by Kim Pritekel
“Daddy gave it to me,” Lysette explained. “He said you told him to.”
Eleanor nodded, still staring down at it. “I did.”
“How did you give it to him?”
Eleanor smiled. “Well, I did, and I didn’t. I guess during Ed’s attack, it must have gotten ripped off. I didn’t even realize it until later. Your dad arrived at the house when the police were still there. He said he found it on the floor, recognizing it was mine.” She let out a long breath, exhausted from the discussion and all the emotions it brought. “He came to see me while I was awaiting sentencing. I hadn’t been moved to Canon City yet. He tried to give it back, but I told him to give it to you.”
“Why?” Lysette asked gently.
Eleanor met her gaze, closing the small box and placing it back on the table. It hurt too much to look at it anymore. “It was all I had to give you, to let you know I’d always be with you.”
Lysette studied the ring box for a long moment before blowing out a breath as she shook her head. “A nightmare. An absolute nightmare. I can’t even wrap my mind around all this.” Elbows on the table, she brought her hands up to cover her mouth.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
Lysette’s hands fell to the table as she studied Eleanor. “I feel like I abandoned you when you needed me the most.”
Eleanor shook her head. “No. You didn’t know what was happening, and honestly, I’m glad you got to go on and live your life.” She gave her a sad smile. “Find love, have a family.”
“I love my kids,” Lysette whispered, looking down at her hands. She blew out a long, slow breath. “I need to go. So much to think about and absorb.”
Eleanor nodded, pushing back from the table. She was sorry to see her leave, but in a way relieved. She too had a lot to think about. She watched as Lysette gathered her purse and soiled tissues, shoving them into the pocket of her wide-leg trousers before she turned and walked to the door. The ring box left behind, Eleanor palmed it and followed.
The door still closed, Lysette stopped and turned to Eleanor, giving her an apologetic smile. “Please forgive my behavior over these past months. I feel so incredibly childish about that now.”
Eleanor chuckled. “Don’t sweat it.” She reached down and grabbed one of Lysette’s hands, placing the ring box inside before wrapping her fingers over it.
Eyes filling with tears once again, Lysette took her in a tight hug, their first since saying goodbye on a moonless March night in 1934. Eleanor’s eyes fell closed as she held Lysette to her, so much the same as so much had changed.
Without warning, Lysette broke the hug and hurried out of the apartment, the door closing softly behind her.
Chapter Twenty-four
Eyes as wide as saucers, Eleanor walked in, the second of three female inmates who had been on the bus with her taking the two-hour drive to Canon City, Colorado, where they’d find their new home.
After being held in a closet in the Brooke View jail for three months—they had nowhere to place her in general population full of men and didn’t feel she’d be safe—she was exhausted and just wanted a real bed.
From the bus, they had been ushered down cement stairs and into the building to a small square room with exposed pipes overhead, cement at their feet and basic plaster walls around them. The uniformed guard who had escorted them off the bus walked over to the two women who were entering the room. They wore uniforms similar to that of a nurse, though they were light gray. The guard handed them some papers and murmured some unheard words to them before leaving the way they’d just come in.
Both women wore identical uniforms, though the younger of the two, no older than thirty, had a thin, dark blue sash on one shoulder of the long-sleeved garment. Her hair was a deep red and bound atop her head, and brown eyes were sharp and focused. Her companion looked to be in her fifties with the plumper physique of a mother or grandmother. Her light brown hair was streaked with gray and just barely hit her shoulders.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” the redhead said, stepping forward, the older woman staying put. “I’m Head Matron Sillis, and that is Matron Hadley,” she said, indicating the other woman. “She is who you will be going to for any questions, problems, or help from the hours of three o’clock until eleven o’clock. After she leaves, you will go to Matron Phelps for any problems during the night. I will be in at seven a.m. sharp and will handle any and all issues until Matron Hadley once again appears.” She gazed at the three newcomers with a smile that Eleanor noticed didn’t reach her eyes. “Now with that, you will follow Matron Hadley. Welcome home, ladies. We’re pleased to have you as residents here.”
Eleanor watched as the head matron walked back to Matron Hadley. The two spoke a few words before she left. Left alone, the older woman walked up to Eleanor and her two companions, looking each over before bringing up the pages she’d been handed by the uniformed man.
“Hello, ladies,” she said kindly. “I know you’ve had a long day, two of you from one place and the third from an entirely different one.” She brought up the page to read from. “When I call your name, raise your hand, then listen for your house assignment.”
Eleanor was a bit confused at the “house” reference. She glanced at the woman to her right, but the young Hispanic woman stared down at her feet as she had most of the trip. The other woman, one with dirty blond hair and a glare filled with hatred, looked as though she was trying to kill Matron Hadley where she stood with the sheer power of her stare.
Turning back to the woman before them again, Eleanor let out a silent breath with a prayer that she’d get through this. At least until she could fall apart in her “house” later.
“Lindsay DuPaul?” Matron Hadley read from the sheet in her hand, glancing up to see the blonde raise her hand. “Miss DuPaul, you’ll be in house nineteen. Juana Dominguez?”
Eleanor noticed the Hispanic woman only looked up when her name was called. From knowing so many seasonal workers from Mexico on the farms her entire life, she wondered if the woman spoke any English, especially when she didn’t raise her hand. She gently nudged the woman, who looked to be around her mother’s age, and raised her hand slightly, nodding at her to do the same.
The woman looked at her with frightened dark brown eyes before her gaze moved down to Eleanor’s partially raised hand. Seeming to understand, the woman looked back to Matron Hadley and raised her hand high.
“Very nice, Miss Dominguez,” Matron Hadley said. “You will be in house three.”
The woman looked to Eleanor, who suddenly felt her palms go sweaty. Her Spanish was minimal at best. “Um,” she said softly, “habitación tres.” She raised three fingers. It seemed the woman didn’t understand what she meant by that, but Eleanor had no way to explain, didn’t have the words. So all she could hope for was the number would stick with the poor woman.
Smiling at Eleanor, Matron Hadley said, “And you must be our baby, Eleanor Landry.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eleanor murmured, not sure if she was supposed to respond.
“Well, you’ll be in house eleven. Follow me, ladies.”
Eleanor shuffled along wearing the same oversized men’s inmate uniform she’d been given in Brooke View. There were no uniforms for women or even to fit a teenaged boy, so they’d given her the smallest white wool pants and top they could: dirty white with offset black stripes. It was hot and itchy, and she hoped she’d be given something else to wear.
The three female inmates were led into a washroom with two bathroom stalls like they’d had at school, but no doors were on these. There were two sinks, and at the back was a shower area, which was one giant stall with four shower heads jutting out from the walls, two on one wall, two on opposing walls. The floor was small, white penny tile that slanted gently down to a drain at the center.
Folded neatly on the sink were three stacks of material. “Now,” Matron Hadley said, walking to them and looking at the women she’d led inside the bathroom. “You ladies will have tw
o minutes to fully shower and dress.” She pointed out which pile belonged to which inmate.
Eleanor was suddenly mortified. She had to be naked in front of these women? Wide-eyed, she looked around at them as she hugged herself. The woman with dirty blond hair quickly shed her dingy gray, shapeless garment, devil-may-care and stepped over the cement lip into the showering area. A moment later, the Hispanic woman did the same, though she was trembling. She glanced over her shoulder to look at Eleanor, almost as if to check if she was doing the right thing. She’d obviously begun to see Eleanor as someone who was trying to help her.
Eleanor gave her the biggest smile she could, which was nearly imperceptible, and shed her own clothing, relieved to be rid of them. She was cold, exhausted, hungry, and terrified as she stepped over the cement lip to join her fellow inmates. She took the bar of soap Matron Hadley offered her with instructions they were all to share.
Eleanor lathered herself as best and fast as she could, knowing she had to get the soap to the others before time ran out. As long as her hair was, there was absolutely no way she could get it washed—regardless of how badly it needed it—in the seconds remaining, so she simply smoothed it back from her face with the water. She’d put it up later.
“Ten seconds, ladies!” Matron Hadley called out, a stopwatch in a plump hand.
Panic settling in, Eleanor quickly rinsed off, then hurried toward the stack of towels Matron Hadley had placed on one of the sinks while they’d showered. She grabbed the top one, shaking it out to full length, which barely made it around Eleanor’s body. She didn’t care. All she wanted in that moment was to get dried enough to get dressed.
The uniforms they were given were essentially shapeless cotton dresses of light blue with white piping around the sleeves and collar, which was similar to that on a sailor dress. A long, narrow horizontal white patch was sewn on, their inmate numbers displayed just above their left breast. Eleanor would be Inmate 0024 until she was released, if she was released. She had, after all, been sentenced to fifteen years to life with the crack of a gavel. Everyone on her side knew a white man was dead, and for a white, male judge, the reasons didn’t matter, especially since a female had confessed to causing his death.
The inmates were led up two flights of stairs separated by a landing until they reached the second floor of the facility. They entered a long corridor with rows of cells on either side. Most the cells’ doors were closed and locked, though a few stood open, a gaping hole in the grin of captivity.
It was quiet, yet eerie as Eleanor could feel eyes on her, some seen as a few women stood at the bars of their iron barrio while others were back in the shadows of their “houses.” A few disembodied catcalls or greetings could be heard, but what unnerved her the most were the baby cries and “goo goo gaa gaa” that she knew were aimed at her. She kept her head down as she followed Matron Hadley, but her gaze was constantly on the move, surreptitiously taking in her surroundings.
After dropping the blond woman into the cell with a one and a nine painted above the door, which was swung shut and locked, they moved a little farther down the line, Juana Dominguez moving in closer to Eleanor as a woman began to laugh hysterically, startling them both. Eleanor glanced over to the cell where it was coming from but saw no one. It was like a ghost.
“Miss Landry, welcome home,” Matron Hadley said, stopping in front of the open cell with eleven painted above.
Eleanor and Juana Dominguez exchanged a small smile before Eleanor stepped through the doorway, so narrow that it barely accommodated an average-sized woman’s shoulders, mere inches of space above her head. Once inside, she turned to see Matron Hadley swing the door of iron bars shut, the heavy door clanging loudly. She produced another large key from the key ring she’d held. The lock engaged with a sharp click. Without another glance at her, Matron Hadley moved on with Juana Dominguez.
Left alone in the space that wasn’t much larger than the closet she’d called home for ninety days, Eleanor let out a slow, shaky breath. She felt so alone and small. She reached up to wrap her fingers around the tiny cross, always a nervous habit, only to find it wasn’t there. In her moment of need, she’d forgotten she’d given it to Mr. Landon. She could only hope that it was with Lysette that night, wherever she may be.
Her hand remained by her throat, balled into a fist almost as though just knowing where that cross once used to rest gave her a bit of comfort. She looked around the space, relieved to have a window, even if it was barred from the outside. The window’s ledge would be a good place to line up books, she thought, hoping they were as available to her here as they’d been in the Brooke View jail. The bed was a bit smaller than the one at the farmhouse, but she didn’t care. A folded wool blanket sat upon the thin mattress with folded starched linens of white atop it, the flat pillow atop them. Beside that sundae of bed makings was a folded bath towel, identical to the one she’d dried off with not long before, its miniature twin folded atop it in the form of a facecloth.
On the opposite wall was a sink, smaller than the average one, covered in white enamel. Next to it in the corner was a small toilet. Above the sink was a single shelf, empty, waiting to be filled.
That was how Eleanor felt. She slowly lowered herself to sit on the bare mattress, knees together and hands clasped on the opposite elbow, effectively hugging herself. She took it all in, though quickly the images began to swim as the tears came hard and silent. Her head fell, arms rained on by her sorrow and profound sadness.
****
“Landry! Take a break!”
Eleanor looked up from her place at the steam press, making out the IL, or inmate lead, through the steam that filled the cave-like space the laundry machinery was in. She gave a thumbs-up and turned off her machine.
Blowing out a breath, she brought up her hand to wipe away the loose strands that had fallen out of her bun and were stuck to the side of her face and neck because of the thin sheen of sweat that covered her body.
Rolling her head around, she reached up and squeezed the back of her neck. She was in hour six of a ten-hour day, so grateful it was more than half over. She walked out of the large nook in the lower level of the facility where she worked to the cooler air of a small area that housed the hallway to the restroom where she and her two companions had showered upon arrival, as well as a drinking fountain and ragged old couch to take a break on, donated by a local church. The ladies could also await their turn with Nannette, the only hairstylist in the place.
Nannette’s chair was stationed at the opposite end of the small room where she had a cabinet filled with the equipment she needed to do whatever was requested by her fellow inmates. Oftentimes, the women wanted to get primped for visiting day. It was the one small luxury afforded to them.
Eleanor made her way to the drinking fountain, her gaze ever on that chair. She leaned down as her finger pressed the button for the lukewarm water—though it tasted like heaven when working in a sauna all day—and sputtered. So focused on that chair, she hadn’t realized the water was aimed right for her forehead.
Across the room, she heard deep, boisterous laughter. Eleanor stood, using the shoulder of her dress to wipe her eyes as she glanced in that direction. Nannette stood behind her chair, large belly and breasts jiggling with her mirth.
Feeling stupid, Eleanor gave her a sheepish look before turning to walk away.
“Why you been givin’ me the evil eye for four months straight, girlie?” She placed a hand on her chest. “Is it me? Hmm? Don’t like my hair?” She reached up and touched the snow white crown upon the lovely face of the older black woman. Eleanor figured she was probably in her late fifties or early sixties, though the twinkle in her dark brown eyes gave away the youthful spirit inside.
“No,” Eleanor said, able to hear the teasing in Nannette’s voice. “No, ma’am,” she added, remembering her manners.
“Ma’am? Why you call me ma’am? You call me Nannette now, you hear?”
“Yes, ma—Nannette.”
“Good girl. Now you gonna answer my question or do I gotta guess? Hmm? Why you always lookin’ over here?”
Eleanor heard the question and saw the understanding in those kind, dark eyes, but she couldn’t speak. She simply looked down, watching her fingers run together nervously.
“You are such a pretty one, girlie,” Nannette said, suddenly standing a few feet away.
Eleanor looked up into her eyes. “Thank you.”
Nannette reached out and placed a hand on one of Eleanor’s shoulders, gently nudging her to turn so her back was to the older woman. Nannette tugged Eleanor’s hair free, allowing it to fall like a shiny brown wave down her back.
“What you want?” she asked, running her fingers through it.
“I-I don’t know,” Eleanor murmured, even as she knew that was a lie.
“Your mama make you keep it long, hmm?” Nannette asked, gently fingering a tangle free. “Preacher man?”
Eleanor shook her head, stepping away and turning back to face the stylist. “No.”
Nannette met and held her gaze. “Your daddy?”
Eleanor nodded, glancing around, half expecting Ed Landry to pop out of the shadows like the boogie man he’d been for seven months.
“What you want, girlie?” Nannette asked gently.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Eleanor made herself be strong. “Cut it off.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“Okay,” the man murmured absently, the jeweler’s loupe firmly attached to his eye as he looked at the piece from this angle and that. “Yes, yes, I’ve seen this before.”
Lysette stood on the opposite side of the glass counter with wood framing. It was taking a significant amount of willpower to not wander and look at all the jewelry displayed as she waited on the squirrely little man. Her patience, however, was beginning to fade.