archives.

  Author Note

  Though institutions like Byerley existed in every state, the transformation brought about by Title XIX and other federal programs changed that world forever. The institutional policies and procedures depicted herein are accurate as far as I can remember them, but Byerley itself and the story in this book are both works of fiction. Truth was willingly sacrificed in favor of the story. Any resemblance between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  What I remember best was the noise.

  Even more than the smell, which was an eye-watering combination of antiseptic and bleach mixed with every possible body odor that seeped into each crack and crevice of the institution, including the few places residents weren’t allowed.

  Even more than the sights, which were a shock for one unprepared to process the even-handed indifference of the gene pool. Missing eyes, missing teeth, bent and mangled limbs, misshapen bodies of every age and description, or eerier yet, bodies that looked normal but that housed minds that would never develop.

  No, even more than the sights, the smells, and the twin terror and exhilaration of being eighteen and on my own, in a real job, I remember the ever-present noise, the background music of the end of my adolescence.

  Byerley ceilings were impossibly high, built in the days when materials were cheap and labor cheaper. The floors were cold, hard marble and the walls were cement block. Wide open staircases funneled echoes from above and below into wards that were as big and roomy as gymnasiums.

  Even in the middle of the night, when everyone, or almost everyone, was asleep, it was never quiet. Someone was always snoring, or moaning, or crying, or repeating mindless phrases softly in the dark.

  There were sly and squishy night sounds, some you had to strain to hear, and once you did, you tried just as hard not to. The phone rang, supervisors made rounds, and attendants talked and laughed to each other quietly but not quietly enough. The studious ones who pored over college texts or read paperback mysteries against the rules made noise too, flipping pages in the immense darkness, padding softly on bed checks, writing in day books.

  During the daytime, with laundry deliveries, stunned and wide-eyed tour groups marching in and out, doctors and nurses and teachers and aides and repairmen and, of course, all the residents awake and in motion, the noise rebounded, intensified by the structure of institution itself.

  No matter where you were, no matter the time of day, it was never quiet.

  That's what I remember most when I get to thinking about that first week in my very first job: the constant, mind-numbing noise that rattled in my ears for eight straight hours and rattled in my brain the other sixteen.

  Chapter 1

  A letter in Becky Decker’s coat pocket:

  Byerley State Hospital and School

  Agatha B. Chalmers, Superintendent

  G. Louis Havermeyer Assistant Superintendent

  December 21, 1970

  Attention: Miss Rebecca Decker

  Dear Miss Decker,

  We are pleased you will be joining the staff at the Byerley State Hospital and School to begin work as a Class 1 Dorm Parent on the 3-11p.m.afternoon shift. We hope you will enjoy working at Byerley, and we are confident you will be of great service to our residents.

  Please present yourself in proper uniform (specifications attached to this letter)to the Supervisor's Office in the Administration Building no later than 2:30 p.m. on January 22, 1971, to begin your employment.

  Since you have opted to live on campus, a $50 per month fee to cover room and board will be automatically deducted from each of your paychecks for the duration of your residence on campus. Feel free to check into room #3-West in the employee dormitory hall prior to 2:30 p.m. on January 22, 1971. You will find a list of rules and regulations pertaining to living on campus posted on the door of your room. We trust you will find your accommodations comfortable.

  We look forward to a long and happy association.

  Sincerely,

  Agatha B. Chalmers, Superintendent

  The solid woman in the tight, white uniform and highly sculpted hair stood
behind the counter in the Supervisor's Office and frowned at me. "Are you sure you're supposed to start today?" she asked.

  Her hair was a deep, uniform Clairol red, her lipstick was a vivid World War Two scarlet, and the name-tag pinned to her high and ample bosom read "Mrs. V. Kaiser." I guessed she was between fifty and sixty.

  I didn't have to guess that she was annoyed. The tight set of her shiny, red lips and the cold glitter in her brown eyes also told me that she was used to having her annoyance strike fear into the hearts of those around her.

  "Today is January 22," I said brightly, hoping she would be charmed by my ability to read a calendar. I dug deep into the pocket of my good coat, worn over a brand new white uniform, for my letter of acceptance. I smoothed it out on the marble counter and slid it over to her. "It says right here to report here by 2:30 p.m. It's signed by the superintendent herself."

  I pointed to the august signature.

  "I can see that," Mrs. V. Kaiser said, her lips tightening even more. Being overruled by both a brand new employee and the superintendent of the institution did not improve her mood.

  I looked up over her head at the clock, an old oak Regulator that hung on the far office wall. It read precisely 2:23 p.m .

  (Be early, my mother had advised. And smile. That way they'll know you're dependable and enthusiastic.)

  "And it's almost 2:30," I said, smiling enthusiastically. And dependably.

  "I can see that too," Mrs. Kaiser said flatly.

  "And this is the Supervisor's Office," I said still smiling.

  (If you smile, they can't help but like you, Mom had said).

  "Miss Decker," Mrs. Kaiser said, without a hint of affection in her stainless steel voice, "it is not necessary to point out the obvious."

  I swallowed and nodded, understanding just a bit late, that Mrs. Kaiser was not and probably never would be charmed by new and obviously extraneous employees. "Joyce," she addressed the plain woman in street clothes who had been tapping steadily away on a manual typewriter at the desk behind the counter, "are there openings anywhere today?"

  "Let’s see," Joyce said, tucking a pencil behind one ear before rifling through a pile of papers on the desk. "Janice Wilson called in sick. She was scheduled to float on Sloan. I'm sure they could use some help." Her lips formed a small smile that disappeared almost before it appeared.

  "We can't send a new person to Sloan," Mrs. Kaiser said, impatiently rattling the hundred and fifty keys she wore on a large ring attached to her waistband.

  She glared at me again.

  I resisted the urge to shrug and tried not to look like a scheduling burden.

  "You have a point," Joyce replied, not in the least flustered by Mrs. Kaiser's annoyance. She continued to scan the paper. "How about Foster? That should be safe for a new girl. And they could probably use another set of hands on Dance Night."

  Mrs. Kaiser wasn’t satisfied. “I'd rather not put her with the men on her first day, but I suppose we have no choice."

  While being talked about in the third person was vaguely insulting, it beat being frowned at. I tried not to wonder what was so awful about Sloan that new people were deliberately kept away. Dance Night on Foster sounded much better.

  I opened my mouth to say so, but Mrs. Kaiser caught the movement and frowned again. I covered myself by yawning.

  "We'd better get Miss Decker situated before she falls asleep," she said with a frosty smile.

  The phone on Joyce's desk rang.

  "Supervisor's Office," she said, and then listened for a moment before hanging up. "Bertha,” she announced. “Another tour incident."

  Mrs. Kaiser closed her eyes briefly, sighed, and then looked at the clock and rattled her keys some more. She raised an eyebrow at Joyce, who shrugged.

  "And a good afternoon to you ladies," a male voice said.

  I had been practicing invisibility and had not noticed his entrance. Neither had Joyce or Mrs. Kaiser, who both looked up and smiled at the newcomer. In fact, Mrs. Kaiser thawed enough for a sparkle to appear in a flinty eye, and Joyce positively beamed.

  The recipient of their combined good will leaned his elbows on the counter and smiled back at them. He was shortish and slim, and maybe the same age as Joyce, maybe a little bit younger. He had long, thin, blonde hair pulled back into a lank ponytail bound with a length of leather, and sandy brown mutton-chop sideburns that merged with a scraggly Fu Manchu mustache, which topped a lopsided grin and a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. He carried a sheepskin jacket over one arm and wore the prescribed male uniform of sharply creased white pants and a short-sleeved white shirt, which I had to admit looked good on him, if you liked the outlaw look.

  The women behind the counter were certainly delighted to see him. And he was delighted by their delight. He favored me with a grin and a lightning fast, blue-eyed wink.

  He was cute, in a former hippie commune sort of way. But I could see that he accepted adulation as his due, and even I knew it was wise to avoid guys like that.

  "Who's this?" He smiled, gesturing with a lit cigarette in my direction.

  "Miss Rebecca Decker," Joyce chirped before Mrs. Kaiser could answer. "She's new. Starting today."

  "Yes." Mrs. Kaiser stopped grinning at the young man long enough to glare at me again. "And we have a problem on Sloan that I have to attend to immediately."

  "Bertha?" he asked, not quite suppressing another grin.

  "What else," she sighed. “You’re headed for Foster Third, right?”

  “As always.”

  “Do me a favor and drop Miss Decker off on Foster Second. Tell John I’ll be over later if I can get away. Apologize for saddling them with a new girl."

  "It will be my pleasure, Velma," he said with a final smile for the enchanted duo. He turned to me and performed a courtly bow. "Jeffrey Westphal at your service. You can call me Jeff. Shall we?"

  I nodded and waited as he put on his jacket and followed him through the double glass doors, down the stairs and out onto the cold sidewalk, glumly hoping my reception on Foster Second would be more enthusiastic.

  "Don’t let Velma get you down," Jeff said as we hurried along the sidewalk. "She's like that with everyone at first."

  "Oh, good," I said, trying to keep up with his long-legged stride and memorize the surroundings at the same time. “It’ll get better once we get to know each other, then.”

  "Well," he said as we headed toward a large, high-windowed, multistory brownstone set between two identical buildings. The only outward difference was a large wooden sign on the lawn that read “Foster” in chiseled letters. “I wouldn’t exactly count on that.”

  “Great. It’ll be so much fun working with a supervisor who hates me.”

  He paused on the stairs, turned and looked at me with an unreadable expression. For a moment, I thought I’d offended him.

  Then Jeffrey Westphal, blonde, charming and very sure of himself, held open the double glass door at the top of the stairs and burst into laughter.

  "Don’t worry, Miss Rebecca Decker. You’ll get along just fine. Welcome to the Nut Hut."

  Chapter 2

  From the Byerley State Hospital and School Visitor Handbook:

  When Byerley State Hospital and School was founded in 1873,the entire institution was housed in what is now known as the Administration Building. At that time, the facility was called The Territorial Home for the Feeble-Minded. By the end of its first year of operation, the institution housed fifty-seven residents who were cared for around the clock by twelve employees. Those pioneers were responsible not only for resident schooling but also for the upkeep of the building and grounds, as well as the farm and fieldwork that provided food and some of the operational funds for the institution.

  In 1888, shortly after statehood was attained, additional funding was secured by State Senator Hulbert W. Byerley. Those funds were used to buy 100 acres of surrounding farmland that allowed the institution to be self-supporting. At that same time, Sloa
n Hall (still used as a dormitory for our residents), a large barn for the institution-owned livestock and a separate kitchen, were built.

  In 1910, the institution's name was changed to honor Senator Byerley. Our current 1,200 residents and 450 employees who live and work on this beautiful campus dotted with fourteen buildings owe a debt of gratitude to Senator Byerley.

  I knew that The Nut Hut was not an officially sanctioned nickname for Byerley State Hospital and School.

  Elsewhere, the place and its inhabitants were simply called Byerley, which in turn became a weapon used to taunt school children (Be good or they'll send you to Byerley).

  That the employees would have their own name for the place had never occurred to me. But I realized immediately that Jeff had handed me magic words. If the employees could joke about it, working here couldn't be that bad.