Electing to Love

by Kianna Alexander

  She waved her off. "Don't look so shocked, girl. I've traveled much of the world, and America isn't the only place where a woman's expected to go her whole life in docile servitude and unquestionable virtue."

  Having never traveled outside the country, Angel had never given much thought to what women's lives were like in other countries. She'd been too busy trying to improve things in her own life. "What do you mean?"

  "Many cultures of the world are male dominated, just like ours. Those women suffer under much the same chauvinism as we do. But there are places in Africa where societies are matrilineal, and the women hold all the power."

  Angel thought such a society sounded very progressive. "I doubt that will happen here."

  "So do I. But we can still work toward something better than what we have. That's where your feminine wiles come in, honey. Use what you've got to get what you want."

  "Mama would be so scandalized to hear you say that." A smile touched her lips at the memory of her sweet, soft-spoken mother.

  Myrna laughed. "I bet she would. My sister was as straight-laced as they come."

  A silent moment passed between them, and Angel's mind replayed some of the happy times she'd had with her mother. Looking at her aunt, she sensed Myrna was doing the same.

  Finally, Myrna spoke again. "Anyhow, I never had any children, but I love you like you were my own. Promised Lucy I would take care of you. So, I'm not advising you to be loose or immoral. You can move a man plenty without lifting your skirts. Remember that, alright?" She gave her Angel's thigh a few soft pats with her open palm.

  Angel nodded her head, internalizing the advice. Myrna Lane Corcoran had never been anyone's shrinking violet, having left home as a teenager to travel with an acting troupe. As a child, Angel had waited impatiently for her aunt to return from her tours, anticipating the bounty of stories and souvenirs Myrna would bring home. In those days, her aunt never disappointed her. She'd always looked up to her worldly, well-traveled aunt, and even now, she continued to do so.

  This was advice Myrna had given her before. She'd married young, to a fellow actor named Russell Corcoran. They'd traveled together for fifteen years, until his untimely death when he fell headfirst from a stage during a performance. All of this had occurred before Angel's birth, but she was familiar with the story. Though she was thirty-three years old, nearly thirty years younger than her aunt, they'd enjoyed something like a sisterly camaraderie. Myrna had loved Russell dearly, and still spoke of him affectionately decades after his death.

  As a widow, Myrna knew society expected her to either mourn then remarry, or spend the rest of her life in mourning and without the company of another man. But with no desire to enter another marriage, and even less desire to go to her grave without ever experiencing a man's affections again, Myrna had chosen her own path. She entertained the gentlemen she deemed worthy, and did so discreetly, keeping her dignity intact.

  Myrna's voice broke into her thoughts. "Remember, Angel. Your body is your own, despite what society may say. Who you choose to share it with is your own business. You're a good girl, I know you'll handle things the right way."

  Needing some time to process her aunt's words before she started the evening shift in the saloon, Angel excused herself and went to her bedroom.

  The space was as simple as the woman who occupied it. White lace curtains hung at the lone window, which faced the green forests bordering the northwestern end of town. The poster bed was dressed with plain white sheets and a pink and white quilt she'd made as girl. The dresser holding her clothes was also home to a few bottles of perfume, some hair ornaments, and her grooming supplies. The short legged oak table beside her bed held a gas lamp, and a small framed portrait of her mother, Lucille.

  Aunt Myrna was the antithesis of her younger sister. Lucille had been a schoolteacher, as well as a quiet spirit and pious parishioner of the old church headed by the late Reverend Thomas Earl. When she wasn't at the schoolhouse, or at the church, Lucille had spent her time lovingly attending to Angel's needs, and teaching her the skills a proper woman of society should have. In her youth, Angel had learned to cook, clean, sew, and read music, all at her mother's knee. Aunt Myrna had taught her how to make pottery, apply face paints and style her hair, as well as how to protect herself. The three of them had been an unconventional family, yet Angel didn't feel anything she'd lacked anything in her raising.

  Angel knew nothing about her father; all she knew was that her mother had never been married to him. Some of the folks in town had been cruel to her and her mother due to that, but she'd been taught to ignore the slurs hurled at her. The older she got, the less attention she paid to the harpies in town. Finally, they stopped bothering her. She assumed they lost interest in teasing her, once they realized they wouldn't get a rise out of her.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. Her courtship with Gregory was still less than a week old, and she knew that if she followed her aunt's advice, things would get much more serious between them. She wasn't a prude by any stretch, as she'd entertained her share of young men. While she wasn't one who shared her body indiscriminately, she knew that things were bound to progress to the carnal realm if she engaged Gregory with her "wiles."

  What would it mean to share herself with Gregory? It would not be all about "persuading" him, as aunt Myrna had suggested. The physical attraction between them was real, and palpable. She knew that if she opened that door, and let their relationship go to a physical level, there was a good chance there would be no going back.

  She went to her wardrobe, pulled out her the apron she sometimes wore over her clothes when working in the saloon. In less than an hour, her shift would start. The Thursday night crowd could get pretty thick, so she needed to focus on taking care of her customers. With that in mind, she tied the apron strings behind her, fixed her hair into a bun, and left the room, headed for the saloon up front.

  Her aunt, still on the settee, winked as she passed. "Think about what I said, Angel. Sometimes it's the only way to get a man to thinking clearly."

  She nodded, but said nothing as she slipped form the apartment, closing the door behind her.

  ***

  Sidestepping past the many chairs set up in rows in the lobby of the Taylor Hotel, Gregory found a seat near the back, and sat. It was a clear, warm Friday night, and most of the folks in town were present for the final debate between the two mayoral candidates. With the hotel being the largest structure in town, the lobby often served as the location for town gatherings such as this. There was talk of building a town hall, as well as a theater for the performing arts, but Gregory didn't think too much of the rumors. To his mind, the matter of such things would be left up to whoever won the election.

  All around him, citizens of Ridgeway were present. Most were seated, but a few stood about in the corners of the room, carrying on muted conversations. The hotel staff had propped opened the big double doors that separated the lobby from the dining room to create a larger space. The expanded space had been set with as many rows of chairs as could be fit while still allowing a center aisle for walking, and a space up front, near the checkin desk, where two podiums had been set up for the candidates.

  As he waited for the event to begin, he looked around the nicely appointed room. The Taylors had opened the hotel back in '83, after more than a year of construction. The fancy striped wallpaper and soft imported carpets gave the place an air of sophistication. Several large prints by Currier and Ives hung from the walls, as did sconces that held gas lamps. During one of his many chats with Eugenia Taylor, she'd spoken of the family's plans to upgrade to electric lighting before the end of the decade. As a tenant there, he was pleased with their progressive attitude. The upgrades they made would only serve to make his life easier and more convenient.

  On the right side of the room, across the aisle from where he sat, Gregory saw the gaggle of women, seated in the three rows closest to the front. They were the same sign toting, chant
ing troublemakers that had been causing all the interruptions to town life as of late. For the moment, at least, they seemed content to converse among themselves, and as far as he could tell no one had a sign or placard. He hoped they'd behave themselves during the debate, but decided to keep an eye on them, just in case.

  He didn't see Angel among the women, but he knew she wouldn't miss the debate. He sat, minding his own affairs, but let his eyes dart to the door whenever someone entered.

  When Angel appeared, he watched intently as she strolled down the center aisle. When he saw what she was wearing, his jaw dropped. She'd donned a skirt and a blue shirtwaist with lace edging the collar and the wrists of the long sleeves. Having not seen her in a dress or skirt since the town Christmas social nearly two years prior, he was shocked to see her dressed that way.

  As she breezed past, she looked his way. The dark eyes held a sultry invitation as she inclined her head toward him. A small smile lifted the corners of her pink painted lips, but she said nothing.

  She held his eyes for a moment.

  He detected something very seductive in her gaze. It quickened his pulse and heated his blood, sending it rushing for the lower regions of his body.

  She dropped her gaze, freeing him from her spell. Then she moved on to join the women seated up front.

  When she took her seat, he found himself still gazing at her, though he was now looking at her back and the glossy riches of her dark hair, bound up in a fashionable chignon. Something had passed between them just now, and he couldn't wait for this debate to end. When it did, he meant to take her someplace private, so he could experience the full heat of the fire he'd seen behind her eyes.

  Bernard Ridgeway's booming voice called the gathering to order, and Gregory turned toward the front. Bernard made a few statements about the order of things before stepping away.

  Noah and his opponent, Nathan Greer, came together briefly for a handshake, then took their places behind the podiums.

  On the front row sat Kyle McCormack, the reporter for the Ridgeway Tribune, who was to act as moderator. McCormack stood to shake hands with each man, then launched into his first question.

  "Gentleman, tariff policy is an issue of utmost importance, both locally and on the national level. What is your position on the tariff? Mr. Greer, you may go first."

  Nathan Greer, a burly man with close trimmed brown hair and a full mustache, grasped the lapels of his suit as he spoke. "I believe the tariff should be lowered. Business owners and shippers should not have to bear the expense of these prohibitive fees."

  McCormack nodded. "And Sheriff Rogers, your views?"

  Noah laced his fingers together atop the surface of the podium. "As with most topics, I disagree with Mr. Greer. Tariffs should be higher, for the simple reason that it's much fairer for those in business to bear the extra cost of producing and shipping goods. Everyday citizens are facing more than enough financial burden as it is."

  Gregory half-listened as McCormack posed a question about pensions for veterans of the War Between the States, but his eyes were on Angel. Sitting there among the other ladies, hands in her lap, she seemed to be carefully following the debate. At the moment, she appeared to be just as demure and docile as any of her companions, yet he knew better. She was as feisty as they came, and her demeanor had turned out to be both vexing and tempting.

  As if aware of his attention, she turned her head and looked right at him. Again, the dark eyes beckoned to him with an irresistible heat. A sultry smile crossed her face momentarily, then she refocused her attention on the debate. Straightening in his chair, he attempted to do the same.

  McCormack took a sip of water from a tumbler sitting near him. “You’ve stated your positions on suffrage for women before, but I'd like to give you both an opportunity to clarify your positions. Sheriff, you may go first this time."

  "Thank you. Folks, I see no good reason why our female citizens should be denied the vote. Now, I'm sure some of you will claim women are too addled or weak-minded. I know plenty of intelligent women, right here in our own town, who are plenty smart, smarter than some men if we're honest. I don't think anything negative can come from more people gaining a basic American right."

  The women in the room gave Noah an enthusiastic ovation, while a few of the men booed and hissed. Gregory didn't express his opinion out loud, seeing no need to displease Angel now.

  Nathan, his chest puffed up as if he were offended, took his turn next. "My opponent says women are fully capable of voting. I'm not so sure about that. But what I am sure of is that female capabilities are best put to use in the home. Their true calling is to serve their husbands, keep a clean home, and rear well-behaved children. Only through those God-given duties will they ever obtain any measure of happiness."

  This time the men clapped. The women, for their part, stood and made a show of turning their backs on Greer. A few of them gathered their belongings and left, visibly upset.

  Nathan seized on that. "You see? Women are much too temperamental and volatile. They aren't fit to be given the power of the ballot."

  At that, Angel spun around to face the candidate. Her eyes were flashing with an angry fire. "Mr. Greer, what's between your ears ain't worth a heap of cow dung. If anybody in this room is unfit, it's you!"

  The room erupted into bedlam. Angry shouts flew back and forth between the folks assembled. They all seemed to want to convince each other to change sides. With all the yelling and carrying on, that wasn't going to happen.

  Gregory slid to the edge of his seat, watching the madness unfold. He kept his hand on his sidearm in case things came to blows.

  A sharp series of raps from Bernard's gavel broke through the chaos. "Enough!" The old mayor's voice cut through any remaining chatter, and silence fell over the gathering.

  His brow furrowed over his stormy eyes, Bernard rumbled again. "This is a debate, not a cockfight! We're all adults here, and will behave ourselves as such. Any more of this, and I'll have the lawmen toss you in the jail! Is that understood?"

  Folks all around the room quieted.

  Satisfied, Bernard nodded to McCormack.

  McCormack straightened his tie, and continued with things as if the fracas had never occurred. "So, Sheriff, you have two minutes to rebut Mr. Greer's last statement about why women should not be allowed the vote."

  "Here's my rebuttal: If I'm elected, the women of this town cast their ballots in our next local election."

  The remaining women, and a few like-minded men, stood again and cheered for Noah, giving him his second ovation of the night. Watching Nathan Greer's tight face and squared shoulders, Gregory could tell Greer was more than a bit annoyed that his opponent was getting so many accolades from the audience.

  McCormack waited for the applause to quiet. "Mr. Greer, am I to assume you would not extend such a right our female citizens, if you are elected?"

  "You're damn straight I won't. And the sheriff should be ashamed of himself for pandering to these troublesome women!" Greer, with his chest puffed up like an angry grizzly, stepped away from his podium, then stomped down the center aisle and out the doors.

  McCormack grinned. "I suppose that concludes our debate, then."

  As the assemblage began to break up, Gregory rose and sought out Angel. Now that this formality was over, he wanted nothing more than to slip away to a private place with her.

  He found her standing amongst a tangle of women, chatting. Minding his manners, he acknowledged her companions, the librarian Miss Parker and the schoolteacher Miss Smart. Then he waited as patiently as he could manage, his eyes on Angel the whole time.

  Once the women said their goodbyes and parted, he reached out and captured Angel's soft hand within his own. "You look lovely this evening, my dear."

  Her sultry eyes took on a coy look that made his pulse quicken. "I'm glad you approve, Gregory."

  He eased her toward the door. "Come on. Let's go somewhere a bit more private, shall we?"

 
She let him guide her. "And just where would that be?"

  He only smiled. "You'll see."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  Angel held Gregory's hand and walked with him out of the hotel. He led her across the road to the library, and they went inside.

  Only a few people were in the library this time of day, and it was due to close in less than an hour. Angel surmised that he'd brought her here for quiet, and there wasn't a much quieter place in town.

  Prissy, seated behind her desk, looked up from an open book as they entered. As slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and she acknowledged their presence with a short nod before returning to her attention to her reading.

  They moved to the small alcove by the front window that contained four upholstered armchairs. He took a seat, and she in sat the chair directly to his right.

  She watched him removed his hat and place it on the small table centering the grouping of chairs.

  He ran a hand through his dark locks. "I understand you enjoy reading. What kind of books do you like?"

  She could feel her brow hitch with surprise. "How do you know I like to read?"

  He shrugged. "The sheriff's office is right across the street from the library, and I've seen you coming in and going out with armloads of books. Your aunt has mentioned it to me, as well."

  She felt some of her nervousness melt away, even as she wondered when he'd spoken to her aunt Myrna. He did frequent the saloon for his beloved sarsaparillas, and Myrna often played the upright piano near the bar, so it wasn't such a far-fetched idea. What really shocked her was that he cared enough to ask about her reading habits.

  He eyed her expectantly. "So, are you going to tell me what sort of books you like?"

  "Sure. I love fiction, mainly world literature and things written by authors from around the world. My aunt has introduced me to a lot of it."

  He settled in to the chair. "Sounds like you have a broad taste. Tell me about some of your favorites."

  She touched her chin, thinking on that for a moment. "I really enjoyed the 'One Thousand and One Nights,' it had a lot of wonderful and interesting stories. The only other one I've read that I liked was 'Treasure Island'. That's been my favorite book so far."