“Now see here, young man, Warden said—” Doc said.
“I said, visit’s over!”
Doc shook his winter-white head, narrowed his eyes. “The young girl misses her mother, and we’ve come a long way, Captain. Please telephone your boss, and she’ll straighten it out. Surely you won’t deny the mother and child a visit. It’s the Lord’s Day and the Christian thing to do—”
The captain widened his stance and puffed out his chest, hooking thumbs into the waist band. “In here, I’m God on Sundays, and I say no more visitation.”
“Well, God, I reckon you’ll pay the devil for that sin,” Doc said. “I’ll be dining with my good friend Governor Wetherby this week. And I’m sure Lawrence will be interested in your mistreatment of my patient. And at your bidding,” the ol’ mountain doc growled, shoving past him to the table. He stuffed his wallet, coins, and keys into his pants pockets and plucked up his medical bag. “Let’s go, Honey.” He scooped up my gloves and handed them to me.
I looked past the guards, searching. “Please, I want to see Mama,” I whispered, yearning, aching for her. Doc took my arm and led us out.
***
I stared at the razor-wire fencing until it disappeared, knowing I could be locked behind one at any time. We rode mostly in silence for a good three hours, each of us lost in our own thoughts, me drowning in misery, embarrassed I ruined the visit and wasted Doc’s time. Now more than ever, I realized it was just a matter of time before what happened to Mama would happen to me. They’d lock me in chains like a circus animal, strip away the baby making, then use me for a guinea pig. I peeked down at my gloves, plucked at the fingertips. My thoughts drifted to Guyla Belle and then to Bonnie and their own fights to survive.
My mind pulled to my job. I put a knuckle to my mouth, tormented and disappointed. If I was going to make it, I had to fight, and somehow I knew it was not going to be just for me.
Doc rested his elbow on the lip of the window frame, his fingers tapping a worriment of his own across his mouth.
Finally, he leaned into the steering wheel. Peering out, he turned onto a road with a sign that said Natural Bridge State Park Ahead.
“I reckon we should have us some supper to keep Millie from fussing. And I figure this place is as good as any, and better scenery than where we just came from. A picnic shelter is just up the road,” he said.
I pressed a palm to the window, surprised at the beauty of this place. Massive chestnuts, hemlocks, black oaks, and budding tulip trees canopied the winding road. Everywhere, lush greenery and showy spring blossoms crawled up and down banks.
Doc glanced at me. “Used to bring my Lydia up here every spring.”
“Sure is pretty,” I said, knowing he missed his first wife who’d passed years ago.
He pulled into a lot where picnic tables were placed under a shelter. Grabbing the basket from the trunk, he handed it to me, then took out the milk pail from the floorboard in the back seat. At the picnic table, Doc pulled out the plates and silverware, then opened the pail, carefully arranging Millie’s fine fare between us, and probably like she’d taught him. He glanced over at my hands stuffed inside the hot gloves, as he began filling his plate.
“Honey, there’s medicine you can take if your color bothers you. It’s called methylene blue.”
“Yes, sir. Mama told me the drug was used to treat cyanide poisoning. She said taking it was worse than the temporary fix it gave. That it wasn’t a cure, and our color—any color—is not a poison and doesn’t need fixing. Only small poisonous minds. And why I have to wear these for protection.” I looked over to where a small family sat having a picnic. Boldly, I pulled off my gloves and dropped them onto our table.
Doc grimaced and pointed to Millie’s feast before us. “It’s been a long day. Lots of good food. Fix you a plate, Honey,” he urged. “We’ll discuss Bluet while we eat. A man can’t be both smart and hungry at the same time. Now’s the time to be smart.”