Chapter 36 Emily
EMILY
By my count, it was the winter solstice; the darkest night of the year, when this little corner of the earth turns as far away as it will ever be from the light of the sun, crouching into itself in protection from the bitter cold.
It is the lowest point of the valley we descend into each year, beginning in October, as the light starts to retreat from us to go warm others on the opposite side of this great, swirling globe.
It’s only fair that they have their turn with the sun’s attentions.
But how lonely and dark it becomes at the bottom of that vast wintry canyon.
And all we can do is forge on, one day at a time, ascending back up the hill as the light grows slowly brighter, until we finally feel the heat of the sun on our skin again and are reminded that this is the cycle, the ebb and flow of light and dark that conducts the rhythm of our lives.
But that day, I could only see the darkness. I kept blinking my eyes to adjust, but they would not. I could only assume, at that point, that it would always be black.
Emily shifted her weight a little to tuck one of her cold feet beneath her.
She was huddled in the loosely knitted blanket on the springs of the bed frame; she couldn’t even lean her weight against the stone wall, because it was too cold.
One or two degrees colder, and she would see her breath in front of her face.
She listened to the sounds on the floor above her, the distant hum of chatter from the dining hall.
It was suppertime, and her stomach ached.
She was starving, her head throbbing from dehydration, but she’d been declining the food and drink Matron Grimes brought her over the past two days.
After what happened to Annie, she couldn’t trust that it wasn’t poisoned.
She swiped at a tear, warm against her cool cheek.
She could hardly believe that after witnessing the murder of one of their own, right there in the dining hall, these women could carry on like they were, chattering and eating as though it didn’t matter.
Emily scoffed in disgust, for the hundredth time.
It was every woman for herself in here. She should have known that.
Everyone was just greedily scrambling for their piece of the very limited pie, the small sliver they felt they were entitled to as they were fed through the meat grinder that was the Mercer Women’s Prison.
Over the past two days, Emily had had plenty of time to reflect, with nothing at all to occupy her time besides her own tormenting thoughts.
In hindsight, she couldn’t believe she thought she could just waltz into a prison and take some notes and bring it all down from the inside.
Nellie Bly might have done it, but that didn’t mean just anyone could.
Emily had vastly overestimated herself, as had Doris, her parents.
She felt ashamed that she’d failed at what she’d come here to do, failed as a journalist. And she’d also failed these women, and all the women who would come after them, funnelled into the prison system by laws that sought to punish them for things men were never punished for, solely because they were women.
There was no law that could put teenage boys in prison for sneaking in after curfew, or impregnating a girl of another race.
Emily had come in here to try to make a name for herself, and that need had morphed into wanting to make a difference for others. But she’d failed at both.
White—and by extension, Eris Stone—had declared her insane and forced her into this blue dress.
Her file would now be marked with a “P,” for “Psychiatric.” Would she be left here in isolation interminably, she wondered, or would Stone ever release her up into the psychiatric wing?
Emily wasn’t even sure she wanted that. It might be warmer up there, but she’d then be in the company of truly insane women like Rose, who probably wanted to harm her even more than she had before, since Annie was dead.
And it was all Emily’s fault.
She buried her face in the tent of her knees.
None of it mattered. The system was rigged to beat them at every turn. They never could win.
She thought of June’s words, so long ago now.
That’s been women’s lot since the beginning of time. There ain’t no changing it, and the sooner you get that through your head, the better off you’ll be.
But the rules had been written by men, for the benefit of men.
Could any woman ever rewrite them? What a fool Emily had been to think that she—from her cozy, privileged corner of the world—could undo that kind of systemic injustice with a few of her own words.
Perhaps June was right. There just was no changing it.
But how devastating it was to admit defeat.
She probably should have believed the madam from the start, trusted that she—and Eliza, and Annie—might know a little more about the real world than she did, might have some knowledge and experience with the true villains and monsters that Emily had only read about in stories.
She should have believed them when they tried to warn her about Stone’s power.
But she’d thought she knew better, and now Annie was dead, and Emily could be kept here as long as Stone wanted.
She’d come into this place so green and naive and bursting at the seams with idealism.
She’d thought her experiences had filed that down a bit, had weathered and wizened her, but she’d gotten too carried away, so caught up in her goals and story that she didn’t stop to listen to the women who truly knew this system.
At some point, she knew, her parents and Doris together would make some sort of effort to secure her release.
She wondered how long they would let it go before they started to make inquiries, contact a lawyer.
But they would need to expose her and the fact that they’d lied to the court, and Emily’s gut churned at the consequences that might come out of that, particularly for her father.
What a disaster this had all turned out to be.
She longed for her parents now, but could hardly stand the thought of having to face them after this debacle.
The sound of a door opening at the end of the hall interrupted Emily’s thoughts and she straightened, but stayed where she was on the bed. Standing would release all the heat she’d worked so hard to contain under that blanket.
“Supper, Radcliffe,” Matron Grimes said in her deep voice, which echoed a little down the empty hall.
There were no other inmates in isolation right now.
Grimes appeared in the door frame a moment later, holding a tray.
She took in Emily’s appearance and sighed with irritation. “Look, you need to eat something.”
“I won’t trust it unless Carnegie brings it,” Emily told her for the seventh time.
Previously, Grimes had just scoffed when Emily said this, but this time she hesitated. “Carnegie’s been sacked,” she admitted, a little quieter.
“What?” Emily’s insides swooped. Her only remaining ally was gone now.
“Warden fired her yesterday, because she kept insisting…” Grimes shook her head. “Anyway, she’s gone. But I got this food off the supper line myself, and I tell you, it isn’t poisoned, so just eat it. You’re starving.”
“What about Stone?” Emily asked. The doctor’s name was bitter in her mouth. “What’s—”
“Stone’s not even here, it’s the bloody Christmas holiday now, isn’t it?”
She unlocked the little gate in Emily’s cell door and passed the tray through.
After a moment of hesitation, Emily stood and took it, sat on the cold floor and shovelled mashed potato and ham into her mouth with her hands.
They didn’t give you utensils in solitary—not even a spoon.
Emily looked up at Grimes, who was lingering uncharacteristically with a funny sort of look on her face.
“Look,” she said, dropping her voice and glancing over her shoulder before squatting down close to the door. “If you are who they say you are, keep my name out of it all, and I’ll keep bringing you decent food.”
Emily swallowed. “None of the food here has ever been decent.”
Grimes actually laughed, full-bellied. “You got an attitude on you, I’ll give you that, reporter. But you can at least trust the food if it comes from me, anyway. I can’t say any of this is right, but it’s not my place to have an opinion if I want to stay employed.”
“Can you help me get a letter out?” Emily asked, heart lifting, but Grimes shook her head.
“I can’t do that, but I won’t let you starve, either. That’s as much of a deal as I’m fit to make.”
Emily nodded. “All right. Thank you.”
For once in her life, Emily didn’t know the next step, the next question to ask. After Grimes left and her meal was done, she buried her face in her knees again as a fresh wave of tears erupted, and the darkness descended once more.