Sarah stared as his arm several seconds before she hesitantly looped her arm through his. He reached over with his other hand and covered hers as he led her inside to the dining room.
When they entered the dining room, she was greeted with a chorus of welcomes from the student boarders who sat at a long, linen-draped, mahogany table. One reproachful glance from Roger quieted the girls, and they sat silent with their hands folded in their laps.
Roger held Sarah’s chair for her to be seated and moved to sit at the other end. Dora, the cook’s helper and serving girl, pushed the swinging door from the kitchen open and backed into the room. Steam rose from the large platter of chops she held, and her face sparkled with sweat. She set the meat in front of Roger and cast a quick smile in Sarah’s direction before she disappeared into the kitchen.
Within minutes she returned to the dining room with bowls of peas and potatoes. Roger served the food onto plates stacked in front of him and passed them to either side. As Sarah reached for her plate, she noticed Roger studied her from the other end of the table. As his gaze traveled over her face, she remembered how Alex had looked at her, and her hand trembled.
The choice she had made closed a door when she came here, and nothing could change it now. Her thoughts might return to Alex and Richland Creek from time to time, but that life lay in the past. Her heart might cry out for the young man with piercing dark eyes, but he was as dead to her as her parents.
She lifted her fork to her mouth but halted in midair as she caught sight of Roger again. He sat hunched in his chair with his elbows resting on its arms. The water goblet in his hand rotated in small circles, and the candlelight reflected off the large diamond ring on his finger. He studied her with an arched eyebrow and a half smile on his face.
Alex’s warning about Roger returned, and she realized he’d been right. She might think of the older Roger Thorne as a father figure, but his feelings for her were anything but fatherly. She had no idea how she was going to deal with this situation.
The night Sarah had looked forward to for weeks had finally arrived. At times she felt as if she should pinch herself to believe she was really in the presence of a woman she’d admired for years—Carrie Chapman Catt. Like others before her, she had dedicated her life to seeking enfranchisement for women and worked tirelessly for the cause.
As Mrs. Catt brought her speech to an end, Sarah and the other guests in Mrs. Windsor’s living room rose to their feet and applauded. Sarah had never felt so stirred in her life.
The members of the local suffrage group pushed forward to speak with their guest, but Mrs. Windsor, the hostess for the evening, stepped forward and grabbed Sarah’s hand. Her face was flushed with excitement as she steered Sarah in Mrs. Catt’s direction.
“Sarah, I want you to meet our guest of honor.”
Sarah’s mouth dropped open, and she turned to Mrs. Windsor, who now had positioned them behind the women talking with Mrs. Catt. “Me? Why would you want me to meet her?”
“Because, my dear, I have been very impressed with you since you’ve been attending our meetings with Edna and Roger. I feel like you have much to contribute to our cause, and I want Mrs. Catt to meet you.”
Before Sarah could protest more, the women in front of her stepped aside, and Sarah looked into the smiling face of a woman she’d read and heard about since she was a little girl. She swallowed her nervousness as Mrs. Windsor pushed her forward.
“Mrs. Catt, this is Sarah Whittaker. She’s new to our group, but I sense in her a true dedication to our cause. I wanted you to meet her.”
Mrs. Catt extended her hand, and Sarah grasped it with her trembling fingers. “Oh Mrs. Catt, it’s such an honor to meet you. My parents were both avid supporters of suffrage, and I’ve heard them talk about you all my life.”
The smile on Mrs. Catt’s face grew larger. “I’m happy to meet you too, Sarah. I assume from what you’ve said your parents are no longer alive.”
“No, ma’am. They both passed away, but I’ve taken up their cause. I intend to see it through until women are granted the right to vote.”
Mrs. Catt motioned to a sofa across the room. “There’s a young reporter who wants to take some pictures of me. While he’s setting up his lights, why don’t we sit down? I like to talk to young women who join our movement about their commitment and what they feel they can contribute to our cause.”
Sarah’s heart pounded with excitement as Mrs. Catt led her across the room. As they settled on the sofa, Sarah glanced toward the door that led into the dining room and spotted Roger and Mrs. Simpson watching her. Roger’s eyes sparkled, and he stroked his mustache. He gave her a slight nod before he took his aunt’s arm and escorted her into the room where refreshments were being served.
“Now,” Mrs. Catt said, “tell me about yourself, Sarah.”
“There really isn’t much to tell.” For the next few minutes Sarah spoke of her upbringing in Memphis, the loss of her parents, and her return to Memphis to teach. “All I want is to help achieve what you’ve worked so hard for.”
Mrs. Catt studied her carefully. “You haven’t mentioned a young man. Is there one in your life?”
“There was one but not anymore.” Sarah tried to keep her voice from cracking. “His boss didn’t like the idea of my being involved in the suffrage movement.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah. That’s not uncommon. My husband is very supportive of my work. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to travel about the country so much. Maybe you and your young man will be able to reach some kind of compromise.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Sarah sniffed and straightened in her seat. “But I want to know more about your work. It must be exciting traveling around the country and meeting like-minded people who want to see you succeed.”
Mrs. Catt laughed. “Yes, it’s nice to meet like-minded people, but there are a lot who aren’t. That’s not always pleasant. But I’ve set myself on this course, and I can’t walk away from it.”
“You’ve been doing this for years. Do you think your efforts are paying off?”
“I hope so. As I said in my speech, I believe the way to win is through reaching our elected leaders. A lot of my time is spent working in local elections so we can get candidates elected to office who are sympathetic to our cause. And I spend a lot of time with those already elected to Congress. We also need to gain their support. So the role of our organization is a more peaceful one fought in the political arena. Of course there are other suffragists who disagree. They have a more militant attitude.”
“Like Alice Paul?”
“Yes, Alice is a wonderful woman, and she’s spent years working for suffrage just as I have. But she’s become disenchanted with the slow progress our National American Woman Suffrage Association is making. As I’m sure you know, she left our party and founded the National Woman’s Party. Her group is the one working in Washington right now. I worry about her and the women affiliated with her. With the uncertain times in the world and America trying to stay out of the war in Europe, President Wilson may grow tired of her demands.”
Sarah thought about what Mrs. Catt had said for a moment before she responded. “But don’t you think perhaps both groups may serve a purpose in this fight? It’s important to reach the elected people, but there’s also a need for the common man to be stirred to the point of addressing his beliefs to the elected leaders from his state.”
Mrs. Catt smiled. “Ah, spoken like a true Alice Paul supporter.”
Sarah’s face grew warm. “I do admit I admire her. In fact, I would love the opportunity to go to Washington and work with her.”
Mrs. Catt reached over and patted Sarah’s hand. “Maybe you’ll get your chance. But if you do, be careful. I’d hate to see anything happen to a sweet, young girl like you.”
She was about to respond when a man’s voice startled her. “Ladies, look this way, please.”
Mrs. Catt laughed and pointed to a young man standing be
hind a camera on a tripod. “That’s the reporter, dear. Smile. You might make the newspaper tomorrow.”
Sarah smiled for the camera and then looked around at the people waiting to speak with Mrs. Catt. “I don’t want to keep you from the other guests. I’ve enjoyed our chat.”
Mrs. Catt took a deep breath. “Yes, I suppose I should talk with some of the other people here tonight, but I’ve really enjoyed our conversation.”
“This has been a wonderful experience. You are a great inspiration to me.”
Sarah pushed to her feet and stepped away from the sofa. She smothered a smile when a woman dropped down next to Mrs. Catt and settled herself for a picture. Sarah ambled toward the dining room and stopped next to the table laden with an assortment of sandwiches, cakes, and candies.
Her conversation with Mrs. Catt replayed in her mind. It was true she believed in everything Mrs. Catt had said, but nothing excited her like the thought of what Alice Paul and her supporters were involved in at the capitol. If only she could be there and experience what it was like to confront those opposed to suffrage.
Movement next to her caught her attention, and she turned to see a young man she’d noticed in the group earlier. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Miss Whittaker, I’m Timothy Windsor from St. Louis. I’m visiting my aunt and uncle, and she told me who you are. I’ve been watching you since you arrived, and I knew I had to meet you.”
He held out his hand, and she placed hers in it. The breath almost left her body. His dark eyes and his hair that tumbled across his forehead transported her back to a baseball field and another young man. Her limp hand could not respond to his fingers gripping hers. “Th–thank you, Mr. Windsor.”
“I understand you’re a teacher.” He picked up a cup of tea and handed it to her. She gripped the saucer with her trembling fingers.
“Yes, I teach at Mrs. Simpson’s school.” She took a sip of tea and walked to the far side of the room. He followed behind.
“Would you like something to eat?”
The cup rattled against the saucer. “No, thank you. I–I’m waiting for my friends to join me.”
He glanced toward the table and back at her before he smiled. “When I saw you come in tonight, I thought the man with you was probably your father. But when my aunt introduced us, I knew he wasn’t.”
“No, he’s not. I teach at his aunt’s school.”
His dark eyes smiled down at her. “Aunt Mary insisted that I come tonight to meet her friends. I didn’t want to, but now I’m certainly glad I did. I never expected to meet such an attractive young woman in the group.”
She steadied her trembling hand and clutched the saucer firmly. “Thank you, Mr. Windsor. I hope you enjoyed Mrs. Catt’s speech. I certainly found it stirring.”
His dark eyes twinkled. “That wasn’t the most stirring thing for me.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Whittaker, I’m going to be in town for several days. Would you mind if I called on you at Mrs. Simpson’s?”
Call on her? Those words had been spoken to her before. Tears threatened to fill her eyes. This man might remind her of Alex, but he wasn’t. And no one would ever take his place in her heart.
She glanced at Roger, who was talking with a woman at the table, and hoped her expression alerted him to the panic building inside her. He halted his conversation, looked from her to Timothy, and headed toward her. When he stopped beside her, she inched closer to him and smiled at Timothy with trembling lips.
“Roger, this is Timothy Windsor.”
“Yes, we met earlier.” The two men shook hands, but Roger turned a quizzical look to her. “Is everything all right, Sarah?”
She handed him her cup and saucer. “Yes, I’m just tired and ready to go home. Would you help me find my coat?”
“Miss Whittaker, I…,” Timothy began.
Sarah linked her hand through the crook of Roger’s arm and took a step back. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Windsor. I hope you enjoy visiting with your aunt. Have a safe trip home.”
She turned and hurried away, pulling Roger after her. He handed the cup he held to a servant by the door as they pushed through the crowd. Mrs. Simpson followed them into the room where they’d left the lightweight shawls they’d worn.
Roger pulled Sarah to a stop. “What’s the matter? Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”
“Timothy Windsor asked if he could call on me, and I wanted to get away from him.”
Roger fixed her with a stony glare. “Did he now? What did you say?”
“I tried to get your attention so I could get away from him. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I have no desire to know him better.”
Roger’s body relaxed, and he smiled at her. “Good girl. Let’s get out of here before he comes after us.”
Sarah draped her wrap over her arm and headed toward the front door. Just as Roger put his hand on the knob she heard a voice. “Miss Whittaker, wait.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Timothy Windsor approaching.
Roger opened the door, and she rushed onto the front porch and gulped a big breath of the chilly October air. He turned his back to block the door and faced Timothy. “Miss Whittaker is very tired, and we’re leaving now. She has a long day ahead of her in class tomorrow. I’m afraid she’s going to be very busy for the next few weeks. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Windsor.”
Roger turned and hurried his aunt and Sarah to their parked car. As they pulled away from the curb, Sarah watched Timothy Windsor standing on the porch with his hand on the column at the top of the steps. She settled back in the seat and wiped away a tear that trickled from her eye.
No one said a word as they drove through the dark streets of Memphis. When they pulled up in front of Mrs. Simpson’s house, Roger got out, helped them up the steps, and followed them into the entry hall. His aunt stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned to him. “Did you want to speak to me before you go home?”
He glanced at Sarah. “No, I’d like to talk with Sarah for a few minutes.”
“Very well. Then I suppose we’ll see you for dinner tomorrow night.”
He smiled. “Since tomorrow is Saturday, I may be here in the early afternoon. It will depend on whether or not I decide to finish up some work at the office.”
Sarah watched Mrs. Simpson climb the stairs and enter her room at the top of the landing before she turned back to Roger. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes.” He grasped her arm and steered her into the parlor. They stopped in front of the fireplace, and he gripped her arm tighter. “I want you to tell me what happened with that boy tonight. Did he do anything inappropriate? If he did, I’ll see that he regrets it.”
She pulled away from him and shook her head. “No, no. It wasn’t anything like that. It was my fault. He reminded me of someone, and I got upset.”
Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Reminded you of someone? Who?”
She sighed and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It was someone I met in Richland Creek.”
“A man?”
She frowned. Why was he asking these questions? “Yes, but…”
He took a step toward her. “What’s his name?”
“Roger, please…”
“Sarah, I want to know the name of the man. You obviously still care for him or you wouldn’t have gotten so upset tonight. Now tell me who he is.”
She threw up her hands in defeat. “His name is Alex Taylor. He’s a lawyer and works in James Buckley’s firm. But there is nothing between the two of us anymore.”
“James Buckley’s firm?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Then that’s why he hasn’t been around here to call on you. Buckley’s not about to let any of his lawyers associate with members of the suffrage movement.”
“No, he’s not. I don’t know why I got so upset when Timothy approached me. All I could think about was getting out of there.”
A smile pulled at his lips. “And I helped you. Don’t forget that.”
A chill went
down her spine. “I promise I’ll never forget anything you and your aunt have done for me, Roger.”
He gave a sigh of relief. “Good. And I have a promise for you too, Sarah.”
“What is it?”
He reached out and took her hand in his. He stared into her eyes a moment before he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I promise I’m going to make you forget you ever knew a man named Alex Taylor.”
His words stunned her so she couldn’t speak. Wide-eyed, she watched as he released her hand and strode from the room. The front door slammed, and then she heard the sound of his car pulling away from the house.
After a few minutes she sank into one of the chairs that faced the fireplace and buried her face in her hands. As the tears rolled from her eyes, she shook her head in denial. Roger was wrong. She would never forget Alex Taylor. Never.
Chapter Eleven
Alex heaved another box off the floor of his office and set it on his desk. He propped his hands on his hips and let his gaze drift over the small room he’d been assigned as his first office at Buckley, Anderson, and Pike. It would be all right for a start, but he didn’t intend to stay in here long. He would work hard, and before long he would have one of the larger offices with big windows that looked out onto Front Street and the river beyond.
He opened the box and was about to pull out a book when a tap at the door interrupted him. “Come in.” The door opened, and Lydia Stevens, his secretary, stuck her head in. “Lydia, what are you doing here on a Saturday afternoon?”
“I heard you say yesterday you planned to get your office in order today. I thought I might be able to help.”
He shook his head. “But I don’t want to interfere with your personal time. I’m sure you have other things you need to do on your day off.”
She shrugged, and he recognized her no-nonsense attitude in the gesture. “Days off don’t mean a lot to me. My life has revolved around this firm for the past twenty years, and I expect it will continue to in the future.” She straightened her shoulders. “But I really came in to help Mr. Buckley with some work. He sent me down here. He wants to see you in his office.”
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