To Love and Honor

“Do you want me to go with you, Violet?”

“I can’t ask you to leave your work and your family.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” he repeated.

With his knowledge of the rules and regulations governing prisoners, Roger would be a valuable help to her, but she thought of Larry’s suspicion of Roger, or was it jealousy? But Larry was gone this week; maybe he wouldn’t know. But when she was concerned about the loss of reputation if the citizens learned about her mother, what would they think if she took an overnight trip with Roger? Would that become common knowledge, too?

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Roger said.

“You know I would be grateful for your company, but that’s asking too much, especially to leave your family. Truthfully, I don’t know whether I can handle it alone, but Aunt Ruth might be able to meet me there, though that’s a long trip from Minnesota.”

“I have a few vacation days I must take before the end of the year, and my aunt comes and stays at the house when I have to be away,” Roger said. “I can arrange it. I won’t be going in an official capacity, of course.”

“I know I shouldn’t accept your offer, but it will make my load a lot easier if you’re with me,” she said gratefully. “We can go in my car and leave early Thursday morning. We should be in Topeka in time to make some contacts that afternoon.”

“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?”