The BirdcageA Story by Isabella Vasquez What commenced on September 28, 1918 is now known as the deadliest parade in U.S. history. This story follows the diary of young newlywed Margaret Campbell, who lived during this deadly pandemic. September 20th, 1918 Dear
Diary, I awoke today in a house full of
marble and glass - a substantial change in scenery from Father’s residence in
Massachusetts. To think, a woman of my background waking in a house like this! Crystal
chandeliers hang in every hallway, and the Tiffany stained glass matches the
color of my eyes. I never imagined that I would live like royalty until after
meeting James. Yet despite residing in this charming home, I feel like a
stranger in it. It’s been a week since the wedding,
and I must confess I feel as downtrodden as I did before arriving in
Philadelphia. The city feels strange to me. It is as civilized as any other
place, yet there’s an odd feeling in the air that chills me every time I think
about walking outside the confines of this elegant home. I thought perhaps it
was remnants of the war that plague my mind, yet the war is so close to ending
in our favor. The summer was full of celebration, spilt wine, and joyous
laughter. It was an especially jovial affair when the soldiers returned home,
and I was introduced to my beloved James. Even after the wedding and after our
relocation to the Campbell’s family home, the feeling of dread never left me.
It stuck to me like a leech, bleeding me all the way from Boston to Philadelphia. Is it paranoia that has its hold
over me? I daresay it might. Yet, it could just as easily be the cold feet of a
new wife. Mother always told me that when I came of age, I had two choices in
life. I could grow bitter from the coldness of the world, as her mother did, or
I could accept it for what it is and make my own happiness. I predict my new
life here with James will be what makes this life a favorable one. Certainly,
more favorable than the life Father provided for us, that is. September
22nd, 1918 Dear
Diary, I had a peculiar conversation with
Dr. Campbell and William, James’ brother, over dinner. Helen rambled on about a
parade happening in the city, to which Dr. Campbell responded with surprising
news. “The parade may be canceled,” said
he, “due to a new illness that’s spreading from Europe.” “Illness?” Helen inquired, “What
illness?” William responded, “Do not fret, my
dearest, it’s just rumors.” Dr. Campbell begged to differ, “It
is not just rumors, William, you would do well to remember that. You saw the
sailors yourself, sick as dogs. Holding the parade would be foolish.” Though William tried to prevent his
wife, Helen, from succumbing to yet another fit of nervousness, he was
unsuccessful. Soon after Dr. Campbell informed us of this new virus, she
brooded over the news of the parade possibly shutting down. “But it simply can’t!” She cried,
“I’ve already sent out a dozen invitations for our party! What am I to tell the
Mayor and his wife?” William comforted her, though by the
end of the conversation, Helen was in hysterics. Shortly after, she was
confined to her room for the rest of the night without a whimper or word of
protest. I had known few women in my life who had suffered from nervousness. My
mother always told me that it was just another way for a man to control a
woman, so it is best to keep your emotions to yourself. I heeded her advice.
Seeing Helen fall into a pit of despair reminded me that not every woman had a
mother who knew the ways of the world as mine did. In a God-fearing country like
America, it’s become clear to me that the only thing men fear more than God is
a woman. September
25th, 1918 Dear
Diary, I stumbled upon a beautiful work of
iron and gold - a birdcage from France housing two canary birds in Dr.
Campbell’s study. James has not yet returned from the city, though I imagine
with construction and preparations for the parade, he will be detained for
longer than expected. So, I took it upon myself to walk the grounds of the
Campbell’s estate. Since the wedding, I’ve found
myself with more leisure time than I know what to do with. Boredom has already
taken its hold on me, which is why writing in this journal has brought me much
needed satisfaction. I worry for Helen, as she’s spent days locked upstairs,
planning a soiree so that the elite of Philadelphia may celebrate the Liberty
parade. Despite Dr. Campbell’s warnings, Helen and William are still inclined
to attend. I refuse to, despite James and his fellow infantrymen having their
own float. I fear for his safety much more than that of my in-laws. I haven’t a problem with either of
them, least of all William, who is but a doting husband and physician, blinded
to feeling and emotion due to his scientific nature. Helen, a New York bred
socialite, is every bit as unpleasant to me as I knew she’d be. James warned me
that she was a haughty woman. Yet, I find myself feeling pitiful for her
troubled soul. Dr. Campbell is a respectable, stoic man that doesn’t feed into
the same air of superiority that his eldest son and daughter-in-law do. I
respect him a great deal for that. I’ve taken great joy in exploring his study
when he’s away, though while investigating this afternoon, I found that I was
not alone. I took him by surprise when I first entered. No woman was allowed in
his study, or so Helen informed me when I first passed the mahogany
double-doors. He looked at me once with his
rounded spectacles and motioned for me to enter, “Oh, it’s you Margaret, please
come in.” I was surprised, to say the least,
“My apologies, sir. I shouldn’t have presumed.” “No matter. Shut the door behind
you.” I complied, widening my eyes in awe
as if it were my first time entering, “I thought no woman was allowed in your
study, sir.” Though Dr. Campbell’s face seldom revealed
any emotion, I had noticed a crack in his mask when he smiled upon hearing my
thought spoken aloud. “That is true.” “Might I ask why you allowed me?” I
kept a coy expression, afraid that he would see past my cleverness. “You are far more intelligent than
any woman I’ve met in all my years of living. That alone allows you the liberty
to move freely as you wish.” If I hadn’t known any better, I
would have suspected he was flattering me. From the expression on his face,
however, it seemed as though he was serious. Me, a girl from humble beginnings,
not yet approaching her twenty-first birthday, was deemed intelligent by the
esteemed Dr. Campbell? It felt imaginary. “Surely you jest, Dr. Campbell,” I
replied. “Nonsense,” he responded, “Most
women I’ve come to know concern themselves with meaningless affairs, such as
the soiree Helen is planning. You, my dear, are quite the opposite. You may
come from a family much less fortunate than my own, but you have a way about
you that I admire. You see things and you understand. The same cannot be said
for my foolish son and his irrational wife.” His words rung true. Dr. Campbell is
a clever man, indeed. “If you believe that to be true, might
I ask why you are allowing Helen to continue planning this party?” I asked. He paused, thinking deeply on his
answer before bringing my attention to the beautiful birdcage that I had
admired so many times before. “Do you know why I have two birds
instead of one?” I shook my head, “Alone, a single canary sings in hopes of
attracting a mate. Without the female, the male would never stop singing. They
are not people-oriented birds. They don’t require personal care or handling by
a human, as long as there is more than one bird they can socialize with. Having
two birds may not be necessary for the birdkeeper, but it guarantees a life of
contentment despite being trapped inside that dreadful cage each and every day.
In the end, they hardly ever notice they’re confined to the same fate as any
other caged bird.” Though it has been a few hours since
then, my mind is still reeling from our conversation. I wonder what it must be
like, being inside that beautiful, golden cage. Would I too be content, knowing
I was sharing that same fate with another? September
28th, 1918 Dear
Diary, I can hear the noises of
celebration and jubilance from outside. I am alone now, with only the cook and
housekeepers keeping me company. James insisted I stayed home, promising that
he will come home as soon as the celebration is over. Helen and William made no
such promises. It’s a pleasant change, finally being alone from the frivolous
planning and decorating of such a pointless endeavor. Since the parade has not been
cancelled, I’ve read in the papers that a near 200,000 people will be in
attendance. An astonishing number, no doubt, though the feeling of unease marked
upon me since the moment I entered this city dampened the celebratory mood. Most women my age would jump at the
opportunity of venturing into the city, watching as the handsome soldiers’ home
from war blow kisses at you as they pass. As Dr. Campbell put it, I am not like
most women. Instead, I’ve found comfort in the
confines of Dr. Campbell’s study. Given that he’s seldom home from his work at
the Presbyterian Hospital, it has become my sanctuary. I’ve spent hours peeping
through every crevice I could find that was untouched by my scouring eyes. The
birds kept me company, singing their quiet songs as I read through pages and
pages of Shakespeare and Dickens. I’ve spent hours strolling through the
gardens, picking the vibrant colored chrysanthemums and black-eyed Susans until
my fingers became numb. I’ve drunk tea nearly every morning with the house
staff, hoping to have some semblance of an intelligent conversation. I’ve often
been left disappointed and restless. Though I’ve kept these diary entries
to myself and not another soul, I worry for my husband. I worry that if he were
to ever find my writings, I would be locked inside my room like Helen, with
nary a murmur or complaint. I would surely go mad if I were Helen. Though my thoughts have rarely
gotten the best of me in the past, now I feel as though the loud noise from the
outside is mute compared to the deafening roar of silence from inside this
house. With the canaries keeping me company from inside their golden cage, I’ve
spent my time listening to their sweet songs, in hopes that it quiets the
turmoil in my mind. Though, even now, I cannot banish the memory of Dr.
Campbell’s words ringing in my ear. I wonder, does Helen find herself content
in her golden cage? September
29th, 1918 Dear
Diary, It is past midnight, and I can hear the
frivolities of the party coming from downstairs. Dr. Campbell has yet to return
from the hospital, which is not unusual, though my intuition tells me that he
is detained from the festivities of the parade. James does not seem concerned,
though James hardly ever worries about anything. He, like my brother-in-law,
William, seem to share the same disposition for finding everything amusing,
even when amusement is the last emotion one should feel. The first hour of the party, I
forced myself to leave the safety of Dr. Campbell’s study. James found me there
reading a copy of War and Peace and was appalled that I had entered the room
alone. I know it is best not to hide things from your husband, or so my mother
had told me in the past, but some things need to be kept secret. For if my
sanctuary was to be disturbed, I fear I would never again listen to the sweet
chirps of the canaries. I did what I do best and played the
unwitting, mild-tempered wife so as not to raise any alarm for my having been
in the study. Luckily, my good-hearted husband fell for it. Soon after, dozens
of people began entering our home. I greeted those that needed to be greeted
and conversed with those that needed conversing, but eventually, I felt the
energy pour out of my body like an open wound. Hours later, I can still hear the
tune of music playing in the halls and sounds of people dancing across the
marbled floors. Is there no such thing as the sanctity of a home? Must every
person in Philadelphia come knocking on our doors? A part of me wishes that
whatever illness Dr. Campbell warned us about would take these people far away
from here. October 1st, 1918 Dear
Diary, If I had known what I know now from
having woken up this morning, I would have preferred not waking at all. I
received disturbing news from James this morning, who ushered me into our
bedroom, refusing to utter a word until we were safe from listening ears. “I’ve news from my father,” he
started, with a grim look on his face. My heart raced, anxiously awaiting
the news. It had been days since Dr. Campbell had come home. Every morning, the
paper disclosed more information about the devastating illness sweeping our
country. At first, no one had listened, and yet more people seemed to be dying
in our city each day. “Every hospital in the city is filled,
they simply cannot treat anymore sick patients,” he explained, “My father is
still at Presbyterian. I had tried going in there to see him and William,
though they wouldn’t let me through until they were sure I wasn’t showing any
symptoms of this influenza.” “Influenza?” I asked. “Yes,” he responded, “It is a
devastating virus affecting your respiratory system. They’re saying victims are
dying within days, some within hours of showing symptoms. Unfortunately, when I
was at the hospital, I received news that some of our party guests were in there.” The news was difficult to process.
At first, I had prayed it were some joke made by the cosmic universe to keep my
sanity in check. I had thought if I prayed and kept away from thoughts of it,
it would subside, but every night since the first indication of the virus in
the papers, it seemed less like a joke and more like a cruel and most unusual
punishment. “Darling, you cannot tell a single
soul what I’ve just told you now,” he pleaded, “Poor Helen’s fragile heart could
not handle it.” “I understand,” I responded, and I
did, better than he knew. On his young, handsome face, I saw
lines of worry etched into his features. He looked older now than when I had
first met him. The time he spent in Europe did not age him the way this past
week had. He had seen war: gunfire and bloodshed, and yet nothing he had
experienced in Europe had him looking as frightened as he did at that moment. When I saw Helen next, I had steered
the conversation towards casual chat of current events without sharing enough
information to worry her. Her behavior was most unusual. In the short time I’ve
lived here, I have grown accustomed to her eccentricities. Yet, with every
sentence I shared with her regarding news of the virus, she had plastered on a
smile and raved about the success of her party, as if she hadn’t listened to a
word I said. As I pressed her, she spoke only of meaningless gossip. It was
then that I realized what Dr. Campbell meant when he explained why he had two
singing birds instead of one. Some people prefer living alone, and others in
ignorant bliss. October
3rd, 1918 Dear
diary, I was wakened by the sound of
wailing, piercing through the walls. I’ve spent most of my time in Dr. Campbell’s
study, reading and watching the birds until I exhaust myself to the point of
falling asleep at his desk. James is hardly around. He is busy acting as head
of the household while William and Dr. Campbell were at the hospital. I’ve barely
left the study and James hardly cares. He clearly has more pressing matters to
deal with than the propriety of his wife rummaging through his father’s belongings. The sounds of wailing continued
throughout the entirety of the morning and well into the afternoon. I dared not
ask why, fearing the answer, but I knew from the sound that it was Helen. She
had been without her husband for three days now. It clearly had a substantial
effect on her mind. The papers came this morning,
signifying the closure of everything. The entire city has been shut down as of
today. Of course, James and I theorized it would happen soon, but not nearly as
soon as this. When I walked down to have my morning tea, I witnessed something
I never thought I would see. James stood in silent horror,
smoking a cigarette in the center of the drawing room. It was peculiar to me
because I had never witnessed James smoking before, and certainly not indoors.
I called out to him, though he didn’t answer right away. He just stared at
something in the distance that I could not see. Or perhaps, he began to slowly lose
all semblance of reality. When he did speak, I found myself unable to respond
with any audible words. “A telegram came from the hospital,”
he finally spoke, “William and my father are dead.” I had suspected that to be the case
when Dr. Campbell never came back home. Hearing about William was a surprise. I
now knew why Helen howled in her room, and why I heard the sounds of crashing
against walls echo throughout the empty halls of the house. Even now, I can
hear the haunting cries of a broken woman, a solitary canary. October
4th, 1918 Dear
diary, I wish so desperately to be back
home. I miss the warmth of Mother’s voice as she comforts me against her soft
skin. I even miss the sound of Father’s boots as he enters our small, wooden
abode. I had entertained the idea of James and I living together in
Massachusetts, though even there, the sickness has spread. I haven’t heard from Mother since
the wedding, and I am afraid of what I might find out when I eventually get a
letter back. If I get a letter back. I still hear the sounds of Helen’s
wails through the walls. She has not left that upstairs room since James gave
her such terrible news, not even to eat. Even so, with all this pain and
despair floating through the air, what killed my spirit and buried it in the
ground was the fate of my beloved birds. This morning, as I went into Dr.
Campbell’s study to read and hear my birds sing, I only heard one song, frantic
and sorrowful. I wonder, if there’s a Heaven above, will my beautiful canaries
meet me there? When my time is up, will the ghastly Reaper take me from my
golden cage too? November
11, 1918 Dear
diary, I’ve refrained from writing any
longer, as these pages have only brought me grief and unimaginable heartache.
Today is cause for celebration around the entire world. The Great War is over and
yet this victory has not yet reaped any benefits. We buried William and Dr. Campbell
on our land. The morgues filled up faster than they could dispose of the bodies,
leaving us with no other choices. Arrangements were made for Helen to move in
with a family member in New York, though after an attempt on her own life,
James saw to it that she was taken care of in a nearby asylum. It did not feel
just, watching that wretched woman being carried out of her home like she had
done something wrong. Mother had written back as well.
Luckily, she still had her health, though Father was not as fortunate as she.
He caught the Influenza when it first arrived in Boston and within a week, he
was dead. I’ve spoken to James, and he is in agreement with me that Mother
shall soon move into the Campbell estate. I think he agreed because he feels
the silence in this house deepening each passing day. I wonder now, if I would have come
to Philadelphia knowing that my marriage to James would set off this horrific
chain of events. I don’t think that he blames me, in fact, I believe he loves
me more because of it. Yet, when I look into his eyes, I feel sorrow where I
should feel love. I wish I could speak to Dr. Campbell
again and hear his words of wisdom. I wish I could find comfort in the arms of
the man I married: a good man, a soldier, a doctor. I wish I could hear my
birds singing their sweet songs to each other, while I read poems from
Dickinson and Poe. Instead, I find myself locked inside this beautiful, golden
cage with nothing but the sad song of a solitary canary keeping me company. © 2020 Isabella VasquezAuthor's Note
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