No. Not here. Never Ironwood.
Then I remember Cordelia reading from an English translation ofDante’s Divine Comedy. It was years ago, on a rainy afternoon, and I wasbored and being difficult so Cordie turned to the Inferno. “Abandonhope, all ye who enter here,” she recited dramatically, expounding upon thenine circles of hell.
Limbo. Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Anger. Heresy. Violence. Fraud.Treachery.
All exist in this place—completely overlooked by the outsideworld—for Colorado boasts a Bedlam of her own. Hell is here on earth, here inIronwood.
Trying to ignore the sounds of the broken and insane, I slow mybreaths and concentrate on my own heartbeat until two women approach. Who arethey? Titus puts me down and one of the women excuses him and leads me intoanother room. Will she be kind? Will these women help me?
“You need to change,” one says, sounding old as dirt. “Don’tgive us no trouble.”
Both women discuss my clothes and grab at the cloak, untyingthe ribbons at my neck. I step back, shocked by the boldness of their hands.These women do not ask if they can touch or take. It’s as though I am asubhuman species, and they need not bother with such courtesies.
Removing the handcuffs, but leaving my leg irons in place, theypeel away whatever dignity I have left. It is the final straw, as they say, andI lose my fighting spirit. My gown, bustle, petticoat, and corset are taken. YetI can’t seem to scratch or kick the nurses as I did Titus. Rude and ignorantthough they may be, we are of a gender. I don’t wish to hurt another female.
“Never seen a real mink cloak before,” the old as dirt one says.“Matron should get a handsome price for it at resale.”
“Thank goodness the fur is brown,” the younger nurse replies.“There’s spots of blood everywhere.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you? Cold water removes blood stains.We’ll clean the fur real carefully.”
They’re gentle with animal pelts but unfeeling toward humans?It makes no sense.
Young Nurse sighs with longing. “Her cameo’s sure nice. I’d buyit if I had the means.”
Take the cameo, I plead silently. It’s yours. Only let me free.
“Hush, she’s coming!” Old Dirt barks.
The new woman’s step is fast and hard, like she’s crushinggrapes instead of walking into a room.
“Good afternoon, Matron Latham,” both nurses say together.
The matron walks around me. “Strip off her underclothes and cuther mane. The wig-maker will like that whitish blonde color.”
My braid hangs down to the middle of my back, and Old Dirtstrokes the length of it before hacking across the top with a pair of scissors.“Finish this for me?” she asks Young Nurse. “My arthritis is bad today.”
Between them, they get the job done. I reach up and feel myjagged hair, judging it to be an inch or two below my ears. I don’t mindovermuch, I guess. Could be rather liberating, and hair grows back. I do mind whenthey try to take my camisole.
Get your hands off me. How can you do this to another woman?You should be better than a man. Old Dirt repeatedly slaps my bruised cheek,and the young one pinches hard enough to break the skin on my arms and legs.
No tears now, Hester. Don’t let them win.
“Everybody’s the same at Ironwood,” Young Nurse says. “Rightdown to their drawers. No lace and satin for you here.”
She grabs the drawstring ribbon on my drawers, and I rememberthe treasure in the pockets. Bending over myself, I hold the underwear firmlyin place. These she-devils won’t touch Mama’s things! Old Dirt smacks my backnow, until she’s breathing heavily. “Foolish, foolish girl.”
Latham steps in from the hall. “What’s all the fuss about? Dr.Faust will be here soon.”
The nurses tell her that I won’t surrender my drawers. “Well,let the girl keep them then. We don’t have time for this. Get her dressed.”
I exhale in relief as a linen shift is thrown over my head. Itsmells of soap flakes, hard water and iron laundry kettles. The neckline exposesthe top of one shoulder, but at least the coarse material covers my legscompletely. I receive a pair of canvas slippers and put them on, too. Dr. Faustenters a few minutes later, on a waft of verbena, and Matron encourages him toinspect the new me.
“Doesn’t look so haughty now,” observes Latham. “We’ll sell thehair tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” Faust replies.
He leans close, but doesn’t touch any part of my body. “Youused a knife on Roy this morning, Miss Grayson. What shall we do about that?”
I turn my face toward Faust, as though I am looking right athim with my sightless eyes. If I’d meant to kill Roy, Doctor, he’d be dead.
“Is that defiance I see? How unwise,” Faust murmurs. “I’mputting you into the Pit for now, but tomorrow, we’ll begin therapy. You won’tbe so proud then. In fact, I think I’ll have a new pet by suppertime.”
New pet? I don’t think so.
Faust leaves and another set of guards march me to thebasement. They secure my handcuffs to an iron ring attached to the wall. A scrapingnoise hurts my ears, like a heavy lid being lifted off a pot. One of themunhooks me from the wall, and I back away, nearly plunging through an openingin the floor. He turns me around and tells me about the stairs before us. My footmisses the first step, and I begin to fall, mouth open in surprise, until theguard grabs the back of my shift.
“Careful,” he says, releasing my shift once I’ve found the step.
His voice is gentle. The type one could imagine calming a wildcolt or a lost dog. He leads me down the stairs. My bones grow hot, and I
