Gilded Summers-51

2010 Words

My father rubs my arm, “No, my Pearl. But when a jury sees such emotion, such anger, it is easier to believe the things she"s accused of.” “It makes no sense,” I cringe. “No, it doesn"t, Miss Worthington, but it is the truth,” Mr. Fonsworth tries to calm me. “What we need is someone to speak on her behalf.” “But there"s no o—” Father begins. “I will speak for her,” I say, I declare. “Pearl!” Father yelps. “You cannot—” The carriage pulls up. I make for it. “Later, Father,” I say, get in the carriage, and sit back. The discussion, here and now, is over. The cell in the Providence jail is even smaller than the one in Newport. Other women cry, scream, and beg for help. It wells up all around me. I try to cover my ears with the thin, stained pillow, but it doesn"t work. I hear their pai

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