“You’re not one of those crazy suffragettes who have been swarming my station all week, are you?” he asked when Vera inquired about Pearl.
The indignation that had begun at Lady Pilkington’s house grew into controlled rage at yet another person demeaning someone dear to her. But she would not get anything she wanted by rising to his confrontation. Were these kinds of statements all around her and she’d been too focused on survival to recognize such affronts?
“I am a friend of one of them, yes.”
“If you ladies knew what was good for you, you’d go home and find some husbands and leave things the way they are.”
She felt her cheeks reddening, and her fists clenched below the counter where he could not see them.
“Sir,” she said to the man undeserving of the title, “many of the western states have already passed votes for women, and it is only a matter of time before the rest follow suit. In fact, it will be on the ballot this November here in New York.”
“There’s no place for women in politics.”
“Sir,” she repeated, raising her voice a bit, “Montana has not only given women the vote, but it has elected a woman to the United States Congress.”
“Yeah, and she voted against the war. What does a woman know about war?”
Vera knew that she wasn’t going to convince him of anything and decided to get to the point.
“I don’t know about such things, except that someone I love is on his way to fight overseas, and if there were anything I could do to prevent it, I would. But for now, someone else I love is sitting in this building being punished for trying to protect the very same freedoms as our boys overseas. And maybe there is something I can do about that.”
He patted his stomach and let out a belch. He sighed and cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you really want to help, you can convince your friend to eat something. She’s been resisting the feeding tube, and I have to tell you, it’s not a pretty sight.”
A feeding tube! Vera was astonished that anyone had let it come to that. The very thought of it made her throat burn.
Vera squeezed Will’s hand, and as if the officer could see it, he added, “I would not take that boy in there.”
“But she’s his mother.”
“Then you especially shouldn’t take him in. In fact, I won’t allow it. A boy shouldn’t see his mother looking like she does.”
Vera pursed her lips, bracing herself for whatever he was warning her against. It must be bad if she could not bring a child to see his own mother. She turned to Will. “Can you stay here, my love, while I go visit your mother?”
He turned from the WANTED posters he was looking at. “I want to see my mama,” he whispered. It was sadder than a shout might have been.
Vera held back tears. “And she wants to see you, Will. Zia Vera will go talk to her first and then maybe I can bring you in.”
She knew it was unlikely but wanted to give him any assurances she could.
“I want to go with you.” He was louder this time.
“Please,” she said, turning to the officer. “Let me take him in. It might do Pearl some good. Maybe she’ll start eating if she can just see her son.”
“He’ll be fine here,” he insisted. “Go see your friend. Tell her to start eating. Or I can’t promise what will become of her.”
He leaned in, and Vera felt the implied threat. Her blood raced at the injustice of this man having any say in what happened to Pearl. It defined the very reason women were marching and protesting. And starving.
She was afraid to leave William alone in the waiting room. He was so young. He could wander off if no one was looking after him.
Or worse—the police could find out that Vera had taken the boy. How far did Lady Pilkington’s reach extend? The possibility terrified her.
But she had no choice. A man might have fared better by holding his ground, but a woman’s thoughts did not merit the same consideration.
“I’ll be right back, Will,” she said. “Sit right there and be a good boy for me.”
She felt her breath become leaden for the second time today. How was one expected to go from an asylum to a prison in a matter of an hour and not feel the enormity of it? But for now, she was exhausted after the train ride and mustering all she had in her to do the smallest things. She reminded herself that it was nothing in light of what Angelo and Pearl were sacrificing. She had to be a soldier for this cause: that of supporting them.
A younger officer stepped up to the counter and opened the door through to the back for Vera. She followed him down a dim hallway. He pointed to one door. “That’s the visiting room, but I’m not taking you in there. Your friend is too weak to walk, so I’m taking you to her cell.”
Too weak? What did that mean?
But she didn’t have to wonder for long. She understood the moment she laid eyes on Pearl.
The weak, lethargic body lying on a cot behind metal bars was not the robust woman Vera had known for five years but a cruel caricature that held little resemblance.
She felt sick to her stomach and gripped the bars to keep from collapsing at the stench. The cell reeked of vomit and death. As soon as the hinges turned, she rushed in and sat beside Pearl. The officer left the door open. Pearl was in no condition to escape.
Her skin was nearly translucent in its thinness. Her once-beautiful face sagged with extra skin at the jowls, and her eyes held none of their former luminescence. Pearl’s hair had probably not been pinned into a bun in weeks. Or washed.
“Pearl,” she whispered. Vera clenched her hands and wanted to pound on the concrete walls in fury over this maltreatment. This crime.
Her friend did not move. Did not even seem to be breathing. Vera was afraid to shake her. Afraid, even, that she might be dead. The very thought was more than she could bear right now. But at last she saw the minute flicker of an eyelash, and her hopes swelled.
“Pearl,” she tried a little more loudly.
Pearl turned her head just enough for Vera to see the yellowed bruises on her neck.
It was appalling.
What on earth had they done to her?
“Ver . . . ,” she responded, not able to complete the last syllable.
“Oh my God, Pearl, what happened?”
A female voice came from behind a wall. “They’re playing with her, that’s what they’re doing.”
Vera ran out the cell door to the one next to Pearl’s, where another woman sat on an identical cot. Pearl was not going to be able to tell her much, but maybe this woman could. Her hair was braided and her cheeks were sallow but not sunken like Pearl’s.
“What do you mean, they’re playing with her?”
The woman folded her arms and curled her legs onto the cot.
“Cat and Mouse. Have you heard of it?”
The sick feeling returned. Vera shook her head.
“The Cat and Mouse. I can’t say for sure that it’s happening here yet, but they’ve done it with our sisters in Britain. They let the suffragettes continue on with their hunger strikes and leave them alone just to the point where they’re too weak to do any more political damage. They assume that once freed, they’ll eat. Then, as soon as they commit the slightest infraction—which these warriors certainly will—they’ll arrest them again, and the whole process starts over.”
“But that’s horrible!”
“Of course it is. But the force-feeding is causing too much controversy. We fear that they’ll look to the British for inspiration.”
“What do you mean? This isn’t controversial enough?”
Poor Pearl. Vera couldn’t imagine the horror.
“Well, it was the society ladies like our Pearl here who are going on the strikes. Doctors are called in to feed them with six-foot tubes that they force through the nasal passages. I’ve heard the screams.”
“Screams,” echoed Vera. She felt like she was hearing herself through a dark tunnel. Like her mind was distancing her from each fresh, terrible rev
elation. She dug her nails into her hands to bring herself back.
“It’s no picnic. The tubes cause them to vomit over themselves, so they sprinkle them with perfume. As if that would cover everything up.”
“I can’t imagine.” Her own words sounded stiff. But there were no more words she knew to say.
“Well, it’s why your friend is covered in bruises. And why she stinks. I know it’s what’s going to happen to me. I was arrested while barring the door to a store whose owner is against votes for women. But I’ve only been in for three days. Long enough that hunger has become a commonplace feeling. But if your friend can handle it, so can I.”
Vera’s eyes grew wide. The woman accepted her fate so effortlessly. Or so it seemed. Had Pearl been this resolute? Of course she had.
“I have to get back to her now.” Vera’s tone belied the sense of urgency she felt. She’d begun to comprehend the very real possibility that Pearl might never leave this place again. That these could be her last minutes with her, and there were none to spare.
“Good luck. She hasn’t spoken since I’ve been here. I don’t know how they expect to release her tomorrow. That’s the plan, at least. I think they may have let her go too long, though.”
Vera could say only two words. “Thank you.”
She returned to Pearl’s cell and grasped her hands. Delicately. She had no idea what might hurt.
“Sweet Pearl, Vera’s here.”
“Ver—a.” Pearl said them as if they were different words.
“Yes, yes. It’s me.”
“Wi—”
“Will is with me. He’s in the waiting room. They, uh, they advised that he not come in for now.”
She hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.
Pearl nodded with what seemed to be great effort.
Vera stroked her matted hair and pulled the food from her bag. “Please, Pearl? Can I help you eat something? We don’t have to tell them. But even a little bit might help you.”
Pearl turned her head away with obvious effort.
Vera knew that it would be no use to beg. She had never seen Pearl compromise, and even now, she was not going to do so.
She was in a bind. She could not burden Pearl with everything that had happened with her grandmother. And yet she was scared that if she didn’t get some kind of permission from Will’s own mother to keep him for the time being, she could be in trouble with the law, and the boy might be taken away.
But looking at her friend’s wretched face, once so enviable and now stained with shadows and hollowness, it seemed as if nothing Vera would tell her could make it any worse.
She had to press on for William. Dear little Will. Pearl would hate to see him grow up in such a restrictive home. One where he might become the kind of gentleman that Lady Pilkington and her ilk imagined for him. Not the kind that Angelo would model for him.
So she gave her an abbreviated description of all that had occurred in the past few days, whispering and all the while caressing Pearl’s hand. It was so bony and delicate. Vera hoped she wasn’t hurting her.
“I will do whatever you want. I will bring him to your grandmother if that’s what you think is best. Or I will keep him until you are out and you are healthy. Just give me any kind of sign so I know what to do.”
Pearl’s eyelids fluttered, and her cracked lips started to open.
“You,” she exhaled.
Vera pressed her forehead to Pearl’s hand and nodded.
“You,” she said again.
“Yes. Yes. Of course I’ll take him.”
Vera slipped a piece of paper out of her pocket. She’d written it at the last minute while they were on the train, not knowing how much time they might have together in the prison. She had no idea if it would be considered legal, but she didn’t have the time or the money to hire an attorney to draw it all up properly.
To whom it may concern:
Until such time as I am able to reclaim my son, William Pilkington Bower, I give guardianship to Vera Keller and to my husband, Angelo Bellavia, in my place.
It was admittedly simple, and Vera resisted the inclination to add legalistic words such as whereto and forthwith, not knowing what they meant and fearing that they’d reveal her ignorance of such things. But the intent was plain, and Pearl’s signature would give it as much validation as she was capable of acquiring at this time.
She read it to Pearl, reading slowly as she fought tears.
“Please know that it is my desperate prayer, Pearl, that you are able to return home quickly and recover your health. I—I am not trying to be Will’s mother. He has only one irreplaceable mother—you. But with everything I have, with my very life, I will take care of him until you are able.”
The corners of Pearl’s mouth turned upward.
Vera pulled a fountain pen from the bottom of her bag. The ink had leaked, leaving a black stain on the fabric, but she didn’t care. She pressed it into Pearl’s palm, wrapping her friend’s fingers around it until she made a fist. She moved slowly, so as not to cause pain to Pearl. Vera held the paper up, unavoidably flimsy with no book or table to support it. But there did not seem to be any chance that Pearl would be able to sit up and sign it against the wall.
The enormity of such a simple action, the ache that Pearl must be enduring for the sake of her son even with such small gestures, made Vera want to weep. She would tell William of this someday when he was old enough to understand.
If such a thing could be understood.
Though three holes poked as they tried, Pearl managed to sign something illegible. Vera’s heart sank, knowing that what thin chance they had at this being legal was even more unlikely, but it was all she had. She folded it and returned it to her pocket.
She continued to hold Pearl’s hand. She wanted to stay. To talk Pearl into eating. Or to be there for the end. But William was alone in the waiting room. And the police could be notified any minute of who they were.
“I have to go now.” She laid her head on the cot and felt Pearl’s fragile body against her cheek. Vera brushed her paper-thin skin and whispered incoherent apologies. “I don’t want to, I don’t want to, Pearl, but I have to. Find Victor when you get out. He’ll know where we are.”
When. Not if. But she didn’t believe her own optimism.
She kissed her beloved friend on the forehead and squeezed her eyes tight so that the tears that wanted to come wouldn’t land on Pearl.
“You are my hero,” she whispered. “There is no one else like you. But please eat. I say this not as a sympathizer to your very right cause but as one who loves you. Please eat, Pearl. Please eat and come home. You are worth more to women alive than if you are—”
But she could not complete the sentence and wished to erase the unsaid word from her mind.
“Come back to us.” She’d asked of Angelo the same thing before he left.
Come back to us.
Chapter Eighteen
Vera jumped at the sound of the knock.
She and Will had made their home in this one-room tenement near Houston and Second. They’d been back in New York for only a week, and she’d not met any of the other residents in this building yet. Surely no one was coming to borrow a cup of sugar that she couldn’t afford to have.
She’d just gotten off a shift at her new job. She’d been lucky to find another factory position so soon. If there was one good thing to be said about the war, it was that jobs for women were more plentiful than they’d been before. She was making asbestos mattresses. Not for sleeping on but for wrapping the boilers of battleships. The work was exhausting, her fingers were worn and cut already, and the summer heat was just beginning to make its appearance. But it was worth it to be able to have daytime hours so that she could walk Will home from his new school and be with him in the evening. She left him every morning at four o’clock and had taught him how to put together a simple breakfast before letting himself out.
She would kiss his rosy cheeks o
ne at a time before she left. He slept too deeply to know it, but she hoped that somehow, subconsciously, he felt how much she loved him.
Knock, knock.
Her muscles tightened. Only Victor knew they were here, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
“A game, Will,” she whispered. “Let’s play a game. Slide under the bed and see how long you can stay there without making a sound.”
Thankfully, he obeyed, and when she couldn’t see anything but his bare heels, she covered them with a blanket and walked over to the door.
She smoothed her hair back and took a deep breath.
“Vera.”
“Victor!”
She exhaled and threw the door open to invite him in, then called out to Will, “You can come out, sweetheart.”
“Have a seat,” she said to her guest. She wiped the table down with her apron, as she’d not yet had the time to launder the two dish towels that she owned. “Can I make you some tea?”
Victor sank into the wooden chair, his shoulders slumping.
“No. I can’t stay long.”
“So you got my note. About where we are.”
“Yes. My sister gave it to me right away.”
“Is Lady Pilkington looking for us? For Will?”
He nodded.
“The Pilkingtons—including Pearl’s parents—have hired two investigators. And the staff has been questioned. No one but Angelica and I know where you are, though.”
Vera’s chest tightened, and she had to hold her hands together to avoid their shaking. Investigators. It would be only a matter of time until they were found.
She took a breath and steadied her voice so as not to scare William, who was driving his toy train along the threadbare arms of the sofa. “They’re that determined to get him back. But it will be just a matter of time before Pearl returns, and when she does, she’ll want Will to be with her.”
He shook his head. Vera knew he was thinking. Her family might make a case that with Pearl’s incarceration she was unfit to be a parent. They would win no matter what.
Making her scrap of paper, so pitifully signed by Pearl, even more worthless than she’d feared.
The Way of Beauty Page 18
