“I thought you said she would meet us,” Rowena said from a settee near the open window. The pale yellow of her dress accented her auburn hair, pulled back in a delicate chignon.
“She accepted the invitation,” Zylphia responded. She paced the room, tracing fern fronds. She came to a stop and settled one hip against a window frame, fanning herself.
“The heat came early this year,” Rowena remarked, wiping daintily at her brow before fanning herself too. She watched Zylphia closely. “Have you had any word of Mr. Goff?”
“Not directly, no. I’m corresponding with his cousin in England. He’s still missing, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that they remain hopeful of good news.” Zylphia’s gaze became distant.
“How did you come to write her?”
“She wrote me.” Zylphia’s expression lightened as she thought of Eugenie’s letters. “She’s a suffragette in England. Teddy had told me about her. I believe she’s met the Pankhursts.”
“Wow,” Rowena murmured.
“She’s been imprisoned and lived through hunger strikes.” Zylphia shared a long look with Rowena. “Just like Miss Paul and Miss Burns.”
“Speaking of Miss Paul, have you seen the latest copy of the Suffragist?” Rowena asked, pulling the weekly newspaper from her purse. Zylphia shook her head as she plucked it from Rowena’s fingers. “Isn’t the latest cartoon by Miss Allender divine?”
Zylphia studied the drawing titled “Changing Fashions: She Used to Be Satisfied with So Little” on the front page, and her smile bloomed. “It’s brilliant. I wish I could create this type of art.”
“You have a different talent.” Rowena stood so that she and Zylphia studied the drawing of a woman wearing a ball gown with the words National Constitutional Amendment along the hem. In her elaborate hat and ribbons, the state names of Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, and Pennsylvania were noted. To one side a congressman looked on, shaking his head in consternation; while, in a corner, a woman stood in a plain dress with Montana and Nevada written on her hem, indicating 1914.
The door thrust open, which startled Zylphia, her glance darting there.
Rowena turned around and smiled her welcome to Parthena. “P.T.!” Rowena exclaimed, rising. “You’ve come!” She refrained from embracing her friend as Parthena looked brittle, as though she’d break apart with any contact. Rowena sat again on her settee.
Zylphia frowned. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks, Zee,” P.T. said as she sat on a chair by Rowena. She reached forward and helped herself to a glass of lemonade. “What was so important that we needed to meet?”
Zylphia’s frown deepened. “Besides the fact you’re being forced to marry in a week and your friends are concerned about you?”
“And the fact that you’ve avoided us for the better part of two weeks?” Rowena said with a raised eyebrow.
Parthena let out a low groan, leaning against the back of her chair. “I knew it would serve no purpose to speak with you.” She stared pointedly at Zylphia. “You’d insist I find a way out of this marriage to Morgan.”
“Of course,” Zylphia said, bristling with indignation as she envisioned her friend entering an arranged, loveless marriage.
“Zee, please don’t,” Parthena whispered. “This is what I must do, and I will fulfill my duty. To my father and to my family. I refuse to be seen as someone who runs away from her problems.”
Zylphia moved toward her and reached forward, clasping her hand. “Of course you’re not, but you don’t have to do this. I know we can find another solution.”
“Like marry Mr. Carlisle?” Parthena asked, a mirthless laugh sounding at her friend’s horrified expressions. “My father confirmed what Morgan had told me earlier. That’s my option. I either marry Morgan or I marry Mr. Carlisle.”
“Not if you’re already married to someone else,” Zylphia said as Rowena nodded her agreement.
“I’m not you, Zylphia. I won’t stand up to my father, not when I would then consign one of my sisters to marry such a man as Mr. Carlisle. And I can’t countenance forcing my family into penury. This is what I must do.” Her gaze was haunted and desperate with resignation.
“But you loathe Morgan,” Zylphia said, a deep frown marring her expression as she attempted to understand her friend’s decision.
“We’ll have a conventional marriage. He’ll busy himself with his work and I with my causes. And we’ll be perfectly contented.”
“You should want more,” Zylphia whispered, earning a hiss from P.T. and a swat of the fan from Rowena.
“You’ve always protected your sisters, P.T,” Rowena said. “Do they realize all you’re sacrificing for them?”
Parthena shook her head. “Genevieve has always thought Morgan dashing and wonders at the animosity I’ve felt toward him.”
“Then she should marry him,” Zylphia said, earning a frown from Parthena and a stifled giggle from Rowena. Zylphia studied her friend in confusion.
“Has he kissed you?” Rowena asked.
Parthena blushed. “Yes.” She shared a confused gaze with her friends. “How can I enjoy his kiss when I loathe him?” She met Zylphia’s near glare and sat even taller. “I know you have lost respect for me, and I’m sorry.”
“I’m merely trying to understand how you can act as you do. Purport to feel as you do about Morgan’s kisses after …” She shook her head, flushing when she noticed Rowena watching them in confusion.
Parthena glared at Zylphia. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand as you have always been so noble. However, I suspect some day you will find yourself challenged, and I hope you don’t disappoint yourself.” Parthena rose. “If you will excuse me, I must return home. My mother is most desirous to discuss wedding plans with me.”
Zylphia sighed as Parthena stormed out, the slamming door echoing through the room and, Zylphia also suspected, the first floor. She thwacked her fan on her chair’s arm in annoyance.
“What was that all about?” Rowena asked.
“I think you’d have to ask Parthena. It’s not my story to tell.” Zylphia sighed with frustration.
“It seems more than Parthena is miserable,” Rowena murmured.
Zylphia laughed. “I always forget how perceptive you are. I hate when those I care about are miserable, and more than Parthena are upset. That’s all I can say.”
Rowena settled into her chair, curling a foot underneath. “Well, if you can’t tell me anything further about Parthena, tell me all you can about Teddy, your art, anything of interest.”
Zylphia smiled, stretching out her legs in front of her as she caught up on her latest news with a close friend.
“Parthena, quit acting as though you are being led to that awful French contraption,” her mother snapped, referring to the guillotine. “You are making the seamstresses’ job much more difficult than it needs to be.”
Parthena attempted to cease fidgeting and stood motionless as the pair of seamstresses muttered about hem lengths and the unrealistic desire to have a wedding gown completed in a matter of weeks. Parthena flinched as a needle jabbed her in the ankle, scowling at her mother when she reprimanded Parthena again for her movements. She tuned out her mother’s harping and thought about a piano piece she was having difficulty with. Finally, the seamstresses gathered their belongings, motioned for Parthena to step out of the pinned-together dress, and departed with a promise of another visit the following day.
Parthena sighed and collapsed onto the chaise longue in her bedroom in only her underclothes.
Her mother glowered at her as she tossed a robe at her.
“Mother, no one is going to bother me here. I might as well be somewhat comfortable on a hot day.”
“That is your problem, Parthena. You’ve always thought of your comfort and desires before those of your family. It’s what’s led us to this point.”
Parthena gaped at her mother, who stood in front of her in an elaborate rose-colored afternoon dress. Her brown a
nd gray hair was pulled back with pearl-encrusted combs. “How can you say such a thing to me?”
“If you had married earlier, we would have been spared the expense of you all these years.”
Parthena gripped the robe in her hands, nearly ripping the fine silk material in her agitation. “You’d dare blame Father’s incompetence with finances on me? That I’m the reason we are in financial difficulties?”
Her mother’s blue eyes became as ice chips as she stared at Parthena. “If you had made an advantageous marriage years ago, we could have been spared your father’s inabilities. Instead, there was no one to rein him in.” She took a deep breath. “If you had made acceptable friends, rather than that horrid McLeod girl, who’s filled your head with nonsensical ideas about women, then you’d have already done your duty.”
“Zylphia is a loyal and wonderful friend. In fact, even today, she had hope that I’d find my way free of this marriage. She had hope when I had none.” Parthena’s shoulders stooped before glaring again at her mother. “Zylphia would never be forced into such a travesty by her parents.”
“We will never agree that she is a good influence. I will continue to pray that you cease all association with her, and I will hope Mr. Wheeler has some influence over you in that regard.” She frowned at Parthena. “If you had been sensible and married Mr. Wheeler of your own accord—years ago as I had hoped you would—we would never have come to such a point. He has the business acumen and the strength of character to aid your father as few can.”
Parthena stared at her mother. “Yes, it must be such an embarrassing time for you, Mother.”
Her mother ignored her sarcasm and paced around Parthena’s large room. “Do you know what it is like to have one’s acquaintances know that one’s daughter is being bought like a prized camel so as to replenish the family coffers?” She smiled when she saw Parthena squirm and blush. “I only hope Morgan doesn’t regret his part of the bargain as I do not want my brothers to feel they need to interfere in any way.”
Parthena gaped at her mother. “Do you mean you haven’t asked my uncles for help?” At her mother’s frosty silence, Parthena scrubbed at her temple. “You know they would be delighted to aid you, especially if it would prevent me from marrying a man I do not love.”
Mrs. Tyler’s eyes shone with derision, the icy disdain disappearing with her anger. “Do you have any idea how many times I have already sought their aid? How many times they have donated to the coffers of this family to keep us out of the tenements?” At Parthena’s shocked gaze, her mother spoke in a soft, yet vehement voice. “I refuse to ask them for another dollar. They have proffered enough to sustain my family. It is time the members of this family were willing to make some sort of sacrifice to ensure our continued well-being.”
Parthena blinked away tears. “You don’t know what you are asking.”
Her mother laughed scornfully. “Of course I do. You must do as I did, as all the women in our family who came before you did. You must give up your infatuation with an unacceptable man and marry the man chosen for you by your father. Neither your father nor I would ever have agreed to such a socially disastrous liaison for one of our daughters.”
Parthena sat for a moment in silence. “Which is why you don’t want your brothers, my uncles, to understand what is truly occurring.” She watched her mother with disappointment. “How can you do this to me?”
Her mother shook her head. “You are doing this to yourself. You have made a decision that you would rather marry Mr. Wheeler, our dear friend Morgan, rather than marry Mr. Carlisle. Or have your sister, Genevieve, marry Mr. Carlisle.” She willed her daughter into silence for a moment with her rigid countenance. “Morgan will marry only you. He doesn’t want to marry any of your sisters.”
“I’ll speak with the uncles. They’ll help me. They always do,” Parthena said, unable to hide the excitement from her voice.
“Feel free to speak with them. All you will do is ensure that one of your sisters must marry Mr. Carlisle. No amount of monetary infusion from your uncles or anyone else will change your father’s mind.”
Parthena slumped onto the chaise, attempting to hide her tears from her mother. “Why?”
A momentary sadness flickered through her mother’s gaze but was gone in an instant. “Your father is determined that his daughters marry—and marry well. He wants to start with you but will begin with Genevieve if necessary.”
“How can you possibly stand by, as our mother, and countenance him marrying us off to a man such as Mr. Carlisle? Do you have no motherly instinct in you?” Parthena asked, her chest heaving with her barely repressed emotions.
“I believe your father knows best in this regard. He would never wittingly align himself with a man who would harm any of you. And, no, I do not believe the rumors about Mr. Carlisle.”
Parthena shook her head in defeat and fisted her hands on her lap. “He would never have treated us like this if we were his sons. He would have wanted us then. He would have cherished us.” She faced her mother, her expression determined. “Promise me that you will protect Genevieve, Eudora, and Isabel from any of his schemes when I’m not here.”
Her mother shook her head. “You know I am incapable of making any such promises.” She smiled at her eldest daughter. “As for you, Parthena, you have made a brilliant match, and I expect you shall be very happy. You young ones have such odd notions about love, but I am certain you shall be quite content with Morgan.”
Parthena groaned as she flopped against the back of the chaise. “Content. That’s such a horrid word.” She glared at her mother. “And I didn’t make this match.”
“Sometimes it is better to accept one’s fate than to constantly battle against it.” Mrs. Tyler raised her eyebrows as she waited for Parthena’s rejoinder. When none came, she left her daughter in deep contemplation.
4
Zylphia climbed the stairs to the triple decker, panting as she came to a stop at the third-floor home. She attempted to take a deep breath but had to make do with short inhalations due to her corset. She paused a moment, checked that her hat was in place, and squared her shoulders before she knocked on the door.
She pasted on a friendly smile as the door was held ajar by a woman wearing an apron. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m here to speak with you about the referendum in November which would grant women the right to vote in Massachusetts.”
“My husband isn’t home, and he’s the one you should speak with. He votes. Not me.” She moved to shut the door, but Zylphia jammed her foot in the doorway.
“Are you for suffrage? Would you like to vote?”
“I don’t know why I should need the vote. My husband treats me fairly. I shouldn’t have the vote forced on me if I don’t want it.” She shook her head as she kicked Zylphia’s foot out of the way and slammed the door shut.
Zylphia clambered down the stairs, sputtering to herself until she saw Florence waiting for her on the sidewalk. “How did it go?” Zylphia called out with a bright smile.
“Not well. The first floor occupant wasn’t home, and the second floor resident wasn’t inclined to listen to anything I had to say.” Florence stopped at the street corner and fanned herself with one of the pamphlets. “We’ve been walking up and down tenements for hours. Let’s stop and have a rest.” She nodded to a café across the street.
“I agree,” Zylphia said, entering the café and sitting with Florence in a booth. After ordering glasses of lemonade, they sat in silence. “I don’t know what to make of our efforts,” Zylphia whispered as she leaned toward Florence. “Few of the women we’ve spoken with seem inclined to want the vote.”
Florence sighed. “I fear that film, Your Girl and Mine, isn’t helping the cause here. When I saw it last week, even I was uncomfortable with the portrayal of men. Today many of the women I spoke with were offended by how men were shown as evildoers with women at their mercy.”
“Aren’t they smart enough to realize it’s a parable?” Zy
lphia hissed.
“I think they’re smart enough to be put off by the representation of all men as villains, just as I was, and I’m a suffragist! They also don’t see how suffrage will lead to anything but a loss of male chivalry and an increase in social chaos.”
“One woman I spoke with said she didn’t want to have the vote forced on her. As though by being granted the right to vote means she has to vote.” Zylphia smiled at the waiter who brought them their drinks. “What irony. We want to ensure she and her daughters have a better life, and she’s too shortsighted to acknowledge the struggle’s merit.”
After taking a sip of her drink, Florence pulled a quarterly paper from her bag. She handed it to Zylphia with raised eyebrows. “This is what the Antis are saying.”
Zylphia unfolded the latest copy of The Remonstrance against Woman Suffrage. She glanced at the articles and shook her head. “Most of the women I’m meeting are parroting their arguments.” She shared a frustrated look with Florence. “How did you get a copy?”
“I sent them money as Florence Butler. If I’d used my married name, I think they would have realized I was related to you. Also the fact I live in Dorchester helps.” She pulled the paper closer to her and tapped at one part. “This section to the men of Massachusetts is damning. They are making the men feel as though they are betraying their chivalric duty to protect women and children if they vote for universal suffrage.”
“Chivalry, my foot. They will stoop to nothing to get their way,” Zylphia said, pushing the publication back toward Florence.
“I’d think the same could be said of you,” Florence teased. “The larger problem than this paper is that we have no backing from the mayor or the governor. As Democrats, they are against universal suffrage. Add in the influence of the Catholic church …” Florence shook her head in dismay. “They are forceful voices in this state, and I don’t know how we would countermand their censure.”
Unrelenting Love: Banished Saga, Book Five Page 5
