Letter from Bethany Schwarzer to her mother, Genevieve; 1899, January 2nd
Dear mother,
It's been a while since I've written to you, but now that I'm here, I should tell you of our latest news in the circus! We had a less-than-fortunate show that left dear Mr MacSeren quite embarrassed so he decided to relocate ourselves to Europe! Although, I'm not positively sure we have the money for such a relocation, alas, we carnies always make do, don't we? Anyway, I hope all is well back home; give father and the boys my love!
Sincerely,
Bethany Schwarzer
Letter from Bethany Schwarzer to her mother, Genevieve; 1899 March 6
Dear mother,
Our circus is doing so well! The profits are such a welcoming sight!
We landed in Ireland first to allow Mr MacSeren to reunite with his family. Oh, how he missed them! He never once stopped chatting about how much he missed his family and it made me think of you, sweet mother. I do admit, I'm quite homesick here but I'll manage. At least I'm in a better situation than the ringmaster. Poor man, he was so excited to see his mother but he was only greeted with the news that she had died years prior and no one thought to inform him.
Poor sir, he already has it so hard already and now this. My heart pangs for him. It hurts the whole circus when that man is depressed.
Hopefully, his mood will lighten up once we head down to Scotland. Until then, fair well, dear Mama! I miss you!
Sincerely,
Bethany Schwarzer
Letter from Bethany Schwarzer to her mother, Genevieve; 1902 July 6th
Dear mother,
You won't believe what had happened! The ringmaster had asked me to marry him! How exciting! Although I do admit, I was a bit hesitant to accept his proposal for other reasons, which I'd rather not disclose. But in the end, I couldn't resist! Oh, how I've dreamt of this day for so long! Marriage, to the man I've been eyeing for years! It's like a dream! Anyways, once all the details and plans are in place, you and all the rest of the family are invited to Rome for the wedding. That's where Reggie and I plan to be married, of course. Oh, I couldn't be happier, mother! We have so many plans for our future!
Wish me luck, Mama! I hope all is well at home and send everyone my love!
Sincerely,
Bethany
Letter from Bethany MacSeren to her mother, Genevieve; 1903 September 2nd
Dear mother,
Thank you so much for attending the wedding! It's been so long since I had seen everyone and to see the whole family come to see us get married means a lot to me. I'm glad you enjoyed the ceremony despite our circus' shenanigans- I do hope you didn't find them too obnoxious- and hope you had a safe journey home. I know travelling can be a pain and especially since it's hard for you to get around.
Reggie and I are so happy together and yes, don't worry, I won't do anything crazy during the pregnancy. His name, we have decided, shall be Brian, after Reggie's good father and you are more than welcome to come to visit when he's born.
We're in Norway at the moment but we hope to be back in Ireland by the time the baby is born.
I also have other happy news; however, you probably won't care so much. But my tiger, Percy has finally had a litter of cubs! My fellow tamer who is the owner of the father, Jackal, said that I could claim all three cubs as my own! I'm so happy! I have three babies already to take care of!
This is all the news that I have for now, but I will write again later. I hope you have all the best of luck in America. I love you, mother!
Love,
Bethany MacSeren
Journal entry from the journal of Bethany MacSeren; 1908 July 9th
My, what an eventful life I seem to have! So many things are happening all at once and I fear I might break my back trying to keep up! To start, the circus lost three more beloved performers; BirdCat, Lion, and AdventureCat and I miss them dearly. But we gained two love birds who both specialise in illusions and magic. TomCat dubbed them Panther and Lynx. What even is a lynx? I swear, my husband finds the strangest animals!
It's quite lonely training the tigers without Lion's help. Even if I have BearCat and Jaguar nearby to help me, they both seem more distant than years prior. Not to mention their insistence on calling me "Mrs MacSeren" rather than BeastCat as I would much prefer. The freaks call me Mrs MacSeren as well, but their tones are far more condescending than the tamers'. It's as if they're taunting me for claiming the name that rightfully belonged to someone else... someone who deserved it.
That girl didn't deserve what happened to her. Some dark, twisted thought in my mind has told me that a part of the reason why Reggie moved us to Europe was to escape that poor, troubled girl. I can see it in his eyes when I look at him; this deep-rooted regret that he can't shake no matter how hard he tries. It hurts to see him so sad but I know he's trying to heal.
Although I will admit, his motives for healing are quite bewildering. Rather than saving a great deal of money like any poor soul would, he bought completely different rings for our marriage and saved his previous two on a chain around his neck. I guess it could be a good memory for him... but, personally, I think of it as nothing more than a painful reminder.
Journal entry from Bethany MacSeren; 1908 December 30th
I'm deeply concerned for my dear husband. For the past few months, I had been observing him carefully- as I had noted to myself back in July that Reggie had been acting different- well, his manner never improved; in fact, it was a journey trying to keep up with the many crazed dips and turns in his attitude. One day, he would be his usual, boisterous self and do his job just fine; he would come home, give me a kiss, play with the children, before conducting business in his office. Other days, he'd be unreasonably irritable and would skip out on his shows to drown his misery in whiskey. He'll snap at anyone who comes too close and this includes the other performers, me, and even his poor children who have no idea what is going on.
His spontaneous rages only doubled with overwhelming sadness as the days went on and I often wake up in the dead of night to find him crying in the bathroom. I never bring these moments up with him, for fear of embarrassing him but goodness knows that I want to. I'm afraid that if these episodes grow any worse, he might breakdown and do something drastic. And with eight children (soon to be nine) I'm worried these actions might be directed towards them- as they cause quite the amount of stress and I can see it in Reggie's grey hairs.
For now, I shall keep an eye on him and take notes on any odd things my husband does. I believe a talk with a doctor should be in order soon.
Journal entry from Bethany MacSeren; 1909 January 7th
Reggie was stubbornly reluctant to come with me to a psychiatrist's office; he continuously insisted that he was perfectly fine and that I was overreacting but I can assure you, I am not. I am reacting just as a concerned wife should be after witnessing his attempted suicide (first of a few, I should add). Alas, after persisting and even yelling at him, he finally relented and together we headed to the local asylum for an evaluation.
My, if ever there were a more terrifying place to be, it did not compare to this monstrosity. The hospital sat on a hill that overlooked the Irish countryside and the building's many dark windows sent shivers down my spine. I felt horrible for having to subject my husband to the horrors within, but he needed help and this was the only way.
Reggie was silent all throughout the ride to the asylum but he behaved and followed me inside when we pulled up to the front entrance. It seemed pleasant from the front, with blooming gardens underneath the first-floor windows and birds chirping in the nearby trees; however, as decorative as it was outside, it still refused to lighten up how bland and dreary it was inside. Stark white walls with yellow linoleum floors; it was a drastic change from the lively colours and bold lights that I was used to in the circus.
Everyone wore white, except the Catholic sisters, who wore the addition of black. I felt uncomfortable, and I could tell Reggie did as well. Pushing through our discomfort, we signed ourselves in and met with the doctor, a kind, elderly man by the name of Dr Spender.
After sitting down with him in his office and explaining our desperate situation, the doctor asked Reggie some questions; all of which, Reggie either refused to answer by giving the man a suspicious glare or gave vague responses that barely had anything to do with the question. I showed the doctor my list of his strange habits and after a short review, he took me outside his office to discuss with me privately what must be done... immediate institutionalisation... my poor husband; he will never forgive me.
I'm sure dear Reggie would understand if he were in a sane state of mind why I had to admit him to this dreadful hospital, but he wasn't so he didn't understand why I signed the papers committing him to the hospital for treatment or why I had to give him a hug goodbye. He created quite a stir as he first grew angry that I would betray him like I did but it wasn't long before he broke down like a child and cried as I left the doctor's office. I couldn't bear to turn back, for fear of seeing his face again and feeling my guilt. But some situations call for being heartless in order to give someone the help they need... Right?
Journal entry from Bethany MacSeren; 1909 January 12th
Well, most certainly the hardest thing I've ever done would have to be informing the circus of the fate of their ringmaster. They all knew there was something terribly wrong with Reggie, mentally, but none of them expected him to finally be thrown into the loony bin. By his wife, no less. Dear God, I feel terrible for what I've done. I have to constantly remind myself that it's for the best in order to keep myself from begging the doctor to let him out.
Dearest FatCat had offered to take his place temporarily while he recovers but I had to decline his kind offer, seeing as how Cheetah had more experience in Reggie's position. All those many times when Reggie would miss a show, Cheetah- who is our freakshow leader now and not just a tamer- would boldly take his place and open our show (magnificently, I might add). FatCat means well in his offers, I know, but the poor soul is getting old and doesn't have the energy he used to in his prime. There was no way I would let that kind man break his hip prancing around the stage like an overgrown child.
Ah well, in other news, I received a letter from the institution informing me that Reggie had been given a room and was now beginning treatment. With that said, I shall bring his toiletries to him tomorrow and wish him well. I can tell the children miss him greatly and my heart pangs to see their sad faces. My eldest, Brian gave me a drawing of a cat to give to his father and I nearly cried, it was so sweet!
I guess that's that to be said. Until the next time I write, whenever that may be.
Journal entry from Bethany MacSeren; 1909 March 5th
I went to see my husband today for the first time in a few months- as I had been dreadfully busy with the children- Dr Spender had told me all that he had gone through and how he responded. Although I wasn't quite sure of the terms he used, he seemed joyful and proud of himself so I felt confident that my Reggie was improving.
In the beginning, Reggie had been how he was on his first day here; quiet and disdainful towards everyone and everything. He refused to say anything to the staff or cooperate during therapy treatments. On occasion, he had to be isolated due to an outburst he had towards a fellow patient. But, at last, after a few weeks of fruitless treatments, attempts at conversation, and being trapped in solitary confinement, the kind sisters realised his best medicine would be good music and an outlet for his creative insight.
Since then, my sweet Reggie has been benevolent and quiet, drawing in his room or at a table in the corner if he were forced to socialise. It gave me a sense of peace to hear that he was doing much better now that he had an efficient way to remain occupied and calm. Of course, he still refuses to speak to the other patients, but he will now answer the doctors and nurses when asked questions and that gives me hope.
Upon entering his room, I was greeted by the sound of the calming presence of Mozart playing on a phonograph in the corner. Drawings of all types littered the walls; pinned in place by tacky glue that couldn't quite hold- as some doodles had evidently fallen to the floor. And, positioned in front of an open window that viewed the Irish countryside, was my husband, hunched over and fervorously sketching at a cluttered desk.
He was too busy to notice me arrive but the doctor announced my presence with a kind, "Reginald, you have a guest to see you," and he quickly looked up in interest. The moment our eyes met, I smiled and Reggie smiled back; that familiar glow in his eyes returning for a brief second and forcing me to remember why I fell in love with him in the first place. Oh, how those warm puppy-dog eyes can welcome me!
The doctor left us in peace and the minute the door closed, Reggie stood from his seat and embraced me as tightly as he could to express his love. I gladly returned the hug and told him softly, "I missed you so much, my love,"
Reggie took a deep breath against my shoulder as he raised his head to look at me, "I missed you more, Beth... it's so lonely here."
"I know, sweetheart, and I'm so sorry. But the doctor said you were doing much better! Do you know what that means? You might be able to go home soon!" I assured. Though I have to confess, this was partly a lie, as the doctor had also told me that he was still displaying erratic behaviour and was fairly unpredictable.
Reggie's face lit up with excitement and he held my shoulders tightly, "Really?! Then that means all my hard work paid off!" I wasn't sure what he meant by this, and frankly, it concerned me, but he didn't give me time to process his statement before he happily pulled me over to his desk to show me his many drawings. His drawings... well... what can I say about them? His artistic talent is certainly exquisite but the subject of his drawings... oh my...
They ranged from beautiful sketches of nature and the people of the asylum to obvious future costume ideas. One of these ideas, he was clearly passionate about, as it was of a striped cat mask that bore a toothy grin. It was malevolent in its appearance but, at the same time, it seemed oddly cartoonish. Another bundle of drawings that had been shoved in the corner of his workspace had a different subject to them... one that seemed oddly familiar.
"Reggie, what are those? I would very much like to see them," I insisted calmly as I made an effort to reach for the crumpled bundles. Reggie's attitude abruptly changed and he hurriedly snatched them before I could and held them protectively against his chest.
"Those are... private..." he mumbled, looking away shamefully. I knew then he was hiding something; and if he were hiding something important, the doctor may need to see it.
"Sweetie, you shouldn't hide things from me. It could help us find out what's wrong with you," I said reassuringly. My husband flashed me a glare and shoved the drawings into a drawer in his desk.
"I'm not hiding anything! I'm getting better! You said so yourself!... please leave, I'm irritated," he snapped at me as he retreated over to his washroom. I wanted to press him further for answers, but he had clearly proved his unstable mental state to me and I reluctantly decided it'd be better to just leave him.
I do hope he gets over what he's hiding from everyone.