by Rhys Bowen
“Come on over and have a glass of wine,” Sid said. “We’ve got exciting news to share.”
I needed no second urging to join her. My neighbors Elena Goldfarb and Augusta Walcott, usually known by their irreverent nicknames Sid and Gus, never failed to bring joy into my life. They were generous to a fault and always experimenting with new foods and cultural experiences, making each visit to their home an adventure. The fact that their own choice of lifestyle was not a universally accepted one was neither here nor there.
Sid ushered me into the drawing room with a flourish.
Gus was sitting in one of the armchairs beside a roaring fire, a glass of red wine in her hand and a black lace shawl, hung with jet beads, around her shoulders. In contrast Sid was wearing baggy trousers that looked as if they’d come from a Turkish harem. I scarcely noticed their strange manner of dress any longer, although I could see that it might appear startling to strangers.
Gus looked up. “Why, you’ve found Molly. How clever of you, just when we needed her. And did you discover what the infernal noise was?” she asked.
“It was Molly’s Captain Sullivan, driving an automobile. But he delivered Molly from the rain so is to be pardoned on this occasion, one feels.”
“What were you doing out in the rain to start with?” Gus frowned at me. “You are supposed to be staying in bed and recuperating. You’ve been quite ill, you know.”
“I know, and I would have been much worse if you two hadn’t looked after me so well. But I had a job to do at Macy’s department store and the weather this morning seemed quite balmy, so off I went without an umbrella or top-coat. Luckily the wind blew my hat in front of Daniel’s automobile, so he motored me home.”
“Horrid contraptions, automobiles,” Gus said. “They’ll never catch on, you mark my words. Think how noisy the city would become if everyone owned one. Gus and I think that flight is the transportation of the future. We should all have personal hot air balloons and drift serenely through the clouds.”
“Rather inconvenient, don’t you think?” I said. “We’d all be bumping into each other and if a strong wind came up we’d wind up in Boston when we wanted to go to Philadelphia.”
Gus chuckled. “Ah, but think of the romance of flight. Why would one care about the destination? Sid, we have to find someone with a hot air balloon and cross the country in it. Think of sailing over the Rockies.”
“Think of making a hard landing on a mountain peak,” I said.
“Molly, you are entirely too practical. For heaven’s sake, pour the girl a glass of wine and tell her about our grand outing.”
Red wine was poured from a crystal decanter. I took a sip, savoring the smooth warmth as it went down my throat. I was still such a newcomer to luxuries like wine that each new tasting was a delightful experience.
“It’s Hungarian,” Sid said proudly. “We’ve never tried Hungarian wine before and this one is called Bull’s Blood so of course we had to try it. It’s divine, isn’t it? Gus is now quite determined to go to Hungary and see the bulls for herself.”
Gus chuckled. “You also expressed a desire to sail down the Danube from its source to the Black Sea.”
Sid perched on the arm of Gus’s chair and sighed. “There are too many choices in life. Too many places to go and things to do. And then one feels that one’s life has become too frivolous and selfish and resolves to do something for the good of humanity.”
“And if one is smart, one combines the two—adventure and philanthropy,” Gus said. “Such will be our outing on Sunday, I hope.”
“Sunday? Where will you be going on Sunday?”
“The Easter Parade. Where else?”
I registered surprise. “I should have thought that you two were the last people on earth to want to parade in your finery.”
“We are,” Sid answered, “unless it’s for a good cause. We plan to march as part of the VWVW brigade.”
“The what?”
“It’s an acronym for Vassar Wants Votes for Women,” Gus explained. “We’ll be part of a contingent of Vassar alums, bringing our cause before the populace of New York and, we hope, making more women conscious of the basic civil right still denied them.”
I nodded approval. “I wish I’d been to Vassar so that I could join you.”
“We’d love you to join us, Molly,” Sid said. “But we felt that you would not be strong enough to walk the length of Fifth Avenue so soon after your sickness.”
“I’ve a good Irish peasant constitution,” I said, “and I was used to walking miles a day at home. I’m sure I’d be able to do it.”
“Then I say the more the merrier.” Sid raised her glass to me. “Nobody need know that you are not a Vassar girl. As it happens we haven’t had the response we hoped for and will be low on numbers, so you’d truly be helping the cause.”
“In that case I gladly accept. I suggested to Daniel that we take part in the parade and he was most scathing about it. He said it was only for the newly rich to show off.”
“That is, of course, true,” Sid agreed.
“Some of the Four Hundred also participate every year,” Gus said. “I have relatives who always take part.”
“Gus has relatives in every city, I swear,” Sid commented, looking fondly at Gus.
“Will we be expected to dress up and wear fancy hats?” I said, beginning to have doubts as I realized that Vassar girls tended to be wealthy. “Because you’ve seen the extent of my wardrobe.”
“Absolutely not. Your business costume will be ideal. We aim to look like responsible members of the community, not pampered darlings full of frippery. And they’ll give us a sash to wear and a banner to carry, stating our purpose. So wear comfortable shoes. It’s a long march.”
“It’s not that long,” Gus interjected. “Only ten blocks. And I’m sure there will be a carriage available should one of the young ladies need to ride.”
“I’ll not need to ride and I’ll come prepared,” I said. “In fact I’m willing to do my share to help the cause. It is ridiculous that a businesswoman like myself should not have a say in the government.”
“Well said, Molly. I can see you’ll be a regular firebrand.”
“Let us just hope that Sunday is fine and dry,” Gus said. “It would be too bad if it rained as it did today.”
“Will it be called off if it rains?” I asked.
“It’s never been called off, has it, Gus?” Sid asked.
“Not that I can remember,” Gus agreed. “The smart set don’t care, of course. They simply raise the hood of their carriages and proceed from church as usual. But there would be a dearth of spectators if it rained like today.”
“So most people ride in carriages, not walk?”
“Almost everyone does. We are walking so that we stand out and exhibit our solidarity with the masses,” Sid said. “The parade starts at ten o’clock, so we’ll leave here in time to muster at nine forty-five.”
“Muster? You make it sound like a war.” I laughed.
“It is,” Sid said soberly. “An out-and-out war that must be won, Molly. We have lived as poor, dependent creatures for too long, at the mercy of our lords and masters. Now it is time we took control of our own destiny.”
Inspired and inflamed, warmed by red wine and rhetoric, I went back to my own house.
Three
Fortunately, Sunday dawned bright and clear. A cold wind was blowing, sending cotton-wool clouds racing across the sky, but there was no hint of rain as we left Patchin Place and caught the trolley to Forty-seventh Street, then walked to Fifth Avenue, where the parade would begin. A crowd had already formed along both sides of the avenue, starting at St. Nicholas Church, and some rather elegant carriages were lined up, in the starting gate, so to speak. Even a rapid glance showed some startling Easter bonnets that were not bonnets at all but hats adorned with every kind of fruit, flower, feather, and even bird known to creation.
In contrast, the Vassar girls were easy to pick out, standing together
around the corner on Forty-seventh, and dressed so simply that I looked right at home in my business suit. To my amazement, Sid and Gus were dressed in uncharacteristic fashion, like prim and sober young women in two-piece costumes not dissimilar to my own. Sid’s was dove-gray; Gus’s, dark-green pinwale. They were warmly welcomed by the Vassar contingent. I was introduced and received one or two inquisitive stares as well as some friendly smiles. Someone handed me a sash to wear over one shoulder: “VWVW. Votes for Women.” The banner proclaimed, more fully, “Vassar graduates demand their rights. Votes for women now.” Other banners read, “We can do anything a man can, except vote. Half the population has no voice. Women, demand to be heard! Take your rightful place in society.”
I felt rather pleased and excited as I took the pole of the banner I was to carry with one of the Vassar girls. The young woman who was holding the other pole smiled at me. “Hello,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Emily Boswell. What year were you?”
“I’m afraid I’m an impostor,” I said. “My name’s Molly Murphy and I’m only here because my neighbors dragged me along to boost numbers. And because I feel strongly about the cause.”
She was tall, with a thin, sallow face, serious brown eyes, and black hair severely drawn back into a bun beneath a plain bonnet. One would never call her a beauty, but there was something vaguely exotic about her, and her face lit up in a lovely smile as I indicated Sid and Gus. “Why, it is you, Augusta,” she said. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“Emily, dear. How good to see you again,” Gus said, and they embraced. “Sid, look, it’s Emily.” As Sid greeted the newcomer, Gus turned to me. “I was Emily’s mentor during my senior year. She is quite the brightest girl I have ever encountered.”
“You exaggerate, Augusta.” Emily blushed. “But I will admit to having a thirst for knowledge.”
“Sid and I were quite devastated when we didn’t see you at the reunion earlier this year,” Gus said. “It was marvelous fun seeing the old crowd again, and you were sorely missed.”
Emily’s smile faded. “I really wanted to attend, but my employer would not hear of my taking time off work. He’s a disagreeable old man, someone akin to Mr. Scrooge, and would probably not even grant me the day off for the death of my mother. Since my mother is already dead, I’ve yet to test that theory.”
“You have a real job? How wonderful.”
“I wouldn’t describe it as wonderful. More necessity than anything,” Emily said. “I am alone in the world and need to support myself. I balked at being a governess so I’m working at a pharmacy.”
“How perfect for you,” Gus said. “You were always interested in chemistry, I remember.”
“I was and still am, but my employer resists letting me do anything more than work at the counter, taking the money and wrapping up the prescriptions. I have tried to persuade him to give me a chance to be his apprentice, but he thinks that such work is beyond any woman, even a Vassar graduate.”
“How typical,” Sid said. “What will it take for men to see that we are as capable as they are of rational thought?”
“Let us hope that demonstrations such as this one will begin to change their minds,” Emily said.
“I had hoped for a bigger turnout,” Sid said, looking at the group, which numbered less than twenty. “Frankly, this is a disappointment.”
Emily nodded. “I contacted several friends but they declined. Some thought it was a lost cause. Some thought this was neither the time nor the place for this kind of demonstration, and some husbands or fathers forbade them.”
“Forbade them? Then why did they bother to educate us if they didn’t want us to think for ourselves,” Sid said angrily. “Never mind, we’ll wave our banners proudly and maybe we’ll open a few minds today.”
“I see we are starting to line up,” Emily said. “We had better take our places.”
Emily and I unfurled our banner and held it aloft. She gave me an encouraging smile. “So where were you educated, Miss Murphy?”
“In Ireland. But I wasn’t fortunate enough to go to college like you and your friends. And please call me Molly.”
“Gladly, if you’ll call me Emily. So you’ve recently come from Ireland, have you? With your family?”
“Two years ago and quite alone.”
“And you’ve managed to make your way in New York City? I admire you for that. New York is not a city that is kind to immigrants, so I’ve heard.”
“No, it’s been a struggle at times, but I’ve managed to keep my head above water, with the help of Sid and Gus, who have been so good to me.”
“You are also employed then?”
“I run my own business. A small detective agency.”
Those brown eyes shot open. “A detective agency? How thrilling. But can you actually make a go of it? Do men entrust their secrets to a woman?”
“Sometimes they do. I have just this week concluded an assignment for Mr. Macy.”
“Of department store fame?”
“The very same. And earlier this year I went abroad for Tommy Burke, the theater impresario.”
“Mercy me,” she said. “How I envy you such an exciting life.”
“Sometimes it’s a little too exciting,” I confessed. “I try to take only simple cases but they’ve landed me in hot water more than once. My young man tells me that I’ve used up most of my nine lives.”
“You have a sweetheart too? You are indeed fortunate.”
“Sometimes I dispute that claim as well.” I grinned. “He’s a policeman.”
“Then you can be of assistance to each other in your work. That is ideal, isn’t it, when a couple can share interests and talk as intellectual equals.”
“It is indeed,” I said, deciding to keep quiet about Daniel’s tendency toward chauvinist ideas. “Do you have a young man yourself?”
She blushed prettily. “I do. He works at the same drugstore as I, but he’s studying hard. He’s a real apprentice and Mr. McPherson is teaching him the art of compounding medicines. He’s very good at it too. He has a brilliant brain. It’s a pity his family has no money and that he didn’t have a chance to further his education at a university.”
“You said you are also having to make your own way in the world,” I said. “How did you manage to go to Vassar?”
“Relatives paid for me,” she said, and I saw a trace of annoyance cross her face. “But look, the parade is starting ahead of us. See those carriages moving off?”
We started to walk. The wind tugged at our banners and the effort of holding them aloft made conversation impossible. As we entered Fifth Avenue the crowd became aware of us. I heard some shouts of encouragement as well as some wolf whistles and improper suggestions. “Show us a bit of leg, girlies. You’ll never find yourself a husband dressed like that. Where are your Easter bonnets?”
Among these was a buzz of genuine disapproval. “Women will never get the vote,” one man shouted, stepping out to wave a fist at us. “Over my dead body.”
“That’s what comes of educating women,” another man yelled. “Keep ’em home having babies. That’s their rightful place.”
“Can you imagine what a mess of silliness there would be if women had a say in running the country?” the first man countered. “Why, they might even try to elect a woman president.”
There was a roar of laughter at this suggestion.
“Go home, girls. Go back where you belong and stop making fools of yourselves.”
“You seem to be the one making a fool of yourself at the moment, sir,” one of the young women ahead of us said calmly. “Now please stand back and let us proceed.”
Emily and I glanced at each other. I had never considered that our little demonstration would turn ugly. Or that people would react so violently. I noticed that there were women among those shouting abuse at us. Some looked sorry for us. The term bluestocking was repeated as we processed up the avenue.
“I think we shall not h
ave an easy fight on our hands,” I said to Emily, as the parade ahead of us halted for a moment.
“No, it certainly won’t be easy. Most women are content with their lot and have no wish to worry about politics.”
“But it’s not just politics, is it?” I said. “It’s about having a say in the running of a community.”
“Of course it is. Local measures regarding water and transportation. School bonds. Women have no voice in things that are important to them—their health, their safety, and their children. This is what we have to get across to the women of America. But they don’t want to listen.”
The parade moved on again. Since we were following a considerable number of horse-drawn carriages, we had to walk carefully and watch where we put our feet. As I looked down something struck me on the shoulder. I reacted with alarm and saw that my costume was now caked with mud. Another clod of mud struck the hat of the woman in front of me. A roar of laughter went up from the crowd.
“Pay no attention to them,” Emily said. “It’s just urchins amusing themselves.”
“Go home!” The chant rose again.
We marched on, chins held high as mud spattered our banners.
Suddenly a man darted out from the crowd. “Lucinda. What do you think you are doing!” he shouted, grabbing the arm of one of the young women at the head of our procession. “Leave this absurd farce at once. You are embarrassing yourself and your family.”
He was a young man with an impressive mustache and he carried a silver-tipped cane.
“Go away, Laurence,” the girl said, shaking him off. “It’s none of your business what I choose to do. And it is you who are embarrassing me.”
“I will not allow you to make a fool of yourself like this. You are coming with me.” He started to drag her out of the line.
“Let go of me. I’m not leaving my friends. This is a free country. I’ve a right to express my opinion.” The girl was shouting now.
“Leave her alone!” the girl behind her joined in the fray.
More men from the crowd dashed out and soon there was an out-and-out fracas. Whistles were blown and policemen appeared.
