Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (6 page)

Glancing behind her toward the ward, the matron said, “It probably doesn’t seem like I know what I’m doing, what with one of the women missing and all.” She lowered her voice. “I expect I’ll lose my position over it, and I won’t blame your husband one bit.” She took a deep breath. “I just want you to know that I’ll be forever grateful for your help with Vestal. She’s—” She paused. Shook her head. “She’s brokenhearted over the idea of having to give that baby away. Your kindness means a great deal.”

Ellen didn’t quite know what to say. “Don’t give me too much credit. It seemed the thing to do to help my husband.”

Miss Dawson nodded. “The warden’s sending another woman along, and I wanted you to know that you don’t have to be concerned that she’ll doing anything… untoward. She’s been exemplary in every way since she’s been here. In fact, if I didn’t know better—” She broke off. “I just wanted you to know there’s nothing to fear from either Vestal or Jane.”

Ellen glanced past her toward the space beyond turnkey. “And the one who’s missing? Pearl Brand, is it?”

Miss Dawson hesitated. Pursed her lips. Cleared her throat. “She’d be a different story. But you’ve nothing to fear from her, either.” She gestured about her. “She’s here somewhere. Couldn’t have gone far. We’ll find her.”

“Godspeed,” Ellen said, “and thank you for your… reassurance.” She made her way toward home, not certain whether hearing Miss Dawson’s appraisal of the two women who would soon be inside her house was comforting or not. Ian had nice things to say about both Miss Dawsons. Ellen had only seen Manerva at chapel services on Sunday. She had a dressmaking establishment in town and relieved her sister on weekends, but both women seemed nice enough. As to competence—well. How
did
one account for losing track of an inmate?

In spite of Miss Dawson’s reassurance, Ellen’s doubts grew with every step toward home. Ah, well. Two guards and the doctor would surely be able to handle any trouble. She rubbed her arms to rid them of the goose bumps prickling her skin.

Georgia spoke up. “It was the right thing to do. There’s two guards coming along. What could happen?”

Jane had done her share of pressing her cheek against the tall, narrow dormitory windows to watch the warden’s house go up across the road. After all, other than the magazines people brought to “encourage the women,” the warden’s house was the only piece of “normal life” any of them had had a chance to encounter since entering the prison. Oh, a committee of women came out on Sundays, but something about them made Jane uncomfortable. For one thing, a couple of them seemed more interested in eyeing the more attractive guards, like Adam Selleck, than in worshipping or encouraging the inmates.

Thanks to Owen, Jane knew not to take smiles at face value. Thanks to Aunt Flora’s betrayal, she was wary of any supposed kindness, and she wondered what price she would pay for Miss Dawson’s apparent good opinion of her and the warden’s apparent good opinion of Miss Dawson’s opinion. The possibilities—in light of Max’s role in today’s events—made her tremble.

Momentarily blinded by the sun, Jane stumbled on the top stair just outside the front door. If Max hadn’t grabbed her arm, she would have fallen headlong down the entire flight of stairs. When she flinched, he let go.

“Are you all right, Ja—?” He broke off, swallowing the last part of her name.

Jane glanced at the guard to see if he’d heard Max almost call her by name. His face revealed nothing, but then he was like that. Jane stayed as far away from both him and Adam Selleck as possible. She couldn’t quite say why, but none of the women on the ward seemed to like either man, and she was no exception.

“It’s bright out here,” she said. “We don’t get outside. I’m fine.” Which was a lie. She wasn’t fine at all, but Max wasn’t the reason at the moment. Her eyes swept the horizon. There was too much sky. Too much… everything. The enormity of the landscape frightened her.

Again, the question surfaced.
What’s happened to me?
Her heartbeat ratcheted up with every step away from the penitentiary. She, who had always loved to stand outside as the sun set, taking joy in the unbroken view all the way to the horizon—she couldn’t bear the thought of all this… space. She felt almost dizzy. To steady herself, she reached for Vestal’s hand and forced a smile. “Feeling better?”

Vestal swiped at her lips and croaked assent. “Pains have eased some.”

Max spoke up. “I’ll see that you get a drink of water as soon as we get inside.” Jane sensed rather than saw him look her way. “A drink of water for both of you. It’ll help calm your nerves.”

Jane glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. She wished she hadn’t come. Returning to what everyone called “the castle” couldn’t happen too soon as far as she was concerned. She’d told Max she wouldn’t see him if he came to visit, and she hadn’t changed her mind. Why was he here? What made him think she would change her mind? If Vestal ended up being transported to Lincoln, she was just going to have to handle that part of it on her own. Jane would find a way to hold herself together for a few hours, but it was going to take everything she had.

She wondered at the near-panic she was feeling over being outside. What would she do when she was finally released? If she felt this way now, what would it be like after a few more years? Drawing inside herself had seemed like the only way to survive. But now, with her heart racing and perspiration crawling down the back of her neck, she wondered. Had the cocoon been a bad idea?

Once they got to the house, the guards kept Vestal out on the porch while Mrs. McKenna and her housekeeper “arranged things” inside. Jane wanted to stay with Vestal, but Max waved her inside to help. She entered feeling like an intruder, even more ill at ease when she caught her first glimpse of the fine things furnishing the warden’s new house. The aromas of linseed oil and new paint filled the air—or was she overly sensitive to aromas she connected with high-toned living?

While they all moved dining-room chairs away from the table—the doctor was going to use that for his exam table—the housekeeper said something about a mattress in the attic. She nodded Jane’s way. “The two of us could bring it down while the doctor washes up.”

Jane trailed up the stairs after the housekeeper, unprepared for her exposure to a world that sent her whirling back in time just as surely as if the past few years had been a dream. When she stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the stairs, the housekeeper glanced back.

“Is everything all right?”

Jane started. “Y–yes. I just”—she nodded toward what was obviously Warden and Mrs. McKenna’s room—“that quilt…” She forced herself to look away, but just inside the next room was yet another wonder.

The housekeeper smiled. “Mrs. McKenna brought most of that fabric home with her from the Centennial.”

Jane nodded. She knew. She had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying over the memory it evoked. She and Rose had lived above a dry goods store for the two years after Thomas died—before Owen. The owner and his wife had attended the opening of the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, and when they came back, Mrs. Carr had purchased a bolt of commemorative fabric.
A centennial print,
she’d called it. Rose had called it
the George Washy.
Jane had made her a doll quilt with it, barely finishing it before… leaving… for Lincoln. Blinking back threatening tears, she lifted the hem of her plain gray skirt and followed the housekeeper up the steep, narrow stairs and into the attic, where they retrieved a somewhat limp mattress covered with a red-and-brown ticking.

“Needs fresh straw,” the other woman murmured as she and Jane carried it back downstairs. “But it’s better than nothing.”

As they traversed the second-floor hall, Jane stole another glance at the exquisite appliqué quilt adorning the McKennas’ bed. Red-and-green pomegranates danced across an ivory surface framed by the most exquisite swag border Jane had ever seen.
Love Apples.
Thomas had teased her about the name when he first saw their wedding quilt. And that first night, when he drew it aside and pulled her toward him…

Jane cleared her throat. It didn’t matter that the warden trusted her. It didn’t matter that Vestal wanted her. This had been a mistake.
Please just let Vestal’s baby come. Let this be over. I can’t bear it. I can’t do this.

Mrs. McKenna spread a clean sheet atop the straw tick the minute Jane and the housekeeper had it positioned atop the table. The older woman had said it needed straw, but when Vestal settled atop it, she sighed with pleasure. Jane smiled, too. No one else in that room realized how luxurious that straw tick would feel compared to what they were used to over in the ward. There they slept on bags of corn husks freshened every six months.

While everyone else bustled about, Jane stood in the corner of the room, her hands clenched behind her, afraid she’d mar the elegant wall covering if she moved closer to the wall, even though she longed to lean against it for support as she tried to get control over her memories and hold back the tears threatening to slide down her cheeks.

When Mrs. McKenna’s housekeeper touched her on the shoulder, Jane jumped.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the woman said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought maybe you’d help me haul water in?” She nodded toward the back of the house. “I asked the guard, but he reminded me he’s no slave.”

Oh, how she longed to get away from this room, from Max’s presence. Yet Jane hesitated, nodding toward the front porch where the other guard lurked. “They won’t want me outside,” she said, then added quickly, “not that I’d mind—I mean, I’ll do whatever you want me to, I just—they might think I’ll run.”

The woman arched one dark eyebrow. “Will you?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll tell the guards if they protest.” She offered her hand. “Name’s Georgia. And you’re Mrs….?”

“Jane. Just Jane.”

“All right then.” Georgia lifted her chin and called out to the doctor. “Jane and I’ll be going out back. We’ll bring you a drink directly, Dr. Zimmer. I’ll get some water to boiling, too.”

Vestal had been resting quietly, but just then she gasped. With a grimace, she endured a contraction. “Just a little one,” she said, then looked up at Max. “I—I tend to take a good while,” she said. “Never had pains come on this early before, though.”

Max looked up from the table where he’d been arranging a frightening array of instruments. “How many times…?”

“Three.” Vestal practically spat the word out. Then the contraction ended, and she lay back. The unspoken and obvious question hung in the air. Vestal turned her head to one side and closed her eyes. “One lived to be two. The others…” She shook her head.

Max moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry.”

When he smiled, Jane’s heart lurched. She’d forgotten about that dimple.

T
he room felt claustrophobic, and it had nothing to do with its arrangement. As Max tried to reassure Mrs. Jackson, he glanced toward the doorway leading into the kitchen where Jane stood, her hands clasped in front of her. What had happened to her? Where had the lovely woman with the rich laugh and the quiet strength gone? What had happened to the fire he’d seen when she stood up that day and ordered him out of the visiting room? She reminded him of a nervous colt, wary lest anyone get too close.

Mrs. McKenna brought him back to the task at hand. “What would you like us to do next, Dr. Zimmer?”

The leg wound.
Best to treat it first. He asked Vestal’s permission to lift the hem of her gown so he could examine the cut on her leg. As the gown cleared Vestal’s knee, the light coming in the parlor window faltered. He looked up just in time to see a flash of blue. Frowning, he smoothed Vestal’s gown back into place, then excused himself and headed onto the front porch. The guard was leaning against an upright in a very good imitation of a man at ease.

“I don’t believe I got your name,” Max said.

The guard turned around then. “Something you need, Doc?” He nodded toward the house. “You want me to come in and make sure the hens stay in the henhouse?”