After what seemed an eternity, Herndon said, “To the showers!”
The guards prodded the naked women into motion, and Elizabeth followed, shivering and furious, for what seemed like a mile to the shower room. The concrete floor was icy beneath her feet, and the smell of mildew and damp nearly gagged her. When they arrived, she saw there was no privacy here, either. A row of showerheads along one wall were turned on, each producing an icy trickle.
“Soap in the bucket,” one of the guards told them.
Elizabeth glanced in the bucket and saw one sliver of soap, blackened from use and probably shared by every inmate foolish enough to use it.
“Don’t touch it,” she warned Anna. “Some of the women here have diseases.”
Anna’s eyes widened with terror as she followed Elizabeth to the shower. The women ahead of them shrieked when the cold water hit them, so Elizabeth knew to do no more than get a bit damp, which was fortunate, because there were no towels.
At the end of this ordeal, some of the regular inmates were passing out prison clothing to the suffragettes, and the women ahead of her balked.
“We are political prisoners, and we demand the right to wear our own clothes!” Lucy Burns said.
“Wear these or go naked,” Herndon told them. “You won’t get your own clothes back until you’re released.”
“I demand to see the warden,” Miss Burns said.
“You want to see him right now?” Herndon mocked her. “While you’re naked?”
In the end, having no choice, the women accepted their prison clothes. At least, thought Elizabeth as she accepted the pile the girl handed her, she knew they’d be warm.
Back in the ward, Elizabeth dropped her pile of clothes on an empty bunk and began sorting through them. She pulled out the thick, unbleached muslin undergarments and began to pull them on, willing to overlook the scratchy texture and be grateful for a barrier against the cold. She knew what the Old Man would say: “You can get used to anything, Lizzie.”
Anna scurried up to the cot beside hers and began to do the same. In her street clothes, the girl had looked thin, but naked she was a waif, all skin and bones with her white skin stretched tight. Why would a rich girl be so skinny? Elizabeth had seen beggars fatter than she.
Next came the bulky, Mother Hubbard wrapper made of blue gray ticking, and Elizabeth buttoned hers up to her throat, adding the “matching” apron. The heavy stockings wouldn’t flatter anyone’s ankles, but Elizabeth rolled them on gratefully over her frozen feet.
Mrs. Bates had settled at a cot across the aisle from them, and when she sat to put on her stockings, she said, “I happened to notice that the girl passing out the clothes was dressed in rags. I mean, as awful as the things they gave us are, at least they’re in good condition. I asked her about it, and she said that a few days ago the guards made them turn in the clothes they’d been wearing and gave them those rags to wear, so these clothes could be washed for us.”
“That’s terribly unfair,” Anna said.
Elizabeth wanted to point out that she probably wouldn’t like wearing the rags herself, either, so she should be grateful. But these women didn’t think the same way she did, so she kept her opinion to herself.
“Yes, it is unfair, but that’s not the worst of it,” Mrs. Bates said. “The fact that they were getting the clothes ready for us days ago means that they intended to send us here all along, even before we had our trial.”
Now that was unfair. The authorities had decided how to punish these women before they’d even been arrested!
Before she could become properly outraged, however, one of the guards shouted something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
“Betty Perkins! Betty Perkins! Which one of you is Betty Perkins?”
Betty Perkins had been her name for the past few weeks, but only Thornton knew her by it. That meant he knew where she was, and he was trying to get his hands on her.
Elizabeth erased all expression from her face as the guard walked slowly down the center aisle, looking at each woman in turn.
“Speak up, Betty!” the guard called. “Somebody’s paid your fine, and you’re free to go.”
• • •
Oscar Thornton thought James Wadsworth looked exactly the way a United States senator should look, handsome and dignified, although he was a bit young for such a big responsibility. “More coffee, Senator?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Thornton reached across the breakfast table the hotel staff had set so elegantly to fill the fine china cup. “I’m glad you were free this morning.”
“I was a little surprised to hear from you again so soon. When you canceled our original appointment, I thought you said you were going to be away for several weeks.”
Thornton had thought so, too. He’d been planning a little trip with that scheming Betty Perkins. They were to have left on a cruise to the islands as soon as the deal with Coleman came through, or so she’d said. She would be traveling someplace much less pleasant now, as soon as his two bodyguards bailed her out of jail and brought her to him. Meanwhile, he’d decided to move forward with his original business in the city. “My plans changed unexpectedly. You haven’t said what you think of my proposal.”
Senator Wadsworth smiled uncertainly. “I really don’t know what to think of it, Mr. Thornton. Everything about the war is so new and . . . uncertain. I don’t think anyone really knows anything yet.”
“But surely you know who’s making the decisions about what to buy for the army.”
“Of course I do.”
He was lying, but Thornton didn’t mind. Wadsworth was a senator. He could find out easily enough, and they both knew it. “And I’m sure somebody on your staff can make the introductions for me.”
“Actually, I may be of more help to you in New York than here.”
“New York City?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were from someplace out in the country, Senator.”
“Yes, Geneseo, but of course I represent the entire state. I have many friends in the city, people who helped me when I needed it. I was the first of the New York senators elected by the general population, you’ll recall. It required a lot of organization.”
“I always thought it was a mistake to let the people choose their senators directly.”
Senator Wadsworth smiled the way rich people did when they thought they knew something you didn’t. “Some people felt having the state legislature choose the senators was too elitist.”
Thornton smiled back. “Maybe it was, but you didn’t have to pay off nearly as many voters that way.”
Wadsworth looked like he might choke. “I . . . I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Thornton didn’t understand why rich men had to pretend that politics wasn’t all about money. The thought of money reminded him of Betty Perkins again. “Say, speaking of votes, what do you think about those suffragettes? Is your wife one of them?”
“Good heavens, no!” He looked as if Thornton had asked if she was a prostitute. “I’m proud to say she’s an Anti.”
“A what?”
“She’s anti–women’s suffrage. In fact, she’s very active in the National Association Opposed to Woman Suffrage.”
Which left very little chance she’d been arrested with Betty Perkins yesterday. “An excellent cause. Heaven help us if we have to start buying women’s votes, too.”
Wadsworth nearly spilled his coffee. “Mr. Thornton, really—”
“These friends of yours in New York, are they involved in procurement for the army?”
Wadsworth needed a moment to catch up to the change in topic. “They are dipping their toes in the water, so to speak, and since you would like to supply the army, you would have much to discuss.”
“I want to do m
ore than discuss, Senator.”
“Of course you do.”
“And I’m prepared to pay a finder’s fee for your help, of course.”
“Oh, that isn’t necessary. I’m just anxious to help a constituent,” Wadsworth said expansively, which meant the senator got his cut from his friends. “What exactly is it you want to sell to the army?”
“Guns. Rifles, to be specific.”
Wadsworth blinked. “Well . . . that’s certainly something the army can use.”
“Yes, it is, and I can supply them very reasonably.” Wadsworth didn’t need to know where the rifles had come from or why Thornton had gotten them so cheaply.
“I’m sure many people would like to sell rifles to the army.”
“That’s true, Senator. The government has lots of money to spend on this war, and anytime the government has lots of money to spend, lots of people are going to want it. Somebody is going to get rich in the bargain, and I figure it might as well be me . . . and you.”
“I see.”
“I’m sure you do, Senator. All I need from you is a letter of introduction. I’ll take care of the rest, and your friends will be very happy they met me.”
Wadsworth didn’t look too happy to have met him, but Thornton wasn’t worried about that. “Of course. If you stop by my office tomorrow, the letter will be waiting for you. I’m always happy to serve a constituent.”
“And just so I know, who is it you’ll be introducing me to?”
“I . . . uh . . . Well, various people are . . . Things are so uncertain now, you see, and . . .”
Thornton leaned forward. “Who?”
“Uh, well, I believe I know just the gentleman who can see that you make the right contacts.”
“His name, Senator?”
“David Vanderslice.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Gideon Bates went right from the train station to the Woman’s Party headquarters on Capitol Hill. The house Mrs. Belmont had bought for the party to use as their headquarters was humming with activity when he arrived, and for a moment, he stood unnoticed in the foyer.
Finally, a young woman in a wrinkled shirtwaist peered at him with some alarm through her spectacles. “Who are you?”
Gideon gave her what he hoped was a nonthreatening smile. He certainly didn’t want to alarm anyone. “I’m Gideon Bates. My mother was one of the ladies arrested yesterday. I’m also an attorney, so I’ve come down from New York to see if I can help.”
The young woman blinked a few times. “Oh, yes, someone said you might be coming.”
“And now I’m here.” Gideon waited, somehow managing to hold his smile in place even when she made no move to announce him. He wouldn’t inspire much confidence if he shouted at her. Or started turning over desks, which suddenly seemed like an excellent way to vent his growing frustration. Instead he said, “I’m very anxious to help. Do you suppose I could speak to someone?”
She was still blinking. “What? Oh. Oh, yes. You’ll want to see Mrs. Stevens, I suppose.”
At last! “Is she the one in charge now?”
“Yes.”
Gideon waited, trying not to think about doing violence to the furniture, and when she didn’t move, he said, still smiling although his face now felt more than a bit stiff, “May I see her?”
“Oh my, of course. Just a . . . I’ll be right back.” She hurried off. Finally.
Gideon set down the carpetbag he’d hastily packed back in New York and rubbed the stiffness from his neck. He noticed he was attracting some suspicious glances from the women working in the front room, so he smiled at them, too. They didn’t smile back. They had a right to be suspicious of strange men showing up on the doorstep, of course.
The young woman who had greeted him returned. “Mrs. Stevens would like to see you. Follow me, please.”
He followed her to the back of the house, where a room that might have once been a butler’s pantry had been fitted out into a private office of sorts with mismatched furniture, clearly cast-off odds and ends. A plump, middle-aged woman, looking as if she hadn’t slept last night, came from behind the desk and offered her hand. She had a grip like a federal judge. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Bates, but I’m hoping we won’t need your help.”
“Does that mean they’ve been released?”
“Please, sit down.” She removed a pile of papers from one of the rickety chairs and set it on the floor, then took her seat behind the desk again. “I’m afraid they haven’t been released yet—at least not that we know of—but our attorney, Mr. O’Brien, has gone down to Virginia to meet with the authorities there and ascertain the conditions under which the women are being held.”
“Virginia? I thought they were arrested here in the district.”
“I guess you haven’t heard the latest news.”
“I haven’t heard any news at all since the telephone call I received this morning. At that time, you didn’t even know where the prisoners were being held.”
“Yes, well, since then we’ve learned that the women who were arrested yesterday were taken by train to Virginia, where they are being held in the Occoquan Workhouse.”
“A workhouse?” This was worse than he could have imagined.
“That’s right, and others have been held there before. It’s a horrible place, Mr. Bates, filthy and cold and the food is rancid and full of worms.”
“Then we’ve got to get them out of there. You say you have an attorney already working to free them?”
“Yes. We do not believe the government is willing to free them just yet, however, which is why they were sent to Virginia. We suspect they want to make an example of them in hopes of discouraging others from joining the protests.”
Gideon considered the wisdom of that strategy for a moment, and his opinion of President Wilson’s leadership abilities sank even lower than it had been. “They don’t know you and your ladies very well, do they, Mrs. Stevens?”
She smiled grimly. “No, they do not. They thought locking up Miss Alice Paul would dampen our spirits, but since news of her hunger strike at the district jail has gotten out, new members are arriving every day to join the pickets at the White House. We have not missed a single day since we started our protests last January.”
Someone tapped on the door, and Gideon turned as a well-dressed man came in. He looked harried and very angry.
Mrs. Stevens jumped to her feet. “Mr. O’Brien, what is the news?”
“Nothing good, I’m afraid. The warden wouldn’t see me, and they laughed when I asked to see the prisoners.” He gave Gideon a questioning glance.
“Mr. O’Brien, may I present Gideon Bates,” Mrs. Stevens said. “His mother is one of the prisoners. Like you, he’s an attorney, and he has come down from New York to help.”
“I don’t know how you can help,” O’Brien said.
“I have friends here.”
“Unless your friends work at the White House, I doubt they can do us much good.”
Gideon didn’t like O’Brien’s tone. He sounded defeated already. “You think it will take a presidential pardon, then?”
“That’s one solution, but it’s starting to look like we were right about President Wilson wanting to leave the women in jail for a while this time, since he’s tried everything else to scare them away from his front door.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand why they were taken to Virginia,” Gideon said. “If they were arrested and charged in the district, shouldn’t they be imprisoned there?”
O’Brien rubbed his chin. “That’s very astute of you, Mr. Bates. It is, in fact, illegal to incarcerate someone in a different jurisdiction, but the district routinely sends prisoners to the workhouse in Virginia because they don’t have room to accommodate them here.”
“If they are being held illegally, we have grounds for getting them
released, at least,” Gideon said.
“Not if the president doesn’t want them released, and it seems that he doesn’t,” O’Brien said. “They may be there for a time, I’m afraid.”
Mrs. Stevens said, “Oh dear,” with such feeling that both men turned to her in alarm. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet, Mr. O’Brien. We had a visitor earlier today, a young marine. He’s stationed in Virginia, near the workhouse, you see. Last night the warden there asked for help handling some unruly prisoners, so the commanding officer sent over some of the marines. This young man was horrified to learn that the prisoners were all female.”
Gideon frowned in confusion. “The marines were called in to handle the demonstrators?”
“Not only the marines. The warden had also recruited a band of ruffians from the nearby town and aroused them to a state of fury, so that when he told them to put the demonstrators in cells, they treated them very cruelly and even injured some.”
“Injured? How badly?” Gideon demanded. If they’d harmed his mother or Anna . . .
“We have no way of knowing, except that this young man did describe one of the women in particular, who could only have been Miss Burns. They handcuffed her to the bars of her cell with her hands over her head and left her hanging there. Another woman was knocked unconscious, but that’s all he could tell me for certain.”
Gideon could hardly breathe for the rage boiling inside of him. How dare this warden treat respectable women in such a way? “This is outrageous! When the public hears—”
“The public won’t hear a thing if we can’t verify this by seeing the prisoners ourselves,” Mrs. Stevens said.
O’Brien nodded. “I’ll go back to Virginia tomorrow.”
“What if they still won’t let you in?” Gideon asked.
City of Lies Page 6
