Chapter 8
Flossie Durkin led the shamed, humiliated, naked young prisoner down the corridor towards the supply depot, where an elderly and bony trusty presided in charge of clothing for the reformatory inmates.
"Here's a real cute one for you, Margaret, " Flossie cackled, giving poor Beth Calhoun a shove forward, "give her the works."
The woman eyed the shrinking and blushing girl and then uttered a dry, humorless laugh. "If I was ten years younger, Flossie, I might get a bang out of a piece like this. But I'll leave her to you. Maybe I shouldn't even give her any dudds, seeing as how-"
"You keep your trap shut, Margaret, if you know what's good for you," the head matron angrily interposed. "Just give her what's coming to her and I'll take care of the rest."
"Sorry, Matron," the trusty drawled with an inflection of sarcasm that left poor Beth Calhoun more confused and shamed than ever. She was given a gray cotton dress which went down to mid-calf, a sleazy cotton slip, and black cotton bloomers and a matching bra, as well as a pair of black cotton stockings with elastic garters and low, heavy work shoes. Under Flossie Durkin's vigilant eye, she had to dress then and there in the corridor, and as other matrons and other prisoners passed by, one can well imagine Beth Calhoun's miserable unhappiness at being so publicly displayed.
Flossie Durkin grinned cruelly, comprehending just how wretched the naked girl must feel. It delighted her to order the sensitive dark-brown-haired prisoner around in a scornful, sneering voice, and make the prisoner follow her to the isolation ward on the second floor of the building in whose basement the laundry workshop under Genevieve Corley was located. And when she saw Beth fling herself down on the hard cot and heard her muffled sobs, she grinned again, anticipating the moment when this tasty "new fish" would have to strip naked for a good sound ass warming which she herself would apply. There was nothing she loved more than to work over some well educated imagine piece who thought herself a lady, and make the bitch snivel and whine and grovel like all the inmates here!
But unbeknownst to Beth Calhoun, the story of her arrest and trial and imprisonment had reached Peoria via the newspapers. And Dennis Henderson turned livid with rage the afternoon he went out for coffee and got an afternoon paper and saw the story.
When he got home, he snapped at Beth's mother, "So that's the kind of lousy tramp you raised, is it? like mother, like daughter, I'm thinking. I've about had it with you, baby."
And then, having had a few too many at the saloon before coming home to drown his "disgrace" over Beth's downfall-even though she had used the name of Calhoun, he had recognized her true identity-he slapped her viciously.
"Dennis-for God's sake-the poor girl got into trouble, maybe it's not her fault," the mother protested.
"Like hell it's not! And you let her run away." He slapped her again. And when she tried to protest, he ripped off her clothes and fucked her, then got up and growled, "You're not even a good lay any more, baby. You can sue for a divorce if you want. I've got your replacement already picked out, if you want to know something!"
And so Beth's mother had gone to a lawyer, not only to arrange for the divorce, but also to see what he could do about investigating Beth Calhoun's unfortunate disgrace back in Chicago. His name was Ken Davis, he was twenty-seven, wore glasses, had light brown hair and he worked in a firm which had once handled Beth's father's legal affairs, which was how Beth's mother made the contact.
As it turned out, Ken Davis remembered lovely Beth, and he was shocked to hear what had happened to her. "It's largely circumstantial evidence, Mrs. Henderson," he told Beth's mother. "I've got a vacation coming in the next few weeks, and I'll just go up to Chicago and make some preliminary checks with some of the witnesses and the insurance company personnel and find out what I can. If I can unearth any evidence, it's quite likely I can get your daughter off. That's all we really need, since she had no record prior to that, and even the judge admitted that it was only circumstantial that she might have given the key to Al Barker. It was an unfortunate circumstance, and she was unlucky."
"Anything you can do for my daughter, Mr. Davis, I'll deeply appreciate. I know that I drove her away from home because I stayed married to that awful brute. And you're going to handle my divorce suit, aren't you?"
"It will be my pleasure, Mrs. Henderson. I think you have plenty of grounds, and I'll get you a good settlement, don't you worry."
And thus, even as poor Beth Calhoun was spending her first night at Keston, thinking herself abandoned and beyond hope for the next several years, aggressive forces were being put to work to salvage her young beauty.