Chapter 19
Nineteen
After visiting Geriatrics on Monday morning, I made my way back to the wing to mail the letter. I froze at the entry when I glimpsed her kneeling over my locker.
“No.” I pushed Regina aside. “Get away from my things!”
She whipped out an accusing finger with one hand, rattling Jackson’s letter in the other. “Hell, I hope you rot in it. You and your blue bastard can go straight to hell!” Regina shoved me against the wall.
She’d picked the lock on the wooden footlocker, and all my belongings had been strewn across the cot. Flushed, I caught a glimpse of my necessaries, book, and bits of scattered paper and tossed toiletries.
My hands shook as I stretched them out to her and pleaded, “Please give my mail back, Regina. I don’t want trouble.”
The cruelty danced on her youthful face, bled from a blackened heart. The girl weren’t nothing but a seed spreader. Miserable with life, sowing misery across the paths of others.
“Please, Regina. Give me back my letter.” I tried to snatch it from her hand but missed. “It’s not yours.”
“I imagine Warden will have a helluva lot to say about that.” She poked my belly. “That kid you’re carrying belongs to them, not you.”
Gritting my teeth, I fought to tamp down the ugliness that threatened to spew. “Regina, just hand it over.”
A small group silently gathered around us.
One woman said, “Dammit, Regina, mind your own business and give her back the letter. I hope she puts a curse on your mean ass.”
Another grumbled, “Best do what she says, Gina, ’fore you get us all in trouble.”
“My darling Jackson,” Regina recited to the women, mocking, wriggling the letter in front of my face before whipping it away, “I’m thrilled to tell you I am with child.” She smirked. “I love you—”
I smacked a fist against my thigh. “Give it back, or—”
“Or what? What?” Regina snapped the page across my face, leaving a papercut down my cheek. “Or what, Grape Girl?” She pushed me down onto the cot she’d littered with my belongings.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it and blinked.
Blinked again and popped my eyes.
Stunned, I ran a palm over the torn bits of paper, my fingers sifting through it all.
My daughter’s letter.
Regina had shred it into pieces. Robbed me of Honey’s sweet news and love. Home. I picked up a scrap and pressed it to my trembling lips, the heartbreak almost bowing me over.
Grabbing the book, I stood, a slow, blinding fury churning, birthing a murderess heart.
I opened the cover of The Little Sister, locked deadly eyes with Regina, and tore out the homemade weapon inside.
A ripple of gasps rose into the stale institutional air.
“No,” someone cried out.
Something whorled inside me, scraped across my tongue, and escaped in a guttural war cry. I lunged at the girl, ripping off the sleeve of her dress.
Regina’s jaw slackened, and she took a step back.
I raised Waldeen’s sharpened toothbrush again.
Rough hands latched on to me, throwing me across the floor.
“Both of you to the hole!” the guard bellowed.
***
Grim, the warden lifted the envelope from her desk, then let it float down onto her stack of papers while the guard led Regina away.
A quake took hold of my body, and I could feel the fear whooshing in my ears.
“Is it true?” Her eyes dropped to my belly.
My words were hollowed out in shallow breaths.
“Answer me. Is. It. True?”
I could barely manage a nod.
She placed the letter to the side and said, “I’ve sent for the physician to abort it.”
“I want to keep my babe.”
Her mouth twitched. “There are no wants in here, Lovett.”
I slammed a fist down onto her desk. “No.”
Warden pushed the buzzer on the telephone, and a guard appeared. “Take her to solitary.” Her busied hands flew over paperwork, picking up speed, shuffling, organizing papers that were already neatly stacked.
I wriggled out of his grasp and leaped over to her side, falling to praying knees. “I beg you, ma’am. Please don’t kill my baby.” I reached for her hand and latched on.
She snatched it away and swiped the palm down her side, then pulled a handkerchief from her skirt. “Don’t you dare touch me, Lovett. Mind you, if you think this procedure is bad, there’s another surgery that can keep you obedient and calm.”
“I won’t cause any trouble. I have to keep my—”
Scrubbing the handkerchief across her hands, the warden shrilled, “Take her.”
“Please, please. My baby.”
She stepped back. “You’re dismissed.”
“Murderer, murderer,” I spat.
Warden turned to the window.
The guard grabbed hold of me.
“Wait. Please, ma’am, please, I’ll do anything. Tell me what to do. Please—”
***
In isolation, I sat on the floor, worrying light rubs over my belly. Time slowed and I startled when I finally saw the tray slot open. Then I heard her.
“Kid, it’s me.”
I crawled over to the door, rested my ear against the cold metal. “Waldeen?”
“Ya sure got yourself in a mess.”
“Please help me.”
There was a long pause.
“Waldeen?”
“There’s nothing I can do. Here’s your supper.”
“Are they going to give me a lobotomy?”
“Warden’s riled. But you’re still valuable to her. Keeping the kitchen ledgers and your library work is the only things saving ya. I think she’s more concerned about getting rid of the babe. Preventing a scandal.”
“Can you get word to someone for me?”
She exhaled loudly.
“To my doc. Doc Thomas in Troublesome Creek. Tell him they’re going to give me an abortion and sterilize me. Maybe even a lobotomy. Please write and ask him to help.”
“I’ll try, kid, if ya promise you’ll eat.”
I took the tray and bit into the cold bologna sandwich.
“All of it.” Waldeen slipped her palm inside the slot, groping for mine. “They miss ya, kid. Miss their Book Woman.” She gave my hand a squeeze before slipping away.
I suddenly realized I missed them more. They had given me so much light. Marigold, Geraldine, young Odette, Emmeline, and Sassyann—the women locked in cells darker than my isolated one. With an aching heart, I finished the meal and tried to steel my courage.
The next morning, I paced the cramped hole, pausing when I heard footsteps. At times, my mind played tricks on me, the darkness sliding in darker thoughts.
When the slot finally opened, I held my breath, hoping it was Waldeen.
“Breakfast, Lovett.”
I grabbed the tray and waited. A women whispered, “She got word to your friend. Telephoned him yesterday morning.”
Then she was gone.
For a minute, I sat on the cot, flabbergasted. That Waldeen would use her one weekly telephone privilege on me filled me with gratitude and hope.
Hope. Would he come? Could Doc get me moved to the city hospital again, where the babe would be safe?
I stirred the bowl of oats and then set down the spoon and picked at the cold toast, staring at the door.
I had to believe Doc would get the pardon he’d been working on.