by Irene Brand
Roger placed his hand on Violet’s trembling shoulder. “Perhaps we should mention, Pastor, that Mrs. Conley doesn’t want to be released from prison. She wouldn’t tell the authorities that she had any relatives. It’s my understanding that right from the first, she has tried to protect Violet’s name. I have doubts that she will willingly come here.”
“Then I’d suggest, Roger, that you find out the particulars of her release and the extent of the obligations Violet will have to assume. If you do bring Mrs. Conley to Maitland, I can break the news to the church family, and I think most of them will support you. I can’t answer for the rest of the community.” He left his chair and went to a bookshelf behind him. “Have either of you read this bestselling book by Richard Cameron?”
“I don’t recognize the name,” Violet said, and Roger shook his head.
“What’s Your Prison? is apparently the author’s first book. His premise is that all of us are imprisoned by something, and he gives spiritual evidence that we can be freed by the Spirit. Your mother has a physical prison, but Cameron contends that other kinds of imprisonment can be just as confining and self-destructive. He refers to situations that imprison the spirit—passions, fear, jealousy, ambition, the inability to forgive, hatred, and many others—and though humankind can be pardoned legally for its sins against humanity, only God can free a person from spiritual and moral bondage. Cameron bases his premise on the words of Jesus, ‘So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.’ I was so impressed by his writings that I contacted the publisher to see if we could invite the author for a series of lectures on the subject, but it seems Mr. Cameron is a recluse and will not make public appearances.”
Roger took the book and leafed through it before he handed it to Violet. “I’ve never put it into those words,” he said, “but I agree with the author. I’ve always thought that we make our own prisons.”
“It might be encouraging to you to read this book, Violet,” Pastor Tom said, “because the task you’re assuming will not be an easy one. You will have your own prison.”
“Thank you,” Violet said, and she tucked the book in her pocket. Despite Pastor Tom’s praise, she doubted that any book could hold the answers to her dilemma.
As they left the church, Larry drove by in his sleek silver sedan, but if he saw them, he made no indication. With a wry smile, Roger said, “Suppose he will make the same assumption that Pastor Tom did when we arrived at his office?”
“Oh, the pastor was just joking.” Roger opened the truck door and assisted her into the high seat. “What do you think of the pastor’s suggestion that you make some official inquiries?”
“I’ll start on it the first thing in the morning. I should have some news by the time you’re home from work tomorrow.”
As they drove the short distance toward her home, Violet said, “That will make the day long for me, but if you call me at school, I won’t be able to concentrate on my teaching.”
When she telephoned Ruth of her decision, her aunt immediately said, “If you do bring her to your home, I’m coming to help you. You can’t afford to quit work, and I can take a leave from my part-time job.” Although she hated for Ruth to make the sacrifice, Violet didn’t know how she could possibly manage alone, and she agreed to accept her aunt’s help.
Larry telephoned soon after Violet returned from evening worship service, and after he had chatted briefly, he said, “I saw you with Roger Gibson again this afternoon.”
“Yes, he invited me to go out to his farm, and we hiked in the woodlands. We needed to stop at the church afterward to speak to Pastor Tom.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, but what is your relationship with Gibson?”
Larry had not yet made any commitment that would give him the right to regulate her friendships, and the domineering tone his voice took on as he asked his question certainly annoyed her, but she answered calmly. “Roger is a good friend. I see him often at church, and since I’ve taught both of his children, we’ve had a satisfactory teacher-parent relationship.”
“I don’t like to make a point of it, but we’ve dated steadily for almost a year. I haven’t seen anyone else during that time, and I assumed that you hadn’t, but the past few days, Lieutenant Gibson has enjoyed more of your company than I have.”
If the time came when she had to choose between Roger’s friendship and Larry’s companionship, what would she do?
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Larry. The past few days, Roger and I have had a mutual problem, which required our meeting, but I can’t reveal any more than that at this time. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Very well,” Larry answered tersely. “Have you decided about going on the skiing trip? We’re leaving the day before Thanksgiving and will be back by Tuesday when school resumes.”
Violet hesitated. Since she didn’t know when or if her mother would be coming, she couldn’t commit herself to the trip, but Thanksgiving was three weeks away, and it was quite likely that her mother would be in her home by then. “I would really enjoy going with you, but I’m fairly sure that I’ll have visitors over the holiday. Perhaps you’ll give me a rain check?”
Ignoring her comment, he didn’t say whether he would or not, and Violet assumed he was annoyed. “You remember that I’ll be gone all next week to the national principal’s convention in Florida.”
Violet laughed. “It’s tough luck to have to go to Florida and miss all of this gloomy weather we’re having, but someone has to take the dirty jobs. Have fun.”
“Remember we are going down there to work, but I intend to consider it a working vacation.” His good humor seemed to have resurfaced, and he said, “Goodbye. See you in a week.”
The time dragged for Violet on Monday. It was always difficult to motivate her students on Mondays, especially when her own mind was elsewhere. They had been hyperactive while preparing for the fair competition, and now that it was over, and the awards given, she could hardly interest them in the new unit they were starting.
Nan and Violet had a chance to lunch together and met in Violet’s room to eat the bag lunches they’d brought from home.
“Did you have any flack about the Social Studies competition?” Nan asked.
“A lot of dirty looks on Friday, both toward Janie and me, but except for the ‘accident’ to her project, I haven’t heard anything. Have you?”
“Some comments among the teachers about ‘favoritism,’ but there are several teachers who don’t feel about Janie as we do. She’s an embarrassment to them…they feel intimidated by her past. People who have lived a trauma-free life can’t understand those who haven’t had it easy.”
If Janie affected them that way, how would they deal with Violet’s sordid background? Would that alienate her also?
“I haven’t asked about the birthday party last week. How did it go?”
Remembering her unease at the dinner, Violet’s eyes clouded, and she chewed slowly on her sandwich before she answered.
“I had to sit beside Mrs. Holland, and she made me quite uncomfortable prying into my antecedents. I have some family members who wouldn’t pass muster under much investigation.”
“Haven’t we all?” Nan said with a laugh. “If she’s checking into your ancestry, Larry must be getting serious.”
“That’s my opinion, too,” Violet conceded. “And Larry has taken exception to my friendship with Roger Gibson. What do you make of that?”
“That the Holland family is no place for a person who values freedom. Think long and hard about any alliance you make with them.”
“I can’t tell you the details now, but some decisions I’ve made this week may remove me speedily from the list of Holland ‘eligibles.’”
“So much the better for you.” Nan crumpled her lunch bag and tossed it in the waste can. “Larry is a good administrator because he gets to make the rules, but the traits that make him a successful principal wouldn’t necessarily be welcome in a husband,” she advised. “Se
e you later,” she added as the bell rung for classes to resume.
When Violet returned home after school, she was tempted to sit by the phone, waiting for Roger’s call, but tried to busy herself with other tasks. She looked around her home, wondering how she could manage with two more people in the house. Probably she would need a hospital bed for her mother, and she could dismantle the bed in the small room and put her mother there. But what about Aunt Ruth? Could she put the small bed in the living room for herself and leave her bedroom to Aunt Ruth? Any way you looked at it, her whole household would need to be rearranged.
By the time Roger telephoned, Violet was so discouraged she didn’t know which way to turn, and his report on what he had learned from a representative at the prison didn’t make her feel any better.
“They will release her into your custody,” Roger said, “with occasional visits by a parole officer, but she has a clean record as far as behavior is concerned, so they aren’t worried about her conduct. You will have to go to Topeka to sign the necessary papers, and she will be transported here in an ambulance at the expense of the correctional facility. She isn’t able to travel any other way. As I understand, the State of Kansas will be responsible for her medical expenses, such as the chemotherapy treatments that she’s been taking each week.”
“I’ll need to take school leave for a couple of days, for I don’t suppose I could make the necessary arrangements over a weekend. Please get the particulars of whom I should contact at the prison, and what I should do. I’ll arrive there on Thursday, and if I need additional time, I can travel home on Saturday or Sunday.”
“Do you want me to go with you, Violet?”
“I can’t ask you to leave your work and your family.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” he repeated.
With his knowledge of the rules and regulations governing prisoners, Roger would be a valuable help to her, but she thought of Larry’s suspicion of Roger, or was it jealousy? But Larry was gone this week; maybe he wouldn’t know. But when she was concerned about the loss of reputation if the citizens learned about her mother, what would they think if she took an overnight trip with Roger? Would that become common knowledge, too?
“I’m waiting for an answer,” Roger said.
“You know I would be grateful for your company, but that’s asking too much, especially to leave your family. Truthfully, I don’t know whether I can handle it alone, but Aunt Ruth might be able to meet me there, though that’s a long trip from Minnesota.”
“I have a few vacation days I must take before the end of the year, and my aunt comes and stays at the house when I have to be away,” Roger said. “I can arrange it. I won’t be going in an official capacity, of course.”
“I know I shouldn’t accept your offer, but it will make my load a lot easier if you’re with me,” she said gratefully. “We can go in my car and leave early Thursday morning. We should be in Topeka in time to make some contacts that afternoon.”
“Yes, we’ll travel on I-70 most of the way—it’s an easy drive.”
She wanted to ask Roger to meet her out of town, but if anyone wanted to gossip about them she supposed it would be less severe if they didn’t act as though they were involved in clandestine activities. Once her mother was moved in, everyone in Maitland, including Larry, would know the reason that they had spent so much time together. Whatever the outcome of their journey, Violet knew that her life would never be the same again. She couldn’t believe that her serene life of a month ago had suddenly plunged into such adversity.
“I’ll make arrangements for two days of leave from school. I’ll also telephone Pastor Tom to tell him of our plans. We’ll need his prayers.”
Violet reached a clammy hand to Roger as they walked into the correctional facility late Thursday afternoon. Sometime she would be able to tell him how much his support meant to her, but her throat was too tight for words now. His warm fingers curled around hers in a comforting clasp, and her feet felt lighter. Over the phone, Roger had received directions to the proper office, and they were to ask for Angie Smith who would handle the parole procedures.
As Violet approached Angie Smith kind, burnished eyes gleamed from her chubby, compassionate face, and Violet felt the knot in her stomach ease.
“I have papers prepared for your signature, Miss Conley, and then we will have to work out the details of her parole,” Angie Smith explained.
“I need to ask some questions first. What kind of cancer does my mother have? How long is she expected to live? Will I be able to care for her at home?”
“She has abdominal cancer. She was too far gone when she finally collapsed and we learned of her condition. She had radiation before surgery six months ago, and chemo since, but she hasn’t responded. The doctors predict that she has a life expectancy of less than six months. With the help of a hospice, you can care for her at home, but you will need some help—she can do very little for herself. Those of us who made the decision to parole her feel sorry for your mother. She isn’t pleased with us, but we thought she should be with her family. Why haven’t any of you visited her?”
Stung at these words, Violet said angrily, “Because she refused to see us. I was never taken to see her as a child, and a few years ago, when I was on my own, I went to visit her when she was at another facility, and she wouldn’t see me…sent word that I should forget about her. She deliberately cut herself off from her family.”
“Then I beg your pardon,” Angie said. “She has never been a mixer and has always seemed so lonely. In the past few years, she has spent most of her time in the computer room and has been a help to our office staff at times.”
“When will she be released?” Roger asked.
“At any time convenient to you. Today, if you like. She will be transported by ambulance, but it isn’t necessary for you to travel with her.”
“Oh, not today,” Violet said, and a wild look came into her eyes. “Not until I’ve made preparations to take care of her.”
“May we visit her now?” Roger said. “I’ve understood she doesn’t want to leave here?”
“Yes, Linda is reluctant about this move, but I think you should visit her.” Compassion softened Angie’s eyes as she said to Violet, “If you haven’t seen your mother for a while, I must warn you of the change in her physical appearance.”
“I don’t remember ever seeing my mother. My only idea of what she looks like is a picture that was taken when I was a baby.”
Angie wrote the cell number on a sheet of paper. “I’ll write out a pass for both of you, but you’ll have to go through security, and have a guard with you at all times.”
Roger stood up, showed Angie his official credentials, and said, “I’ll deposit my gun with you now, if it will be all right. As you see, I do have a permit to carry a weapon.” He unstrapped the underarm holster that he wore and gave it to Angie, who wrote out a receipt for it.
“That would have caused a commotion if you’d started through security with that gun,” she said. “I’m surprised you got this far with it.”
“I made my official status known at the main gate, and they told me to register the gun when I came into this office building.”
Violet also had to leave her purse behind, and both of them were frisked thoroughly. After they cleared the security check and waited on the elevator, Violet leaned against the wall for support. She wanted to break and run. Perhaps sensing Violet’s despair, Roger pulled her into a firm embrace, and his hands gently massaged her neck and shoulders. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to—knowing he was there gave her the courage she needed to eventually walk down the corridor toward her mother’s cell.
The guard opened the door, motioned for them to enter, and locked the door behind them. Violet was horrified by the stark surroundings. For the first time, she felt a glimmer of compassion for her mother, who had spent twenty-three years in such an atmosphere.
Violet felt shocked as she realized the woman on
the cot looked more dead than alive. She was dressed in a faded yellow garment and covered to her waist with a blanket. Her high cheekbones and wide brow which may have been delicately lovely at one time now gave her face a gaunt, hollow look. The sparse brownish gray hair was straight and stringy. The woman’s eyes were closed, apparently in sleep, and Violet wanted to run away before her mother roused.
Perhaps he sensed Violet’s discomfort, for Roger said softly, “Shall we awaken her?”
Violet nodded, and Roger went to the bunk. “Mrs. Conley, you have company.”
The eyelids fluttered, then opened slightly to reveal faded, lusterless brown eyes. Laying an arm across her forehead, she closed her eyes again. “Who is it?”
Roger stretched out his hand to Violet and she came to stand beside him. He nodded for her to speak. Violet moistened her lips, tried to speak, but no sound came. Roger squeezed her shaky fingers.
“It’s Violet, Mother.” She had practiced these words over and over in her mind, wondering what she should say when she confronted her mother at last.
A succession of tremors coursed through the body on the cot, and Roger dropped to his knees and steadied Linda with a firm hand. “How did they find you? I told them I didn’t have any family,” she muttered.
“It doesn’t matter how they found me—I’ve come to make arrangements to have you moved to my home.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving here. I won’t live long enough to be worth the trouble.”
Roger stood, but he kept his hand on the frail body. “Why don’t you sit up and talk to Violet? We’ve come a long way to see you,” he said gently.
Roger put his arms under her shoulders and lifted Linda to a sitting position, supporting her with a couple of pillows. She opened her eyes and favored Violet with an appraising look.
