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Wilhemina Morecroft paced the floor of her cell, a simple partitioned six by eight space of the old hospital building at San Quentin. There wasn't much call for female quarters in 1947 - in fact, Wilhemina was the only woman imprisoned at the California penitentiary. But the closest women's prison didn't have a maximum security Death Row, so the Wardens here had fitted her out a cell, complete with bars, and there was no mistaking where she was. Her own little Death Row.
Beyond the bars and in the corridor were two heavy set Matrons, who had been sent from the women's prison two years ago and had been Wilhemina's keepers since. They sat on hard wooden chairs with their backs straight and their hands in their laps. Their eyes followed the caged Wilhemina with careful intent. The music that wafted from the wireless between them did not help to calm Wilhemina as they had hoped it would. Instead, every beat and note seemed to aggravate her more.
The condemned woman wrung her hands and bit her lip. Her once strikingly beautiful face grew more ashen by the moment as she waited the news on her fate.
A Warden from the main prison building stood just outside her cage, eyes firmly set on the door at the other end of the corridor. Unlike the matrons, he had no wish to watch Wilhemina's fevered pacing. It was torture enough to know that the young woman would die within the hour, never mind having to watch her die slowly of nerves in the meantime. He was only there to help the matrons, just in case. These last agonising moment could make a man - or a woman for that matter - do anything, and it was best for all concerned that they were prepared.
The music on the wireless suddenly stopped and Wilhemina froze in her tracks. A man's voice boomed out.
"This just in. Governor Stanton has upheld Supreme Court Justice Breymer's ruling for Wilhemina Morecroft's death sentence. Otherwise known as Wicked Willie, Mrs Morecroft's latest appeal for a stay of execution was denied on the grounds ..."
Matron Jones flicked the wireless off, and immediately cursed herself for not having done so sooner. A deathly silence followed, only to be broken moments later by an ear shattering scream.
"No!" Wilhemina shrieked again and again. "No, no, no!" Her hands ripped at her stiff, greying hair. Both Matrons stood at the bars, trying to calm her.
"It's alright, Mrs Morecroft."
"Settle down now, dear. It may have been a mistake."
"Have a sip of your tea, Mrs Morecroft. Try and calm down."
The Warden said nothing, but watched her as she continued to scream and pace the room.
A gaunt, sweaty man flew into the corridor.
"Oh dear lord! How did she find out?"
"It was on a news broadcast on the wireless, Mr Anderson," Matron Thomas chided him. "Honestly! How could you let that happen? As her attorney you should have informed her yourself."
"I got here as quick as I could."
"I don't know if it would have made much difference," Matron Jones sighed as she stepped away from the bars, "she was ready to snap at any moment anyway."
"You!" An arm lunged through the bars at Mr Anderson, just missing his throat as he darted back. "You said it would be alright. That they wouldn't kill a woman, a mother ..."
"I'm so very sorry, Mrs Morecroft," Mr Anderson jittered as he smoothed back his ruffled hair, "I did the best I could to ..."
"Your best wasn't good enough!" Wilhemina screeched at him. Her eyes burned with hatred and malice as she glowered at him. "Now they're going to kill me! What's going to happen to my baby?" she wailed.
Mr Anderson began to babble more apologies, but they went unheeded as Wilhemina once more began her torrent of screaming and pacing. The Warden led the defeated Mr Anderson down the corridor and out of the door.
When the Warden returned, he had with him another Warden and the prison chaplain. As they neared Wilhemina's cell, she became strangely calm at last. She walked forward, gripped the bars and looked at the chaplain through glazed and empty eyes.
"Would you like a prayer before we go to the waiting room?" he asked softly.
"No," she answered in an exhausted monotone, "pray for my son. Prayers won't save me now."
"They will save your soul before your judgement if you repent now."
"I have no soul." She answered bleakly.
She took a step back from the bars as Matron Jones came forward with the key.
"Are you alright to walk down?" the Matron asked before she dared unlock the cell.
Wilhemina stared blankly at her for a moment, as if considering something. A faint smile came across her face as she snapped out of her trance.
"Oh, I'll be fine, Matron. Thank you."
The bars slid across and both Matrons stepped into the tiny cell. With one Matron on either side of her, holding onto one arm each, Wicked Willie began her march down the corridor. With two Wardens behind her and the chaplain walking ahead quoting scriptures, Wilhemina began her descent into death.
(c) Cynthia M. Piromalli 2003
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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