Dishonoring Jack

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.