“Mama!” I cried out when I saw the aide wheel her up to the crash gate behind the guard. Mama sat slumped in an old wheelchair, barefoot, her wrists bound by leather restraints to the metal arm rails. She wore a threadbare loose robe, and her left arm rested inside a heavy cast from what I knew came from the lawman breaking it. The other limb was spotted with bruising, her eyes hollowed, the blue flesh on her face stretched and skeletal. I ran over to her and knelt down, clutched the bars, pressing my face to the cold steel between us. “Mama, what have they done, what have they done?”
She stared at me a moment as if she didn’t know me. Then her eyes filled, and she cradled my face with a feeble smile, searching. “Hon-Honey, you’re safe. You’re safe, my darling daughter?”
I blinked back the tears and choked out a yes.
Mama wriggled her fingers, looking pleadingly up to the aide.
The aide frowned and untied one of the arm restraints.
Mama reached out, slipped her bony arm between the bars and touched my face, caressing. “Honey, don’t cry. Is everything okay at home? Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, yes, ma’am, and Junia is fine too,” I fibbed, placing a shaky hand over hers, closing my eyes, feeling my mama’s gentle touch again. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you, Honey.”
“Does your arm hurt much?”
A blank look crawled into her eyes.
Doc limped over, still stiff from the travel. “Let me check your pulse, Bluet.” When he’d finished, he inspected her good arm, tenderly touching the veins on her wrists and upper flesh. “Bluet,” he whispered, “are they running tests? How long have they been treating you up there? How long have you been in that cast?”
Mama hung her head and tears slipped down her bony cheek as she pressed her hand over her bosom. “They took my necessaries after they performed the sterilization, Doc,” she whispered, ashamed.
Doc grimaced.
My hand darkened, and I curled it tight, stood slowly. “You already took enough! Where’s my mama’s undergarments?” I asked, looking back and forth between the aide and guard. “What’d you do with her necessaries?” I glared hotly at the aide. “Give them back!” I screamed to the guard, fury bruising my raised hand. I lurched toward him.
Alarmed, Doc seemed to regain his spent strength and he grabbed my arm, jerking me back. “Honey, stop—”
Next to a table, the door opened, and a short, thick man walked into the foyer, hitched his uniform britches up. He looked at the aide behind the crash gate and said, “Take her back upstairs, Irene.”
“No, no,” I moaned. Mama reached inside the bar, softly touched my cheek, tears streaming down her own. I clasped her palm and pressed a kiss into it, placing my hand over hers.
The nurse’s aide pulled the wheelchair back, breaking our grip. She wheeled Mama down the hall, darkness swallowing them. “Mama,” I cried out. Doc latched onto my arm, tugging. “Honey, you must calm down if we’re to visit her.”
I quieted, swallowing my grief.
The uniformed man with a badge pinned on his starched, white dress shirt stepped over to us. “I’m Cap’n Haeg, and I can’t have you hollering in here. Visit’s over!”
“I–I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Promise.” I raised my shocking blue hands, praying for another chance. “Promise, sir, please let me see Mama.”
He recoiled at the sight and took a step back.
Doc said, “Sir, I spoke with Warden Sanders yesterday and she gave me permission to examine my patient, Cussy Lovett.”
“No orders on my desk.” He waved a palm, dismissing us. “You’ll have to take it back up with the warden next week. Enough disruption today.”