by Kip Gayden
“If the women of London were at home, where they belong, they wouldn’t have anything to worry about,” said Mrs. Pardue. “If you ask me, women should just mind their own business and run the household, and let the men worry about running the country. A nation is only as strong as its homes, after all.”
“But if a nation ignores half its citizens, treating them as if they were invisible—” Mrs. Hix said.
“Invisible! That’s exactly right!” Elizabeth said. “We can’t vote, we can’t serve on juries—”
“Why on earth would any woman want to do those things?” Mrs. Bate said. “Sitting around all day at that horrid courthouse—I can’t imagine a bigger waste of time.”
Elizabeth started to say something else, but Mrs. Olmstead’s voice rose above the growing hubbub. “Ladies, ladies! Let’s not forget ourselves. Surely we aren’t going to let this political question ruin our friendship. One way or the other, a decision is going to be made about all this. And when it is, we’ll all still be here, living in this community, doing the best we can. Why don’t we let this suffrage matter be for a while, and talk about something else?”
After a long pause, Mrs. Baskerville said, “My husband says there’s a new barber down at Person’s. A nice-looking, intelligent fellow, he says.”
“Is he the one I’ve seen walking toward downtown, mornings? Broad-shouldered, slender? Wears a black derby?” Mrs. Hix inquired.
Anna’s memory flashed to the day she and the children had walked downtown, to the man who’d eyed her from the porch of the Keystone Hotel. He had been wearing a black derby, hadn’t he? Of course, there were probably at least a dozen men in Gallatin who wore them.
“I hear he came here from somewhere over in Stewart County,” Mrs. Hix said. “He’s rented a room at the Keystone Hotel.”
“Does this barber have a name?” Anna said.
The women looked at each other and shrugged.
“Well, maybe we can talk to our husbands about that, at least,” Elizabeth Jennings said. “That is, if Mrs. Baskerville approves.” Mrs. Baskerville gave her a hard look.
The ladies agreed that after the first of the year—just two meetings away, now—they would begin discussing plans for their summer gala, a community-wide event to raise money for the local hospital. After a few more minutes of chitchat, the meeting began to break up. Anna went to the door and handed each guest her wrap, taken from the stack held in Gertrude’s arms. She wished them a good day, and they all expressed their enjoyment of the morning’s tea. Anna smiled to herself. She was fairly certain Mrs. Baskerville, Mrs. Pardue, and the other traditionalists had enjoyed today’s little set-to much less than they were willing to admit, but manners dictated not mentioning one’s true feelings in such situations.
Elizabeth Jennings hung back until the last, as Anna had hoped she would. She wanted to bend her friend’s ear a little bit more, out of the hearing of the others.
“Well, you certainly won some points today, dear,” Anna said when she’d closed the door behind the last of the other guests.
“Oh, Anna! I get so frustrated! As if it weren’t bad enough that the men pretend we don’t exist, even the women, who ought to understand how important the cause is, seem so, so . . . blind and stupid!”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. It’s hard when you can’t seem to make yourself understood on a matter so important, isn’t it?”
Elizabeth nodded. “At least I can talk to you, Anna. I think we’re kindred spirits, in many ways.” She took Anna’s hands in hers. “You needed cheering up the other day, in my shop, and now I need you to return the favor, don’t I?”
Anna smiled at her. “Can I show you something? I didn’t dare let the other women see it. They’d have either died from the shock, or had me arrested and tried as a bad public influence. They barely managed the stockings.”
“What is it?” Elizabeth said, her voice dropping near a whisper.
“Something I bought in Chicago. Come up to my room, all right?”
They went upstairs. Anna asked Elizabeth to wait in one of the overstuffed chairs in her room. She went to her armoire and retrieved the French nightgown from its place at the bottom of one of the drawers, then went into the bathroom. She stepped out of her shoes and removed her dress, underthings, and stockings, and slipped the nightgown over her head. She went back into her room and relished the look that instantly appeared on Elizabeth’s face—something between shock and awe.
“That is . . . the most daring . . . it’s beautiful!” Elizabeth said. “Wherever did you find it?”
“At Madeleine’s, the same place I bought the stockings. Isn’t it something?” Anna twirled, so Elizabeth could see the plunging back.
“How can I get one?” Elizabeth said.
Anna gave her friend a surprised look. “Elizabeth! Are you sure? What will Wallace think?”
“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said, creasing her brow. “But I must have one of these. Even if nobody ever sees it but me.”
“I hope you have better luck with yours than I did,” Anna said. She told Elizabeth about her failed attempt at seduction in Chicago. “And there he was, asleep on the bed. I felt like a perfect fool.”
“Oh, Anna. That must have been such a . . . disappointment.”
Elizabeth appeared to be blushing slightly.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Have I embarrassed you?”
“No. That is . . . well, maybe a little. You always surprise me, Anna. I never know what you’re thinking. Here I am, the bold suffragette, and you’re more free to express yourself than I ever thought to be.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’d trade my freedom of expression for a bit of romance from my husband.”
Now Elizabeth was looking at her with something like pity. “So that’s why you were so sad the other day.”
Anna nodded. She wanted to get out of the nightgown; it was bringing back memories she didn’t want right now. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
She dressed and put the nightgown away. Then she sat on the edge of her bed, facing Elizabeth. “In a way, my trouble with Walter is part of the whole problem the cause is trying to address: Men don’t recognize that women have feelings, opinions, and needs of their own, besides just running a household and doing the knitting. They either treat us like porcelain goddesses, up on a pedestal, or they use us for pleasure and undesirable chores. Either way, they don’t see us as we really are.”
“But surely Walter has at least some sympathy, Anna. He’s the one who broke the deadlock with the aldermen and the mayor.”
Anna shook her head. “I still haven’t puzzled that one out. Walter is the last person I’d ever expect to do anything daring, much less controversial. Maybe he’s just trying to buy some time until the fuss blows over.”
“That thought had occurred to me,” Elizabeth said. “But I don’t intend to let the issue die.”
Anna looked at her friend. “Well, good for you, Elizabeth. At least one of us is going to get what she wants from Walter. Oh, dear, I’ve done it again; you’re blushing.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I do declare, Anna Dotson! Whatever shall we do with you?”
7
Charlie allowed himself a little private grin; there was no mistaking that build, that posture, that walk, or that face. Anna Dotson had just walked past the barbershop, and he thought he could guess why. Things were definitely getting more interesting. He decided it was time to do a little more research.
When Walter Dotson came in for his next haircut, Charlie was all smiles. The shop was not too busy right then, which suited Charlie’s purposes just fine.
“Good afternoon, Doc. Nice to see you.”
“Hello, Charlie.”
“Anything special you need today?” Charlie dusted off his barber chair and twisted it toward Walter, motioning for him to take a seat.
“No, just the usual, I guess.” Walter settled himself and leaned back easily into the leather cushions. C
harlie started combing Walter’s hair, preparatory to beginning the trim.
“Been busy, I guess?” Charlie said.
“Oh, always, Charlie. Always. Too much to do, and too little time.”
“I know what you mean. Some days, by the time it’s five o’clock here, I’m about ready to drop.”
Walter gave a little laugh. “Five o’clock? Friend, I wish I could count on going home at five every day.”
“Sure enough?”
“Yes. Some days, by the time the last patient walks out the front door of my office, it’s nearly seven.”
“You don’t mean it?” Charlie made a tsk sound with his tongue. “And then, I guess you have meetings a lot of evenings, don’t you? Aren’t you on the city council or something of that sort?”
“Board of Aldermen, yes.”
Charlie was amused by the resigned, weary tone Walter was using. You love it, though, don’t you, old sport? And that pretty wife of yours home all alone, just waiting . . .
“I guess all this suffrage business is giving you lots of trouble, these days,” Charlie said. “I’m sure glad my wife hasn’t gone in for all that.”
“Well, Charlie, count your lucky stars. I wish I could forget about it, or let somebody else deal with it. But I’ve got myself right in the middle of the whole mess, I’m afraid.”
“Too bad, that’s for sure.”
“Charlie, where do you and your wife go to church?”
Charlie was caught a little off his guard by the question. “Well, we haven’t placed our card anywhere, just yet. Daisy and Alice have only been here for a little while, so we’re still looking at that, I guess.”
“Well, we’d love to have you come and visit at the Christian Church. I’m an elder, and we’ve got a real fine group of people meeting there.”
“Well . . . thank you, Walter. I’ll give that some thought, I truly will. Daisy was raised Baptist, but . . . By the way, Doc, somebody told me you were some kind of specialist. That right?”
“Well, I am, as a matter of fact, Charlie. I specialize in otorhinolaryngology.”
“Oh-to-what?”
Walter gave a little chuckle. “It means diseases and treatments of the ear, nose, and throat.”
“Do tell! I’ve never heard of that.”
“Well, I guess it’s fairly new in this country. They’ve been practicing in places like Austria since at least the 1870s.”
“Is there much call for that in a little town like Gallatin?” Charlie had finished Walter’s hair; now he fussed about with the doctor’s sideburns and eyebrows. These were the little touches that kept his customers coming back.
“Well, not too much. But we’re close enough to Nashville that I get a good many referrals from physicians there.”
“Mmm-hmm. But I guess that must mean more travel time for you?”
“Sometimes. I don’t mind it too much, though. The folks who can afford my services can generally make it worth my while.”
And I don’t mind it either, Doc.
Charlie levered the back of the chair, placing Walter in a semi-reclining position. He took a towel out of the warmer and wrapped it around Walter’s face and neck. He swished his lather brush in the cup, stirring warm water in with the soap, then spread the creamy mixture on Walter’s face. He ran his razor over the strop a few times, then began the shave.
“Well, I’m glad I’m just a barber, I guess,” he said as he worked. “Though from what I’ve read, fellows in my line of business used to be in your business, too. When the barber was the only one in town with a good, sharp blade, he got to do some doctoring too, it seems. But not anymore, is it, Doc? No, I’ll leave yours to you, as long as you leave mine to me. And we’ll both be happy.”
Walter made a sound of agreement.
Charlie toweled Walter and patted bay rum on his face. He spun his customer toward the large mirror on the back wall.
“Looks good,” Walter said, rubbing first one cheek, then the other. “Your usual excellent job, Charlie.”
“Thank you, Doc. I aim to please.” Charlie gave him a little smile.
ANNA STARED OUT the parlor window, toward the porch of the Keystone Hotel. He wasn’t there, and hadn’t been for the past three days. She didn’t know what to make of it.
She didn’t even know his name. These last few days, she’d been trying to figure out a way to learn more about her mystery man. She could have just asked Walter, of course. He’d surely know, since he was a regular patron of J. P. Person’s establishment. A few times she’d considered doing that, but something held her back. She wasn’t ready to share her “secret,” as she thought of it. Besides, it would be just like Walter to suddenly take an interest in things she was thinking—an interest that could lead to questions she wasn’t quite ready to answer.
Small footsteps on the stairs behind her interrupted Anna’s musings. She turned from the window; it was Scott. “Mama, can I have a cookie?” He came over to her chair. “Please? I’ve been home from school for almost an hour. I’m getting hungry.”
“But what about the supper you won’t eat if I give you a cookie?” she said, running her fingers through his soft, straight blond hair. Mabel had her father’s coloring, and Scott had hers.
“I’ll eat my supper, I promise,” he said. “Please, Mama. Just one cookie.”
She ruffled his hair, then stood. “Well, young sir, since you’ve promised.”
They went into the kitchen and Anna asked Gertrude to give Scott one—“just one, mind you”—of the fresh oatmeal cookies she’d baked that afternoon. “And a small glass of milk, if we’ve still got some left.” Gertrude nodded and reached into the cupboard for a small saucer to hold Scott’s snack.
Anna ruffled her son’s hair one more time, then had a thought: it was about time Scott had a haircut, which he despised more than nearly anything. Anna herself thought J. P. was becoming a little rougher and less patient as he got on up in years. Maybe this new barber would be just the thing for Scott. And she could even ask Walter what he thought of the idea. That would throw him off the scent, for sure.
Not that there was any scent, she reminded herself. She just wondered about the man, that was all. He was a newcomer to Gallatin. Maybe he had a wife—that was possible, wasn’t it? Even likely? A new woman in town who’d want another woman to talk to.
Last night, she’d tried again with Walter. The children were already in bed. She and Walter sat in the drawing room, Walter reading Shakespeare and Anna looking through her latest issue of Argosy. She was reading a story about a woman in love with the keeper of a lighthouse on a lonely, rocky coast. The woman could never seem to attract the attentions of the handsome, distant lighthouse keeper, though she brought him pies and fresh bread she baked herself. She despaired of his ever returning her love. One night, in a melancholy mood, she rowed out in a small dory to watch the play of the moonlight on the water. The tide began to carry her out to sea, past the promontory on which the lighthouse stood. She began to despair of her life, watching as the glow from the lighthouse grew smaller and more distant. Then, from the darkness, a dinghy hove near. The lighthouse keeper had seen her distress and put out to rescue her. His strong arms drove his craft through the water; he came alongside and asked her what on earth she was about. She told all, professing at the same time her love and her despair.
“Dear woman,” the keeper said, “how foolish we’ve both been!”
“Whatever can you mean?”
“For as long as I’ve seen you in your little cottage by the cliff, I’ve loved you. How I longed to tell you! But I knew a poor man such as myself could never be worthy of you! And so alas! I resigned myself to silence.”
The last sentence found them locked in a rapturous embrace, rocking in their boats on the moon-washed sea. Anna brushed aside tears as she closed her magazine. She looked at Walter, sitting in his favorite chair with his Shakespeare open on his lap. If only he could see her as the keeper finally came to see his admirer!<
br />
She went over and kneeled down beside his chair. He looked at her aslant, and put his book aside.
“Walter, I love you.”
“I love you too, Anna. You know that.”
“Dear, I wonder if . . . That is, I’d like it if we could . . .”
She tried to say the words, but the puzzled expression on his face worked past her intentions, past her sentimental wish for a romantic marriage, past most of her reserves of patience. She would have to do everything, say everything herself—Walter would be no help. He truly, honestly had no idea of the passion locked in her, the tide of desire that beat against her day and night.
Still, she decided to forge ahead. She found a slow, seductive smile somewhere; she pressed her hand against the inside of his knee, then slid it slowly upward. “Does this remind you of anything?” she whispered. “The Maxwell House Hotel, maybe?”
Walter grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his leg, giving a horrified glance at the stairs. “Anna! What if the children were to wake?”
It was no use, absolutely no use at all. Her husband might as well be made of brick. Anna got up and dusted her dress. “You’re right, of course, Walter. As always.”
She went away from him, toward the stairs. Maybe he watched her go, maybe not—Anna didn’t care. He would never have the slightest understanding of her needs.
She had gone to her room and undressed for bed. After a few seconds of thought, she went to her armoire and dug out the French nightgown. She put it on and lay on her bed. She would pleasure herself as best she could, she had decided. She had formed a picture in her mind of the handsome stranger in the black derby, imagined him coming to her door in the middle of the day, finding her in the house alone, wearing nothing but the French nightgown . . .
8
Mama! ouch! You’re squeezing my hand!”
“I’m sorry, darling. Come along, though.”
“I don’t want to! I hate getting a haircut.”