When he released her, her knees wavered, and she felt dizzy. She smiled wryly. Was it love or hunger pangs ?
As if reading her thoughts, he brought out a napkin with four dried apricots and handed them to her. "You’re so pale," he said sympathetically. "Your mother told me you couldn’t eat the food in here, so I thought you might appreciate some nourishment."
She ate one of the wrinkled apricots, savoring each mouthful while surreptitiously watching the matron who was seated by the door, reading. One after the other she ate the apricots, hiding her mouth with her hand, for it was forbidden for food to be smuggled into the prison.
Shawn nodded approvingly.
Eating the last of the fruit, she didn’t know what she needed more, this food or Shawn’s arms around her. "You know, Shawn," she said slowly, "perhaps you’re right. Maybe I do need taking care of. I only get myself into trouble." She noticed his pleased reaction and hastened to add, "But one thing I can’t give up until women have the vote is following Miss Paul."
His mouth set in a straight line. "You can’t or you won’t?" He reached for her hand and coaxed gently, "Not even if I ask you to?"
Her gaze was steady, despite feeling as if his eyes would melt her into submission. "Not even if you ask me, Shawn," she said softly. "Please try to understand."
He shrugged, reaching for his hat, twirling it. He looked so jaunty and self-possessed. "I’ve got to go, Laura."
Her hands became cold and clammy. "You’re not angry with me, are you, Shawn?" she asked in panic.
"Of course I’m angry!" he said hotly. "I’m tired of coming in a poor second to the suffragists." He tipped his hat farther over his brows and eyed her levelly.
Her lower lip trembled slightly at the thought of his leaving so angry. She wasn’t as brave as she thought. She reached out to him, but he ignored her hand.
"I’ll stop at the front desk and see if there are any new developments on the court order," he said matter-of-factly. "When I came in, that woman lawyer was arguing with the police captain, and she had a sheaf of papers she was waving beneath his nose."
Her pulse picked up a beat. "Perhaps Opal Zacks is negotiating my release, even while we talk. If only I could get out of here today."
"I’ll do what I can," he said cryptically. "But you can’t force them to hurry things along. You ought to know that!"
She closed her eyes and said, "To eat a wonderful dinner, to go dancing with you, to weed the garden, to be free. I can’t wait!"
He eyed her dress. "I can’t wait, either. To see you with your hair done up and wearing your lavender dress." He glanced around. "If I could have brought you a saw file, I would have done that, too." He grinned ruefully. "There must be more than one way to break you out of jail!" Impishly he pinched her cheek. "I’d like to see those cheeks rosy and a smile on those pretty lips."
She smiled tremulously, relieved at his mood change.
"Time’s up!" the matron ordered. "Back to your cell." She paused and sneered. "Suffragist!"
With a heavy heart at the thought of the confining cell, she blew Shawn a kiss and accompanied her guard.
As Laura paced back and forth in her small room, she expected Opal Zacks to appear with discharge papers, but no one came, and when the lights were turned off and all the prisoners were ready for bed check, Laura blinked back her tears until the matron had peered into her cell. After her heavy footsteps had receded down the hall she buried her face in the thin pillow and let the torrent gush forth. She cried until she had no more tears. Then, exhausted, she finally dozed fitfully.
When she awoke, it was dark, and she sat bolt upright. Her dream had been so terrifyingly real. With fear she looked about her cell, but it was the same stench-ridden room with the same dirty window. The same cot and sink.
She recalled vividly what she had dreamed. She had been chased by a dozen uniformed officers, all brandishing clubs. Up one corridor and down another she had dashed, frantically trying to find a way to elude them. But every time she reached a cell, the barred doors clanged shut against her. Breathlessly, she had run until she came to the end of a long, narrow passage. Then suddenly the floor had opened out from under her, and she had fallen, fallen into a deep pit. The taunting jeers of the police were followed by a large sheet of iron pulled over the opening. The space was no larger than the closet she had locked herself into years ago, except this area had a dirt floor and dirt walls. It was a terrible nightmare. No wonder she had awakened with such a start. She dared not go back to sleep.
She lay awake until the first streakings of dawn.
Monday morning and she was still in prison. School started at eight-thirty. It was too late. Too late!
"Laura Mitchell!" the matron called gruffly. "You’re wanted at the front desk!"
Stunned, Laura stared at the raw-boned woman who opened the door and pointed to the end of the corridor. Was she to be set free?
When she reported to the desk, the police captain handed her her clothes, indicated a small room where she was to dress, and told her she was discharged.
"Am I free to go?" she asked incredulously, hugging her clothes next to her.
"What do you think I said?" The captain waved her away. "Get dressed and get ready to leave."
"Wh-what time is it?" she stammered.
"Eight o’clock. Miss Zacks will be here at eight-thirty. You’re to wait here for her," he said shortly.
"School starts at eight-thirty," she whispered.
Uncaring, the captain had returned to his paperwork.
She wheeled around and rushed into the dressing room, banging the door shut behind her. She was going to school. Jerking off her prison dress and flinging it in a heap, she grabbed her blouse and plunged her arms into the sleeves, nimbly buttoning up the front. Then she fairly jumped into her skirt. Eight o’clock! How could she ever make it to her first-period class when Jefferson High was clear across town? Did her mother know she was to be released? Why wasn’t she here? For once, though, she didn’t care. She needed someone with a car, and General Long’s limousine came to mind. If only Shawn were here to drive her!
The captain, his nose still buried in his books, looked up when she cleared her throat impatiently.
"Well?" he growled.
"Sir," she blurted out, "I can’t wait for Miss Zacks. I need to get to school!"
Raising his bushy gray brows, he eyed her in surprise. "You’re going to school like that? Your hair’s undone and you’ve buttoned your blouse the wrong way!"
"I don’t care, I’ve got to leave here at once!" Her words tripped over one another.
The captain hunched up his shoulders, and then let them drop. "It’s okay with me. If you’re gone when Miss Zacks gets here, then it’s too bad for Miss Zacks!" He handed her a pen. "Here, sign these release papers."
With trembling fingers she scrawled her name across the bottom line. "There!" she exclaimed, flinging the pen down. "What time is it?"
"Eight-fifteen," he retorted, guffawing. "I’ve never seen anyone quite so wild to get to school."
"Is there a trolley line near here?" she asked desperately, tucking several loosened strands from the braid behind her ear.
He indicated with his thumb. "Over on Calvert Street, one block south of here." His eyes sparkled, but his mouth was sober. "You’ll make it if you run."
"Thanks," she called, turning on her heels and racing for the door. "Tell Miss Zacks I’ll see her later at Headquarters."
Out the door she flew, taking the steps two at a time.
A car chugged to a shuddering halt, brakes squealing. "Hey, lady. Want a lift?"
Joe! There he sat, bouncing in the cab of the Menottis' delivery truck. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.