Remember Me- an Alias Grace Fanfiction

Part 1

...And I found it strange when you left with no goodbye after everything. I do not dwell on it now because I have come to terms with your decision. I do not forgive you, but at the very least, I have peace with myself. I fail to understand if you had any purpose in my case at all. Your efforts did not change my sentencing, they did not grant me my pardon, they did not even inform me of my condition, if there was one at all.
I was an experiment to you and nothing more, is that it? You liked to listen to my troubles, just as Jamie does. At the time I had been under the impression— one that you set— that this would help my case, but what you did, or failed to do, has proven to me that that was never your intention and this false pretense of helping me was only to probe me for more information. Your absence rings in my ears, sir, and it has given me a headache.
I am only writing this to you now because I am desperate. I do not know anything of what has become of you except for the address you live at. My hope is that this might reach you and hurt you the way that I felt hurt at your hands.
Do you ever think of our time together? The way I spoke and my face and trembling hands as I recalled every terrible thing that has ever happened to me— the ones I allow myself to remember? You forget that I too bleed, just as you do. I am just as human as you are.
You should know that I have a life now. I live it well and to its fullest. I have a husband, you may remember his name; Jamie. But I know that you can read through me. You can sense my deceit. You empathize to the degree that you become almost inserted into my own body, and your empathy turns into self-pity. Well then, I will tell you now that my marriage is bound only by the false promise of forgiveness and the strain of not knowing how to cope with my pain.
Sir, you have ruined me and my hope is that your guilt and shame will swallow you whole and spit you out, just as it should have done the second you left.

Jamie had noticed the work Grace was not doing. He noticed those parts of the day when Grace went to their room and spent hours up there until she came down with ink covering her hands. He did not question it because it might cause tension and he was all for keeping the peace in their house, at any cost. Just as he thought he would burst out at her, it stopped. The visits upstairs and the blackened fingertips all disappeared and her tasks were getting done as they always had been before.
Grace knew this house and this stead as if it were the skull around her brain. Each and every creek in the floorboards and dead patches in the grass that could never grow. It was a comfortable place that she never took for granted. But she was restless as a child. It always seemed as though she came back to the same life. No matter where she went or what she did to prevent it from happening all over again, the same never ending loop of time consumed her once more. But she did not mind it. Yes it was mundane but she had learned to take everything for what it is worth. This life was clearly destined for her and she made the very best of it. She was the same hard worker she'd always been and the obedient wife Jamie always hoped to have. The ironic fact of it all was that Jamie had promised her a life away from what she had in the place she was employed. He promised her a free life with nothing to hold her back but what he gave her was no different from her past, only now she was not paid for her work. Grace knew this but she also knew that Jamie had always had good intentions and for that she was grateful. For everything, she was grateful, she could not help it. She could not help it if she was desperate for her life to be satisfactory or the love she always hoped for to be only in her mind.
"Grace," Jamie came in through the side door as Grace was washing pots at the counter, "do not forget the party tonight. If all else is prepared then you had better go and get yourself ready."
This was the one most noticeable difference in her life. The social aspect was less overwhelming than she had anticipated and at some times it was almost enjoyable. She loved to watch the couples laughing and talking until their heads fell back. There was a certain collectiveness in it that was nice even when she was not specifically included in the discussion. For the most part, she kept to herself during these parties and would spend her time only gazing at the beautiful faces and listening to the fantastical stories which were so foreign to her.
When the couples began to arrive, Jamie and Grace greeted them at the door with smiles and welcomes. Hands were shook, hands were kissed, hands were smacked. While they sat at the dinner table, a loud and seemingly amusing argument ensued.
"...and she should obey her husband whether she agrees to it or not—!"
"That is exactly what I was thinking!" Jamie burts out, "if it is the man who makes the money and provides for his wife and family, the very least she can do is do as he says!"
Grace knew that he was drunk but even then it stung slightly. She was in that category. The category of a nameless and forever disappointing wife. Whether it was a joke or not did not change the fact that he had said it and said much worse on days like this. And Grace had once heard that even mere jokes always hold the slightest bits of truth in them.
So when he spoke again she could not help her words from coming out, "does the wife not also provide in her way?"
The table goes quiet. Fairly, Grace had not spoken much more than a word the entirety of the night until now and so all were surprised at her sudden voice.
"What was that, Grace?" Jamie says.
"I only think that it is fair to assume that the wife does just as much work as her husband every day, only he gets paid while she does not."
"That is not true, she has silly housework while her husband has to slave at work to make money for them both."
"What is the difference in their effort? The husband goes off, leaving the house to work for a few hours while the wife stays at home tending to every other aspect of their collective life, not stopping until she lays her head on the pillow at night—"
"That is enough of that talk, Grace," Jamie says in a tone that angers Grace, as he looks to his friends.
"Yes, truly Grace," the woman beside Grace says in a high pitched tone, sounding almost like a giggle, "I myself have no complaint about how I tend my home. I do not find it at all difficult and I am happy to do as my husband says." As she finishes her sentence, she glances around the table for reassurance.
"That is because you have staff," Grace says, "I am sorry to say but you have no meaningful opinion on this issue, ma'am, for you do not do anything that a typical wife is forced to."
Everyone's eyes go wide and Jamie seethes.
The womans face grows red, "well,I—"
"No," Grace turns to her fully, "I do not wish to listen to you squab about how much men do for you because it is all the same rehearsed words. Of course you love men, because men love your praise that you seem to constantly dish out to them, as if they were dogs— although I am not too convinced that they are not—"
Jamie slams his fists on the table, "that is enough, Grace!"
She quiets herself in an instant. Not because she fears him or his bursts of rage but because she knows that nothing she can say would win her this argument .
One would think it might spoil the group's evening but they go on as if nothing had happened.
In their bedroom that night, Jamie is much too drunk to sleep next to and so Grace decides upon sleeping on the couch downstairs instead.
"Where are you goooing..." his voice slurs as he grips her wrist.
"I want to sleep on the couch," she says plainly.
"No you don't...you must sleep nex' t'me..."
"I do not want to."
"You really are a bitch today, Grace..." and his jaw clenches then, a visible vein showing on his left temple.
"Do not call me that, Jamie."
"Affer what you did t'night I can do wha' ever I wan."
He lifts his hand and slaps her across the face and as he lowers his hand a bright red mark shows.
Grace wrenches her wrist free, "do not do that, Jamie, that is wrong! You should never hit a woman, you know this!"
In fact that was one thing that Grace thought might allow her to grow fond of him. He was so gentle and cordial with women and treated them as if they were the spawn of beauty and purity themselves. That Jamie is lost.
His eyes grow wide, scared to have upset her. As she looked at him she wondered how this ever became of them.
The truth is that Grace had never wanted to marry Jamie. The day he came to meet her for the first time in so long, when her employer told her there was an old gentleman friend waiting for her, the only person she could think of was Simon. When it was shown to be Jamie, she did not recognize him in his age and bushy red whiskers.
"Do you not know me?" He asked her and only then she did. And she thought it strange for him to wear a beard. If she was thirty then he would only have been about twenty eight at the time and he was already trying to look old. But what aches at her heart was the confidence that if it had been the only man she wished to ever see, there would be no guessing. She would have known him in any form without doubt. She would have known him by his breath and presence alone. She should have been suspicious when she did not immediately recognize the sound of his steps behind the door but it must have slipped her mind in her hope. Hope had ruined everything it touched. Hope was what made her fall for Simon's tricks and hope was what made her think this life would do good for her. But Jamie only wanted to be absolved of his faults. Somehow in the mind of that childlike man, he believed that using force and shame would push her to forgiveness. He was an ironic man. He thought through guilt he could strip his own. He wore his victim vices like a cloak and protection against any and every terrible thing she could feel or say about him. Only she never said a thing to him, nor did she ever wish to because his world seemed so separate from hers. He seemed to think that if he were so aware of his wrong doings then there would be no way of confronting him of them and if she did he would only have to say, "I know and my heart burns every day for the pain I have caused you!" Because he could not allow her to feel upset with him. The truth is that Grace had not forgiven. She said so every time he begged it of her but it was the insistence that made her take it back— not out loud, but in her heart. He made it impossible for her to logically hate him or say anything on her mind that might upset him because in every case he would pull his cloak higher and higher until his guilt for what he'd done to her let him become the victim of sorrow and self hatred. She was forced to comfort him for what he did to her and forced to love him for all that he could not give her and forced to make his world a safe and comfortable place for him alone.
"I'm so sorry Grace, it is just because I am drunk— I would never do that if I were sober. I am an awful person, you have to understand that. I know that I am."
Grace shakes her head, "then you will allow me to sleep on my own tonight."
He looks sorrowfully at her, "fine. I understand and I should be a better husband to you, you deserve better than me."
"You are fine." She was not wishing to go through this wallowing session once more, especially tonight when her limbs were so sore and her eyes drooping.
"That is all?" His eyes are wild, "I am fine? I have failed you then, even more than I could have imagined! My dear, you should not stay in this room longer then..."
But he believed she would stay anyway. He believed her pity would see through to him and stay out of sympathy for his feelings. She did not.
She left the room.