They joined their group in the opulent foyer. Bright sunlight streamed through the high windows, enhancing the spacious feel of the entranceway. A shaft of sunlight enhanced the earthy tones of the mosaic and marble floors, while the golden marble columns gleamed. Hotel patrons streamed from the elevators and foyer, many carrying small flags, as they headed toward the inauguration and its parade. Their voices were excited, although subdued in comparison to the previous day’s participants.
Clarissa stood next to Gabriel, flinching as his hand came to rest on the small of her back. She spoke to her family. “Sophie wishes me to sit at the front of our group, thus confronting President Wilson with the violence that occurred yesterday.” She felt Gabriel stiffen behind her.
“I’m not certain this is the correct action to take,” Gabriel said. “Clarissa and the other women marchers have already suffered plenty.”
Zylphia clapped her hands together with barely contained excitement. “I think it a marvelous idea. Why should we cover up what men have done? They should feel ashamed, not us.”
“I fear I must agree with Zee,” Jeremy said. “The women had every right to march and expect protection. Now some sort of consequences should be levied against those who perpetrated such violence.”
“Yes, that’s all well and good, but it’s not you who must be made an example of,” Clarissa protested. “I’m thankful we are just watching the parade, rather than sitting through his inauguration.”
“If I could have obtained seats, we would have been at the ceremony. However, the best I could do was convince a friend of mine to give us a block of seats along the parade route. I refuse to stand for hours on end at my age,” Sophie said, ignoring Clarissa’s complaint.
“You can do it, Rissa,” Zylphia said, looping her arm through Clarissa’s and dragging her forward with the force of her enthusiasm. “We’ll all be with you and beside you to support you.”
Sophie’s striking eyes sparkled with mischief as she followed Zylphia and Clarissa from the hotel. Gabriel offered his arm to Sophie, and his brothers walked arm in arm with their wives.
Throngs of people filled the streets, crowding both sides of Pennsylvania Avenue. A large contingent of police ensured the avenue remained clear. The grandstands used for the previous day’s procession were now filled with national and international dignitaries, and they awaited the new president’s triumphant journey from his inauguration at the Capitol to his new home at the White House via the inaugural parade. The decorative red, white and blue bunting strung from the balconies and windowsills had doubled from the day before. Peddlers hawked commemorative inaugural coins and postcards of Washington, DC.
As the McLeod clan walked, Sophie used her cane to clear a path within the crowd, having taken the lead from Zylphia and Clarissa. Sophronia maneuvered their large group to a smaller grandstand with perfect views of the inaugural route. She pushed Clarissa, Florence, Savannah and Zylphia to the front of their group and stationed the McLeod brothers behind their wives, while Sophie sat behind Zylphia.
The sunny day had warmed to over fifty degrees, and they sat, awaiting the arrival of the president. They heard distant applause and then the sounding of a cannon followed by trumpets. Clarissa shared a bemused smile with Zylphia and leaned forward to find Pennsylvania Avenue empty.
“He’ll arrive soon,” Sophie said.
A large contingent of soldiers on shiny black horses appeared. Half of their number preceded a carriage, while the other half flanked the rear of the carriage.
“That will be the president,” Sophie said. She gave Clarissa a nudge, and Clarissa raised her head and leaned forward in her seat from her family members. However, by the time President Wilson reached them, his carriage was moving quickly. He waved at the large crowd, his rapid pace precluding him from focusing on any one group.
After he passed, Sophie harrumphed her displeasure. “That man must be made to see what was wrought yesterday.”
“I’m afraid that, even if he’s forced to acknowledge it, he may not understand it,” Florence murmured. “After what I saw yesterday, too many believe the women received what they deserved for daring to demand more.”
Richard laid a soothing hand on his wife’s shoulder, and she leaned into his touch.
The group remained to listen to the marching bands interspersed with floats representative of every state in the nation. Montana’s float depicting the industry of the state appeared, carrying a group of men dressed as miners and another as loggers. Four strong Percheron horses pulled the float. As they passed, the Montana McLeods cheered loudly, earning a salute from the men on the float.
This caused the McLeods to cheer even more loudly, their enthusiasm infectious to those around them. “Oh, how wonderful that Montana is represented,” Clarissa said.
“They said every state in the nation would be, although I had my doubts they truly meant it,” Gabriel said.
As the parade ended, the McLeod clan joined the slow-moving group leaving the parade route and returned to their hotel. “I’m planning a quiet evening tonight,” Sophie said. “Those who would like to join me are welcome.”
Sophie harrumphed as she read the evening newspaper. “I hope Alice has something to say to our new president to alter his way of thinking.”
“As do I. There is no excuse for how the women were treated on the march,” Richard said.
“That’s not what I mean. Listen to what he said in his Inaugural Address. They reprinted it in the paper.” She cleared her throat of a portion of its raspiness and read aloud:
Men’s hearts wait upon us; men’s lives hang in the balance; men’s hopes call upon us to say what we will do. Who shall live up to the great trust? Who dares fail to try? I summon all honest men, all patriotic, all forward-looking men, to my side.
Richard shared a perplexed glance with Jeremy. “I’m uncertain as to why you are offended. Seems a sound argument to me.”
“Men. Men. Men!” Sophie barked. “Don’t believe for a moment he was considering women in his speech when discussing his concern for men. I doubt that man remembers on many days that he was birthed by a woman, is married to one, nor that he has a daughter.”
“That’s uncharitable, Sophia,” Savannah scolded.
“But true.” Sophie slapped down the paper, glaring at the words. “I fear that man will refuse to be reasonable when it comes to women desiring the vote. If his only concern is for men, it is evident he fails to see the other half of the population.”
“It makes sense for him to address those who voted him into office,” Jeremy said, with a wink to Richard.
Sophie glowered at him. “Exactly, dear boy. Which is why he, and politicians who think like him, must come to understand that the struggle for universal enfranchisement is not one they can defeat. Their fists, their bullying and their patronizing will not keep us from attaining our objective.”
“I don’t know what more you can do,” Savannah said.
“Thankfully we have young women who are intent on reaching the objectives my generation has failed to secure. I am convinced that, with their diligence and determination, we will succeed.” She thunked her cane for good measure, discouraging disagreement.
“I fear they will promote violence,” Jeremy said. “Zylphia is already enthralled with the women she’s met here, and I’m concerned she will become even more so should she meet Miss Paul or Miss Burns.”
“While it’s true that Alice and Lucy learned numerous methods from the Pankhursts in England, many which would be considered objectionable, I remain convinced Alice will refrain from outward violence.” Sophie shared a chagrined smile with those in her sitting room. “However, I cannot guarantee Alice won’t defy conventions.”
4
The following day, Zylphia stood outside the bustling headquarters of the Congressional Committee Office of the National American Woman Suffrage Association, or NAWSA, headed by Alice Paul. Zylphia watched women enter and exit the basement office before
she followed a woman down a half flight of stairs and stepped inside a doorway, just as another woman pushed past her, carrying a stack of letters. The scene was one of coordinated chaos. Women in the front office wrote letters by hand or typed them. Telephones rang. Impromptu meetings occurred, with decisions reached after only a few sentences.
“What can we do for you, miss?” a woman asked. Her dishwater-blond hair was pulled back and partially covered in a kerchief, while she wore a thinning gray sweater over a navy dress.
“I came to see if there was anything I could do for the movement.” Zylphia jumped as her arm was gripped, and she was pulled to a table.
“Sit. You can help stuff these envelopes.” The woman nodded to a chair next to her and then to a pile of papers and envelopes.
“What are these for?” Zylphia asked as she shed her jacket.
“After the success of the parade, we want to obtain as much support as possible from our backers.”
“Financial support.”
The woman rolled her eyes at Zylphia. “What other kind is there? Of course financial. To win this struggle, we must have funds. The antis have a war chest at their disposal, seeing as the majority of businessmen and wealthy women are against the suffrage movement.”
“Not all wealthy women are against it,” Zylphia murmured as she began her task of folding letters and then filling the envelopes. “I’m from Massachusetts, and a group of us are in favor of the vote.”
“Well, you need to work harder, as there remains too much opposition.”
They worked in silence a few moments. In between the folding and filling of envelopes, Zylphia glanced around the room. The secondhand furniture, scraped and battered from years of use, was still functional. Oak filing cabinets vied for space, while desks were nearly stacked atop each other. Framed pictures of the suffragist leaders, past and present, hung on the walls. Zylphia studied the photographs of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony for a moment. Every woman here had a purpose, and Zylphia noted that many walked down the hallway to a small office in the back.
“What more do you need?” Zylphia asked after a moment.
“Besides money and political influence?” The woman shared a sardonic smile with Zylphia. “Our newspaper is always in need of artwork.”
“I’m an artist.”
“Do you draw caricatures?” At Zylphia’s shake of her head, the woman sighed. “I’m afraid that’s what we need. Grand paintings are of no use.”
“That’s what I do. Paintings.”
“If you are truly committed to the cause, you will forego everything that distracts you from the movement.”
“What do you mean?” Zylphia asked as she frowned.
“Do you think Miss Paul wastes her time on frivolous activities when she knows all her energies are needed to win this battle?” She nodded her head down the hallway. “She intentionally keeps her living quarters at such a cold temperature that she has no desire to read at night. And she is an avid reader of mysteries. However, she knows that this cause is more important than any mystery novel.”
“Her dedication is admirable,” Zylphia whispered. Her heart raced as she considered giving up her painting.
“As should all of ours be,” the woman said as she rose. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Zylphia nodded and continued her task. She smiled at those who entered and tackled the stack of papers in front of her. When she departed a few hours later, she had a small sense of accomplishment, although she battled a growing sense of unease.
Richard slammed down his glass of ale with more force than necessary as he shot another furtive glance toward the bar’s entrance. He shared a long look with Jeremy before nodding to the bartender for another round. Although midday, the dark mahogany of the long bar and the dim lighting from the scattered light fixtures lent the establishment a late-evening feel.
“He’ll come,” Jeremy said, nodding his thanks as another beer was set in front of him. “He’s as excited as we are to have time for just the three of us again.”
“You’d think after fifteen years he wouldn’t be late. We haven’t all been together since you went away to fight in the war in ’98.”
“He’s not the same Gabriel you remember, Rich.” Jeremy took a long swig from his glass of beer. “None of us are the same as when we were last together.”
Richard rolled his eyes. “Of course we aren’t. We’re all married, have children. You’ve survived a war. And the two of you abandoned me to live in Montana.”
“We did not abandon you,” Gabriel said from behind them.
“Gabe!” Richard said, leaping from his stool to embrace his brother. Jeremy joined them, and they slapped each other on the back a few times before standing awkwardly for a moment.
After collecting their mugs of beer, the McLeods moved to a small round table. Gabriel smiled as he looked at his brothers. “It’s about time the three of us have a chance to talk about something other than women earning the vote or Wilson’s inauguration.”
Richard raised his glass to Gabe as Jeremy laughed. “We couldn’t leave our womenfolk alone two nights ago as planned, seeing what a disaster the parade was, and yesterday was too chaotic with the inauguration,” Richard said.
Gabriel grunted his agreement.
“What did you do the night of the women’s parade, Gabe?” Jeremy asked. “I thought I saw you leaving the hotel while I was waiting for Zylphia.”
“I took a short walk. I needed to clear my head.”
“Was this before or after you comforted Clarissa?” Richard asked. He took a sip of his beer and shared a quick glance with Jeremy.
“Don’t start, Rich,” Gabriel warned. His gaze roamed the room, refusing to meet their eyes.
“It’s about time somebody did,” Jeremy muttered.
Richard grabbed Gabriel’s arm as it flexed, preventing him from rising. “Gabe, it’s just the three of us. Talk to us.”
“There’s nothing to say. Clarissa and I can’t see past our … loss.” Gabriel shook his head as though dispelling memories.
“You’ve always been able to do anything you desired if you wanted it badly enough, Gabe,” Richard said, with Jeremy nodding beside him.
“You think that isn’t my most cherished goal? To reconcile with Rissa?” He shook his head in exasperation.
“You found a way to free us from Mrs. Masterson. You struggled to eke out a survival so that Jeremy could finish school and I could have my full apprenticeship. You ensured we had a treat a week, knowing that would be enough to motivate us and prevent us from losing all hope.” Richard watched Gabe with confusion. “You fought for Clarissa, accepting every obstacle laid in your path to reunite with her. I don’t understand why you’d give in so easily now.”
“Maybe I’m tired of the struggle.” Gabriel took a deep sip of his beer.
“Bull,” Jeremy said. “I’ve seen you come alive with each challenge. Something happened.”
Gabriel raised tormented eyes to his brothers. “I know now what it is to lose the esteem of the one person who matters most to me in the world. And I find it difficult to care much about anything else.”
“Then fight to regain it,” Richard snapped. “Don’t just sit here and bemoan your fate. That’s not like you.”
Gabriel barely nodded and took another swig of his beer.
When Richard took a deep breath, Jeremy kicked him in the leg and said, “Tell us how your business is, Rich.”
“Like I write you every week, it continues to grow, and I have men—good, talented men—clamoring to work with me.”
“Of course they are. They know you’ll treat them fair and pay a decent wage.” Gabe nodded as he beheld his middle brother with pride.
“Are you looking to expand further?” Jeremy asked. He stretched out his long legs in front of him, sighing.
“I don’t think so. I’ve three shops to run, and it keeps me busier than I thought it would. I don’t have as much time at home with Flo
as I’d like.”
“I’m sure she understands,” Gabriel said.
“She says she does. But I miss the time with the children, the simple things. Listening to them bicker as they wash up for supper. Helping them with their homework or readying them for bed.” Richard’s gaze became distant as he thought of his five boys.
“The little things that make a family into a family,” Gabriel whispered. He thought of his three living children, his mind shying away from a time when he had four.
“Yeah. I’m hoping to have a man in charge of each forge by the end of summer, and then I can simply oversee,” Richard said.
“Won’t you be bored? Shuffling paperwork around a desk rather than working at the anvil?” Gabriel asked.
“I’ve been doing that for nearly twenty years. Besides, I own three forges. Anytime I want to build something, I have access to the best smithies in Boston.”
“Col’s never resented you getting his family’s forge,” Jeremy murmured. “I think he’s pleased to be in Missoula.”
“It all worked out as it was meant to,” Gabriel said. “Colin had his time where he didn’t have any responsibility, just like he wanted. And now that he’s older, he has a forge in Missoula. Seems to have turned out well for him.” Gabriel sighed, mimicking Jeremy, kicking out his long legs, but moving them to the side so they wouldn’t hit Jeremy’s. “Remember when we’d meet in Old Man Harris’s shop, and we’d eat those treats he saved for us?” His gaze was distant as he imagined the scene from twenty years ago.
“Most of them were barely edible, but we didn’t know better,” Richard said.
“What with the food we were eating at Aunt’s house,” Jeremy said with a shake of his head.
“Or not eating. I swear, if she had had her way, we would have starved.” Gabriel shook his head. “Life was simpler.”
“But not any better,” Richard said. “I’d never trade the years I’ve had with Flo. Or the years without her, when I thought she’d betrayed me with Aunt Masterson.”
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