To Love and Honor (6 page)

“Yes, we'll travel on I-70 most of the way—it's an easy drive.”

She wanted to ask Roger to meet her out of town, but if anyone wanted to gossip about them she supposed it would be less severe if they didn't act as though they were involved in clandestine activities. Once her mother was moved in, everyone in Maitland, including Larry, would know the reason that they had spent so much time together. Whatever the outcome of their journey, Violet knew that her life would never be the same again. She couldn't believe that her serene life of a month ago had suddenly plunged into such adversity.

“I'll make arrangements for two days of leave from school. I'll also telephone Pastor Tom to tell him of our plans. We'll need his prayers.”

 

Violet reached a clammy hand to Roger as they walked into the correctional facility late Thursday afternoon. Sometime she would be able to tell him how much his support meant to her, but her throat was too tight for words now. His warm fingers curled around hers in a comforting clasp, and her feet felt lighter. Over the phone, Roger had received directions to the proper office, and they were to ask for Angie Smith who would handle the parole procedures.

As Violet approached Angie Smith kind, burnished
eyes gleamed from her chubby, compassionate face, and Violet felt the knot in her stomach ease.

“I have papers prepared for your signature, Miss Conley, and then we will have to work out the details of her parole,” Angie Smith explained.

“I need to ask some questions first. What kind of cancer does my mother have? How long is she expected to live? Will I be able to care for her at home?”

“She has abdominal cancer. She was too far gone when she finally collapsed and we learned of her condition. She had radiation before surgery six months ago, and chemo since, but she hasn't responded. The doctors predict that she has a life expectancy of less than six months. With the help of a hospice, you can care for her at home, but you will need some help—she can do very little for herself. Those of us who made the decision to parole her feel sorry for your mother. She isn't pleased with us, but we thought she should be with her family. Why haven't any of you visited her?”

Stung at these words, Violet said angrily, “Because she refused to see us. I was never taken to see her as a child, and a few years ago, when I was on my own, I went to visit her when she was at another facility, and she wouldn't see me…sent word that I should forget about her. She deliberately cut herself off from her family.”

“Then I beg your pardon,” Angie said. “She has never been a mixer and has always seemed so lonely. In the past few years, she has spent most of her time in the computer room and has been a help to our office staff at times.”

“When will she be released?” Roger asked.

“At any time convenient to you. Today, if you like.
She will be transported by ambulance, but it isn't necessary for you to travel with her.”

“Oh, not today,” Violet said, and a wild look came into her eyes. “Not until I've made preparations to take care of her.”

“May we visit her now?” Roger said. “I've understood she doesn't want to leave here?”

“Yes, Linda is reluctant about this move, but I think you should visit her.” Compassion softened Angie's eyes as she said to Violet, “If you haven't seen your mother for a while, I must warn you of the change in her physical appearance.”

“I don't remember ever seeing my mother. My only idea of what she looks like is a picture that was taken when I was a baby.”

Angie wrote the cell number on a sheet of paper. “I'll write out a pass for both of you, but you'll have to go through security, and have a guard with you at all times.”

Roger stood up, showed Angie his official credentials, and said, “I'll deposit my gun with you now, if it will be all right. As you see, I do have a permit to carry a weapon.” He unstrapped the underarm holster that he wore and gave it to Angie, who wrote out a receipt for it.

“That would have caused a commotion if you'd started through security with that gun,” she said. “I'm surprised you got this far with it.”

“I made my official status known at the main gate, and they told me to register the gun when I came into this office building.”

Violet also had to leave her purse behind, and both of them were frisked thoroughly. After they cleared the security check and waited on the elevator, Violet
leaned against the wall for support. She wanted to break and run. Perhaps sensing Violet's despair, Roger pulled her into a firm embrace, and his hands gently massaged her neck and shoulders. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to—knowing he was there gave her the courage she needed to eventually walk down the corridor toward her mother's cell.

The guard opened the door, motioned for them to enter, and locked the door behind them. Violet was horrified by the stark surroundings. For the first time, she felt a glimmer of compassion for her mother, who had spent twenty-three years in such an atmosphere.

Violet felt shocked as she realized the woman on the cot looked more dead than alive. She was dressed in a faded yellow garment and covered to her waist with a blanket. Her high cheekbones and wide brow which may have been delicately lovely at one time now gave her face a gaunt, hollow look. The sparse brownish gray hair was straight and stringy. The woman's eyes were closed, apparently in sleep, and Violet wanted to run away before her mother roused.

Perhaps he sensed Violet's discomfort, for Roger said softly, “Shall we awaken her?”

Violet nodded, and Roger went to the bunk. “Mrs. Conley, you have company.”

The eyelids fluttered, then opened slightly to reveal faded, lusterless brown eyes. Laying an arm across her forehead, she closed her eyes again. “Who is it?”

Roger stretched out his hand to Violet and she came to stand beside him. He nodded for her to speak. Violet moistened her lips, tried to speak, but no sound came. Roger squeezed her shaky fingers.

“It's Violet, Mother.” She had practiced these
words over and over in her mind, wondering what she should say when she confronted her mother at last.

A succession of tremors coursed through the body on the cot, and Roger dropped to his knees and steadied Linda with a firm hand. “How did they find you? I told them I didn't have any family,” she muttered.

“It doesn't matter how they found me—I've come to make arrangements to have you moved to my home.”

She shook her head. “I'm not leaving here. I won't live long enough to be worth the trouble.”

Roger stood, but he kept his hand on the frail body. “Why don't you sit up and talk to Violet? We've come a long way to see you,” he said gently.

Roger put his arms under her shoulders and lifted Linda to a sitting position, supporting her with a couple of pillows. She opened her eyes and favored Violet with an appraising look.

“You look exactly like your grandmother,” she said, “although your eyes are a different color than hers.”

“Which grandmother?”

“Your father's mother. She was an aristocratic woman, a cut above any of the other family. I never could understand why she married a Conley. Why did I, for that matter?” She shifted her eyes to Roger. “Is this your husband?”

“That's getting to be a habit.” Roger murmured. Violet shook her head at him.

“No, this is Roger Gibson, a good friend, and a state police officer in Illinois where I live. He's the one who received word that they were looking for your next of kin. I'm not married,” she added.

“After I've tried all of these years to shield you
from the shame of my crime, I resent it that when I'm too weak to help myself, they contacted you. Please go home, Violet, and forget about this. They can't make you take me, and it doesn't matter to me where I die. In fact, death will be a release for me. I was given a life sentence without any chance of parole. So I expected to die here sooner or later. I know you're only here because they've made you feel guilty. Well, don't be. I release you from any obligation you may think you owe me.”

Violet sat down on a stool beside the bed and took her mother's hand. The skin was dry, the fingers limber. She was amazed at the immediate affinity she felt with this woman when she touched her—a woman she no longer considered a stranger, but her mother. She had never before believed the old adage, “Blood is thicker than water,” but she believed it now.

“You're right, I came here out of a sense of obligation—guilt even, if you want to call it that,” she said honestly. “I made the decision to come here because I believe I do have a moral and filial obligation to you. But beyond that, I want you to come to my home. I want to spend time with you—and take care of you. Don't you think I have the right to my own mother's company for a few months?”

After the words were out of her mouth, Violet looked up at Roger in amazement. She couldn't believe she had said that, but she suddenly knew that she did want to give her mother a home. In spite of the problems it would incur, she didn't mind taking her mother! In fact, now she hoped to persuade her to come. Roger lifted his arm in a gesture of approval, and Violet returned her attention to Linda Conley,
whose face was flushed, her eyes closed, and tears slid from under her tight lids.

“What do you do for a living, Violet?” she murmured.

“I'm a schoolteacher, and I own my home, or at least, I'm making payments on it.”

“The actions of your father and I were enough to ruin your life, but it seems you triumphed in spite of us. I suppose it was Ruth's influence. She must have been good to you. What about her?”

“Her husband died a few years back, but they both made me welcome in their home. Aunt Ruth is coming to spend a few months and help with your care, so that I can continue teaching.”

The guard tapped on the door indicating that their time was up, and Violet squeezed her mother's hand gently before she stood up.

“We have to leave now, but I'll sign the necessary papers today or tomorrow, and they will probably bring you next week. We won't come to see you again before we leave tomorrow.”

Linda emitted a sigh. “I'm opposed to this. I think it's a mistake. If they had left me to die in peace, you would never have been saddled with this responsibility, and no one would have connected you with me. As it is, you'll have to pay for my mistakes.”

“You've already paid for your mistakes, Mrs. Conley,” Roger said. “I know your daughter well, and under the circumstances, she will suffer more if you don't come to her home than if you do.”

“Let me ask one more thing,” Linda said. “Has your father's family ever contacted you?”

“No. I don't know who they are or even where they live. Aunt Ruth wouldn't tell me anything…said I was
better off not to know. That's why she and Uncle took me to Minnesota to live, so the Conleys couldn't trace me. I haven't any desire to know my paternal relatives.”

Linda nodded assent. “In that case, I'll be glad to come to your home.”

Violet thought she should kiss her mother, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. She took her mother's hand and gently squeezed it as she looked sympathetically into her eyes. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead as they went down the corridor—she couldn't stand to see the unfortunate individuals who occupied this prison. Violet often thought that she had become somewhat hard-hearted during her teaching years, but nothing had ever stirred her emotions as much as the sight of that pitiful woman who had given her life.

Almost in silence, they checked through security, gathered their belongings from Angie's office, made an appointment to see her early the next morning, and left the building. When they were seated in the car, he said, “Where to?” Violet couldn't answer him. She had borne up well emotionally when she was with her mother, but reality had set in. She had longed for a mother all her life. She had a mother now, one with only a few months to live. Somehow, that didn't seem fair. When her tears started, she reached for a tissue, and dabbed at her face. She turned her face and looked out the window so Roger wouldn't see.

Immediately she felt his body close to hers, and he pulled her into his arms, cuddling her face on his shoulder. Sobs racked her body, and he rocked her back and forth. Once she felt his lips on her hair, while in abandonment, she poured out her frustrations in tears—frustrations that had been accumulating all of
her life. Even as a child, she had seldom cried, but now the bitterness of the years washed out of her mind and soul to be replaced by a peace she had never known. The flood stopped as quickly as it had started, but Violet rested on Roger's strength for a few more moments, content to be held close. As soon as she left Roger's arms, she had a new life to start, and although she anticipated the challenge, it seemed so final to lift the cloud that had heretofore shielded her from the past.

She pulled away from Roger and looked out the window. “Don't look at me. I must look awful.” She reached in her purse, took out a compact and some tissues, and looked in the mirror. With a groan, she said, “This face doesn't need a tissue, it needs major surgery.”

Roger laughed and turned her face toward him. “You couldn't help being beautiful if you tried. I want to tell you how wonderful you were in there.” He nodded toward the prison. “You convinced your mother that she was welcome, otherwise, she would never have agreed to leave prison.”

“I really meant that I was glad to have her come, and that amazed me as much as it did her.”

Roger started the engine of the car. “We need to find rooms for the night. There's a big motel a few miles down the highway.”

“Let's stay there if we can, and I'll telephone Aunt Ruth as soon as we register.”

When they arrived at the motel, Violet handed her credit card to Roger. “Use this for both of our rooms,” she said. “I don't want you to be out any money for helping me.”