Emily had declined dinner and worked through, unable to stop as her mind and fingers stumbled over one another.That was her favourite part of writing, when what was in her mind and heart felt unstoppable, connected and fluid, the thoughts and words pouring out of her fingertips onto the page of their own volition, when she was more medium than scrivener, when she felt unable to think or type fast enough.There was nothing else like it.
“I’m finished,” she said, approaching them now.“Not just for the day.I mean I’m done.It’s written.”
Her mother’s mouth was open a little, pencilled brows pressing against her hairline.A smile played at her dad’s lips as they puckered around the cigarillo.
“I’d like you both to read it first,” Emily said, walking forward and pulling her burgundy cardigan closer around her.It fit like a tent on her now, but wouldn’t for long, at the rate Bess was pressing second helpings on her at every meal.
William leapt up, Bess right beside him.
“Let’s get comfortable in front of the fire, then,” he said with an excited smile Emily couldn’t help but return.“It’s bloody freezing out here.”
Emily coughed in the dry winter air as she made her way down Augusta Avenue through Kensington Market, chin tucked into the collar of her peacoat, her satchel containing the article slung over her shoulder.Shealways preferred this route to work, avoiding the traffic, streetcars, and diesel-fuelled hustle of Spadina for the side street lined with walk-up coffee windows and market stalls.
She passed the poultry shop with its butchered chickens hanging in the window, the live ones cooing in cages just off the narrow sidewalk, and breathed in the smell of fresh-baked bread from the bakery next door.She’d had a full breakfast, but still her mouth watered.Although she had been imprisoned under false pretences, the experience of the incarceration was real, and her newfound freedom still felt strange and wondrous.It was as though she had been squashed into some cramped case for six months and was only now able to stretch her legs, to remember that she in fact had them, could use them to live and explore.Like she had somehow escaped death, a death of the soul.
She kept up her pace as she made her way onto Dundas and through Chinatown, mulling over what she would say to Doris and her colleagues.It occurred to her, as she passed the sprawling art gallery, that she didn’t know who atChatelaineknew about her undercover project at the Mercer besides Doris and the staff writers.Doris wasn’t the type to share information with anyone she didn’t believe had rightful claim to it, so it was possible she simply told anyone inquiring that it wasn’t their business.Emily smiled then, thinking of her old officemate Betty, and what she would have had to say about Emily’s foray into a women’s prison.But perhaps she hadn’t stuck around for more than a few days after her engagement was announced.She would be married by now.Emily wondered who had taken her place at that desk in the Closet.
A light turned green, and Emily stepped forward onto the crosswalk with a small crowd of other office workers headed toward the banks and legal offices that lined Bay Street to the east.Heart racing a little from the brisk walk and her nerves, she heaved on the heavy door and entered the familiar lobby of the grand building.She pressed the elevator button and stood back.
She remembered how she’d waited in this same spot for the elevator on the afternoon she got back from scoping out the Mercer and meetingJune Jones, when she went to Doris with the seed of this story in her little green hand.She’d felt exhilarated then, bold and excited, to do what she thought was “real journalism,” to get her hands dirty.But those hands were worn and older now, and she would be scrubbing at that grime for a long time to come.Because she was indelibly altered by her time at the Mercer, just like every woman who walked through the creaking, aged front doors that had, for nearly a hundred years, swallowed the women society didn’t like, didn’t want, or didn’t know what to do with.Locking women up was the default reaction of the men in charge who neither understood nor respected them.Who viewed the white, mentally healthy women as second-class, and the others a step farther below that, something subhuman.
In some ways, Emily felt as though she now had more in common with the Mercer girls than she did her colleagues atChatelaine.There would, in many ways, be no going back.She wasn’t even yet able to truly face the changes she’d already seen in herself, afraid of what they meant.The night sweats, nail-biting, the rotting sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.The surge of panic that rose, sometimes out of nowhere, and made her feel like she was about to die.The permanent lump in her throat.She worried that being forced into that blue uniform had done something to her that she might not be able to reverse.
The version of herself that had rushed here to ask Doris if she could pursue the story felt young and naive now.But all the same, look at what she’d accomplished.She wondered whether, if she had been older and more experienced, she would have had the daring to do what she’d done.As her father had said, youth was the perfect time for such exploits and recklessness.The naivety of what she was undertaking might have been a strength, really.If she’d truly known how it was going to be, would she have had the courage to do it?Perhaps opportunities did come to people at just the right time.
The elevator arrived at the main floor and the doors slid open with a rattlingwhoosh.Fortunately, there was no one inside, and Emily stepped in, relieved that she wouldn’t have to make small talk with any of theMaclean’sexecutives.Her heart rate quickened again as the elevator began to rise.She glanced at her watch; she was due for her meeting with Doris in three minutes.
She hadn’t planned anything beyond handing Doris the article and seeing what she said.She’d taken on this project to advance her career, but even now that the ordeal was over, that she was back at the office where it all began, that desire was secondary.She wasn’t particularly concerned with what sort of impact the article might have on her career, so long as it made a real difference to the lives of the women and girls at the Mercer—or better yet, ensured that there would be no more imprisonment there: an end to the reign of terror on Liberty Street.
The elevator arrived at the fourth floor and Emily looked down, straightened her outfit.It had been strange to get back into her old clothes, as elated as she was to be out of that blue dress, which was now folded in the bottom drawer of her dresser, her roll of toilet paper notes tucked into the breast pocket.She’d thought to throw the dress out, but the complicated truth was, it reminded her of Annie, and she wasn’t ready to part with it just yet.
The doors slid open to reveal Doris standing in front of the reception desk, arms crossed over the front of her cream blouse, lips a thin line.
“Emily,” she said, opening her arms as though to embrace her.Emily couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her boss waiting.
“Hi Doris,” she said, glancing furtively over Doris’s shoulder.There was a new receptionist there, someone Emily didn’t know, wearing a curious expression.Perhaps Constance had left to get married, too.
Doris swept an arm through the air, her hand landing on Emily’s shoulder, guiding her forward.“Come on.”
As they made their way down the long, noisy hallway to Doris’s office, several of Emily’s colleagues noted her as she passed.Mouths opened, a couple outright pointed and she saw her name on their lips.
It hadn’t occurred to her what she would say to them, and after a fleeting moment of stress, she understood: Doris had come to escort her to the corner office so she wouldn’t be accosted with inquiries on the way there.
Emily entered Doris’s office and her boss followed, shut the door.The noise of the ringing phones and feminine twittering muted, and Emily relaxed a little.
“Who knows where I’ve been?”she asked.
“Just the staff writers and Clara,” Doris said, taking the seat behind her desk and indicating Emily should sit in front.“I told everyone else it was none of their concern, that you were taking a leave of absence.”
Emily smirked, though it was mirthless.“I’m sure they’re all going to think it was something scandalous.That I’vegone to an aunt’sor something.”She swallowed then, thinking of Vera and the St.Agnes girls, the prison nursery for babies of the girls who didn’t have parents decent enough to send themto an aunt’s.The parents who wanted to punish their daughters more than society already would for the crime of motherhood outside of marriage.
“Well, if they do, they’ll know soon enough where you were.Any scandalous rumour will be full and truly quashed.”
Emily bobbed her head.“True.”
“So,” Doris began with a heavy air, “do you want to tell me about it first, or shall I just read?”
Emily retrieved the article from her satchel, set it down in front of her boss.“Yes, maybe just read it.And then we can talk.”
