“I’m fine.” He nodded. “If you need anything, come see me.
We’ll cover for you.” “No need to cover for me. I can handle myself.”
Collins was quiet. “You were wearing your old uniform last night. No insignia.”
Olivia did not look away. “It’s more comfortable.” He understood.
And simply nodded. “All right. Keep yourself steady.” He left, and the door closed softly behind him.
Six weeks later, on January 28, 1990, Olivia sat in the warden’s office. Collins sat across from her, flipping through her personnel file. It was thin. Only a few pages.
“I’m requesting a transfer, sir,” she said evenly. “Any facility in western Virginia. Preferably as far from Pennsylvania as possible.”
He looked up. “Reason?” “Family circumstances.”
Collins tapped his fingers on the desk. “You know after what happened in segregation, plenty of people would still like to move you out anyway.
The review board closed it, but people talk.” “I understand.”
“At a new facility, you start clean. But if anything follows you there…” “Nothing will.”
He let out a long breath. “All right. I’ll sign it. Official orders in a week.”
She stood. “Thank you.” He gave a short nod.
“Good luck, Carter. And keep yourself under control.” Olivia left the office. That evening she went to her room and sat at the desk.
Took out a clean sheet of paper and wrote briefly. “Transfer request due to family circumstances. Signature.”
She folded the paper neatly. Slipped it into the inside pocket of her uniform jacket. Then she walked to the stove.
Opened the iron door. Looked at the cold gray ash from the letters and photographs. She smiled a little.
For the first time in six weeks, it was real. “That chapter’s closed.” The train pulled into a station deep in the mountains at 9:43 a.m. on March 9, 1990.
Olivia stepped onto the platform with one suitcase. Old, worn, paint chipped off the corners. Her uniform was packed away, and she wore plain clothes.
A gray sweater, dark slacks, and a jacket. Nobody met her. She took a county bus on her own to State Correctional Facility 32.
Showed her transfer orders at the gate. The new shift captain, Robert Hayes, studied her paperwork in his office. He was about forty-five, close-cropped hair, sharp eyes.
“Olivia Carter. Nine years’ service. Transfer by request.” “Yes, sir.” “We have our own rules here, so keep discipline and stay out of other people’s business.
Understood?”
