Miscarriage of Justice

by Kip Gayden

  “You live close to here, Walter?” Charlie asked as he pinned the towel behind Walter’s neck.

  “Just over on North Water Avenue,” Walter said. “Right across the street from the hotel.”

  “Yes, I’ve been staying there,” Charlie said. His comb was moving through Walter’s hair; Walter could hear the scissors clicking. “My wife and daughter will be joining me here pretty soon. We’ve rented a little place on the north end of Railroad Street.”

  “It’ll be good to get your family back together, I guess.”

  “I reckon.” Charlie Cobb fell silent for a moment; his hands moving deftly over Walter’s scalp. “So, is your house the nice two-story with the two turrets on the front, right there close to the intersection?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Walter said.

  “I think I saw your wife and children the other day, walking toward downtown. Girl and a boy?”

  “Yes, that was probably them,” Walter said.

  “You’ve got a real nice family there, Walter.”

  “Thank you.”

  Charlie finished trimming Walter’s hair and then mixed a cup of shaving lather. He spread the warm mixture on Walter’s face and began stropping his straight-edge razor on the leather strap hanging down the back of the chair. Walter leaned back, enjoying the relaxing warmth on his face. The razor moved smoothly over his skin. When Charlie was finished shaving him, he wiped off the traces of lather with a warm cloth, then reached for a bottle on the shelf above the mirror behind the chair. He dashed some bay rum into his palm, rubbed his hands together, then applied the tonic to Walter’s face and neck. It was cooling and soothing after the shave. Cobb unpinned the towel from around Walter’s neck.

  “All done, Walter.” He spun the chair around and held a hand mirror behind Walter’s head so he could inspect the entire haircut. “Look all right?”

  “Fine, Charlie. Just fine.”

  “All right, then.” He spun the chair back around. “Two bits, just like they say.”

  Walter got out of the chair and put some coins in Charlie’s palm. “Keep the change, Charlie,” he said. “And thanks for working me in so quickly.”

  “Thank you very much. Come back anytime.”

  Walter made his farewells to J. P. and the other men, with a few repeats of some of the earlier joshing. He went out, tugging his watch from his vest pocket. He flipped open the cover: a quarter to one. He might actually have time to get a quick bite at the drugstore before he started on his afternoon patients. He rubbed his face. Charlie Cobb had done a real nice job. Walter decided he’d start asking for him when he went in J. P.’s place.

  CHARLIE COBB MOTIONED for the next customer. As the man sauntered toward his chair, Charlie peered out the window in the direction Walter Dotson had gone. He wished he’d thought to ask Walter his wife’s name. She was a handsome woman, and no mistake. And the other day, when he’d admired her from the porch of the Keystone Hotel, he’d had the feeling she didn’t at all mind his appreciation of her figure. It was something to keep in mind.

  THE MEETING ROOM at City Hall was full, and as Walter looked out from his seat on the dais, he feared the attendance wasn’t just because of the Board of Aldermen’s announced intention to take up the issue of the speed limit for horseless carriages. Apparently, the local suffragettes had let it be known that they intended to bring the national debate over the proposed Nineteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution right into Gallatin, Tennessee.

  Mayor Brown had just called the meeting to order when the back doors slammed open and a parade of women in the trademark yellow- sashed, white dresses marched down the center aisle, waving placards and shouting slogans about the repression of women. For the few heart-stopping seconds it took him to scan their ranks, Walter was terrified that Anna might be with them. But no, she wasn’t. He breathed a little easier. The next few moments might be uncomfortable, but at least he wouldn’t be personally embarrassed in front of the whole town of Gallatin.

  Apparently, the Jennings woman was their spokesman. That wasn’t good; Walter had heard Anna mention her often.

  “Mayor Brown, we, the women of the Gallatin and Sumner County chapter of the Tennessee Equal Suffrage Association, have drafted a resolution calling for—”

  “This demonstration is out of order!” shouted the mayor. “You women will leave this instant, or I will call the police and have you arrested.”

  “Mayor Brown, this petition has been signed—”

  “I don’t care if it’s been signed by the President of the United States,” Brown said. “You have no right to be here.”

  “Precisely, Mayor! We have no right to address this Board of Aldermen, just as we have no right to vote in the election of its members. We have no right to own property in our own names, rather than our husbands’; we have no right to do anything except bear children, raise them, and sweep the floors in our houses. But change is coming, Mayor. It is sweeping across this land and we, the women of the Equal Suffrage Association, are announcing its arrival. We will not be denied, nor shall we be moved!”

  The other women in white gave a loud cheer, soon swallowed up in a roar of protest from many of the men—and some of the women—in the hall. Mayor Brown pounded his gavel, but it was some moments before the din subsided enough for him to make himself heard.

  “Enough! That is enough, I say! Madam, will you leave now?”

  Elizabeth Jennings turned and said something to one of the other women. They began passing up and down the rows of the audience, handing out printed handbills.

  “We have prepared a draft resolution for the Gallatin Board of Aldermen. We urge—no, demand—that the leaders of this community pass a resolution calling upon our elected representatives in Nashville to vote in favor of the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment. It is time to step out of the paternalistic, tribal past and join the modern world. Give women the right to vote!”

  The other suffragettes began a chant: “Right to vote! Right to vote! Right to vote!”

  Just as Mayor Brown appeared ready to leap upon Elizabeth Jennings and do her bodily harm, Aloysius Hix, one of the aldermen, stood and said, “Your Honor, I move that this board approve the draft resolution as presented by these ladies.”

  Brown wheeled on the alderman. “Have you taken leave of your senses, Aloysius? What are you trying to do?”

  Hix just stood there, staring at the mayor.

  “Well? What are you going to do, Mayor?” the Jennings woman said. “One of your own aldermen has made a motion.”

  “There is no second,” the mayor said, staring fiercely at the rest of the aldermen. “Since there is no second, the motion may not be considered.”

  “You can kick my motion out if you want, your Honor,” Hix said, “but this question isn’t going to go away. You know it won’t.”

  “May I offer an alternative?” Walter said. Everyone looked at him. “I propose that this question be remanded to a subcommittee of the board for further study. The committee will then make a recommendation to the full board.”

  Mayor Brown stared at Walter for a few long seconds, then began nodding slowly. “Yes, maybe that’s a good idea. No sense doing something in haste.”

  Walter knew the mayor was probably hoping that stringing the question along would draw out its venom, as it were. Then, the board could quietly veto the notion, out of the public limelight. He wasn’t sure he didn’t agree with the mayor, but he also wasn’t sure he didn’t agree with Aloysius Hix. Mainly, he wanted to get past this evening’s awkward impasse.

  Hix, looking thoughtfully at Walter, said, “I withdraw my motion in favor of that presented by Dr. Dotson. I second his motion and I volunteer to serve on the subcommittee.”

  “All right, then,” Mayor Brown said. “We have a motion and a second. All in favor?”

  All five aldermen raised their hands. The suffragettes applauded loudly. Elizabeth Jennings gave Walter a measuring look, but she appeared mollified, at least, by
the turn of events.

  After the board adjourned and the crowd dispersed, the aldermen lingered. Mayor Brown observed, “Walter, you ought to think about it. We need a man like you as mayor. I will not be running for reelection. And maybe, someday . . . who knows?”

  Walter tried to ignore the flutter of excitement under his breastbone. He gave the mayor a little smile and a shake of the head. “Now, your Honor, I’m just a simple country doctor, trying to serve this community as best I can. I’ve never entertained aspirations for mayor.”

  “Before you get that piece of humble pie all the way in your mouth,” Alderman Hix said, “you ought to listen to the mayor. The way you handled that situation this evening with the suffragettes was very smooth, Walter. You showed some good instincts.”

  “Yeah . . . even if I’m still not sure why you did it,” Brown said. “Or what it’s going to accomplish, with those she-males.”

  “Walter, you’re the only Republican I know in these parts who could actually get himself elected to something,” Hix said. “You ought to think about that, too. You could do your party some good.”

  Walter stared out the window. He had to admit he’d been thinking lately about what it would be like to hold an office with a little more reach. And why shouldn’t he run for mayor? He was a respected member of the business and professional community. He was a leader at his church. He was even a part of the community’s cultural fabric, through his activities with the town orchestra. And Anna had her place, too, with the town’s leading women.

  Anna . . . Walter felt a shadow of guilt fall across the rosy visions he was painting for himself. He wasn’t sure how she’d feel about his getting more active in politics. He hadn’t missed the long silences that seemed to be getting longer, lately. Especially noticed was the inevitable chill when he told her he’d be home late from a patient appointment, or from a meeting at the church, or from a band rehearsal, or a Masonic lecture.

  Certainly, a man had to do what he had to do, and his wife’s place was at home with the children, but something still tugged at a corner of Walter’s mind on those occasions, like now, when he allowed himself to dwell on what might lie behind those lengthening silences.

  “Well, fellas, that’s something to think about, I guess,” he said, extracting himself from his reverie. “I sure appreciate your confidence, and all, but, right now . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Give it some thought, Walter,” Mayor Brown said. “You and I don’t always see eye to eye on everything, but we still respect each other. That’s the kind of thing not every man can say. People listen to you, Walter. You could accomplish things. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Walter nodded. “I’ll think about it, Mayor, I really will.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The mayor tugged his watch out of his vest pocket and thumbed it open. “Well, I’d better go.”

  The other aldermen nodded at Mayor Brown as he made his way to the front door.

  “I guess I’d better be going too,” Walter said. “Good day to you all.”

  Hix stood with the others to leave, and shook Walter’s hand. “And to you. I really hope you’ll give it some thought.”

  “Yes, I will. It’s just that right now . . . Well, anyhow. I’ll study on it.”

  Walter felt a lightness in his step as he crossed the Gallatin town square toward home. It was nice to be thought of as an up-and-comer by men like Brown and Hix. Walter’s future seemed to be opening up in front of him, just there for the taking.

  And then, he thought again of Anna. What would she say, or, maybe worse, not say?

  If he tried just a little, Walter could remember those heady early days of their marriage, when he felt like he could just about eat her up with a spoon. He couldn’t get enough of her then; the look in her eyes in those moments repaid his attentions a thousand fold.

  When was it he first started thinking of her in terms of the limitations she represented, rather than the opportunities?

  The miscarriage was part of it, he guessed. Certainly, there was a time when the idea of another pregnancy made him tend toward circumspection in his physical attentions. But then, after a while . . . it just seemed other things interested him more: his career, and getting established in Gallatin, and figuring out how things worked in this community, this part of the state . . . Walter supposed it was part of the natural stages of a responsible man’s life. When you were young, you tended to be more romantic. Maybe that was God’s plan, after all—to encourage mankind to be fruitful and multiply, as scripture said. But wasn’t there a time when a man needed to take care of other things? Maybe Walter was just in that time of life.

  He didn’t think Anna understood that, though, and the thought of trying to talk to her about it made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure he could explain to her that he loved her as always, just in a different way.

  Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he understood it himself.

  Yes, a man had to do what he had to do. Surely Anna would understand.

  6

  Good morning, mrs. olmstead,” Anna said as she opened the door. “Gertrude,” she called over her shoulder.

  The minister’s wife nodded. “Good morning, Mrs. Dotson. Nice to see you.” She stepped inside and began unbuttoning her black, woolen outer coat. Gertrude came from the kitchen and took Mrs. Olmstead’s coat and muffler, then stood quietly, waiting for Anna’s guest to finish unpinning her hat.

  “Mrs. Baskerville, Mrs. Bate, Mrs. Oldham, and Mrs. Pardue are already here,” Anna said. “We’re waiting for Mrs. Hix and Mrs. Jennings. I believe Gertrude has seated them in the parlor. Please make yourself at home.”

  Mrs. Olmstead gave Anna a serene smile and walked through the vestibule toward the parlor, where the other women were sitting primly on the edges of the mahogany Queen Anne settee and chairs, waiting for everyone to arrive.

  Anna was the youngest member of the group, five years Elizabeth Jennings’s junior, but she had never felt the least bit intimidated by the older women. When she and Walter had moved to Gallatin, she had assumed her place in the social circle with as much aplomb as if she had received an engraved invitation. The women got together every week; they took turns hosting the group. All of them lived within the same four-block area, a convenient walking distance. They drank tea, exchanged gossip, discussed local events, and talked about the latest styles.

  When Elizabeth Jennings and Alma Hix arrived, walking together, Gertrude showed them into the parlor, then quickly brought the tray from the kitchen and began filling the porcelain demitasse cups with steaming tea. Anna brought a silver tray into the parlor. “Here are some cookies, ladies. Please help yourselves.”

  Anna had been looking forward to today’s meeting; it was the first since the raucous Board of Aldermen’s session that had been interrupted by the suffragettes, led by Elizabeth Jennings. Anna guessed it was no coincidence that Elizabeth had come in the company of Alma Hix, whose husband had made the motion calling for the aldermen to endorse the proclamation in favor of women’s suffrage. Anna was especially interested to find out about Walter’s initiative for the subcommittee. Of course, he hadn’t said a word to her about the matter, but talk was all over town. Anna could hardly believe safe, stolid Walter would stick out his neck on such a controversial issue. She wondered what other surprises Walter might have in store.

  “Mrs. Dotson, you must show us some of the things you found in Chicago,” Elizabeth said, as soon as Anna had set down the cookie tray. “We’re all just dying to see what you brought back.”

  “I was hoping you’d ask,” Anna said. She got up and lifted her skirts halfway to her knees, displaying the pair of stockings she’d decided was her favorite: sheer black, with little diamond-shaped sequins sewn on either side of the seams that ran all the way up the backs of her legs. The women gasped or gave shocked little chuckles as Anna pranced and twirled, making sure everyone in the room had a chance to see the stockings from every angle.

  “Oh, Mrs
. Dotson, you naughty thing!” said Mrs. Bate. “But aren’t they lovely?”

  “Wait, I’ve got more,” Anna said. She went over to the burled-walnut bureau and took down a brightly colored sack with “Madeleine’s” printed on the side. One by one, she removed the filmy silk stockings and passed them around the circle of women, who oohed and ahhed satisfyingly.

  “Aren’t these like the ones in Vogue?” someone asked.

  “Yes. In fact, I wrote down the style numbers, if anyone’s interested. You can order them by mail from Madeleine’s. I’ve got the address.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Olmstead. Her husband was the minister of the Christian Church, which all the ladies except Mrs. Hix and Mrs. Bate attended. “They sure are pretty, but if Mr. Olmstead ever caught me with a pair of these on, I don’t know what he’d say.”

  “You never know, Mrs. Olmstead,” Anna said, grinning. “Reverend Olmstead might take a whole new interest in staying home nights.”

  Mrs. Olmstead gave Anna a wide-eyed, shocked look. Elizabeth Jennings giggled into her tea napkin.

  “Mrs. Dotson, I hardly think that’s the sort of thing we ought to be discussing,” Mrs. Pardue said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. “Why shouldn’t we wear what we please? Why should our husbands control that, too?”

  A long silence limped past. The women sat, looking everywhere except at Elizabeth, taking dry, little sips of their tea.

  “Mrs. Jennings, not all of us share your political views,” Mrs. Baskerville said, finally.

  “Your husband is a lawyer, Mrs. Baskerville,” Alma Hix said. “Surely he can’t believe that laws shouldn’t be changed once in a while?”

  “My husband and I do not talk about such matters,” Mrs. Baskerville said.

  “Mine either,” Anna said. “But maybe we should. Maybe we all should be talking to our husbands about . . . things. We have brains in our heads, after all. We have ideas.”

  “Exactly right,” Elizabeth said. “But that’s what most men don’t want to hear. Like those ruffians in London, with their mob tactics.”