PenWomanShip

Laena Fallon had just that moment finally given up her struggle to live within the limits of an ordinary life. She briskly slapped the dust from her palms as the last file was placed in the last white document box. She picked up the top to the box from a wooden chair in the corner of her office, walked back to her desk and firmly pushed the top into place. Finished. Time to move on.

The need for escape, the restlessness, had grown inside her like a hot sulfur bubble for well over three years. The plopping of swollen raindrops against the blacktop drive outside the barred window were a signal, a siren call. The bubble was bursting. She had an idea what she would do now that this life had finally come to an end. She would do something extraordinary. She was no longer afraid.

When the sound came from close out in the night Laena realized that she had been staring at nothing in the dim yellow pool of light that was shallowly lapping up around her ankles. The sound was not natural. Not the winds teasing the last die hard brown shriveled leaves that hung so tenaciously against the rough bark of the oak tree. She stood motionless contemplating the likelihood that the tree had been just a sapling when the prison was built nearly a hundred years ago. The next sound was unmistakable.

A car door slamming. Laena waited. A few seconds later another door roughly closed. Both sounds were out of place with this night. She was supposed to be alone. She had planned it that way.

The last of the inmates, all women, had been moved on Friday to serve out their sentences in the new facility. That’s what it was called these days: a facility. Apparently the term “prison” was no longer politically correct. Laena had spent the entire weekend clearing out all the detritus that had accumulated during her eighteen years as matron of White River Women’s Correctional Center. She had filled the dumpster in the back courtyard to brimming. She was determined not to take anything, not even a memory with her.

The sharp metallic clang of the pull bell grated against the inside of her skull. Could she possibly ignore it? Who knew that she was here? These thoughts were already being swept behind her as she hastily left her office and made her way quickly down the long peeling white corridor. The realization hit her as she reached the key out to open the door. She was just like one of Pavlov’s dogs- conditioned not to ignore the sound of the bell. Maybe it was too late for things to change after all.

Two big men stood in the pool of hazy light. They wore the uniforms of the county police. As a frigid breeze puffed past them Laena caught the smell of pipe tobacco.

“Evening Ms. Fallon. Sorry to disturb you. But we have an emergency here.” It was the one with the thick black mustache that spoke. What was his name? His tag was hidden under his jacket. Davis. That was it.

“Officer Davis, I’m very surprised to she you here. I was just finishing up.” She wanted to ask, “What kind of emergency?” but was certain that whatever it was she was too late to dodge that bullet.

The other man must have been new. Laena had never seen him before. She was certain. She would have remembered a face that was so scarred. She would have recalled the bright red hair that was cut close but still bright beneath the shadow of his cap. A moment later he introduced himself.

“Ms. Fallon. I’m officer O’Brien. Officer Davis and I were sent out here with a prisoner.” This must be some kind of an error. Surely they knew there was no one her but her. They must have known that the prison was being mothballed. She wrapped her worn black cardigan around her and stood planted firmly in the doorway making no motion to let them in.

Her next words came automatically. “I don’t understand. You must know that we are no longer taking anyone in.” She made it sound as if she were the proprietor of a fancy inn politely discouraging rough trade. Davis stepped toward her, the rain dripping off the brim of his cap. He opened his mouth to speak but O’Brien cut off whatever he intended to say.

“Look here ma’am. The town jail is filled up. Besides we can’t keep her there after what she done. We were told to haul her butt out her and leave her for the night. Someone’ll come pick her up in the morning.”

Laena read the unmistakable aggression in his voice. She knew very well how to handle situations like this. “I’m sorry, officers. I was just about to leave. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to leave a prisoner alone here for the night.”

Davis moved toward her. He was close enough that she could smell the pipe tobacco on his breath when he spoke. “Got no choice Ms. Fallon. The river has washed over the bridge. No way anyone is going to drive her up to the new place on a night like this.”

As if to punctuate his words a blast of freezing wind nearly blew his cap of his head forcing him to raise his left hand to hold it in place.

Laena could see that they were at an impasse. Maybe she could invite them in for a cup of hot tea. Before she could issue the invitation though they both moved away from her and back toward the car. Laena thought about calling out to them. She opened her mouth to say something. Tell them to wait a minute. But whatever it was that she had intended to say was swept away by the icy fingers of the wind. So instead of using the force of words to push the men back into the night she just stood there waiting for whatever came next.

They had left the motor running. The gray exhaust from the tailpipe mixed with the thick sheets of fog making it impossible to see what they were doing. After a long frigid moment passed Laena could make out the vague outline of three forms moving toward her.

There were the two large forms of the men moving slowly. Between them was someone very small. As they came closer Laena stared hard into the night trying to read the scene that was almost upon her. Was it too late to do something to make them all go back? She fought down a stealthy panic that began to creep up from her stomach into her throat making it impossible to call out. Suddenly the panic was swept away and a blanket of calm as thick as the night fog settled over her.

She shuddered a little against the cold or something else unseen. Maybe without knowing it this was the event that she had been waiting for.

Laena had to look down to see the face of the prisoner. There were two black orbs dark as coal. Not a single flash of light or heat emanated from those eyes. The white, heart shaped face, was framed by a wild mass of hair that was as dark as the eyes. Laena’s own eyes caught for a moment on those ancient stones then moved down the tiny limbs as thin as sticks to the small feet that were bare and dirty. The little girl could not have been more than six years old.

The January night had gone still and silent as if all the life had been sucked out of it. A moment later a white-hot spike of lightning cracked open the heavy sky releasing the smells of ozone and rotting leaves. When Laena finally spoke she was barely shocked by the force in her own voice.

“You’ve got to be kidding! What do you mean bringing a child out her? What do you think I’m supposed to do with her? She should be home with her mother.”

“That’s the problem,” Davis said quietly. Laena had no idea what he meant.

“What’s the problem? It seems to me like there are several problems here.”

O’Brien had turned away as his radio crackled and was now standing a few feet behind Davis. “She killed her mother. Neighbor found her in the barn sitting beside the corpse. Covered with blood. The hatchet was on her lap.”

Laena couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Surely you can’t believe that a six year old would kill her own mother?”

“She’s eleven. Small for her age. The dog ran to the neighbor’s place. Dog covered in blood too. Must have been afraid he would be next.”

Davis said this as if it made sense of the whole business. Laena had no idea what to do or say next. As she stood there immobile O’Brien turned back toward the other three and began to stride rapidly forward.

“Davis. Got to go. Some fool tried to cross the bridge. Car’s in the river.”

Davis pushed the little girl forward with enough force that she almost fell into Laena’s legs. Both of the officers raced for the patrol car.

“Wait!” Laena shouted. What? Wait for what? Laena couldn’t think. Finally she managed, “What’s her name?”

Davis paused for a moment as he was opening the passenger door and then yelled back through the fog and rain. After he had slammed the door shut, Laena stood there wondering if she had heard him correctly. She was almost certain though that he had said, “Winter. Her name is Winter Sun.”

There was nothing left but to return to the bleak shelter of the abandoned prison.

Some time had passed Minutes? Hours? Laena had no way of knowing. Her desk clock was packed away in one of the boxes. She sat behind her desk staring at the piece of paper that she had found pinned inside the torn pocket of the tattered cotton jacket. Two words were there on the paper obviously written by a hand that was cramped and shaky:

Laena tried to divine those words as if they had been written by an oracle or fortune-teller and held some important message that would be revealed if only she stared long enough.

The little girl with the strange name sat in the wooden chair in front of the barred window. Her small hands were pressed palms together with the index fingers curled under the thumb. She faced Laena but her eyes seemed to look at some faraway place that apparently only she could see. Her bow shaped lips moved rhythmically. The soft sounds that emitted seemed to be a chant in a language that Laena did not know or understand. A moment later a shadow was revealed in tandem with the light of the moon beneath the shelter of a scudding cloud passing behind the quietly chanting girl. The shadow settled in the old oak tree outside the thin glass window.

Laena felt compelled to rise from her chair and go to the window. As she came closer to Wynter she noticed that although the girl was filthy the scent of spring blossoms seemed to waft in the air around her. Strange. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? The wooden chair in which the little girl sat apparently meditating was far enough from the window that Laena was able to squeeze behind it and peer out through the glass. There. Not two feet in front of her perched solidly in the branches of the tree was a snowy owl. Suddenly it all made sense. She knew what she would do.

Turning away from the window and moving to stand in front of the girl Laena reached out and put her hands on Wynter’s. When she felt the hands relax she took one in her own surprised by it’s warmth and softness.

“Come on,” Laena said. “We’re going to leave here this instant.”

As they left that bare room she shut the door leaving nothing, not even a memory behind.