City of Lies

by Victoria Thompson

  How odd that she had reached the ripe old age of twenty-one without learning the joys of being with other women. Elizabeth could not remember ever having an actual conversation with her own mother. Of course, she’d been only thirteen when her mother died, so perhaps things would have been different if she’d lived until Elizabeth was older. Elizabeth would like to think so, but maybe not. She’d never know now, and in the years since, she’d spent her time with men. Men didn’t have conversations with women. They just told women what to do and then waited until they did it.

  Women, she was learning, were very different creatures.

  Elizabeth followed the line of women up to the kitchen window, where the workers handed each of them a plate of slop. The plate, she noticed, was getting heavier each time, just as the walk from the ward to the dining hall had gotten longer each time. Slowly, deliberately, she put one foot in front of the other and took her turn, but unlike the other women, she didn’t dump her dinner into the garbage can. Instead she carried it over to the table where the colored prisoners sat and set it down in front of the woman who had given her the information about Lucy Burns. The wormy mess was poor payment, indeed, but the regular prisoners were grateful for it.

  Then Elizabeth picked up a cup of water, as she had been instructed, and carried it to a table.

  “No talking,” the guard said, even though no one had said a word.

  Mrs. Bates sat down beside her. The older woman’s cheeks were sunken, and dark circles rimmed her eyes. How much longer until she collapsed and had to be carried away? How Elizabeth would miss her wisdom. Impulsively, she reached out and laid a hand on her arm.

  Mrs. Bates looked up and smiled. “Drink your water. That’s very important.”

  “No talking!” the guard shouted.

  Elizabeth drank her water.

  After what seemed an age, the regular prisoners had finished their meals and started getting up to leave.

  “You suffs, stay where you are.” Elizabeth looked up in surprise to see the matron glaring at them.

  How odd. Mrs. Herndon never came into the dining hall.

  When the regular prisoners had gone, Herndon said, “Listen up. This is Mr. Ingalls.” She nodded to a well-dressed man who lurked in the doorway as if afraid to venture any farther into the room. Maybe he thought this ragtag bunch of starving women would attack him. The thought made Elizabeth smile. “He’s an attorney for the president of the United States. He wants to talk to each one of you, so you’ll take your turn. Sit here until we call you.”

  “The president!” someone whispered.

  “They’re getting serious,” Mrs. Bates said.

  “Quiet!” Herndon said, hushing the buzz of conversation.

  One by one the women were summoned. At last, Elizabeth made her way out and down the hallway to an office, where the attorney sat at a table. Elizabeth took the chair opposite him, glad for a chance to rest and catch her breath.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Miles,” he said, although he didn’t look pleased at all.

  Elizabeth waited.

  “You look like an intelligent young lady.”

  “I’m in jail, Mr. . . . What was your name again?”

  “Ingalls.”

  “I’m in jail, Mr. Ingalls. How smart is that?”

  “You don’t fool me, Miss Miles. I know you suffragettes are quite clever.”

  “Suffragists.”

  “What?”

  “We like to be called suffragists. The word ‘suffragette’ is demeaning.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “Well, perhaps I should just tell you why I wanted to meet with you.”

  Elizabeth waited again. She figured he didn’t need any encouragement.

  He gave a little cough. “You see, as Mrs. Herndon said, I’m an attorney. Not for the president, exactly, but for the administration. President Wilson asked me to come and assure you ladies that he has no intention of keeping you locked up here for three months. In fact, he plans to see that you’re released in a week. Just one week.”

  He paused, probably to let this wonderful news sink in. Elizabeth wished she wasn’t so weak. She should be able to figure out what he was up to, but her brain just didn’t want to make the effort. “Herndon could have told us that.”

  “Yes, yes, she could, but you see, the president wanted you to hear it from an official source because, well, because some people are working to serve the warden with a writ of habeas corpus, and we wanted you to know you should refuse the writ. There’s no need for you to go to court and involve a judge in this matter.”

  What was this writ he was talking about? Mrs. Bates had mentioned it, she was sure, but she couldn’t pull up the right memory just now. She didn’t really need to know, though, did she? Oh no. She knew just what Mrs. Bates would tell her to say, Mrs. Bates who had a family full of lawyers. “I think I’d like to see my own attorney before I make a decision about that, Mr. Igloo.”

  “Ingalls,” he said. “But there’s no need for that. You have my word that you’re going to be released in a week, so there’s also no need for a hunger strike. Why should you ladies make yourselves ill for no purpose? I assure you, President Wilson is determined to give you your freedom.”

  “Then why not just release us right now? Why wait a week?”

  “It’s a legal matter,” he lied. She could tell by the way he blinked, glad to discover she wasn’t completely addled. “Some paperwork needs to be prepared. But it’s just a week, and then you’ll be allowed to go home to Wisconsin.”

  “South Dakota.” She remembered that, at least. She was supposed to be from South Dakota.

  “Yes, that’s such a long trip, and you’ll want to be well and strong when you’re released, won’t you?”

  If she’d had the energy, Elizabeth would have slapped herself on the head for being stupid. Of course! They were going to wait a week in hopes the women would end their hunger strike and be recovered. How embarrassing to release a bunch of women who had to be carried out on stretchers. “I’d still like to speak to my attorney before I decide. I’m afraid I just don’t understand all these legal things.”

  She smiled and batted her eyes in a parody of innocence.

  Ingalls frowned. “I hope you will reconsider, Miss Miles. It’s for your own good, you know.”

  How many times had men said that to women when it wasn’t for their own good at all?

  “May I go now, Mr. Ingledew?”

  “Ingalls. Yes, yes, you may go.”

  Elizabeth took her time. No sense wasting energy rushing. It was just like Mrs. Bates had said. They couldn’t force-feed forty women, and they couldn’t allow them to starve to death, so they had to let them go. Still, they didn’t want to release sick women and let the public get a look at them. Oh no. So they were trying to trick them into ending the hunger strike.

  Good luck, Elizabeth thought as she made her way to the recreation room to tell Mrs. Bates what she’d figured out.

  • • •

  “Your motives are selfish?” Gideon echoed as their carriage swayed around a corner. “Just because you know Anna and my mother?”

  “You could also add that they were such good friends to my dear wife,” Thornton said with his oily smile. “But I wouldn’t expect you to believe that. The reason I happened to call on Vanderslice in the first place is because I was going to ask him to assist me in an important business transaction, but he won’t be of any use to anyone until his dear sister is home safe and sound.”

  Gideon didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. He’d met too many men like Thornton in his career, men who came to him because they’d crossed one line too many in their business dealings and needed a bit of legal help to get them out of trouble. They always tried to pretend they’d only broke
n the law to help some poor soul in need. Thornton had always had that same self-righteous smugness, and it still set Gideon’s teeth on edge. “Are you saying you’re willing to help free the women so David will be available to help you with a business deal?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I’m concerned only for the welfare of the women?”

  Gideon stared at Thornton in grudging admiration. The man was an even bigger scoundrel than Gideon had thought, and he didn’t even care if they knew it. He was also absolutely right. Gideon wouldn’t have believed that for a second, but he had no trouble at all believing Thornton’s claim of selfishness. “How do you think you can help?”

  “As I said, I think my men would have better luck finding these missing deputies than your people have.”

  “I was down there myself, and I assure you, we made every possible effort to locate them.”

  “I’m sure you did, but my men will look places you wouldn’t go, and they’ll spread around a little cash to encourage the flow of information, which I suspect you did not do. I’ve found that combination of efforts to be foolproof.”

  Gideon’s experience confirmed his observation, but he didn’t say so. “Where would they get the cash?”

  “From me, of course. I expect to make a large profit on the business arrangement Vanderslice is going to assist me with. This would be an investment in my own future.”

  “You see, Gideon,” David said, “when he explained all this to me, I knew we had to let him help.”

  Although Gideon found himself despising Thornton even more than he’d remembered, he said, “If your men can really find a deputy to serve the warrant, we would be forever in your debt.”

  “Forever is a long time, Bates. I would settle for a few weeks.”

  • • •

  Elizabeth opened her eyes and instantly slammed them shut until the world stopped spinning. When she cautiously opened them again, a hoarse voice asked, “Are you awake?”

  She turned her head slowly, mindful of how precariously she seemed to be balanced on the earth at the moment. A woman gazed at her from the next bed, her eyes enormous in her taut face. At first Elizabeth didn’t know her . . .

  “Anna?”

  She smiled, showing bloodstained teeth.

  “Your mouth . . .”

  “It’s from the forced feeding.” Her voice sounded like sandpaper rasping softly against wood. “Don’t fight them.”

  Elizabeth glanced around. She’d never seen this room before, but, obviously, it was the infirmary. Rows of beds filled with emaciated women lined the walls. Her nose burned from the smell of vomit and carbolic acid. “How did I get here?”

  “You fainted, just like the others,” a woman in a uniform said as she bustled by. One of the nurses. She didn’t look like any angel of mercy Elizabeth had ever imagined, though. Her hard eyes and pinched mouth told of impatience and frustration with her charges.

  “I don’t remember fainting,” Elizabeth said. Feeling a bit steadier, she pushed herself up a little so she could see the other beds. “Is Mrs. Bates here?”

  “I haven’t seen her,” Anna said.

  Elizabeth winced at the sound of her voice. “Don’t talk. It must hurt.”

  Anna had been slender before, but now she was skeletal. The skin of her face was paper-thin, the veins on her forehead were dark blue, and her hair lay limp and lifeless.

  “Don’t fight them,” Anna said. “You can’t stop them, and it only makes it worse.”

  “I said, don’t talk! Anna, you promised that if you got sick you’d start eating again. Mrs. Bates made you promise. I remember. You’ve got to eat.”

  Anna smiled serenely for a second or two before a noise made her eyes widen in terror. Some of the others groaned, and one woman said, “No, God, please, no.”

  “What is it?” Elizabeth strained to hear, trying to identify the sound that had frightened them.

  A familiar sound, a tapping and cracking, that spoke of warm kitchens on winter mornings. Eggs. Someone was cracking eggs. Lots and lots of eggs.

  The nurse returned, her mouth pinched even more tightly now. She pushed a cart loaded with an odd assortment of things—medical equipment Elizabeth didn’t recognize—and a big bowl. A bowl filled with raw eggs. A man wearing a suit came with her, followed by several of the regular inmates. They didn’t look happy, and they didn’t look at Elizabeth at all.

  “Miss Miles, I’m Dr. Stanislov. You’ve been brought to the infirmary because you fainted from hunger. It is my duty to ask if you will agree to cease your hunger strike and voluntarily take some nourishment.”

  He spoke with an accent of some kind. Russian, probably, given his name. Elizabeth didn’t have the strength to figure it out. She was too busy trying to figure out the expression in his dark eyes. She hadn’t seen it in a man’s eyes for so long that she hardly recognized it, but there it was, unmistakable: kindness.

  How odd. But even in her current state, she was sure. He didn’t like this any better than she did. But that didn’t change anything.

  “No, I won’t eat,” she said.

  He sighed with what might have been resignation or maybe admiration. Elizabeth thought she must be delirious if she couldn’t tell the difference. “I’ll have to force-feed you, then. It’s not a pleasant experience, Miss Miles.” He picked up a piece of black rubber tubing from the cart. “I will insert this in your throat, and we will pour a liquid mixture of eggs and milk into your stomach. Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”

  Elizabeth glanced over at Anna, whose enormous eyes were squinched tightly shut, as if she could close out his words by not seeing him. Elizabeth thought of the blood in Anna’s mouth and her raspy voice and the fear in her eyes. She thought of the groans of the other women, who had fallen completely silent now as they waited for her reply.

  What would the Old Man tell her to do? He’d tell her she was a fool. He’d tell her to look after herself. He’d tell her she shouldn’t be mixed up in somebody else’s fight.

  Except this wasn’t somebody else’s fight anymore.

  “No, I won’t reconsider.”

  The nurse grinned, her gimlet eyes sparkling with anticipation, but Elizabeth glared at her with her rich woman’s glare and said, “We’re doing this for you, too, you know. We’re doing this for every woman who has ever been beaten down and abused.”

  The nurse blinked, and her grin faltered, and the doctor said, “Help me here,” and she moved to help him. She wasn’t grinning anymore.

  “When I put the tube in your mouth, try to swallow it. That will make it easier.”

  Don’t fight them, Anna had said, and she tried, she really did, but it was no use.

  The tube tasted bitter and filled her mouth.

  “Hold her,” the doctor shouted because she was thrashing, swinging her head—or trying to—until something grabbed it in a vicelike grip. She tried to push him away, tried to grab the tube, but something caught her arms and held them fast, and a heavy weight bore down on her legs. The tube was down her throat, gagging her, choking her, ripping and tearing its way down inside of her, a searing pain like a hot poker against naked flesh. She gasped, desperate for air, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, even though she was screaming inside. They were holding her, crushing her, suffocating her, killing her. Dark spots danced before her eyes, then everything went black.

  • • •

  Gideon and David found Thornton waiting for them in the hotel bar. They’d hurried back from the Woman’s Party headquarters when he’d telephoned them saying he had news. He was sitting with his two plug-uglies, Lester and Fletcher, and another large man Gideon didn’t know. Gideon thought he looked like he should be pushing a plow instead of drinking in the Willard Hotel.

  Gideon and David pulled chairs up to the already crowded table and sat down.

 
“You said you had some important news,” said Gideon, still eyeing the newcomer with suspicion.

  “I do. Whittaker is in Washington.”

  “What?” David almost shouted.

  “Lower your voice,” Thornton said, glancing anxiously around the nearly empty room. “Everyone in this town is on the government payroll.” Fortunately, everyone on the government payroll seemed to be still at their offices, working. “We found out Whittaker has been hiding here in the city the whole time we’ve been looking for him.”

  Gideon muttered a curse. “And who is this?” He nodded at the big farmer.

  “Mr. Bates and Mr. Vanderslice, meet Deputy Klink,” Thornton said.

  Klink nodded politely.

  “The deputy you found to serve the writ,” Gideon remembered. Lester’s telegram had said they found him hiding out on his brother’s pig farm. Buying a transfer of his loyalty had been surprisingly cheap.

  “Yeah, and he tried to serve it six times, but he never could find Whittaker, either at home or at the workhouse,” Fletcher said.

  “Because, as we found out this morning,” Lester said, “he’s been here in Washington since the writ was issued, hiding from us.”

  “Where is he?” David asked.

  “At a cheap hotel, but it don’t matter. Deputy Klink, here, he don’t have no jurisdiction in Washington.”

  “We need to get Warden Whittaker back to Virginia,” Deputy Klink said. He didn’t seem to notice the black look Thornton gave him.

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Gideon asked.

  The three men looked at each other for a minute or two. Finally, Lester said, “We was hoping you’d have an idea.”

  “Good help is so hard to find,” Thornton muttered, and for once Gideon had to agree with him.

  “If we know where he is, why can’t we just go talk to him?” David asked.

  Thornton turned his black look on David. “What do you propose we talk to him about?”

  “About releasing the women, of course.”