One step at a time, I walked closer to the City Hall Park. Step by step Bess and Aimee walked with me. Aimee’s mother babysat our boys.
Women were beginning to congregate around the park gazebo and we set to work our tasks at hand. At last, our Cady arrived in Thomas’ automobile. We all worried if she could. And oh what a shame if she hadn’t, since without Cady, the convention, no, not even the Legion would have happened!
She has a disease, honey. It is in the womb. Ate up any chance of her having a baby. Or having a life for that matter, Lizzie had whispered to me at our last tea.
I shyly approached as Thomas assisted Cady from the passenger side. Lizzie stepped out from the back seat. Already Cady’s appearance had changed, aged, bent slightly, her thinning frame leaning heavily on a cane.
She seemed to sense my dismay. “I look worse than I feel.”
Yet her eyes were shining as she looked up and saw the streamers and banners around the top of the gazebo, the signs from our Fourth of July march stuck in the grassy dirt around the bottom of the gazebo. She waved at Phyllis who was handing out flyers to people as they approached, laughing and talking as if she knew them all, flyers that read her ‘Seven Reasons Why We Fight For Our Rights’. Cady waved at Eunice who was, along with two unknown gentlemen, putting the final touches on a booth they had put together a few yards away from the gazebo, with a sign across it that read ‘Sign Our Petition Here!’
With theatrical flair, Mr. Whiting, the school principal, walked to the booth and signed the petition with flourish. He raised the pen in the air and we all applauded.
“Another man bit the dust!” called out a man strolling by, a woman on his arm. She laughed with him.
Thomas shook his head, his hand clamped firmly on Cady’s elbow. “You shouldn’t be around this negativity, Cady darling, you could get hurt. Ruby, don’t let her fool you. She shouldn’t be out today, but she doesn’t listen to a word the doctor or I say to her.”
No bright smile lit his eyes today and his dark blue suit only seemed to emphasize his somberness.
Cady patted his hand. “This is far enough, Thomas. I can walk the rest of the way with Ruby and Lizzie.” She looked up at him with beseeching eyes, as if to say, don’t make a fuss, please. He looked unwilling to let go, but relinquished his hold over to Lizzie.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Pickering,” Lizzie said. “We’ll look after her, won’t we, Ruby?”
I flanked Cady’s other side and tried to give a reassuring smile to Thomas. “Cady will be fine with us, Mr. Pickering. She is at her best when leading our little group to victory!”
I looked back to see Thomas still standing there, hat in hand, watching, trepidation written clearly on his bereaved face, as if already feeling a widower.
Ah, but my wicked thoughts were in envy, for I thought that Cady, even at her worst, was experiencing the best, with such a husband as Thomas.
Aimee nudged me out of my reverie. “Ruby, that must be the woman president!”
It certainly was. Cady introduced her as “Carrie Chapman Catt, president of the National American Woman Suffrage Association. We are so pleased she could be here!”
We women applauded and I felt quite privileged to be here. To think if I hadn’t agreed to attend my first tea at Cady’s home, what all I would have missed, standing in my kitchen, thinking in darkness, and not seeing more clearly through the light of others who had so much to offer! I loved Mrs. Catt’s large intelligent eyes – they looked so kind, as if you could tell her anything and she would not be shocked but nod in understanding. Mrs. Catt wore the colors of the Legion, in a black and white wide-striped dress, and this subtle significance signaled respect that added prominence to our cause. She alone took away some of my nervous jitters.
Eventually my group of women gathered at the back of the expanding crowd, more women having joined after the convention was advertised. Cady and Mrs. Catt stepped up into the gazebo and sat on the backbench. This was it! My heart fluttered wildly and I could barely breathe, walking through groups of people standing about. Some eyed me suspiciously, others curiously, and I heard one whisper, “there is one of them!”
Lizzie draped a white satin sash over my head and onto one shoulder that read down the front in black letters, ‘Women’s Right to Vote’. “Made these myself!” Lizzie whispered.
I practically jumped out of my skin at a drum roll right behind me and turned to see Frances, a lady I’d only met briefly at Aimee’s tea, with a snare drum secured around her neck by a wide ribbon that read, “Women’s Vote” repeatedly down its length to where the drum rested below her waist.
“Ladies, in line, please!” she called out.
I grabbed the hand of Bess. “Come on, Bess, it is time you learned to march and sing for women-kind!” Bess fell in line behind me and we all marched in time with the drum.
This brought more people into a tighter group around us, many craning their necks to see what was going on. I guessed there were at least a hundred people or so, probably a good deal more on the outskirts of the park milling about.
“One, two, three, sing!” Frances shouted and we began singing the song I had written. Save for my children’s births, this was the most exciting moment of my life.
Wo-men are people, too!
We are no less than you!
Equal rights will see us through
To share where freedom reigns!
Wo-men are not as lambs!
Take me just as I am!
Let me speak for all wo-men
And vote where freedom reigns!
Voting rights will lend a hand
To share where freedom reigns!
We marched through the crowd, singing loudly, proudly, facing the crowd boldly, not needing to read the music sheets. Around the gazebo we marched, splitting into two groups, one on each side. The drums, the song, the affect met their purpose; people crowded in around the front of the gazebo.
Thomas stood on my side of the gazebo, a megaphone in hand, eyeing the crowd of mostly men as if they were carrying weapons. When all was quiet, he handed the megaphone inside the gazebo to Cady, who then walked to the front railing without assistance. She faced the crowd, shoulders back, chin up, her stature of one defying defeat. She lifted the megaphone to her mouth.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Annan’s first Women’s Rights Convention! The purpose of today’s convention is to urge men to vote in November in favor of a proposed amendment to the state constitution to give women the right to vote. We come in peace and ask that you open your minds and hearts.”
Her voice seemed to carry to the very length of the park and echo through the trees. Many of these faces watching Cady were not friendly, some were sneering, others shaking their heads, or worse, some looked indifferent, one lady hid a yawn behind her gloved hand. Why? I wondered for the umpteenth time.
One face stood out in the crowd; his was not sneering, his head cocked to one side, listening attentively, his deep-set blue eyes watching Cady closely. He wore a yellow rose pinned to his vest to signify him as one of the speakers. His head turned as someone bumped him in the crowd and his side to me revealed a short black ponytail. He was in the front row, close to where I stood, and his friendly, and yes, even intense, interest somehow comforted me.
I couldn’t help but stare – something about him. Was he part Indian? Certainly not all Indian with those eyes and straight nose, but his blue-black hair and square jaw were certainly Indian traits. Was his skin naturally dark or did the sun darken it? He was dressed casually but certainly not in buckskin, of course there was that leather vest he was wearing –
I flinched at the change in voices in the gazebo. Phyllis was up there now reading off her ‘Seven Reasons’.
Shame on you! You must concentrate more on what is going on.
Fear gripped me again. I’m next! How in the world could I face this crowd at such close range, I who wouldn’t meet people’s eyes when I walked to my church pew? I s
earched the crowd again, and again rested on the ponytail man – he had an air of prominence about him. He shifted his stance, straightening his arms and hooking his index fingers in his belt loops. As he did so, his eyes shifted to me and my cheeks burned in embarrassment. I shifted my gaze down to my hands, only to see them shaking.
Before I could think clearly, before I could calm down, I heard my name announced. My little group applauded around me, opening the way to the gazebo. My shaky legs carried me up there, although for the life of me, I didn’t know how. The wood planks of the flooring beat my footsteps like a heartbeat as I walked across to where Cady stood applauding, her megaphone clamped under one arm. Cady then handed this to me with a warm smile. I attempted to smile back but my bottom lip quivered in other directions. Cady squeezed my elbow and then left me alone to face the many upturned eyes. I suddenly wished I’d brought my written poem, for then at least I’d have something else to look at, some words to read rather than reading these many expressions on so many faces. I grasped the megaphone with two hands and looked out at the sea of hats and bonnets. Alone, and oh so afraid – could they hear my heart?
I was floating, swaying, oh I needed an anchor! I thought surely, surely I was going to faint when once again I saw the man, the ponytail man, step forward into my view. He smiled reassuringly and nodded as if to say, Everything is fine and I want to hear what you have to say.
I reached out to the railing and steadied myself.
“Cat got your tongue, little lady?” some fellow piped from the crowd and with it followed some snickers.
I glanced back over to the ponytail man, and he nodded and smiled again. Such kind eyes! I returned his smile shakily, and slowly raised the megaphone to my mouth. I was amazed at the voice that came out the other end of it. It didn’t sound like my own, and so much louder, bolder. Hearing myself talk so, gave me strength, and the feeling of fainting finally subsided. From my heart, my words came:
Let my voice and my hands
Reach to others in need.
Give me the right to be counted,
Good deeds feed, not just breed
A door to a freedom,
Of vote, of choice.
More than a cry in my home.
To be community’s voi—
Gunshots choked words in my throat. I shrunk away from the deafening blast coming from the side, while others screeched or squealed. Then another blast that moved the crowd as one body away from the sound. Through the gazebo opening I could see a horse, its rider aiming a rifle at the trees. He fired a shot again and echoes could be heard in the deafening silence. I held onto the gazebo railing trembling, needing to sit down but too shocked at what I saw. Preacher Paul sat on that horse, his face red with anger and breathing hard as if he’d come in on foot. He rode closer to the gazebo, parting the silent and stunned crowd while I stood frozen on the spot, watching him in horror.
“Ruby!” he shouted, and he pointed a finger at me. It startled my heart so, the pain might not have been different than if he had shot his rifle at me. I clutched my chest with one hand and dropped the megaphone from the other hand.
“I’ve been sent here on God’s errand to beseech you to leave here at once!” He pointed to the stairs. “Now go! And save your soul!”
I felt all eyes turn to me expectantly.
Numbed and shamed, I turned and walked toward the stairs.
“Let the lady stay.”
I looked over the railing to see the ponytail man striding toward the horse. He moved as if in slow motion. I had never seen such a beautiful graceful creature – and I’m not talking about the horse. I stared in awe.
“Let the lady stay,” he repeated, calmly, without shouting, yet I believed the outer edges of the park could hear his ring. “Her poem’s asking to be heard. Let her speak.”
Preacher Paul ignored him and faced the crowd. “Now you’ve heard from a woman and an Injun. What next for this devil’s meeting – a darkie? Listen now to a man of God. Folks, here’s what this man of God is telling you to do. Go home. Take your women home. Tell everyone who didn’t come that this legion of women is of the devil. Brethren, we are in perilous times when we see mothers, wives, and daughters who no longer wish to abide by the Holy Word. We must, as masters of own domains, fight this Eve and her venomous vipers and protect what is rightfully ours. It is my duty,” he pointed toward the heavens, “to stop this wormwood, as prophesied in Deuteronomy, before it eats our town of everything good and pure!”
From behind his horse came his deacons. I knew all of them of course but seeing Robert shocked me further. I gasped and the ponytail man glanced up at me questioningly. Preacher Paul leaned down to his deacons. “Now you go ahead and hand out God’s Word to these good folk.” The deacons began working their way through the crowd passing out papers, those taking the sheets looked stunned enough to do as they’re told.
Robert ignored them. He was facing the ponytail man, glaring at him. Like some western stand-off, they stood facing each other in silence until Robert at last stepped around him.
“Ruby.”
It took me a moment to turn my attention to where Robert stood at the bottom of the gazebo stairs. It seemed as if my body turned, but not my heart.
“Ruby,” Robert repeated. “Come on down. You’re going home.”
I stepped slowly down the stairs, my head hung, not wanting to meet any eyes.
“Sir, you have no right to disturb this convention!”
I stopped on the bottom step and swung around.
Cady had picked up the megaphone I had dropped. With one hand on the rail to keep her steady, her arm rigid, she shouted, “If you wish to be heard, you should do so from your own pulpit!”
I had never seen her angry and shaking before.
“Sister, I appreciate what you are saying there,” the preacher called down to her from his high horse, “and I’d be more than happy to preach to you this Sunday morning! Might do you some good! When was the last time you stepped foot inside a church, ma’am?”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Thomas stepped forward and grabbed the reins to Preacher Paul’s horse with such rage, I winced in fear of what he might do.
“That is enough, Paul!” Sheriff Porter came into view, mounted on his own gray mare, his rifle in plain view across his legs. “This is a public place and you are disturbing the peace.”
“Are you, as a fellow man, going to stand by and let these men-haters destroy our families?” Preacher Paul called back across the crowd to him.
“As the sheriff of this town, I say they are breaking no laws and doing no wrong. Let them be and have their say. You’ll have your own soon enough, I’m sure.” Sheriff Porter placed both hands purposefully on his rifle. “But it won’t be here.”
Preacher Paul raised his empty hand. “As I said, I’m not here to cause any harm. I’ve said what I have to say and I’ll say no more. Let our brethren finish passing out my declaration and then we’ll be on our way.”
Sheriff Porter shifted on his saddle. “They’re not disturbing the peace but you are. I’ll have to ask you to leave – now.”
“Now sheriff, you and I go way back. As God is my witness, I don’t understand-”
“Now, Paul.” Sheriff’s tone was deeper now, more foreboding. Thomas let go the reins and smacked the rear of Preacher Paul’s horse so hard, it startled and jerked forward, causing the preacher to lose his cap and focus his attention on trying to stay on, while he trotted away.
Robert took my elbow and silently we walked to the edge of the crowd. I could hear Cady’s clear voice behind me, introducing Lizzie to recite Sojourn Truth’s Ain’t I a woman? Oh, how I hated to walk away from hearing that. And how heartbreaking it would be to miss Mrs. Catt’s Ballot for Bullet speech, too, such a famous suffragist. I wanted to cry.
“My God, Bess is here! Are you trying to corrupt my daughter, too?”
I had forgotten about Bess. She had obviously followed us.
M
y words were still stuck in my throat, and flooding with tears. I made no argument. We walked to the outskirts of the crowd, Lizzie’s voice becoming fainter. I could take it no longer.
“Robert, please stop and listen to me. I want to stay!”
“Do as I say, Ruby. No more scenes. You are in enough trouble as it is.” His eyes looked straight ahead, still walking, still gripping my elbow, his jaw muscles working. “There’s the wagon. Now get on without another word and go home.”
I looked over to where he was motioning with his head, and saw Opal sitting on the wagon, reins in hand, waiting like a prison guard. Their betrayal took away any strength I might have had to resist. With what defiance I could muster, I jerked my elbow from Robert’s clinch and refused to step up onto the bench where Opal sat.
Instead I walked to the back of the wagon and jumped up onto the open back of the wooden bed. If I was going to be treated as a farm hand, I would look like one. Bess climbed up beside me, somehow understanding to keep quiet. We sat side-by-side, legs dangling over the flat bed, my arm around her shoulders. I stared straight ahead, not daring to give Robert the pleasure of seeing me cry. The wagon lurched and we rode silently home.
When finally Opal pulled in the reins in front of the house, I jumped down and turned to help Bess and there behind her I saw a large oblong box, a fabric-covered one that had made many trips with Opal to customers carrying their new wedding gowns, evening gowns, jackets and dresses. These must be her altered dresses. Did she think she could do the same to me? Cut me down to fit one person, when I was designed for another? I would’ve given my right arm to have heard the ponytail man’s speech.
“Keep your dresses,” I called back over my shoulder to Opal. “I prefer black and white.”
I approached slowly, watching Eunice pick up pieces of the booth, boards splintered and scattered about. The two clay pots of thick climbing ivy Eunice had so meticulously placed through chicken wire over the booth as an archway yesterday, was broken, dirt and vines scattered. One of the signs from the gazebo had been moved over here and stuck in the dirt by the broken booth. The sign had been altered with a big red ‘R’ in ‘Fight’, to read, ‘FRight for Women’s Rights!’
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