Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (10 page)

Late that evening, Ellen stood at her bedroom window, staring toward the starlit horizon. Ian stepped up behind her. Placing one hand on each shoulder, he pulled her back against him. “Please, Ellen. You have to understand. There’s nothing else to be done until Miss Dawson’s sister can make arrangements. But long term, it’s just not possible.” He hooked a curl at her neckline. Pulling it aside, he bent to kiss the uncovered spot.

She shrugged him off. “That baby girl deserves our protection and care.”

“And she’ll have it. Miss Dawson said her sister speaks very highly of Dr. Mason, who provides care for the inhabitants of the Home for the Friendless. The baby will be in good hands.”

“She’s already in the best hands possible,” Ellen insisted. “She’s with her mother.”

“And eleven other inmates in a maximum security penitentiary. Would you have her grow up there?”

Ellen turned around and looked up at him. “You could petition the governor for a pardon.”

Ian frowned. “And who have you been talking to, to come up with that idea?”

“Miss Dawson said it happens, sometimes, at other institutions. Of course we couldn’t have a forthright discussion about it, not with Vestal and Jane Prescott hearing everything we said.”

“Thank goodness you at least knew that much.”

She turned back around to face the window. “I didn’t know how to explain any of it to Jack when he got home from school.”

“I didn’t have much luck with that after dinner, either.” Ian paused. “And I don’t like the idea of him—or you—seeing me as someone who’d willfully hurt the innocent.” He cleared his throat. “I am not unsympathetic, but the truth is Vestal Jackson is responsible for her circumstances. Someone was hurt when she stole that money, Ellen. They could have died. As it is, she’s lucky she isn’t serving time for manslaughter.”

“But Vestal—“

“Vestal? It’s
Vestal
now?”

“She said she would have paid back every cent. She was
hungry.”
Her voice dropped. “I remember being hungry when you were off with your regiment. And if it hadn’t been for our neighbors, I would have done whatever it took to feed our baby. In Vestal’s case, the baby died anyway.”

“That child didn’t starve. She had the ague.”

“And she was weakened by hunger, or she might have survived. It seems so cruel. Cruel beyond the crime. Which Vestal admits to committing.” Ellen paused. “And since when do we put women who are going to give birth in prison, anyway?”

“No one knew she was… in the family way when she was sentenced.”

“Why wasn’t she released when it was discovered?”

Ian was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, he said gently, “You’ve taken a sudden and very personal interest in Vestal Jackson’s story. They all have one, you know. And most include logical explanations as to why they had to do what they did. Or why they’re innocent.”

“She doesn’t claim innocence.” A combination of anger, frustration, and desperation brought tears to Ellen’s eyes as she said, “What if that little cherub
dies,
Ian? How will you ever live with yourself?”

He let go of her then. Left her at the window and retreated into the shadows. She took a deep breath and brought back the gentle Southern drawl he loved as she said, “I didn’t want to come here, Ian. Truth be told, I’ve hated nearly every minute of it. But I haven’t complained. Because I love you. You’re brave and kind, and you really do believe that every human bein’ was made in God’s image. I didn’t know how I felt about any of it until today. But today I saw something that made me realize that yes, they are prisoners, but they’re also—“

“Misunderstood?”

She brushed the sarcastic comment away with a wave of her hand. “Don’t try to make me sound like those sops who come to the services on Sunday in the guise of serving the ‘poor and lowly,’ when all they really want to do is flirt with the guards.” She paused again, just long enough to recapture the soothing tone she wanted him to hear. “No. I do not say they are misunderstood. But still—” She broke off. “Like I said, I don’t really know how to interpret all the new feelings flowing through me. I do, however, know about mothers and babies.

“Vestal Jackson committed a crime. She should serve her sentence. But to take the baby away?” She shook her head and took a deep, wavering breath. “You weren’t there when I lost our little girl, Ian. You don’t know—” She went to him and stepped back into his arms, weeping quietly. “Don’t do this, darlin’. Please.” She paused. “I asked Miss Dawson who would eventually raise the baby. She didn’t even know. She said it would be difficult. People tend to think that children from questionable backgrounds are tainted, somehow. That they won’t be normal because of ‘bad blood.’”

She leaned her head against his chest, reveling in the warmth of him even as she said, “The baby’s going to be in an institution either way. Which is better: a ward with a wet nurse and strangers, or a ward with her own mother? And how much will she remember? Vestal doesn’t have that much longer to serve, does she?” She looked up at him. Kissed the place where that awful woman’s weapon had pricked the skin. Traced the line of his jaw with her finger.

“And now who’s using their wiles to get their way?” He covered her mouth with his own.

Tears dampened Jane’s pillow as she lay in the dark staring toward Vestal, who’d fallen asleep with one arm curled about the baby. Miss Dawson had been exactly right earlier today when she answered Mrs. McKenna’s question about what came next.
More pain.
The child might be here for a few days, but Miss Dawson’s sister was “making arrangements.” Everyone knew what that meant. Vestal wouldn’t even name her own child. She’d cried herself to sleep. But Vestal wasn’t the only one swimming in dark waters of pain and longing and regret tonight, nor was Jane. Muffled sobs echoed through the dormitory.

Jane had lingered at the windows long past sundown, hoping in spite of herself to catch sight of Max as he headed back toward town. The moon came out, and still there was no sign of him. Jane hoped that didn’t mean something terrible concerning Mr. Underhill’s condition. The gangly, awkward Mr. Underhill was one of the few people in this place who expressed kindness and compassion. All the women appreciated him. But however sincere Jane’s concern was for Mr. Underhill, her thoughts soon returned to Max.

She’d told him she wouldn’t see him, but now she’d spent the day with him. He’d be back, wanting to see her about—whatever it was that had brought him here. What would she do? Would she be strong enough to refuse a meeting? More important, what would Warden McKenna do with the knowledge that Dr. Max Zimmer and Jane Prescott had once been friends?

When she finally retreated from the window and slipped beneath the coarse sheets on her cot, Jane’s thoughts whirled from Max to Rose to Owen to the trial to Pearl Brand to Vestal’s baby, and back again, in a dizzying rhythm that rocked her emotions and finally wore her out. Rolling onto her back, she counted
in
-two-three,
out-
two-three, willing her breathing to even out, trying to make her mind go blank. She envisioned the endless prairie, the hot sun, the far horizon, the relentless space. But Max invaded the space.

Careful, Mrs. Prescott.
She remembered the sound of his voice and the feel of his hand on her arm as he reached out to steady her, to keep her from falling down the stairs.
To keep me from falling.
And here she was, hours later, in danger of falling into… something.

She must not want his kindness. Must not want
him.
Lying alone in the dark, Jane swore at his smile and his gray-green eyes, his faithful friendship, his soothing voice. She mustn’t want any of it, for wanting
that
would make bearing
this
impossible.

The baby whimpered, and in the darkness Jane whispered concern.

“It’s all right,” Vestal replied. “We’re fine.”

And they were. The little girl was strong. Her suckling echoed in the dormitory, along with Vestal’s contented murmurings. Jane imagined every woman in that dormitory lying awake, listening to the very normal sound of a mother feeding her child in a place that was far from normal, as they tried to rise above waves of regret over their own lost hopes. She had no idea what those regrets might be. She’d made it her mission not to know, not to care… to merely exist in this place until finally she could go to a new place and create something for herself and Rose.

Today had brought that someday hope to the surface. Uninvited. Too far in the future. Too impossible. There was more to regret about today than seeing Max Zimmer. She wished she’d never seen the inside of that house and Ellen McKenna’s beautiful quilts. She wished she hadn’t been reminded of missed quiltings and lost time, of things entrusted to friends and trunks filled with memories.

Tonight, the longing for those things felt as strong as it had her first night here. So strong she hurt. Her stomach ached. Her chest felt tight. She turned on her side and curled up… but that only made her remember Thomas encircling her waist and pulling her against him in the night. Turning onto her stomach, she peered over the edge of the cot toward the bare stone floor.

Max Zimmer should just go away.

M
ax paused at the top of the administration building stairs, looking up at the night sky. Every inch of him ached. He was bone tired, both from the challenging confinement and the evening spent wrestling with the prison doctor over how to treat the wound Pearl Brand had inflicted on a guard. He wished the warden hadn’t asked him to look in on Underhill, but how could he say no? He needed to be in the man’s good graces when he came back tomorrow.

The warden had been distracted enough not to press Max about the reason for the missed appointment. Thank God he’d let it go when Max said, “I’ll come back tomorrow. It’s nothing that can’t wait.” Now, as he retrieved his horse from the prison stables and mounted up for the ride back into Lincoln, he tried to work out a reasonable excuse for his failure to say something about knowing Jane.

It was certainly true that everything had happened quickly. That might serve as reason enough for the first part of the day. But once Vestal’s baby had been safely delivered and the women had returned to the secure third-floor quarters, things were well in hand. Underhill was in no real danger, and the physician on staff was finally sober by the time the warden looked in on things in the infirmary. Max had had plenty of opportunity to explain himself. But he hadn’t. And he wasn’t quite sure why.

Instead of urging the horse into a lope and heading for town, he sat staring up at the third-floor windows, thinking about Jane. She was rail thin. Not sickly, exactly, but not healthy, either. Was she not eating, or didn’t the state feed prisoners very well? Maybe he’d ask the warden about that. As a physician. When he thought back to that one dance with her and the way she smiled up at him, the pallor on her thin face today made him… what? What, exactly, did he feel?

Taking a deep breath, he clucked to get the horse moving up the trail toward the dim glow in the distance that was Lincoln. Still he thought of Jane. Some things about her hadn’t changed. Her gentle manner with Vestal and the baby reminded Max of the way she’d always been with Rose. But the inner calm she’d seemed to have was gone, and Max didn’t think he was the main reason. He’d done his best to telegraph the message that he wasn’t about to reveal their connection. Still she’d seemed on the edge of fear for most of the day. As if she didn’t quite know how to behave in the real world anymore.

First thing tomorrow, he’d ride back out here. Surely after today she’d agree to see him. He’d never forgotten, never given up, never stopped demanding justice. Neither should she. Especially not with a new warden at the helm and a new governor in office. If that wasn’t a recipe for hope, Max didn’t know what was.

Urging the horse into a lope, he made plans for the morrow. He would smooth things over with the warden and convince him to sign a written recommendation for a pardon. Then he would keep his appointment with the new governor. He would make both men listen and convince them of what he believed to be true. The only thing Jane Prescott had ever killed was a rattlesnake that threatened Rose one day.