Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (13 page)

“Finish what you have to say,” McKenna said. “Miss Dawson won’t mind waiting a few minutes, especially if she knows we’re discussing the fate of one of her favored lambs. I’m new at the job, but that’s one thing I do know for certain.”

Max shrugged. “I think I’ve pretty much said everything I know.”

McKenna nodded. Took a sip of coffee, which, amazingly enough, he seemed to be savoring. Taking a paper out of Jane’s file, he closed the folder and laid what was obviously a newspaper account atop it, then slid it toward the edge of his desktop. “I owe you a sincere thanks for what you did for us yesterday,” he said to Max. “And I’ll be expecting a bill for your services.” He held his hand up. “Don’t say the polite thing. Just make out a bill.”

Max nodded. “Happy to.”

“I assume you’re hoping Mrs. Prescott will change her mind about letting you visit, especially in light of yesterday.”

“I don’t expect she’ll change her mind.”

“But you hope she will.”

“Of course. The governor’s agreed to listen to what I have to say. That’s good news.”
Please God, let it be good news… and not false hope.

McKenna stood up. “I’ll tell the clerk to send the request upstairs. You can wait for Mrs. Prescott’s answer in my outer office.” He smiled. “Take the coffee with you. It’s an acquired taste, but another half cup and you might find yourself liking it.”

Max very much doubted that he was ever going to like stuff that, in his opinion, tasted like someone had boiled a pair of old socks in the water before making coffee. Still, he smiled, said “thank you,” and reached for the coffee mug.

“One more question before you go.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How long have you been in love with Jane Prescott?”

T
aking a deep breath, Mamie grasped the shining brass doorknob and gave it a twist. The minute she stepped inside the warden’s first-floor office, his assistant, Mr. Conrad, smiled a greeting and stood up to rap on the door leading into Warden McKenna’s private inner office. He motioned to one of the chairs lined up along the windows facing the road. “He said to knock when you arrived and to tell you he wouldn’t be long.” Conrad lowered his voice to add, “That doctor fellow’s in there. He was waiting on the front stairs when the warden came to work this morning.”

Mamie perched on the edge of a chair, paper in hand. Mr. Conrad returned his attention to the stack of paperwork on his desk. Whatever he read in the next envelope he opened made him stand up and excuse himself to take something across the hall to the clerk’s office.

Mamie glanced out the window toward the warden’s house just as Mrs. McKenna emerged from around the west side, watering can in hand, and began to water whatever was growing along the porch. Mamie had been too preoccupied both going and coming yesterday to take any notice of new plantings.
New plantings.

She’d just crossed to retrieve a pencil from Mr. Conrad’s desk when the warden’s door opened. Mamie started. “Mr. Conrad had to take something across the hall,” she said. “I was just making a note.” She hastily did so on the paper she’d brought with her, as Dr. Zimmer greeted her and then asked about Vestal.

“She’s a bit pale this morning,” Mamie said. “But she ate a good breakfast, and the baby seems to be doing very well.” She paused. “She hasn’t complained of undue pain. That’s a blessing.”

The doctor nodded. “Glad to hear it.” He glanced at Warden McKenna. “I don’t know anything about how things are run, but Mrs. Jackson should be on bed rest for at least a few days. If the food is rationed out, she should have more as long as she’s nursing a child. And milk. Is milk available?”

“It will be if you feel it’s advisable,” the warden said. He motioned for Mamie to join him in his office as he said to the doctor, “Tell Conrad I’ve approved your request. He can knock on my door if he has any questions.”

Whether it was the impressive furnishings or the masculine aroma of cigar smoke in the office, something about the warden’s office had always intimidated Mamie. She perched on one of the three oak chairs opposite his desk, feeling like a supplicant on trial. The warden surprised her when, instead of taking his place on the opposite side of the massive desk, he offered to serve coffee or water. When Mamie chose water, he took a tin mug off the coffee tray on his desk and crossed to the water cooler in the corner, then set the full mug in front of her before taking a seat. As he settled he asked, “Are you recovered from yesterday?”

“The women ate a hearty breakfast. I think they’re all just as relieved as I am to have the matter of Miss Brand handled—at least for a while.”

When Mamie mentioned Pearl’s name, the warden nodded, even as he touched the place beneath his chin where Brand had held the sharpened piece of wood. “I imagine we all feel a sense of relief about that.” He paused. “But I was actually inquiring about you, Miss Dawson. How are you?”

Mamie swallowed. “Embarrassed, but fine.”

“Embarrassed?”

“I failed to realize the extent of the threat. That failure could have had catastrophic results.”

Warden McKenna pointed to the paper in her hand. “I do hope that isn’t a letter of resignation.”

“Goodness, no!” Mamie faltered. “I mean—you said you wouldn’t require it.”

He smiled. “Not only do I not require it—I won’t accept it.” He took a sip of coffee, then touched the wound beneath his chin again. “I’m the one who owes an apology. I’ve been so taken up in other matters since arriving here, and you’ve been so efficient in your handling of things, that I’ve virtually ignored the female department. I am sorry.”

“There’s no need—“

“Yes,” the warden interrupted her. “There is. It’s a small department, but I shouldn’t have ignored it. Or you. I realized just how thoroughly I have done so last night when Mrs. McKenna began asking me questions about Miss Jackson, Mrs. Prescott—and you. None of which I could answer to her satisfaction.”

Oh dear. What had happened yesterday before Mamie got over to the house?
“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t imagine either of those two would cause problems.”

“They didn’t. In fact, their model behavior was exactly what inspired Mrs. McKenna to ask her questions—and make some interesting observations.”

Mamie couldn’t help wondering what Mrs. McKenna’s “observations” had involved. But the warden didn’t continue on that subject, and Mamie felt it best to let him guide their meeting… as long as she got a chance to present her plan.

The warden took a sheet of paper from atop the stack at his right and scooted it to the edge of the desk, turning it about so that Mamie could see the list of the women inmates’ names. Next to each name he’d written their crime, their sentence, and their expected date of release.

“Being in charge of women prisoners is new to me. In my entire time as sheriff in Brown ville, I had exactly one encounter with a woman guilty of a crime. The poor thing was clearly deranged, and my deputy brought her to the insane asylum here in Lincoln.” He paused. “My wife’s questions and observations pointed out my personal lack of experience. It’s clear I have a lot of thinking to do. I came here hoping to make some changes for the better, but changes must be based on a sound philosophy. Hence the questions I’m about to ask.” He took another sip of coffee. “What would you say is the purpose of the penal code in America?”

“Sir?” Mamie frowned.

He gestured around them. “Why are we here? To protect society, to punish, or to rehabilitate?”

Mamie thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose there’d be no argument with the idea of the first two. The high walls and the bars are clearly intended to do both.”

The warden nodded. “And when I was running a jail, no one stayed long enough for me to think about the third. But here”—he pointed to the list again—“they’re going to be here for a while.” He took a deep breath. “Everything society believes about the ‘fair sex’ is challenged by the very fact that we even
need
a female department. Women aren’t supposed to be criminals. Many people think the explanation for women criminals is mental unbalance. Do you agree? Did a form of insanity cause yesterday’s attack? Have we given the women in the female department too much freedom? Is a dormitory arrangement a bad idea?”

“Which of those questions do you want me to answer?”

The warden laughed. “Point taken. Start with the first one. Is Pearl Brand deranged?”

Mamie thought for a moment before saying, “You’re asking me why people sin.” She shrugged. “The Bible says it’s in our nature. But we don’t all yield to the same temptations, do we? One person cowers and goes hungry. Another breaks into a store and steals.” She pointed to Vestal Jackson’s name. “Each one has her own story and her own reasons for doing what she did. Maybe they’re telling the truth. Maybe they’re lying. I imagine some don’t even know the reason behind their behavior.” She swallowed. “And then there are the ones like Pearl Brand, who seem to enjoy evil.”

The warden pondered that for a moment. “Are we agreed that she should remain segregated for the foreseeable future?”

Relief flooded through Mamie. “We are.” She paused. “The more I question the
why
of this place, the more confused I become.”

“Fair enough. We aren’t going to solve the problem of evil today.”

Mamie nodded. “For someone in my position, I feel the better question is: now that they have done something that has brought them here, what do we do?”

“Exactly the question at the heart of Mrs. McKenna’s and my discussion last night. What do we do with them? Even the murderess is going back into society at some point. What Mrs. McKenna had to say could argue for the merits of rehabilitation—although she didn’t phrase it quite that way.”

His smile made Mamie wonder exactly what Mrs. McKenna’s points had been—and about whom. The warden continued. “Protecting society once the legal system has determined that a wrong has been committed and must be punished is the part of my responsibility everyone seems to agree upon—at least in principle. But that’s a short-term response to the problem of crime. I wonder if we can’t do more. As it applies to your department, Miss Dawson, we might ask the question: where do we want these women to be in five years—or fifteen? Can we have a positive effect on their future in society?”

Clearing her throat, Mamie unfolded the paper in her hand. “I think we should try. If we don’t provide the tools for them to change, then our effectiveness in protecting society lasts only as long as we keep them here.”

“For someone who has no philosophy of penology, it seems to me you’ve given this a great deal of thought.”

“Not in the way you mean. I’ve prayed a lot, though.”

He tilted his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Creator knows what’s going on in their hearts and minds. I ask for His guidance.” Mamie hurried on. “I expect you’re wondering why the Lord didn’t warn me about Pearl. The truth is, I think He did. I just didn’t pay attention. I knew there was something… different about her. The others were afraid of her from the day she stepped onto the ward. I should have done something.”

“You should have come to me.”

Mamie nodded. “Yes. I suppose so.”

“But that takes us back to the fact that I haven’t taken time for the female department. And again, I apologize. I won’t make that mistake twice. In fact, we should establish a regular meeting time. Shall we say Monday mornings at ten?”

“I’d welcome it.”

The warden tapped another name on the list. “Pearl Brand’s name raises the subject of the women’s capacity for violence.” He took a newspaper from the stack and put it next to the list. The circled headline read N
EBRASKA v.
M
arquis.
“What about her?”

Mamie shook her head. “I don’t believe there’s a drop of venom in Jane Prescott’s entire body.”

“Have you read that article?”

“Yes. And I stand by what I just said. She isn’t dangerous. She’s tended to stay to herself, but I’ve noticed she’s quick to help where it’s needed. She notices things like Ivy Cochran fumbling for her fork at a meal. Agnes Sweeney struggling with measurements when they’re sewing. Things like that. She hasn’t made any efforts to make friends, but she’s not unfriendly.”

The warden pondered that for a moment. Finally, he said, “All right. Let’s leave that for now. Tell me what you’ve written on that piece of paper.”

Mamie unfolded it. Took a deep breath. “I would like to emphasize that I am not a Pollyanna. The Bible tells us to be as gentle as doves. But it also says we are to be as wise as serpents. I try not to let my Christian concern turn me into a fool. Not everyone can be reformed. It takes desire on the part of the person to want to change.”

“All right,” the warden said. “Let us assume that you have some women who want to change. What then?”

It really was happening. God was opening a door. Mamie didn’t hesitate to step through it. “We’ve already protected society by bringing them here. We’re protecting them by isolating Pearl for now. As to punishment, their being here
is
the punishment. It’s been months since most of them have so much as stepped outside. Their days are long and monotonous. They’re separated from their families, have likely lost any friends they might have had, and you and I both know that the shadow of this place will hover over them wherever they go for the rest of their lives. You said it yourself. Society attaches many labels to women who’ve been incarcerated.
Deranged
is one of the kindest.”

The warden nodded. “Agreed. Please, go on.”

“If we agree that their being here is the punishment, then it is not our job to further punish. When Dr. Zimmer said that Vestal should have milk, you immediately agreed to it. You didn’t withhold something she needs in order to punish her further. But our current arrangement does punish the women more than necessary. They need fresh air. Daily. Dr. Zimmer told me that Jane nearly fell down the stairs yesterday. It’s been so long since she was out in the sun, it nearly blinded her. That’s not healthy.”

“Your remedy?”

“Let them take the air every day. Not on the yard—that would cause untold issues with the male convicts.” She paused. “I noticed Mrs. McKenna watering flowers this morning.” She turned the paper over and pointed to the scribbled drawing. “Let the women plant flowers at the entrance. It would get them outside, and it would beautify the grounds.”