Extending my arms, hands splayed, I begin walking in the same directionas the other inmates. A path has been cut through the drifts, and I follow itas carefully as I can before slipping on the ice. The sharp point of a treebranch gouges my cheek an inch below my eye. Criminy! That’s all I need! I wipethe blood away and reach up to the branch, snapping it off and tossing itaside.
“Here,” a female inmate says. “I’ll guide you.”
She has a smell of old age about her but it isn’tunpleasant—rather comforting instead, like the tapioca I always liked the ideaof but never actually ate. I grasp the woman’s arm and we crunch along over theice for several minutes and then she introduces herself. “My name’s Anna. AnnaLoveridge.”
Pointing to my throat, I mouth two words. Cannot. Speak.
Anna faces north again, shakes her head, and begins walking.“Mute and blind both,” she grumbles. “Better stick close to me.”
After reaching the shed that houses the firewood, my new acquaintancetakes the two front ends of my triangular shawl and wraps them about my waistand back, knotting the remaining material above my navel.
“Frees your hands for work,” she says. “And you can use thisscarf. It’ll warm your ears.”
We wait in line as those ahead of us get their wood—the smellof sap penetrating the air. Anna makes conversation with the person to herleft.
“Good day, Isabelle.”
“And to you,” a timid voice replies.
“Feeling all right?” Anna asks. “You look pale.”
Isabelle groans softly. “The babe has a foot in my rib.”
“Sorry, dear. Stretch a bit, why don’t you? That always workedfor me.” Anna coos and clucks over Isabelle like a mother hen. “They shouldn’tgive you chores like this. Got to carry that child a month yet.”
Why, they’re completely rational, I think to myself. Not theleast bit insane.
I feel Anna stiffen when she turns around. Surprise must beevident on my face. “What? You think Ironwood’s just for crazy people? There’snothing wrong with me. I’m paying off my debts working here.”
She hunches closer, forced to whisper so Titus won’t hear. “Myman got sick, and doctors are real expensive. Died anyway, but I had to try,didn’t I?” Her bony knuckles brush against me as she gestures toward Isabelle.“Izzie’s family threw her out.”
“Never guessed Ma and Pa would do it…”
I feel the young woman’s anxiety and heartbreak as though theyare my own. She seems so fragile for the burden of motherhood. I shiver andpull Anna’s scarf tighter around my neck. This is a debtor’s prison, and a homefor social outcasts? Are there petty criminals here, too? The asylum must be thehuman dumping ground for three counties.
Titus shouts at us, and we go to work hauling wood. I am veryslow at this, but Anna fills my arms—then does the same for the strugglingIsabelle. We begin the long journey back to the asylum. The women flank me anddescribe the rough terrain ahead so I won’t fall. After making at leasttwo-dozen trips to the shed, Anna, Isabelle, and I fill a quarter of the binson the main floor, and then take our dinner break. Isabelle rests on a chairinside the building, but I stand on the covered porch with Anna, drinking soupfrom a tin cup.
“You need this more than I do.” She shoves a piece of bread andchunk of cheese into my hand. “They give bigger portions if you’re a hardworker—to increase productivity. Lost a stone of fat since coming to Ironwood,but I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.”
I nibble on the stale rye as Anna eats her meal.
“Sit down on the steps, girl. Take off your shoes and socks anduse that scarf to dry your feet. Warm them with your hands as best you can.”
My two toes are still numb, but I heat up the rest of them as Ifollow her instructions. I hear Anna doing the same.
“Wish I knew who you were and why you’re here,” she says. “It’sobvious you aren’t defective, apart from sight and speech.”
I stand and walk to a window, feel the thick frost that coversit. I spell out HESTER GRAYSON, hoping the ice won’t melt before Anna reads myname.
“Your writing is better than mine!” she says, laughter in hervoice. “Hester’s a right pretty name, too. But where have I heard Graysonbefore?”
A large part of me resents any association with my father, andI wait on tenterhooks, dreading the moment Anna makes the connection.
“There’s a family lives yonder, in Stonehenge. You belong tothem?”
I nod, wishing I didn’t. She sobers quickly, and I feel herturning and surveying the area before scrubbing the words from the window.
“What are you doing in Ironwood? Your father’s rich as Croesus.He could buy this place ten times over.”
I write on the opposite corner of the window. ASHAMED OF ME.
Anna makes a huffing sound, her expelled breath hitting myneck. “Keep that last name to yourself,” she mutters. “You don’t want anyonethinking they could sell you for ransom.”
A lot of good it would do. Father wouldn’t pay them a cent.
The old woman is quiet for a while and then she takes somethingfrom her pocket and presses it into my palm. Feels like a pencil.
“Hide it in your shoe, Hester. Paper’s hard to come by aroundhere, but my son sends me letters each month. I’ll give you the envelopes andyou can write on them—to visit or just to tell me if you need something.”
Thank you, I sign, a huge smile on my face.
She adjusts her shawl, pulling it tighter against the wind. “We’dbetter get back to work before Titus notices we’re happy.”
Miracle of miracles, I have found an ally in this hellhole. Andmaybe even a friend.
The following night, I’m given supper with the generalpopulation as a reward for working well. I learn to avoid the west side of thedining room, the section assigned to the especially violent or dementedinmates.
“Stay away from Harry,” Anna whispers. “He’s killed people, I’dswear to it. That’s him talking now.”
I turn toward the voice and listen. Harry repeats five femalenames without ceasing, and
