“I thought it odd that you knew so little about the movement,” Mrs. Bates continued, “but it was clear you truly believed in our cause, so it was a pleasure to teach you. Oh, I almost forgot in all the excitement. Gideon, hand me my bag, will you?”
Gideon jumped up and brought over the carpetbag she’d carried to Washington. She dug around inside for a moment and pulled out a small packet wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “Remember I told you that Mrs. Belmont asked me to attend the conference because the women who had been jailed were being honored? Well, the theater was packed that afternoon. Everyone said there’s never been a suffrage meeting like it. Mrs. Belmont got up and made a stirring speech, praising the courage of all the women who had endured the hardship and humiliation of imprisonment because they love liberty.”
Seeing the glow on her face, Elizabeth could almost imagine being there. Mrs. Bates must have been so honored.
“We read about it in the newspapers,” Anna said. “Did you really block the White House driveway?”
“Not intentionally, but so many people came, they couldn’t help it. Then Mrs. Kent gave a speech. You remember, she was the leader of our picket line. She called all of us up to the stage and gave each of us one of these. I brought yours back for you.” She unwrapped the packet and drew out two small silver objects. She handed one to Anna and one to Elizabeth. “Now everyone will know that you were jailed for freedom.”
It was a silver brooch made with exquisite detail into the shape of a cell door, complete with a heart-shaped padlock and chain.
“How lovely,” Anna exclaimed, instantly pinning it to her bodice.
Elizabeth couldn’t take her eyes off the brooch. She had no right to wear it, of course. Her reasons for going to jail had nothing to do with the suffrage movement, so she couldn’t claim the honor of having been jailed for freedom. She might never wear it, but she would always treasure it.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “For everything. I’ll never forget . . . I’ll never forget any of it. I suppose you’ll want me to leave now, and that’s all right. I’ll just pack a few things and—”
“Leave?” Mrs. Bates and Gideon said in unison.
“Why would you leave?” she asked.
“And where would you go?” he asked.
“Because . . .” Elizabeth tried to think of a reason that didn’t remind them of too many reasons why. “I’m a liar and a thief and I involved Gideon in a crime and—”
“I don’t think Gideon minds too much, do you, Gideon?” Anna said with a wicked grin.
“Not too much,” he admitted solemnly.
“I don’t think he minds at all,” Mrs. Bates said archly. “And it’s obvious you were simply trying to save your life.”
“Which wouldn’t have been in danger if I hadn’t helped cheat Thornton in the first place,” she reminded them.
“I’m afraid I can’t feel sorry for Oscar Thornton,” Mrs. Bates said, “not even in the interest of Christian charity. I always suspected he’d killed Marjorie, and now that you’ve confirmed it, I have no pity for him at all. And yes, what you did was wrong, but none of us are perfect. I can only wonder what I might be capable of in your situation. The important thing is what you do from now on.”
What would she do from now on? She had no idea. Why had everything suddenly become so complicated?
“Which is why,” Anna said, rising from her chair, “you and I should leave Elizabeth and Gideon alone, Mrs. Bates.”
“We should?” Mrs. Bates asked.
“No,” Elizabeth said, but Gideon said, “You should,” at the same time, and Mrs. Bates rose also.
“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Bates said, “you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish, and I truly hope it is a very long time.”
With that, she and Anna left, closing the parlor doors behind them.
Elizabeth couldn’t bear to hear what Gideon had to say, so she spoke first. “I’m sorry I frightened you. As I said, you weren’t supposed to be here.”
“I might not have been, but when we found out the army never heard of Colonel Inchwood—”
“Who?” she asked in surprise.
“The officer who came to David’s office to arrest the general. Didn’t you know what was going to happen?”
“I did, but I didn’t know what his name would be.”
“Yes, very creative. At any rate, he walked off with all the papers and the bank drafts, but he told David we could go to the armory tomorrow to get more information.”
“A nice touch.”
“It would have been, but Thornton decided we had to go right away and get the papers and the bank drafts back. We went to three different armories before a real colonel told us he never heard of Inchwood or any investigation. That’s when it came hot. Is that the expression?”
“Yes, it is,” she admitted with some amusement.
“So Thornton and his man jumped in a cab, but before he left, he said he knew who was behind it, so I was afraid he was coming here for you.”
“And you were going to rescue me.” Suddenly, she wanted to weep again. She was awfully emotional today, probably because she’d nearly died.
“And I would have failed miserably.” Plainly, it pained him to admit it, too.
“But you were going to try. That was very brave.”
He made a rude noise. “Luckily, Thornton was no match for you and Anna. When I thought you were dying—”
“Gideon,” she said quickly, before he could say too much, “I won’t hold you to anything you said then. I know you didn’t mean it, but you were kind to . . . to . . .”
“To what? Make it easier for you to die? Is that what you think?”
She didn’t think that at all, but, “I was wicked to tease you like that, to make you say things you didn’t mean.”
“I did mean them.”
“All of them?” she wanted to ask, but she was afraid of the answer.
Gideon frowned. “Why do you look so frightened?”
“I’m not frightened,” she lied.
“You already knew I was in love with you.”
“Which is why I shouldn’t have teased you.”
“Were you teasing? Because you didn’t say you loved me, too. Was that because you knew you weren’t dying or because you don’t love me?”
“I . . .” Even now, she couldn’t say it. “I knew I wasn’t dying.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t! How could you ever believe me? How could you believe anything I say ever again?”
“I don’t know, but I think it might be very interesting to spend the rest of my life figuring it out.”
What was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he angry or disgusted or appalled? He couldn’t possibly want to marry someone like her, unless . . .
The very thought was too horrible. “You can’t save me.”
“What?”
“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? That you can reform me and turn me into someone like . . . like . . .”
“Like my mother?” he offered helpfully.
“I could never be that good, but maybe like Mrs. Vanderslice. Someone who will keep your house and raise your children and never cause you a moment’s worry.”
“Why would I want a wife like that? I’d die of boredom.”
“I’m serious, Gideon. I’m not like you and I never could be.”