Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles] (24 page)

“Paris, you say?”

“Ma’am?”

“Richard said you studied in Paris?” Max nodded. Now he knew the reverend’s first name. “Shall we say Wednesday next, then?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The wrinkles around her mouth deepened. “I do you hope you aren’t losing your hearing at this young age, sir. I wish privacy in a medical matter. Hence, I will come to you rather than summoning you to the house. Shall we say ten in the morning?”

Max nodded. “That would be fine, Mrs.—?” He suppressed a smile. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t read the brass plate on the pew.” He wasn’t certain, but he thought a bit of humor flickered for just a second in the old woman’s pale eyes.

“You really must, Dr. Zimmer. It behooves a professional man such as yourself to understand the lay of the land.” With that, she departed, leaving Max to laugh quietly as he made his way back up the aisle to read the brass plate:
Monsieur le Juge Gérard Savoie.
And on a separate line below the man’s name, he read:
Madame Eugénie Savoie.

He’d better practice his French before Wednesday.

For the women in the female department, August meant still air, fierce sun, clothing drenched with sweat, and no way to find relief other than to wait it out. September would come, cool breezes would flow, but in the meantime—in the meantime folks were miserable. And being miserable reminded everyone, Jane included, of what had been wrong in the past and what was wrong now with their lives.

The guards grew short-tempered, and the inmates lost their appetite. Nights offered no relief. It was too hot to sleep much of the time. Even Patch was out of sorts, eschewing Jane’s cot for the bare stone floor. The women slogged through each day, not exactly sullen, but with little to say and little enthusiasm for their work. They did it, but there was little to no small talk, and when there was, it was usually about the heat.

“Never remember it being this bad,” Vestal said over breakfast.

“I remember a summer that was worse,” Agnes offered.

Susan glared at her. “You always think you’ve experienced the worst of everything.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” Susan sighed. “But it’s not worth fighting over. It’s too hot. Hush, and eat.”

“Do we have to go to chapel today, Mrs. McKenna? It’s hotter than Hades in that little box they call a church.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s required. And the folks have come out from Lincoln to conduct it. The pastor’s prepared a lesson. We owe it to him to listen.”

Jane barely suppressed a smile when Agnes said, “Well, tell that preacher to keep it short.”

Mrs. McKenna laughed. “Do you really think telling a preacher to keep it short will have any effect at all?”

Agnes shrugged. “Never mind, then. Don’t say anything. But if they haven’t replaced those torn fans—“

“If they haven’t, I’ll distribute the songbooks early. You can use those for fans.”

“I’ll praise God for that,” Agnes quipped and got in line to file down to the second floor, with Jane leading the way and Mrs. McKenna bringing up the rear, so that she could lock the doors behind them.

As Jane reached the top of the stairs, she glanced back toward the dormitory, expecting Patch to be wending her way along the line. Patch usually attended chapel with them, but apparently she was staying behind today. Jane couldn’t blame the cat. No one wanted to move in this heat.

Ellen sighed with relief when the preacher promised a short sermon as part of his introductory remarks. She nodded when Agnes looked her way, then began to distribute the new church fans the preacher’s wife had brought with her. In no time, the hot air in the chapel was moving. Ellen didn’t think it improved things a bit. Her waist clung to her back, and it was only midmorning. She could almost feel her hair frizzing up in the humidity, envision the red fringe curling at her hairline.

The preacher pounded the pulpit, and Ellen jumped. Seated next to her on the pew just behind the women, Jack began to shake with laughter. Ellen nudged him and scowled when he looked her way. He sobered up, but not before rolling his eyes and wiping his brow. Ian sat beside them, alert and seemingly unaffected by the heat. Ellen would never understand how the man remained impervious to the weather. Cold didn’t bother him, either. Her mind wandered back to winter and stayed there, as she tried to think her way out of being miserable.

Finally, the congregation stood. Thankfully, the preacher required only two verses of the closing hymn before praying and letting them go. The ladies had filed out of the chapel after a guard, and Ian and Jack had descended to turnkey, when the preacher’s wife waylaid Ellen.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve misplaced a treasured bit of jewelry. I know we aren’t supposed to wear valuables, but I thought—well—I just forgot to take it off.” She reached up to touch her collar. “It was secreted away. No one could have known. But it’s not there, and I wonder if… I wonder if you might take measures. I don’t know the protocol, of course, but—” She looked after the line of women headed for the stairs.

It took a moment for Ellen to realize the woman was suggesting that she’d been robbed. “Did you have any physical contact with any of the inmates today? Shake their hand? Pat anyone on a shoulder?”

“Of course not,” the woman said, clearly horrified by the idea.

“And you say the necklace was tucked inside your collar? Could it have fallen off on the way out from Lincoln?”

“I’m certain not. In fact, that’s how I realized I had it on. As we came inside, I reached up—it’s a nervous habit, really—but I felt it. I knew I should have taken it off, but we were late, and my husband—I just didn’t want to make trouble.”

But now you’re willing to make plenty of trouble for me.
Ellen paused. “I have to see to my charges at the moment. There’s lunch to be served. But I’ll be back down as soon as possible. If you’d like to wait, we can search together. Or you can speak to my husband the warden about it.”

The woman backed away. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want—Reverend Klein doesn’t like it when I keep him waiting. I just thought I’d mention it to you. You being a woman and all, I figured you’d understand.” Her watery eyes filled with tears. “It’s a tiny thing. Just a locket. Of no real monetary value. Except it holds a picture of my little girl. Just before she died.” The woman swallowed. “I’d only want the picture. I don’t care so much about the locket.”

Ellen’s heart softened toward the little woman who seemed almost afraid of her husband. She patted the woman’s thin arm. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. When I can get away this afternoon, I’ll come back down and make a thorough search. If your locket is in this room, I’ll find it. And I’ll let our sergeant know of your loss as well. He’s a good and honest man, and if he or any of his staff find it, he’ll see that it’s returned.”

The preacher’s wife nodded, stuttered her thanks, and hurried after her husband, who had already groused about their being late to get back to town more than once. Ellen headed up the stairs toward the ward, alternately shaking her head and counting her blessings. What a trial to be married to such a man. What a blessing to have Ian.

It was late Sunday before Ellen had opportunity to return to the chapel and keep her promise to the preacher’s wife. One thing after another throughout the hot afternoon made her hesitate to leave the ward, and by the time she had a chance, the shadow of the cellblock wall was lengthening along the dry grass as the sun began to set. Frustrated by how difficult her search was going to be in the half-light of evening, she asked Jane to help her.

“I know you didn’t officially accept trustee, but you’re the closest thing I’ve got.” She told Jane about the little preacher’s wife and her fear of her husband and the locket with the baby’s picture. Of course Jane said she’d help.

As the two women pushed the dinner cart out into the hall, and Ellen closed and locked the door behind them, Sergeant Underhill arrived to take up the night post. “I thought the reason people liked promotions was so they didn’t have to draw duties like this one,” Ellen said, as she and Jane put the dirty dishes from supper into the dumbwaiter and lowered it toward the basement kitchen.

Underhill shrugged. “On the other hand, sometimes a promotion allows a man to draw the duty he
wants
.” He smiled. “Mamie’ll be along directly. You know how she is. She’s always got to check on things before she turns in. You got anything to report?”

Ellen told him about the lost locket. “Jane and I are going downstairs to look for it. Other than that, the only report is heat, heat, and more heat.”

Underhill frowned. “That preacher’s wife should know she’s not supposed to wear things like that onto the secure side.”

“She apologized up and down. I told her I’d report it to our ‘kind and honest sergeant,’ but I also promised to have a look.” Ellen paused. “We can’t have the community thinking we’re impervious to their concerns. And besides, I noticed this morning the place needs straightening. The cool of the evening is a better time for that.”

“Just don’t either of you have a heat stroke in the cool of this evening. You do know, Mrs. McKenna, that I can have some of the male trustees clean whenever you want it done?”

Ellen nodded. “I know.” She glanced at Jane, then back at him. “No offense, but I just think a woman might make a more thorough search for this particular item. We’ll be back up directly.” Halfway down the stairs, they met Mamie on the way up. “Your favorite guard’s on post, and all is well,” Ellen said. Mamie thanked her and hurried past without asking what they were doing headed down to second floor. Ellen glanced at Jane and shook her head. “Not much for chitchat tonight, is she?”

Jane smiled. “Not with the sergeant waiting.”

Together, the women descended the stairs and headed toward the chapel. “I don’t know how we’ll find a thing in this light.”

“I could get a broom,” Jane suggested. “You sweep beneath the pews, and I’ll see what you bring out. At least we won’t have to crawl around on our hands and knees.”

Ellen nodded. “That’s a very good idea. You go back up and have the sergeant let you into the storage side to get a broom and a dustpan. I’ll go on in and get to stacking hymnals and see what I can find.” When Jane hesitated, Ellen smiled. “It’s all right. It’s the kind of thing trustees do all the time. You’re not going to get into any kind of trouble.” With a promise to hurry, Jane headed back upstairs after a broom.

The still air inside the chapel hung heavy with the smell of stale sweat. Grimacing as she took a deep breath, Ellen headed to the front of the room, trying to remember where the preacher’s wife had been sitting during the service. Reaching through the bars, she opened a couple of windows, then headed for the front pew. Something rustled near the pulpit. Thinking
rat,
she grabbed a hymnal and whirled around.

“Well, well, look who we’ve got here.”

Ellen didn’t need to have seen Pearl Brand to know who this was. She opened her mouth to scream, but Brand was too quick, grabbing her around her waist and clamping a hand over her mouth.

When Ellen struggled, Brand flashed something before her eyes. “You see that? Took me most of the day to sharpen one of those new church fan handles. Back and forth, back and forth, across the mortar over there under the window you just opened. See that shiny spot? That’s where I done it.” Her voice lowered as she menaced, “Last time it was your husband I nearly stuck. Don’t think I won’t stick you.” She began to drag Ellen down the aisle toward… where?