“Molly, what have you been doing to yourself? You look as if you’ve just walked across the Sahara Desert.” Sid jumped up and started pouring a red liquid into a glass, thrusting it into my hand. “Get this down you. You’ll feel better.”
I was placed into a wicker chair and sipped the drink I had been given. It was delicious—a sort of red wine punch with fruit in it, and it was icy cold.
“Let me make the introductions.” Sid perched herself on the arm of my chair. She was dressed in white linen trousers and an open-necked white shirt. The look was dramatic with her black bobbed hair. “I don’t believe you’ve met any of our suffragist sisters.”
“I did meet some of them when we marched on Easter Sunday,” I said, “but I don’t think any of these ladies were among them.”
“Easter Sunday?” one of the women asked.
“We were among a group of Vassar girls who joined the Easter Parade. We had banners: VASSAR WANTS VOTES FOR WOMEN. Not a very successful outing, I’m afraid,” Sid said drily. This was an understatement, as we’d been arrested and thrown in jail for the night.
“And not exactly wise,” an older woman said. She had a round, distinguished face and her gray hair was swept back into a severe bun. “The sort of people who attend parades want to be entertained, not informed. And they don’t want the firm foundation of their little universe shaken when they least expect it. I expect they pelted you.”
“They did. And we were arrested.”
“The arrest was not a bad thing,” the woman said, a smile spreading over her severe face. “It gets us a mention in the newspapers. It may even evoke the sympathy of other women—at least it may start them thinking. But you’re neglecting your duty, Elena. How about some introductions?”
“Elena?” I looked around the group and then of course I remembered that it was Sid’s real name. I had never heard anyone refer to her that way before.
“Of course,” Sid said. “Ladies, this is our dear friend and neighbor Molly Murphy. And Molly, let me begin with the most distinguished of our company: may I present Carrie Chapman Catt? She is the current head of the North American Woman Suffrage Association and she has deigned to grace our little gathering tonight.”
“Nonsense, you make me sound like visiting royalty,” Carrie Chapman Catt said in her rich, deep voice. “We’re all foot soldiers in this together, you know. These are my fellow infantrywomen: Sarah Lindley, Annabel Chapman, Hortense Maitland, Mildred Roberts, and Felicia Hamm. I’m delighted to meet you, Molly. I hope you’re a fellow champion of the cause.”
“She’s about to join the ranks of the enemy,” one of the younger women quipped.
“Meaning what?” Carrie asked sharply.
“She’s getting married in a couple of weeks.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll cease fighting for the cause,” Carrie Chapman Catt said fiercely. “I myself have been married twice and have never been under my husband’s thumb.”
“And I don’t intend to be under my husband’s thumb either,” I agreed. “I’ll most definitely still be a supporter of votes for women.”
“Well said, Molly.” The speaker was a beautiful young woman with porcelain white skin and hair that was deepest copper. “I’ve been enduring the same teasing from our more militant sisters. I’m Sarah and I’m also getting married in a few weeks. So we shall be twins—the two redheads who will defy the odds and remain true to the cause after they marry.”
“I’ll wager you won’t have an easy time of it, Sarah,” another of the women said. “Your intended seems horribly conventional and old-fashioned to me.”
Sarah flushed. “Well, he has been raised in that kind of society, so I admit that my task won’t be easy, especially if we go back to England.”
“Your future husband is English?” I asked.
“The honorable Monty Warrington-Chase,” Gus said with a grin. “Son of an English peer. Our sister Sarah will be a lady one day.”
“She may be able to influence her husband in the House of Lords,” Carrie said. “The women of England are having a tougher time than we are, but in spite of it are acting with greater bravery and audacity—throwing themselves in front of carriages, chaining themselves to railings. Foolhardy, but one must admire their courage.”
Sid touched my arm. “So Molly, we’re dying to hear about this assignment. What could the mysterious rich gentleman have wanted that has wearied you to the point of exhaustion?” Her eyes twinkled as she said this.
I looked around the group. It was somewhat unnerving to have those earnest faces staring at me. “Oh, but I don’t think I should interrupt your meeting,” I said. “I should go up and change out of these crumpled rags and leave you to your discussion.”