Mercury Boys

by Chandra Prasad

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Saskia demanded, surprised by the jagged accusation in her voice. She’d confided just about everything to Lila, but her friend had kept the biggest secret of her life to herself. Friendship wasn’t friendship if it was one-sided. She’d learned that the hard way from Heather.

  “I was scared,” admitted Lila.

  “But you’re my best friend,” Saskia replied, a little embarrassed to say it out loud. Yet now that she’d gone there, she might as well let it all out. “And besides, you promised, remember? You said, ‘From now on, we tell each other what’s going on. Everything.’”

  “I remember.”

  “So why didn’t you tell me everything?”

  “Because it was complicated—and awkward.”

  Saskia shook her head in annoyance. “I don’t understand.”

  “Okay, here it is: I liked you. In that way. When you came to Coventon, I had a crush. It’s not easy to be best friends with someone you secretly want as your girlfriend.”

  “Oh.” Saskia’s cheeks warmed.

  “I knew this would be awkward,” Lila complained, rolling her eyes. “Don’t get all weird on me, okay? Because I don’t feel that way anymore. First of all, it’s clear you’re straight. And second of all, I like someone else—Cassie.”

  “Cassie?”

  “Yeah, my Mercury Girl.”

  “Oh,” Saskia repeated, feeling weird, just like Lila had predicted. “I just wish you’d told me before . . .”

  “Well, this isn’t really about you. It’s about me. And I needed to do it in my own time.”

  Saskia nodded. “You’re right.”

  “Listen, we’re still the same people. And we’re still gonna be best friends—I mean, assuming you still want to be.”

  “I do!”

  “Good.”

  “Good.” Saskia looked at Lila shyly. “So what happens now?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Do you think you’ll come out to other people?”

  Lila exhaled audibly. “I don’t know. It’s not easy. I have no desire to wrap myself in a rainbow flag and parade down the school hallways with an LGBTQ sign.”

  “Come on, it doesn’t have to be like that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still a big deal.”

  “Have you told anyone? Your family?”

  “I’m out online. I have a bunch of friends there—a pretty good community.”

  “So is Cassie, like, your first girlfriend?”

  Now it was Lila who blushed. “We’re both new to this, but I’ve been really happy. Over-the-moon happy. And I’m way over you, in case you’re wondering.”

  Embarrassed, Saskia waved her off. “What’s this girl like?”

  Lila reached over and opened the glove compartment. There in a manila envelope was the daguerreotype. Saskia studied it carefully. Cassie was a pretty girl with dark hair parted in the middle.

  “She seems . . . sure of herself,” Saskia said at last.

  “Yeah, she’s really confident.”

  “Is she out?”

  Lila shook her head. “No way. Are you forgetting she lived in the 1800s? Like, gay still meant ‘happy’ then! And queer meant ‘weird’!”

  Saskia delicately put the daguerreotype back in the envelope and handed it to Lila. “I’m glad you showed me this.”

  “Me, too . . .”

  “But you’re still worried, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t—it’ll be fine.”

  “But will we be fine?” asked Lila nervously.

  “Yes. We will be fine, and we are fine. I don’t have the energy to make another best friend.”

  Lila smiled. “Listen, please don’t tell the other members of the club.”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s just . . . I’m not ready. And besides, who knows how they’d react?”

  “Probably with more drinking, knowing Paige and Sara Beth.”

  Lila giggled. “It’s late,” she said after a beat. “Let’s get you home.” She started the engine. Saskia, thinking her friend looked relieved, leaned over to give her a hug.

  Lila

  In carriage after carriage they came. Some arrived on horseback. Others on foot. Dozens and dozens of women. Lila watched their gusseted, buttoned boots step tentatively on the dusty road. Some of their boots looked new. Others were well worn, the leather weathered and shabby.

  The women walked to the front of Wesleyan Chapel: two unassuming stories of red brick. Staring at it, they wiped sweat from their faces with cotton handkerchiefs. Then they glanced at one another in curiosity, but also in silent allegiance.

  Standing apart, Lila tried to count the women. She stopped at a hundred. There were too many to keep track of, and they were all roaming about. Some held small children by the hand. Some cuddled babies. There were a few men, too—including an African American man who looked familiar to Lila—but the women overpowered them in number and in excitement. Eagerly she wandered through the throngs, listening to clips of conversation.

  “An army couldn’t have kept me away!”

  “They say it will last two days.”

  “I didn’t tell my husband I was coming. Told him I was going to visit my sister in Baltimore.”

  “I told mine, and all he worried about was his supper!”

  “I heard the organizers met at an abolitionist convention.”

  “I heard they’re a couple of firebrands.”

  “If they can help raise my wages, I don’t care who they are.”

  Talk was suddenly halted by a bustling woman making her way through the group, her long skirts swishing authoritatively. As she moved, the crowd parted for her. She cupped her hands to her mouth and called out, “Meeting’s about to begin! Please enter the church!”

  As the woman swept past Lila, her hair bounced in tight curls under a bonnet. She wore a brooch at her throat and a no-nonsense expression. Her voice carried so well, it wasn’t long before people heeded her call and filed into the church. Lila let herself be carried along with the crowd.

  Inside the chapel, the air felt thick and sultry. Lila found a place in a pew in between a woman who continually fanned herself and another whose hat was so big it brushed Lila’s shoulder. She was lucky to have found a spot at all; the place was packed. The mood reminded her, oddly, of the mood before a rock concert. Electric. There was a pulse in the air she could almost feel, and a sense of anticipation that grew stronger by the second.

  Finally, two women ascended the altar. One was the woman who had just ushered in the crowd. The other, thin and delicate looking, was a little older—probably in her forties. She wore a shawl over her long-sleeve dress. Just looking at her made Lila sweat. It had to be close to a hundred degrees inside, and she was willing to bet her library salary that deodorant hadn’t been invented yet.

  The younger woman stood behind the pulpit, flanked by the elder. Side by side, the women jogged something in Lila’s memory. Again, she felt a strange sense of familiarity. But she couldn’t put her finger on why. She hadn’t met these women before, that much was certain.

  “Welcome to the Seneca Falls Convention,” the younger woman said, her voice forceful and resolute. Except for the lone howl of a baby, the room went quiet. “We are here today to discuss the social, civil, and religious condition and rights of women. My name is Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and this is Lucretia Mott.”

  Lila suddenly felt goose bumps. “Holy sh—” she murmured.

  “Quiet!” came a stern rebuke from beside her. The hat lady frowned.

  “Sorry!” Lila whispered.

  Awestruck, she stared at the pulpit, trying to wrap her brain around the fact that two of the most famous women in American history were standing right in front of her. She’d read about Elizabeth
Cady Stanton. She’d written a report about her in sixth grade. And Seneca Falls—this was where it had all started. Women’s liberation. The very first women’s rights convention had been held right here. If not for this convention, women still might not be able to vote, to own property, to go on to higher education.

  To be counted.

  Breathe, Lila reminded herself. She had to pinch herself as she listened to Stanton read from the Declaration of Sentiments and Grievances. It was a treatise she had drafted, she said, using America’s own Declaration of Independence as a template.

  We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men and women are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness . . .

  Lila was in such a state of shock and reverie that she couldn’t say why she turned her head suddenly. She didn’t know why she glanced away from the famous speaker and toward the back of the chapel, where one more visitor filtered in: a girl with black hair parted in the middle and pulled back in the style of the times. She looked around nervously, and not finding a seat, sat right on the floor.

  The girl hadn’t made a peep. But Stanton halted her speech to address the girl. “You there, young lady,” she said.

  “Me?” the girl said, her cheeks flushed.

  “Yes, you.”

  “I’m so sorry . . . I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Yes, well, never mind that. There’s an empty spot in that pew, fourth row back. We don’t want you sitting on the ground.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the girl said, then hurried with a ducked head to the spot where she had been directed.

  Stanton returned to her speech, and the audience forgot all about the girl. But Lila didn’t. It was no coincidence that she’d observed the girl’s entrance. Here now was Lila’s flesh-and-blood Mercury Girl. She wore a different dress, and her hair was different, too. But there was no mistaking her resemblance to the daguerreotype.

  Focus, Lila told herself. Focus.

  She turned back to Elizabeth Cady Stanton, who discussed the many injustices women were facing. She read all eighteen grievances and eleven resolutions in the Declaration of Sentiments and Grievances. Then she called upon the audience to demand equality, to organize, rally, and petition. Someone asked for the full declaration to be read again—paragraph by paragraph. This time women in the pews stood up to make suggestions. They threw off lifetimes of forced compliancy and embraced the revolutionary. The room grew ever hotter. Lila got worked up.

  After more than three exhausting, exhilarating hours, the moderator finally called for a break. The group was to adjourn back in the church at two thirty.

  Outside, dripping in sweat, Lila scanned the crowd until she spotted the girl. Cautiously, she followed her to the shade of an oak tree. Not surprisingly, others also sought shade. The spot was crowded. But somehow Lila felt like she and the girl were all alone.

  Only a couple of yards separated them. Lila nervously wondered what to say. Fortunately, the girl addressed her first. “Do you want some water? It was awfully hot in there.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Lila replied gratefully.

  “Here, have some of my lunch, too. I always pack more than I can eat.”

  “Wow, that’s so generous of you.” Lila accepted a boiled egg and piece of corn bread. She tried to look the girl in the eye but peered at the ground instead.

  “It was an incredible morning, wasn’t it?”

  “Magical,” Lila agreed, cracking the egg and thumbing the shell. “I think it will be a big moment in history.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “My name’s Cassie,” the girl said. Lila took a deep breath and introduced herself, trying again to look at Cassie’s face. She was rewarded for her second effort with a warm smile and the most luminous eyes she’d ever seen.

  Cassie began to talk about the convention, about the individual grievances and resolutions. Lila tried to concentrate, but it was hard not to be distracted by the sound of Cassie’s voice, the heart shape of her lips.

  “Do you think the ninth resolution will pass?” Cassie asked.

  “Which one is that?”

  “Women’s suffrage, of course.”

  “Yes, it’ll pass. It has to.”

  “Someone told me Lucretia Mott herself doesn’t think women should vote.” Cassie wrinkled her nose in distaste. “But voting is everything, isn’t it? It’s power.”

  “And a voice,” added Lila.

  “And influence.”

  “Control.”

  “Equality.”

  “Independence.”

  Cassie laughed. “Maybe you should stand beside Mrs. Stanton.”

  “I think you’d be a better fit,” Lila volleyed.

  “I’m only a teacher,” Cassie lamented. “And I don’t have much power at all, sadly. There’s a long list of things I can’t do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I can’t dress in bright colors, especially not red. I can’t marry or go to ice cream stores. I can’t wear fewer than two petticoats or forget to scrub the floor of the school every day. And I can’t,” she stressed, rolling her eyes, “wear a hemline shorter than two inches from the ground. The town rector made all these rules.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “I’ve been at the school for three years, and every year his list grows longer. I hate it. My job is to teach the children, not measure my hemline with a ruler.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Are you employed? Or married?” Cassie asked.

  “Neither. I mean, I work a little in a library.”

  Cassie’s eyes widened. “How wonderful! To be surrounded by books—what a dream.”

  Suddenly she moved closer and bent her head toward Lila’s intimately. A new wave of heat coursed through Lila’s body. “They’re making fun of this convention,” Cassie confided.

  “Who is?”

  “Everyone—at least in my town. They say we’re miscreants. That we don’t know our place.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lila said. “History will prove them wrong. Today is going to change everything.”

  Again, Cassie’s gleaming eyes widened. “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just have a feeling.”

  “Well, let’s hope your feeling is right. Say, can I tell you something?”

  Lila’s heart seemed to stop mid-beat. “Anything.”

  “Just now I made a decision. I’m not going back to teaching.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking on it for a long time, but talking to you helped me make up my mind.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Go west. To San Francisco. My brother’s out there.”

  “You’re gonna stay with him?”

  “No. He doesn’t want me. He says California’s no place for a lady.” Cassie’s voice dropped to a soft whisper. “Many of the women there work in brothels. They call themselves entertainers.”

  “Tell me that’s not why you’re going,” Lila said.

  Cassie raised her chin indignantly. “Of course not. I’m going for the gold. Why, just two months ago, my brother found a nugget worth two hundred dollars. Imagine that!”

  Lila tried to imagine Cassie squatting in a streambed, a pickax in one hand, a pan in the other. She was wearing red. It wasn’t hard to envision.

  “I have it all planned in my mind,” Cassie continued. “I’ve saved up enough to go by ship. It will be a long journey around Cape Horn, but I have a hearty constitution. I’m not one to take sick.”

  Lila had the sudden urge to ask, Can I come, too? But she quashed it quickly. She’d only known Cassie for a matter of minutes, after all.
She didn’t want to scare her off. “Where will you stay?”

  Cassie shrugged. “Maybe in a boarding house. I’ll find something. If I can survive twenty-six children, I can survive this. Besides, I’ve always fancied myself lucky. My brother says that’s all it takes to find gold. Luck and patience.”

  “Would you write a letter to—?” Lila began.

  “Look there!” Cassie interrupted. Lila followed Cassie’s excited gaze and saw the same distinguished-looking African American man she’d glimpsed earlier. “It’s Frederick Douglass, the famous abolitionist! Did you know he supports our cause?”

  So that’s who it was, thought Lila. This day was bringing no end of breathtaking revelations.

  “We’re all in the same boat, aren’t we?” continued Cassie. “None of us treated as people. All of us second-class. But look”—she gestured to the dozens and dozens of women all around them—“our numbers are growing. We won’t be second-class for long.”

  Lila, too, took in the throngs of excited freethinkers. She glimpsed Elizabeth Cady Stanton again, talking animatedly, her every word like the beat of a drum, inciting her supporters to reach higher, to fight harder.

  “A fire has been lit, don’t you think?” Cassie said, taking Lila’s hand and squeezing it. Lila swore she could feel her Mercury Girl’s pulse through her soft skin.

  “It’s already a full-blown bonfire,” she replied.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Saskia’s father intercepted her while she was doing laundry. As she transferred a batch of dowdy gray and brown clothes from the washer to the dryer, he hovered nearby, awkwardly waiting for her to finish. In the past week they’d been passing like ships in the night. Her father would leave the house as she arrived, or vice versa. They’d exchanged maybe ten sentences, most of them being, “good night” or “see you later.”