The Dark Side of Life

The Dark Side of Life

Suzanne Marsh

1890 St. Gabriel, Louisiana

John Makay stood proudly, watching Mary Brovard walk down the aisle of St. Gabriel’s Catholic Church; Mary was a vision of beauty, everything John had ever wanted in a wife. The wedding was one of the social events of the year, and anybody who was anybody in Iberville Parish was there. John had planned their honeymoon to be a cruise around the world. The cruise was year-long, and when John brought Mary back to his plantation, Mayfair, everything seemed right in the world. Mary settled in quickly and took over the plantation. She ordered whatever was needed; then she sent two of the most trusted workers to go into St. Gabriel and return with supplies she ordered. Unexpectedly, Mary began to feel ill. She always had a stuffy nose, and at least several times a day, she had nosebleeds. She began losing feeling in her arms and legs. She was falling but feeling no pain.

1884

John Makay remembered the words of Mattie, his Mammy:

“Mister John, there is something terribly wrong with Miss Mary. You need to get her to a doctor

now, she has been having nosebleeds and falling. I am worried about her.”

John was also worried; he had seen those strange lesions all over her once beautiful body. He sent for Doctor Adams. John found himself pacing on the front veranda, praying silently that Mary would be fine. He heard Doctor Adams approaching, and John turned to face him. Doctor Adams' eyes welled with tears as he began:

“John, Mary has Leprosy. There is a new sanitarium opening in Carville, or you can keep her here, confined to the attic. John could feel his ire rising with every word the doctor spoke:

“No, I will not put her in a sanitarium, nor will I hide in the attic.” The doctor gave John a sad smile:

“John, the leprosy is going to disfigure Mary; it would be better for you both if she were out of

sight.”

John thought about what the doctor had just said: “disfigured”. He turned back to the doctor:

“I won’t put her in a sanatorium; I will have the servants clean out a room on the second floor

with the balcony. Would that work for her?”

“Yes,”; replied the doctor.

John felt the tears welling in his eyes, and he went to find Mary, who was sitting in a wing-backed chair, her usually crystal blue eyes glistening with tears. John had no idea what to say to her, but he had to try:

“Mary, I could not send you to Carville, I have rooms on the second floor with a balcony

made ready for you.”

Mary nodded that she understood; her heart was breaking as was John's, they had so little time together before this issue arose. They did not have any children, and John wanted children to pass the Mayfair plantation on to. Mary hoped he would find somebody so he could have an heir.

The crickets chirped, the frogs croaked, and life went on for John and Mary. Mary kept to her rooms; she began to write a diary of her existence in the rooms. She wrote daily while sitting out on the balcony. The changes in her body scared her, especially now that she was losing her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. The nasal congestion and nosebleeds were terrifying.

Mary began to sleep more during the day; she would then prowl the house at night. She wrote in her diary about how the only peace she found was writing stories during the night.

It had been months since John had entered her rooms just to talk to her. She wondered if perhaps he had found another woman; she couldn’t blame him, she was so ugly she barely recognized herself when she found the courage to look into a mirror.

Mary thought about the hardship of her being there at home. John, she knew, could not put her away in a sanitarium, and her thoughts became darker as time went on. She began to wear a veil to cover her once beautiful face. The long-sleeved dresses covered most of the lesions. She had stopped looking in her handheld mirror, which she had used. Her blond hair was almost totally gone, her eyebrows and eyelashes gone; she thought she looked like some sort of gargoyle. Mary cried most nights for all that she had lost, but there was a part of her that fought back in her diary.

She sat at the red mahogany desk, the diary open to a clean page, and she began to write:

“I feel so alone, I have not seen John in months, I don’t know what to think. I can’t

leave Mayfair, so what is left for me? Hiding out up here in my rooms, or walking onto the

balcony. I am hideous, the lesions are all over me. I can’t and won’t look in a mirror any

longer. I am so truly unhappy, I have nowhere to turn. I think if I had gone to Carville

I would have been among those who also have leprosy, among my own kind, so to speak.”

Several months later, John came to Mary’s rooms. He knocked on the door. Mary quickly grabbed a veil to cover her face. When she opened the door, John was standing there in the doorway:

“Mary, I love you so very much, but I have come to ask you for a divorce. I found a woman

I want to marry; she will never replace you or the love we have for each other. I want you

to remain here at Mayfair; this is your home. Can you forgive me, please, Mary?”

Mary cleared her throat:

“John, it is best for both of us if you divorce me. I can’t give you the child you want so

desperately. I have been thinking about this for a while; I want to go to Carville, there

I will be with my own kind.”

John saw a single tear begin to form in Mary’s eyes; he also felt the tears welling in his eyes:

“If that is what you really want to do, live in a sanitarium, then I will make the arrangements.”

John closed the door to her rooms. He was brokenhearted. The maids began to pack Mary’s things she would require; when all was ready, Mary dressed completely in black and went downstairs for the first time in ten years. The veil hid her once-beautiful face. The coachman, dressed in his best livery, opened the door for her. Carville Sanitarium was once a glorious plantation, but now it was for Lepers. Doctors and nurses were available to the lepers who needed aid. Mary spent the rest of her life there, among her own. John remarried, his Jenny was tall and plain, and they had two sons.

John went into Mary’s rooms after she passed and found the diary; he took it downstairs to Jenny, and together they read parts of it:

January 5th, 1894

The doctor arrived, examined me, and then gave me the most dreadful news: I have leprosy. John has had rooms on the second floor prepared for me. The only redeeming grace is that there is a balcony where I walk or sit in the sunshine. John is overwhelmed, but I know he will do his best.

March 1st, 1894

I am still shaking, my face is disfigured, and I have no eyebrows or eyelashes. The lesions are spreading more quickly than expected. I am sleeping during the day and writing in my diary at night; it is the only way I can think productively. Night has become my friend, I can go outside and no one sees me. I have started to wear a black veil so that my entire face is covered. This is so unfair to both John and me.

April 10, 1895

I wish John would speak to me, tell me his feelings. He has not been to see me in months; I think there is another woman. This is my burden, and I will carry it; I just hope whoever she is, she will love John.

I have been writing short stories. I don’t know if they are any good, but it keeps me busy at night.

December 15th, 1896

John was just here; he has asked for a divorce. I don’t blame him, and truly, I do understand. It hurts me very much to see him suffering with me. I hope he finds the happiness he deserves with this woman. I suggested I go to Carville sanatorium; he agreed.

On May 15th, 1909, Mary Makay passed on.