Chapter Forty

The weekend passed quickly even though Jack spent every moment praying for a delay, for something to stand between Donovan and the passage of time. Everything within her ached all the time as she watched the window for hope slowly close, and still she had no way to save him.

Oliver had no trouble finding men to serve in the firing squad, especially when he offered a reward, thus attracting the seediest men of Irvington. Jack shivered as she heard their guns fire in her head; she could see the bullets rip through Donovan, tearing him limb from limb, as he collapsed to the ground. She pressed a hand to her stomach to calm the nausea, and lifted another bin of mail to the table in her small post office.

Saturday morning.

It was Saturday morning, and the execution was scheduled to take place at noon. Jack had begged off work from the factory, but Minnie convinced her to work a few hours at the post office this morning to keep her mind off of Donovan's impending execution as if that were possible.

Jack lifted another envelope, the sharp paper slicing through the soft skin on her palm. Jack dropped the letter, lifting her hand and pressing the small cut to her lips as she cursed under her breath. Tears welled in her eyes, but Jack blinked them back. She couldn't cry--she couldn't be weak. Not yet.

Every time Jack closed her eyes, she was barraged with images from the past few months. It seemed impossible that she had only met Donovan a few months ago when the sun was still hot in the blue sky, a man with long hair laughing at her from her own front yard. She remembered the burst of curiosity she felt when she met him, so unlike anyone else she'd ever met. He was kind, mysterious, intelligent, and above all, he was good. He had been--and still was--the best man Jack had ever known, and for whatever reason, he had found something interesting in her, spinster Jack Harrison.

She remembered the hours they spent together when he taught her to drive his automobile, took her to the Ragtime dance, and told her about his past. She recalled her horror when he shared the traumatic history behind his dealings with the Slates and her admiration for the way he had given up his career and life in Boston to care for his family. Jack thought about their visit to Soka and the resiliency she had seen in Donovan's family. Then the memories grew darker and she remembered the night she'd confronted Max Slate and nearly been killed. She remembered all of her and Donovan's fights about what they should do. How stupid and meaningless it had all been when they should have enjoyed the limited time they had together.

"Let's run away together."

If only they had run away before everything grew so terrible. Before Titus died, before the Bookers' house was burnt to the ground, before Oliver condemned Donovan to death. She tried to imagine a life with Donovan, but it was too hard to picture. She wished she could see him for just a few minutes, to tell him all the things she'd replaced with harsh criticisms. Jack loved him, more wholly and entirely than she had ever known was possible. It was the sort of love that could drive a person to do anything just to hold onto it.

Jack sorted through a few more envelopes, keeping her eyes down to avoid the ticking clock on the wall above her. Despite warnings from her family and friends to not do anything stupid, Jack did not plan to let the execution go by without a fight. She would jump in front of the firing squad if she had to. She would expose Oliver to the whole town, come what may, and plead with them to liberate Donovan. Julius had even joked about hiding on the roof of the newspaper office with a gun just in case things went awry although Jack did not find that funny.

A nearly blank postcard caught Jack's eye and she examined it, anxious for a distraction from her throbbing head and aching heart. It merely said, "To my friend, I hope you're enjoying the Virginian coast. John Saunders." The note was harmless, and Jack would have merely cast the note into a box to be delivered when she caught sight of the addressee.

Max Slate.

A knife of hatred punctured Jack at his name, and she gritted her teeth. Max Slate had a friend? She found that nearly impossible to believe. Who could stand to be in his presence for more than a moment? Jack considered hand-delivering the letter just so she could give him a piece of her mind and a taste of her shotgun. Then she stopped and looked at the name again. John Saunders. Where had she heard that name before? And then Jack realized--John Saunders was the Attorney General of Virginia, the man Max must have convinced to appoint Oliver.

Hope leapt inside of Jack, and she turned the postcard over again, examining it with greater interest. The note was short, and Jack couldn't decipher any hidden meaning. "I hope you're enjoying the Virginian coast." What harm could there be in that? Jack played with the letters, rearranging them, but could find no message concealed within them. Jack needed proof--undeniable, indisputable proof--that Max Slate was bribing Oliver, but this note didn't provide anything of the sort. Then Jack noticed how the words were compressed at the top of the card, leaving a blank expanse beneath them. It wasn't conspicuous without careful inspection, but Jack wondered for a brief moment if a hidden message was contained on the page, but merely invisible. Jack had heard stories of such trickery used to pass messages between spies on the war front, but was it possible the same could be happening here?

There was only one person who would be able to decode the message, so Jack tucked the postcard into the waistband of her apron and climbed on her bicycle, heading towards the factory. The sun was nearing the middle of the sky as she rode, and Jack wondered just how much time she had left before the execution. Was there enough time to stop it if she did uncover something, or was she only wasting time she could be spending near Donovan? It didn't matter; Jack couldn't stand passivity. She had to do something even if this was a hopeless effort.

Jack reached the factory quickly, her legs and lungs aching from exertion. Every moment wasted was another chance to save Donovan. She leapt from her bicycle, leaving it to fall into the dirt, and raced for the factory, smoke billowing above it. Jack tucked her loose hair into the neck of her dress to make sure she didn't injure herself and pushed the door open, racing onto the factory floor.

"Minnie!" she cried. "Margaret!"

A few of the girls turned to look at her with quizzical expressions, but Jack ignored them. She pushed through a few workers hauling a load of shells and spun in a circle. "Minnie?"

"Miss Harrison, what is the meaning of this disturbance?" Jack turned to see Mr. Cartwright standing in front of her, his eyebrows mustered amidst a set of wrinkles.

"Uh, hello, Mr. Cartwright. I need to speak with Minnie and Margaret," Jack said, her fingers subconsciously finding the postcard at her waist.

His eyes studied her. "What are you doing here? You told me you weren't working today, like you didn't work half of last week."

"I'm not working, I just need to talk to Minnie."

"Stealing more of my workers? Just what I need," Mr. Cartwright said, sighing. "You're supposed to be my floor supervisor, Jack, but you can't get away with this behavior."

A few months ago, Jack would have been concerned at the prospect of losing her job, but all of that seemed so trivial in light of the events to come this afternoon.

"Yes, well, you can fire me after I talk to Minnie and Margaret," Jack said, pushing past him to search a line of shell-filling stations. "Minnie!"

Minnie finally appeared, a dark stain across her forehead. "Jack? What on earth...I was going to leave soon to come with you, but--"

"I need to talk to you," Jack said, grabbing her arm and hauling her from behind the equipment. "And Margaret. Where is she? Margaret!"

"Jack?" Margaret appeared on the other side, nearly unrecognizable without her characteristic braid. "What...is everything okay?"

"Of course it's not," Jack snapped. "I need to talk to both of you, now."

They both assented, casting worried glances back at Mr. Cartwright. Jack didn't care about the consequences of her recklessness; she would gladly forfeit her job if it meant saving Donovan's life. The three women gathered in the women's building, a warm fire crackling in the hearth, and Jack brandished the postcard from her apron.

"This is a postcard from the Attorney General of Virginia to Max Slate. It...well, it's blank except for some banal message about the Virginian coast." She passed the postcard to Margaret and Minnie who peered at it. "But I was wondering--could it contain some sort of secret message?"

"You mean with invisible ink?" Minnie asked with a low laugh. "Jack, I know you'd do just about anything to save Donovan, but that's ridic-"

"You might be right!" Margaret exclaimed, bringing the postcard closer to her face. "I mean, it sounds silly, but Max used to get messages like this sometimes, and they always looked stupid to me, but he studied them."

Jack noticed a wave of sadness pass over the younger girl's features, the lines around her eyes deepening and her lips tugged down. For whatever twisted reason, Margaret loved Max Slate. Jack wondered if she was just as grief-stricken as Jack for losing the man she loved.

"You're serious?" Minnie declared. "Invisible ink?"

Margaret shrugged. "With Jack working at the post office, you can't blame him for exercising some caution. Wouldn't you do the same if you were corresponding with the Attorney General?"

Jack could hardly contain her curiosity. "This could be what I need to convince Oliver to release him! How do we read it?"

Margaret's eyes flickered to the low fire in the hearth. "He always held the notes over a candle, but maybe the fire will do the trick."

"Won't it burn?" Minnie asked, still skeptical with her hands on their hips.

"We have to try something," Jack answered, snatching the letter from Margaret's hands.

She approached the fire, keeping the postcard outstretched, and held it over the flames. Her eyes studied the empty space at the bottom of the postcard, and she tried to ignore the fire beneath it. The crackling sound took her back to those horrible minutes inside the building as she searched for Donovan, knowing that if she didn't find him he would likely perish. Today was just as imperative; Donovan would die if she failed.

"Nothing," said Minnie as all three watched the fire heat the paper.

Still, Jack waited. This has to work. It just has to. If it didn't, what more was there to do besides die trying to save Donovan? Just as Jack was ready to pull the card from the heat, she noticed the faintest mark appear. The capital letter "M."

"There, it's coming!" Jack exclaimed, and letters became words and words became sentences as the message appeared thanks to the heat. Once everything was illuminated in a dark script, Jack snatched it from the fire and pulled it close to her face, reading it aloud.

Max,

I have spoken to the powers that be and Oliver Walker has been approved as the next Deputy Attorney General. You wouldn't believe the strings I had to pull to make this happen; I don't even want to know why you want this so badly. This Walker character is a fop from everything I've heard, and working with him might be the last thing I do. After this, I owe you nothing. I don't want to hear again about the money you donated to my campaign. Don't contact me again.

John Saunders

A beat of silence passed between the three women, and Jack stared at the postcard as the letters slowly faded. "This is it," Jack whispered. "I'm going to see Oliver. With this sort of evidence, he has to release Donovan. He has to."

Jack tucked the postcard into the waistband of her apron and turned to the door. Her eyes caught on the clock. Thirty minutes. The execution would take place in thirty minutes, and Jack had no time to wait. SHe pushed the door open, but stopped when Minnie called after her.

"Jack, wait!" Minnie foraged in a cabinet in the women's room and pulled out a match. "You'll need this."

She took the match and raced out the door for her bicycle, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest. She righted the bicycle and jumped on, pedaling with all of her energy towards Irvington. With so few minutes to spare, she knew the whole town would be gathered to observe the execution. Irvington rarely had criminals worthy of the death penalty, and Jack knew it would be a grand event. The thought sickened her and she pedaled faster, her bicycle weaving as it shot forward. The town rose before her and Jack dodged every person flocking towards the town square. No doubt, everyone knew who she was by now and they had to expect her to attempt some valiant save.

Jack jumped off of her bicycle when she reached the square and shoved her way through the growing crowd, tramping on feet and eliciting a few curses. A woman's feathered hat hit Jack in the face and she bashed it out of the way, spitting feathers as she went.

The crowd was gathered between the mayor's mansion and the jail where Donovan was held. A few men stood in a cleared space in front of the crowd, shining their rifles until they glowed, and Jack's stomach twirled. Oliver hadn't yet emerged, so Jack ran for the mansion, flinging the front door open.

"Oliver Walker!" she yelled as soon as she was inside. "I need to talk to you."