Genevieve rushed to Fiona, embracing her. “Oh, Fee, you look well. I’ve been so worried.”
“I’ve a bit of a headache, but otherwise I’m well.” Fiona blushed under the close scrutiny.
Patrick cleared his throat. “If you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to stay here for a day or two as Fee recovers. Then we’ll move home again.”
Genevieve clapped her hands together with excitement. “Oh, how wonderful. We rarely have guests in this large rambling house. And I have just the room for you, Rose.” She led Fiona and Rose upstairs to choose rooms, her chattering easing Fiona’s tension.
Lucas and Patrick remained in the living room, a tense silence between them. “I’ve fired Joseph,” Lucas offered.
Patrick’s rigid shoulders relaxed, and he sighed. “Thank you. I worried on the walk over if I was placing Fee and Rose in further danger. Fee didn’t know about him.”
Lucas nodded and slapped his cousin on the back. “I’d offer you a drink, but it’s barely midmorning, and I imagine you must go to work.” He smiled as Patrick agreed. “Don’t worry. We’ll relish spoiling little Rose and will ensure Fee rests.”
“I might be back late tonight as I had to leave work early yesterday, and I’m arriving late today.”
Lucas waved away his concern. “No matter. We’ll have a plate of dinner waiting for you, no matter what hour you return.”
“I’ll make sure Fee has Rose settled, and then I must be off. Thanks again, Lucas. I promise it will only be a few days.” He strode from the room and up the stairs, the sound of Rose’s delighted laughter echoing down the stairs at his arrival.
Samuel Sanders paced his library, a darkly paneled room with mahogany wood. A small bar stood at the far end of the room, near a desk. Heavy burgundy curtains half covered the windows, allowing in only a fraction of the day’s bright daylight. A plush oriental carpet covered the floor, silencing the sound of Samuel’s pacing. “How could you have failed?” His low snarl elicited a sniff of disdain from the other occupant in the room. “I had this planned perfectly.”
“Not well enough clearly,” Mrs. Smythe snapped, her scornful glare watching his figure-eight movement around his desk. “If I’d had two more minutes, no one would have been the wiser.”
“Now I have police demanding entrance to my home. Threatening me with a search warrant!” He glowered at the middle-aged woman long past her prime, lounging in a chair pushed away from his desk which allowed him to pace around it.
“I imagine they are looking for me.”
“No need to sound pleased, Mrs. Smythe. For, if they find you, then we are in deep trouble. I have little faith you’ll withstand their rounds of questioning.”
“How dare you imply I am not up to the task.” Her cheeks flushed with indignation.
“Oh, spare me your displays of so-called womanly strength. Your supposed cunning and deviousness did little except allow you to escape that impressionable policeman.” He prowled around the room, only stopping his movement to glower at the door as it flung open. His scowl darkened as he beheld a breathless Joseph standing there.
Joseph shut the door behind him and shook at Samuel’s glower as he sat in a chair next to Mrs. Smythe. “I—I had nowhere to go, sir.”
“So you decided to run here? You failed in your duties, Joseph. You had one thing to do. One!” He slammed his hand on the top of his desk, causing Joseph and Mrs. Smythe to jump in their chairs. “You were to ensure that Mrs. Russell remained home yesterday afternoon. I don’t believe that was too much to ask.”
“You never said nothin’ ’bout stealin’ no baby,” Joseph said.
“It isn’t stealing when the child is mine.” The low, lethal tone provoked a shiver in Joseph. “Now you can redeem yourself by ingratiating yourself further with the Russells. I want to know anything of interest with their family in Missoula.” Samuel paced again with a distant expression as though plotting out a new scheme.
Joseph’s shivering intensified. “That ain’t possible, sir. I’s not workin’ there no more.”
Samuel halted, a rare look of surprise on his face. “You no longer work for Lucas Russell?” At Joseph’s shake of his head, Samuel gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “And to think I thought you were a perfect candidate.” He sighed and waved for him to leave. “There is no further reason for an association between us.”
“But, sir …”
“Leave, Joseph, before I find other ways to hurt your family.” Samuel’s deadly cold eyes overruled any of Joseph’s complaints, and he scampered out the door.
Mrs. Smythe shook her head. “That’s what you get for relying on incompetent schoolboys who are desperate.”
“The desperate ones are usually the most resourceful. They have too much to lose if they fail.” Samuel sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Now I merely must concern myself with you.”
Mrs. Smythe stiffened and raised her chin in a haughty manner. “You must know I am not a thing like that young man. If you abandon me to the police, I’m taking you with me.” She sniffed and gave one definitive nod.
Her tension eased when he gave a stiff nod of agreement. “I’m still perplexed as to why you’d desire your daughter’s presence in your home. They are such feeble, useless beings at this age. I’d think you’d wait until she’s older and able to earn you some sort of profit, preferably from an advantageous marriage.”
Samuel snickered. “I can see why my mother enjoyed your friendship.”
Mrs. Smythe raised an eyebrow. “Of course she did.” She paused as though considering her own advice. “Once you’ve wooed her with your charm and money, then you can influence who she desires to marry.” She flicked her wrist as though it were an easy matter. “Sell her off to whoever will give you the greatest benefit, and there’s no more concern about upkeep, and you can forget about her as she’ll be her husband’s concern.”
“Seems you failed in that regard with your own daughter.” He watched her with gloating satisfaction at her miscalculation.
“I admit I didn’t factor in the potential reward for keeping the mewling, bothersome creature all these years. Instead I made the gravest error and allowed her to be raised by a McLeod.” She raised an eyebrow as she met Samuel’s thunderous expression. “I’m sure you can understand my disappointment.”
Samuel snorted his agreement. “I can think of no worse a punishment, although they are delusional in believing they are fortunate to be a part of that familial group.” He glowered. “I’ll find a way to shield you from the police this time.” As she preened with satisfaction, he leaned against the edge of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. “In exchange for my aid, I want your promise to help me in my future endeavors to wreak havoc on all who associate with my cousins in Missoula.”
Mrs. Smythe smiled with pleasure. “That is no favor at all, dear boy.”
Chapter 16
Washington, DC, November 1917
Zylphia prepared a banner in the main conference room of Cameron House, rolling it up tightly. She smiled at another woman who had joined her in jail for a few days that fall. “Don’t worry. If all else fails, we’ll meet Miss Paul in prison.” She winked in encouragement to the woman before she ate a small teacake and took a sip of tea.
Parthena sidled up to Zylphia and spoke in a whisper. “How can you be so nonchalant? You know the judge gave Miss Paul six months in jail. I don’t think I could last six days.”
“P.T., if this is too much for you, don’t picket.” Zylphia smiled in encouragement at another woman across the room. “For I’m certain we’ll be arrested. However, I doubt we’ll earn anything like Miss Paul. At most we’ll be in jail a couple days.”
“You make it sound as though it is a grand adventure.” Parthena glared at her friend.
Zylphia gripped her friend’s elbow and tugged Parthena to a corner of the room. “Listen. This isn’t an adventure. For, in adventures, there’s generally a happy ending. Being spat at, yelled at and havi
ng refuse thrown at you isn’t fun. It isn’t my idea of a good time. However, I believe these tactics are important and will aid us in earning the right to vote.” She watched Parthena with an impassioned intensity. “I smile to bolster spirits because we all have doubts and fears. But we can’t be ruled by them.” She took a deep breath as though convincing herself of the validity of her next statement. “I can’t sit by and let others do the work I know I can do.”
Parthena nodded. “I know. I’m just afraid. Miss Paul’s already in jail.”
Zylphia squeezed Parthena’s hand. “It’s only because, this time, you know we’ll most likely be sent to jail too. The other times were more of a lark in comparison.”
“Calling the President ‘Kaiser Wilson’ will never be considered a lark!” Parthena whispered, earning a giggle from Zylphia.
Zylphia stood tall as Lucy Burns called out that it was time. Each woman grabbed her banner and formed two single-file rows. As they marched from Cameron House, they passed by an honor guard of women encouraging them. When the door closed behind them on the cold mid-November afternoon, Zylphia shivered under her long wool coat before resolutely marching among her thirty-one friends and comrades.
When they arrived at the White House and Lafayette Square, they spread out to occupy the space between the front gates at the White House. Soon an angry mob surrounded them. Zylphia remained stoic as passersby screamed at her, and she barely flinched as another kicked her shins. She gripped the banner proclaiming, Mr. President, It Is Unjust to Deny Women a Voice in Their Government When the Government Is Conscripting Their Sons. Almost instantly a man in uniform grabbed it. She grunted as she fiercely pulled it to her chest, but she failed to fight him off. He yanked it from her, smiling with evil delight as he tore at it, eventually rending it in two.
She watched him toss the pieces to the ravening crowd before she tugged another banner from the lining of her boots. She attached it to the pole she had reclaimed and stood tall again. A police officer saw her actions, a glimmer of respect in his eyes for a moment before he called forth his reinforcements to arrest Zylphia and the other women. Zylphia was exhilarated as they were led to the courthouse.
“Six weeks in jail,” the judge ordered, his gavel slamming down and echoing around the courtroom.
The protesters chattered about the excessive amount of time and were quickly herded together to be brought to jail.
Zylphia looked up to the gallery and nodded at Rowena, who sat taking notes. Rowena nodded back to her and Parthena, her face solemn and resolute.
“Rowena will inform our husbands,” Zylphia whispered. “I asked her to this time. I fear we may need their help as I had a feeling the sentences would be harsher, and I doubt the president will aid us this time.” She clasped Parthena’s hand. “We’ll be all right, P.T. I promise.”
“I doubt they’ll do much.” Parthena gripped Zylphia’s elbow and followed the herd of women. “What did Teddy do the last times you were imprisoned?”
“As far as I know, he isn’t aware I’ve ever been in jail. He needed no further reason to encourage me to cease my activities here.”
“You’re a fool if you believe Teddy isn’t following your antics even though he’s in Boston. I’m sure he knows each and every time you were arrested and exactly when you were released. He must have his reasons for not speaking with you about it.”
Zylphia shrugged as the group of women were herded into the large waiting area of Union Station. She gripped Parthena’s hand so as not to be separated from her and moved with her fellow suffragists as they were forced into a packed railcar.
They stood in the aisles as no seats were available. “Why are we heading south?”
At Parthena’s whispered question, Zylphia looked around at the dawning understanding on the other protesters’ faces. “We’re not going to jail. We’re being sent to Occoquan. The wretched workhouse run by Mr. Whittaker.” As the whispers spread of where they were going, they crafted their plan that Dora Lewis would be their spokesperson and that they would demand to be treated as political prisoners.
As dusk fell, they were led into the workhouse. Zylphia sat next to Parthena in the matron’s office, Zee’s head held high but her gaze lowered as she and all her fellow protestors refused to answer the roll call. Their chosen speaker had informed the matron that they would not respond to any inquiries until the warden arrived, even if that meant sitting here for days. A soft snore rent the tense silence in the room as the hours ticked by, and Zylphia stifled an inappropriate giggle.
When pounding footsteps approached, she stood up straight and thrust her shoulders back. A man with stiff white hair and penetrating eyes burst into the room with a bevy of orderlies behind him. As Dora Lewis rose and proclaimed that she and the other women were to be considered political prisoners, he ordered his men, “Take her!” She was grabbed and yanked from the room.
“Now I will have order and obedience,” he barked as he walked with menacing steps in front of the women. “When your name is called, you will respond.” Zylphia exchanged a glance with Parthena and subtly shook her head. As the names were again called out, a resounding silence echoed through the room.
“Take that woman and that woman,” Whittaker snapped, pushing his orderlies into action. They held clubs and dragged the women from the room, wrenching shoulders and lifting them off their feet to propel them away as though they were nothing more than rag dolls.
Zylphia fought initially but then gave up as she was overpowered by two large men. She shied away when one raised his large club with a threatening, eager look. As she was hauled after Parthena, she focused on her friend who seemed to be flying through the air. Rather than dragging them into the workhouse, they were hauled outside to the men’s jail and then downstairs. Zylphia saw Parthena tossed into a far cell, and Zylphia was unceremoniously dumped into one closer to the stairs, the guard giving her a slap on one cheek for good measure.
She knelt as she watched woman after woman thrown into cells—some alone, others sharing a cell. Zylphia was kept alone and stood to peer out her cell. Lucy Burns was a few cells down from her and began a roll call. As each woman answered, Mr. Whittaker stormed in. “Quiet!” he screamed. When Lucy continued to speak, a guard grabbed her arms and handcuffed her to the cell door with her arms over her head.
Zylphia whispered to Lucy but jumped away from the bars of her cell when a guard yelled at her for quiet or she’d suffer the same fate. Zylphia stifled a sob and curled into herself as the adrenaline faded. She leaned against the wall of her cell, the concrete soothing her cheek. With no blanket to cover herself and a window allowing the cool November air to seep into her cell, Zylphia trembled. Soon she was shivering, and nothing she did warmed her.
The following morning a matron unlocked her cell. She dropped a plate of food on the floor and then scowled as she looked at Zylphia on the floor. “Doesn’t even have sense to get on the cot,” she grumbled. When she backed from the cell, her sharp gaze focused on Zylphia, and she called out to a female orderly, “Let’s begin with this one!”
Zylphia was pulled up and dragged to the bathroom and forcibly stripped of her clothes. They were tossed in a bin, and she was pushed into a public shower. She attempted to cover herself, earning snickers from those watching her discomfort. She shivered at the cold water and grimaced at the communal piece of soap she was given. However, after a poke to her back, she washed before standing, dripping for a few minutes, as she waited on a towel or cloth to dry herself. Finally a threadbare rag was thrown at her, and she sopped up the water as best she could. She caught a worn blue dress and donned it, chafing at the rough fabric. After dressing, two orderlies gripped her by her elbows and dragged her from the room. Her feet scraped along the floor, unable to keep pace with the stronger orderlies.
She heard the whispered words, “Hunger strike,” as she was pulled back to her cell from the restroom. She met Parthena’s worried gaze, in a cell at the opposite end along the same si
de where she was held. She nodded her understanding and collapsed to the floor after she was flung back inside. She curled into herself again as she fought tears and prayed for strength.
Rowena answered the door on the first knock. She stepped aside as Teddy and Morgan stormed into her small apartment.
“We left as soon as we could after the telegram arrived,” Teddy said. He shucked his coat and slung it over the back of the chair. “Can you tell us anything?”
Rowena shook her head as she fought tears. “Very little. They were supposed to be at the district jail. Instead they were sent to the Occoquan workhouse.”
“I’d think a workhouse would be much better than a jail,” Morgan said as he paced behind the settee. He stopped and gripped the back of it with such strength it appeared he was on the verge of tearing the stuffing from it.
“The women who have been in both the jail and the workhouse say that the workhouse is the worse of the two.” Rowena flushed as she suddenly had the attention of both men. “The food, the conditions and the treatment by those in charge are much worse at the workhouse.”
“Bloody hell,” Teddy said. “Of course Zee and Parthena would get caught up in such a scheme.” He massaged his injured hand and spun to face a window, although he saw little as he stared into the darkened night.
“They had—have—every right to protest and to demand their rights,” Rowena said as she stood tall. At their persistent silence, she sank into a chair. She frowned as Teddy clenched and unclenched his hands, with no relief in the tension in his shoulders. “What worries you, Teddy?”
“I know how little esteem most of these women have in the eyes of the public. Any mistreatment will be seen as their due,” he whispered. “The papers already snicker about the rich society matrons deprived of their maids and unadorned by jewels as they spend time in jail. I wonder if Zee thought through her actions or only reveled in the thought of becoming a martyr to her cause.”
Resilient Love: Banished Saga, Book 7 Page 23