She Wore a Hat in Prison by Marion L. Cornett

Author:Marion L. Cornett [Cornett, Marion L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 1900s; Gibson Girls; Mayhem; Revenge; Broken Dreams; Mental Abuse; Emotional Abuse; Female Detective; Historical; Historical Fiction; Prison; Jackson
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Published: 2022-06-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

February of 1908, Months of Cruel Awakenings

A new prisoner arrived from the small village of Cedartown.

Never been there myself but heard tell it’s a sleepy little burgh. Not much going on, but then every town has its secrets. And now this here woman shows up with a most unusual story. She got herself a sentence of five years for, dare I write it down, whacking off her husband’s plum-tree shaker. Guess we know what he won’t be doing from now on. She wasn’t very talkative when I told her what we expected. Said she understood the rules and had grown tired of having everyone repeat them. I, as quickly, reminded her she’d like the rules a whole lot less if she don’t follow them. Probably haven’t heard the last of this one and will bear keeping an eye out. Three months have gone by, and all’s quiet at this point.

~Warden Pervis, February 5, 1908

****

If there is no real evidence, she does not have to pay penitence.

Not true. Now she sat alone, forced to atone with seconds, minutes, hours, and months behind steel rods rattling as incessant as the chiming of a clock each time a cell door down the line was pulled open or clanged closed. Ten cells on this floor with two other floors she’d never been allowed to walk. She counted from one to ten with the passing of each cell, multiplying the number by three. Upward of thirty females in the women’s prison. The men’s hoosegow had inmates into the hundreds.

Three marches each day—once for a meal of grayish mush the warden loved to begin the day with, a second time for a lunch of lukewarm soup made from ingredients most oftentimes unidentifiable and paired with a slice of bread, and a third repast for a late supper to hold each woman until the next morning. Day after day, the routine repeated without variation.

The Women’s State Prison of Jackson was located a stone’s throw from the men’s side, which she’d heard crammed more in with smaller cells. Maybe even uglier. The structure still stood years later, even if the whole place looked slapped together as temporary quarters. Hard to imagine a stark setting worse than this one with cockroaches freely moving from cell to cell. In a world of the brilliant greens of grass and leaves, sunshine yellow, and bright red cabooses, plus the extraordinary mauves and purples of her bonnets, this place dulled the senses. Slate gray cement floors, brackish-gray steel bars, and murky gray clothing. Even the foul-smelling food slopped onto colorless trays seemed tinged with gray.

What she’d learned of the machinations within these walls came from rumors and gossip. Words were passed down from women taking care of laundry and meals for the men. Her time had not come of these chores being pressed upon her. Word circulated that being tasked to wash and cook was considered a privilege for good behavior.

She had other schemes for passing the time, something useful so as not to go as crazy as prisoner number 483.

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