Chapter 2 – The Guards of Cold Mountain

Ellie was being weighted and measured, as they walked down the corridor: She could feel their eyes at her back and it made her both anxious and a bit annoyed – but not surprised.

She had been told that her gender would raise a lot of eyebrows. Her colleagues had entertained her with numerous of horror stories, about young women trying their luck at the men's area. Even her superior had tried to talk her out of it, but in the end he had to give in – because no one else would take the job. And so far, she hadn't changed her mind. She liked the guards… Well, except the young Percy Wetmore.

She wasn't quite sure why (and her conscience hated her for it), but he made her uncomfortable. It might have something to do with the fact that he had stared at her, like she was some kind of well-hung meat in the butcher's window, he considered to buy…

But she liked Paul. He seemed like a genuinely good man. And Brutus Howell too; the guard, who had offered to take her suitcase, even though she had been a bit terrified by his stature at first.

He was a handsome man, but God Almighty, the size of him!

Standing straight, wearing both his shoes and cap, he had to be very close to two metres. And with the chest of an ox and shoulders almost twice as broad as hers, he looked like one of those brutal men, who worked along the railway, grunting meaningless words to each other across the sleepers.

But Brutus was of a completely different world. His smile and bright blue bedroom eyes had been gentle and warm, when he introduced himself and his voice, although deep and husky, was softened by his Southern accent, so it cuddled around her like a warm, woolen blanket. There was something very trustable about him.

They reached the ward of Alice Reardon and the policeman guarding her, nodded his approval, before opening the door. Inside Alice was sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Hello, Alice," Ellie said gently. "It's time to go. Are you ready?"

"I have been ready, since I got her," was the tranquil answer, as Alice rose to her feet to face the guards.

"Mrs. Reardon," Paul said calmly. "I'm Paul Edgecombe, the superior of E Block in the state penitentiary at Cold Mountain, where you will be staying. These gentlemen are Mr. Howell and Mr. Wetmore, two of our guards. We are here to take you to the prison."

Brutus nodded towards her; Percy just stared, until Paul shot him a look. Then he stepped forward, pulling ankle chains and cuffs from his belt. Ellie frowned.

"Are those really necessary?" she asked tensely. "I'm sure, that Alice won't try anything."

"Sorry miss, but he have too," Paul said. "We have rules, we have to obey, otherwise, I'm gonna be in big trouble with the warden back home."

"It's just provisions," Brutus said gently behind her. "Nothing is going to happen to her."

"But…"

"I will be all right, Ellie, my dear," Alice interrupted softly. "Don't you worry about me."

Ellie gave her a brief smile. The prisoner having to calm down the supervisor – well, that was new… Giving in, she stepped aside, so the guards could do their jobs. Brutus and Percy worked fast and steady and soon both Alice's wrists and ankles were cuffed. And Ellie kept her mouth shot.

oOo

The rest of the extradition went as smooth as black ice: Pauls signed the papers and Brutus and Percy walked Alice Reardon to the prison van; an old vehicle with no front doors or windows, but two seats and a large hold, where the prisoner would be placed.

Ellie contemplated the van with slight concern. It looked like a survival from the Great War.

"We made room for you up front, miss Brent," said Paul; he walked next to her, now carrying her suitcase, while Brutus had his hands full. "Along with Brutal… Sorry – Brutus."

"Brutal?" Ellie repeated, her eyes on the tall guard. "Not the most flattering nickname, now is it?"

They both watched Brutus Howell helping the elderly lady up the stairs to the back of the van, gently as if she was ninety years old. Paul grinned.

"No," he said. "And I'll bet you have already figured out, it's rooted in pure sarcasm, despite his size."

Ellie smiled to herself. "I had a feeling…"

They walked the gravelled path between the hospital and the van in silence. Ellie didn't notice how the amusement on Paul's face faded and was then replaced by a more serious look, before he touched her arm.

"Miss Brent, could I just talk to you for a moment?"

She stopped. "Sure?"

He glared at the van, to see if Alice was out of earshot, before finally speaking:

"I just want to make sure, that you know what you are getting in to," he said quietly. "The prison – and E Block in particular – is not a nice place. You will be spending your day amongst murderers, rapists and death. Are you sure, you have the guts for it, miss Brent?"

In her mind, she sighed. Of course, she should have known…

"Mr. Edgecombe," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Trust me, I have been thinking long and hard about this. Truth is, I'm not a prison guard – but I'm not just a simple nurse either. And if you know even the slightest thing about life at a hospital, you too know that our job isn't a bed of roses. Our patients may not be murderers and rapist, but death is around us every single day, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the right moment to show its ugly face. And that either breaks you or strengthens you. And since I'm still here, I'm not broken yet."

He studied her closely. Ellie returned his gaze.

"Very well," he said at last. "But if something's bothering you in any way, even the smallest of things, you come straight to me, all right?"

"Of course," Ellie replied, feeling relieved. For a short moment she had thought, it was going to be her superior's persistence all over again.

The reached the van and Ellie got in up front with her suitcase. Soon she was joined by Brutus.

"We haven't scared you off for good, I see," he said humorously, pushing the seat back.

"I promise you, Mr. Howell," she responded, smiling gently. "I'm not that easy to frighten."

"Good to hear." He turned on the engine, pulled the gear lever and pushed the starting button. The van spluttered back to life. "Hold on to that spirit of yours – you're gonna need it, when we reach Cold Mountain."

oOo

They rumbled through the landscapes of Louisiana and fields of crops unfolded as far as the eye could see. Tepid wind swept in from the glassless car windows and Ellie could taste the dust and heat in the air. She cast a sidelong glance at Brutus. He had removed his cap, revealing shortcut, grizzled hair, which made it even harder to decide his age: He could be anything from thirty to fifty years old – maybe even as old as her father.

She turned her head again, looking at the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

"Doesn't look like we'll be getting any rain soon," Brutus suddenly said, like he had read her mind – or maybe he just wanted to break the silence. After the long stillness, his voice sounded as roughly as ever.

"I'm afraid you're right," Ellie said. "The crops could need it, though…"

"Yearh." There was another brief silence, before he added: "Sorry for asking, but you ain't initially from around here, are yer?"

She smirked. "What gave me away?"

"Your pretty accent. UK?"

"Yes – born and raised in Oxford, where my parents met. My father is from New Orleans, though, so we moved back to Louisiana, when I was sixteen."

"Must have been some culture shock, huh?"

"Mmm. The weather is the hardest part. I do miss the snow and my first encounter with a summer without fog and chilly rain, but with actually warmth, nearly killed me."

He laughed and finally turned his gaze at her. The vivid, blue colour of his eyes, reminded Ellie of those of a young boy.

"What does your family say, about you talking a job like this?" he asked softly.

"Oh, not much. I don't think my parents fancy it, but they stay neutral," she said, returning his smile. "They can't do much about it anyway."

"And your husband?"

"Well," Ellie said slowly. "He doesn't say a lot – because there isn't any." Not anymore…

"Oh, sorry. I just assumed…" She never heard what he assumed, because he silenced himself and cleared his throat. "You know, I think it's mighty brave of you, miss."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I believe you are the first person, who says that."

He smiled, his eyes now on the road again.

"So," he asked, "where are you staying? I don't suppose you'll be driving back and forward every day?"

"No, thank God. I have rented a room just a couple of miles from the prison. In New Roads."

"That's a swell choice: Nice restaurants and bus connections to Cold Mountain every second hour."

"I'm glad to hear. I was afraid I was going to rent a car as well."

He forgot all about the road for a moment and turned to her. "You have a driver's license?"

His surprise made her smile. It had been a part of her heartbroken rebellion after the divorce, like the nursing school, but that didn't sound very flattering, so she just said: "It looked good on my résumé."

He grinned. "'Cause it did…"

The awkward silence didn't return. When they arrived at Cold Mountain in the early afternoon, it occurred to Ellie, that it had been the shortest three hours drive of her life. She even caught herself wishing it had been longer…