“Good for her.” Elizabeth sighed. “That was so long ago, and nothing’s changed a bit since then.”
“Oh, women have been working for suffrage even longer than that. They held the first Women’s Rights Convention in 1848.”
Elizabeth did the math in her head. “Sixty-nine years.”
“Yes. Can you imagine a group of men fighting for something for so long?”
“Now you’re being funny, Mrs. Bates.”
The older woman grinned at her, making Elizabeth’s chest go tight. When had Elizabeth begun to care so very much what Mrs. Bates thought of her? At first she’d been nervous, afraid she’d make some mistake and Mrs. Bates would know she wasn’t really a lady like the rest of them. But if she had, Mrs. Bates either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared. She’d just accepted Elizabeth the same way she accepted Anna. The thought made her want to cry.
Before she could think why, the guard called, “Suppertime!”
The women groaned their protest at having to move, but the guards strode through the room, prodding them up to their feet. Even though they refused to eat, they still had to walk to the dining hall three times a day. Each time, Elizabeth got up more slowly and wondered how many more times she’d have the strength to do it. Each time they went, one or two of the women would collapse, and the guards would carry them away to the infirmary.
Mrs. Bates had been right. Anna hadn’t been alone for long.
As she filed out of the ward with the others and shuffled to the dining hall that evening for a dinner they would not eat, Elizabeth realized how much she hated the enforced silence they had to endure during mealtimes. She got to spend the rest of the time with Mrs. Bates and the other women, talking about the movement and the women who had come before them and the things they had done. Elizabeth found the stories fascinating.
How odd that she had reached the ripe old age of twenty-one without learning the joys of being with other women. Elizabeth could not remember ever having an actual conversation with her own mother. Of course, she’d been only thirteen when her mother died, so perhaps things would have been different if she’d lived until Elizabeth was older. Elizabeth would like to think so, but maybe not. She’d never know now, and in the years since, she’d spent her time with men. Men didn’t have conversations with women. They just told women what to do and then waited until they did it.
Women, she was learning, were very different creatures.
Elizabeth followed the line of women up to the kitchen window, where the workers handed each of them a plate of slop. The plate, she noticed, was getting heavier each time, just as the walk from the ward to the dining hall had gotten longer each time. Slowly, deliberately, she put one foot in front of the other and took her turn, but unlike the other women, she didn’t dump her dinner into the garbage can. Instead she carried it over to the table where the colored prisoners sat and set it down in front of the woman who had given her the information about Lucy Burns. The wormy mess was poor payment, indeed, but the regular prisoners were grateful for it.
Then Elizabeth picked up a cup of water, as she had been instructed, and carried it to a table.
“No talking,” the guard said, even though no one had said a word.
Mrs. Bates sat down beside her. The older woman’s cheeks were sunken, and dark circles rimmed her eyes. How much longer until she collapsed and had to be carried away? How Elizabeth would miss her wisdom. Impulsively, she reached out and laid a hand on her arm.
Mrs. Bates looked up and smiled. “Drink your water. That’s very important.”
“No talking!” the guard shouted.
Elizabeth drank her water.
After what seemed an age, the regular prisoners had finished their meals and started getting up to leave.
“You suffs, stay where you are.” Elizabeth looked up in surprise to see the matron glaring at them.
How odd. Mrs. Herndon never came into the dining hall.
When the regular prisoners had gone, Herndon said, “Listen up. This is Mr. Ingalls.” She nodded to a well-dressed man who lurked in the doorway as if afraid to venture any farther into the room. Maybe he thought this ragtag bunch of starving women would attack him. The thought made Elizabeth smile. “He’s an attorney for the president of the United States. He wants to talk to each one of you, so you’ll take your turn. Sit here until we call you.”
“The president!” someone whispered.
“They’re getting serious,” Mrs. Bates said.
“Quiet!” Herndon said, hushing the buzz of conversation.
One by one the women were summoned. At last, Elizabeth made her way out and down the hallway to an office, where the attorney sat at a table. Elizabeth took the chair opposite him, glad for a chance to rest and catch her breath.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Miles,” he said, although he didn’t look pleased at all.
Elizabeth waited.
“You look like an intelligent young lady.”
“I’m in jail, Mr. . . . What was your name again?”
“Ingalls.”
“I’m in jail, Mr. Ingalls. How smart is that?”
“You don’t fool me, Miss Miles. I know you suffragettes are quite clever.”
“Suffragists.”
“What?”
“We like to be called suffragists. The word ‘suffragette’ is demeaning.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “I see.”
“Do you?”
“Well, perhaps I should just tell you why I wanted to meet with you.”
Elizabeth waited again. She figured he didn’t need any encouragement.
He gave a little cough. “You see, as Mrs. Herndon said, I’m an attorney. Not for the president, exactly, but for the administration. President Wilson asked me to come and assure you ladies that he has no intention of keeping you locked up here for three months. In fact, he plans to see that you’re released in a week. Just one week.”
He paused, probably to let this wonderful news sink in. Elizabeth wished she wasn’t so weak. She should be able to figure out what he was up to, but her brain just didn’t want to make the effort. “Herndon could have told us that.”
“Yes, yes, she could, but you see, the president wanted you to hear it from an official source because, well, because some people are working to serve the warden with a writ of habeas corpus, and we wanted you to know you should refuse the writ. There’s no need for you to go to court and involve a judge in this matter.”
What was this writ he was talking about? Mrs. Bates had mentioned it, she was sure, but she couldn’t pull up the right memory just now. She didn’t really need to know, though, did she? Oh no. She knew just what Mrs. Bates would tell her to say, Mrs. Bates who had a family full of lawyers. “I think I’d like to see my own attorney before I make a decision about that, Mr. Igloo.”
“Ingalls,” he said. “But there’s no need for that. You have my word that you’re going to be released in a week, so there’s also no need for a hunger strike. Why should you ladies make yourselves ill for no purpose? I assure you, President Wilson is determined to give you your freedom.”