“How is such a thing possible? Why doesn’t the federal government do something?” Zylphia asked.
“As long as Amalgamated produces the copper the country needs to continue America’s rapid growth, they will allow Amalgamated to do what it pleases,” Sebastian said. “Things are very different here, Zee.”
“Why does your brother, Patrick, remain in Butte, rather than move to Missoula? I’d think he’d grasp at any reason to escape and live closer to you and Colin,” Sebastian said.
Clarissa sighed. “He writes that Fiona has been advised that she should refrain from any travel and should remain in a familiar environment.”
“I think Patrick is also determined to make his way for his family without depending on us,” Savannah said. “He knows I’d be happy to help and able to help.”
“You don’t want to interfere with a man’s sense of pride,” Sebastian said.
Amelia rolled her eyes as Clarissa chuckled. Clarissa said, “I know. I wish he’d move to Missoula, but I’m content knowing where he is.”
“And as long as Fiona remains healthy, that is what is important,” Savannah said.
After a few moments of silence, Sebastian asked about Clarissa and Gabriel’s children and the goings-on in Missoula, halting further discussion about state politics and Patrick’s persistent presence in Butte.
The following morning Zylphia slipped from bed just before sunrise and donned a simple dress. She grabbed a small case from her bag and cracked open the bedroom door. A floorboard creaked as she walked down the hall toward the front door. She eased it open and walked in haste toward an open field she remembered passing when they drove into town to catch the sunrise.
When she arrived a few minutes later, the sky was just lightening to a robin’s-egg blue, each moment changing and limning the mountains in a different hue. She breathed deeply, inhaling wood smoke and the elusive scent of the pine forest. She found a small boulder to perch on and watched as the mountains came into greater relief with the dawning day.
She pulled out her case and extracted a small sketch pad and a sharpened pencil. Her hand flew across the paper as she drew, capturing the mood and atmosphere of the morning with light strokes and deft shading. Intent on capturing the scene, she became lost to her surroundings.
A hand settled on her shoulder, and she flinched, nearly marring her drawing with a deep pencil scratch. She screeched and jumped up, spinning to face the person behind her. “Sebastian,” she whispered, holding a hand to her heart as she caught her breath.
“I’m sorry to startle you, but you didn’t answer when I called your name.” He smiled his apology. “I hadn’t realized you were an artist.”
“I have a near daily compulsion to draw something,” Zylphia admitted. When Sebastian nodded at her sketch pad, she handed it to him.
He began with the unfinished sketch from the morning before flipping through the previous days’ work. “These are something,” he said as he swayed to and fro in front of her.
Zylphia noted he always seemed to be in motion, even when standing still.
“What do you plan to do with them?”
“If I have the opportunity, I hope to paint them. I think oil paintings.” Zylphia nodded her thanks as she accepted the sketchpad. “They’re to help me remember when I’m at my easel in Boston.”
“I’d think you’d have an easel here to capture the moment as it’s in front of you.”
“It would be difficult to obtain what I need,” Zylphia protested.
“Most anything you could imagine can be had from the Merc in Missoula. Just ask Gabe, and he’ll help you.” Sebastian watched her intently. “I’d be honored to hang one of your fine paintings in my house. I have a feeling you’ll soon be as well-known as your cousin, Lucas.”
“Oh, this is just a hobby,” Zylphia said, her breath coming quickly.
“Well, I ain’t no artist, but I’m smart enough to know this is art worth having in my house. You’re talented, Zee. Don’t waste it. Not even for this cause you espouse.”
“It’s essential for women to obtain the vote,” Zylphia said with a flash of her irritation in her eyes.
“I’m not arguing against it. I’d love for my Amelia to be able to vote and have her say in her future. But this cause is a fleeting thing, Zee. Your art, now that’s something to be nurtured for life.” He smiled. “You’re fortunate your father’s wealthy enough you don’t have to worry about such a mundane thing as money.”
Zylphia blushed. “I know.”
“Come. I’m sure by now they’ve all awakened and are worried about your absence. I always leave for work early, so Amelia will think nothing of my not being home.”
“Did you follow me?” Zylphia walked next to Sebastian, thankful he walked at a slower pace than her male cousins.
“I heard someone leave. I glanced down the street to see you turn the corner. By the time I dressed, you had disappeared. It took me a little while to find you.” He watched her with a worried gaze. “The men of this town are respectful, for the most part. But there are always drifters. You must take more care, Zee. I would hate for something to happen to you.”
“Thank you,” Zylphia whispered. “All I could think about was having a few moments alone to sketch. To lose myself in art.”
“Well, you’ve become a bit too lost when you don’t even hear a man of my size approaching.”
“You move with the stealth of a cat!” Zylphia protested with a laugh.
“Even so, Zee, even so,” Sebastian said.
“My father sent me west with a maid, but I can’t stand having her hovering a step or two behind me all the time. She remained in Missoula to help Araminta care for the children.” She shared a chagrined smile with Sebastian. They walked a few minutes in the quiet of the early morning.
“Can I ask you something that I don’t want to worry Amelia about?” At his nod, she asked, “Do you worry about Nickie and the Great War?”
“Of course we do. She reads the newspaper reports every day with the hopes that the fighting will soon end. She has nightmares about her son being called to fight. He’ll be eighteen soon and of perfect age.” He looked at her. “You and your women want voters to shun the president and his party ’cause he won’t support your cause. I have to say that his determination to keep us out of this war, and boys like Nickie safe, is reason enough for me to vote for him.”
Zylphia frowned, nodding her understanding as she linked her arm through his and matched his stride toward his home.
“Zee!” Clarissa exclaimed when she walked in through the kitchen door with Sebastian. “We’ve been so worried. Amelia just sent Nicholas to the mill to fetch you, Sebastian.”
“I’m sorry,” Zylphia said, looking chagrined. “I woke with an overwhelming desire to sketch this morning. I didn’t think I’d be missed, but I must have become lost in my drawing. Sebastian found me.”
“I heard her leave and eventually found her,” he said as he moved toward the sky-blue coffeepot and poured himself a cup. At Zylphia’s nod, he poured her one too. “She was immersed in sketching the mountains.”
“Oh, Zylphia!” Amelia exclaimed, gripping her in a tight hug as she burst into the kitchen. “You’ve had us frantic.”
“I’m sorry,” Zylphia said again as she was pushed into a chair and a plate of pancakes, eggs and bacon was set before her.
“There’s my Amelia,” Sebastian murmured as he leaned forward to kiss his wife on her forehead as she bustled past him. “Always assuming we’ll need plenty of food, especially if there’s a calamity of some sort.” He grunted when she elbowed his side good-naturedly.
Nicholas burst into the kitchen, and groaned with frustration to find his father and Zylphia sitting down to breakfast. “Where were you?” he demanded, gasping from his dash to the mill and back.
“Thank you for your help, son,” Sebastian said, running a quick hand over Nicholas’s head as he sat next to his father. Seb pushed his full plate
toward Nicholas, sharing his breakfast.
After breakfast, Clarissa and Savannah helped Amelia make sandwiches while Zylphia finished her sketch from the morning. When it was time to go, Zylphia took the basket offered to her, placing pamphlets next to the sandwiches.
They walked the short distance to the Sawmill Saloon, a two-story brick building in the central part of the town. Men called out greetings to Amelia, and one opened the door for them to pass.
“Not like you to have a companion, Mrs. Carlin.”
“Miss McLeod is my friend from Missoula,” Amelia said with a nod of thanks as she led the way into the saloon. She turned to Zee and whispered, “He always tries to sweet talk a free sandwich from me.”
Zylphia turned around as the door was closing and thrust a pamphlet at him. “Thank you for your help,” she said with a broad smile. He frowned when he realized he received something other than a sandwich but then tipped his hat at her. The wooden door slammed shut with a thwack behind her.
Zylphia looked around the saloon. To her left was a long wooden bar. Behind it was a mirrored wall of shelves filled with glasses. Men leaned against the bar or sat at small round tables. The wooden floorboards creaked in places and were scuffed from the multitude of booted men visiting the saloon. Bright light shone through the front and side windows, and the tin ceiling reflected it.
Amelia turned to Zylphia with an inquisitive smile. “What do you think, Zee?”
“It’s not what I thought it would be,” she whispered.
“A den of iniquity,” Amelia giggled as she approached a group of men, joking with them and cajoling them into buying two of her sandwiches. She handed them each a pamphlet, urging them to vote for women in November. She moved from table to table, and Zylphia emerged from her trance and walked toward the other side of the saloon.
“Would you like to purchase a sandwich?” she asked a group of men deep in discussion.
One man tapped at an article in the newspaper and then scowled at her. “No, miss. We want one of Mrs. Carlin’s,” he said, turning his attention back to the paper.
“Excuse me, but I’m staying with her, and I’m helping her today. These are her sandwiches.”
He nodded, and each man at the table bought a sandwich. As they searched their pockets for coins, she twisted her head around to read the newspaper headline. She absently handed them sandwiches with a pamphlet and placed their coins in her pocket. “May I borrow your paper for a moment?”
At the man’s nod, she grabbed it and turned away, her eyes racing over the headline and its story. “Imagine,” she breathed as she read about six hundred Paris taxi drivers ferrying over six thousand reserve troops from Paris to the frontline to help protect the city and prevent it from falling to the Germans. The article mentioned heavy losses for the British Expeditionary Force, and Zylphia took a deep breath as she fought panic.
“Zee?” Amelia asked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and glancing at the newspaper she held. “Oh, yes, the war. It’s quite something to imagine all those taxi drivers, isn’t it? The men have been talking of little else.”
“Why?” Zee shook her head as she forced herself to imagine Teddy well and whole.
“If they hadn’t acted as they had, Paris could have fallen. Can you imagine?” Amelia asked. “Their actions may have kept us from having to enter this war.”
“We’ll never join in,” Zylphia said. “Too many are against it, including the president.”
“I hope you’re right.” She traded her empty basket for Zee’s full one and moved through the saloon.
Zylphia faced the men at the table she’d approached. “Thank you for lending me your paper,” she said. She gifted them a weak smile before following Amelia onto the boardwalk.
“I have another stop. Do you still want to come along?” Amelia asked. At Zylphia’s resolute nod, they walked toward another saloon, this one a single story with low ceilings and a darkened interior.
“This is what I thought a saloon looked like,” Zee whispered, a miasma of smoke, unwashed bodies and stale beer permeating the air.
“I only have a few sandwiches to sell, and then we can leave,” Amelia whispered.
Zylphia followed behind Amelia, smiling encouragingly as Amelia sold her sandwiches and handed out pamphlets.
When they emerged onto the boardwalk a few minutes later, Amelia paused, watching the men coming and going. “We need an event. Where you three could discuss the merits of women voting. It would be much more effective than handing out pamphlets one by one with sandwiches.” She grabbed Zylphia’s arm, tugging her along. “Come with me.”
They walked along the main street of Darby, Amelia calling out hellos to most of the people she passed but not stopping. She turned left down a side street, and Zylphia heard the whirring of a saw.
“The mill’s not far,” Amelia said.
They made another few turns, and they were in a large yard filled with stacked logs yet to be sawn into lumber. Nearby a group of men loaded lumber onto railroad cars.
“I never imagined it would be such a big operation,” Zylphia said, slowing her stride as she watched in fascination as the men worked in concerted effort.
Amelia kept her hand gripped around Zylphia’s arm. “Lest you have an inclination to wander away,” she said. She pulled Zylphia from any possibility of harm and toward a doorway.
Zylphia raised her hands to cover her ears at the piercingly shrill sound of the saw cutting wood.
“Amelia!” Sebastian yelled, emerging from his office. He led Zylphia and Amelia outside to the relative quiet of the yard, steering them to a safe area. “Has something happened?”
“No. I had an idea,” Amelia said. She smiled as Sebastian pulled out the last unsold sandwich in her basket and ate it.
He nodded for her to continue, watching her with intent interest.
“Do you think you could spread the word that we’re having a social tonight at the Hall? I’d like Zee, Rissa and Sav to have the chance to talk to more men, and that seemed a better way to go about it.”
Sebastian nodded. “Sounds like a good idea. ’Bout seven?” At Amelia’s nod, he leaned forward to kiss her on her cheek. “I’ll spread the word and see you home tonight.”
Amelia beamed at him and then spun, gripping Zylphia’s arm as they left the mill yard.
“Does he always go along with what you say?” Zylphia asked.
“Not always but generally. He respects my opinion, as I do his. Sometimes we argue, but I hate fighting over things that are petty or senseless.”
“Are you always this rational?”
“No, of course not. We have our fights. But, more often than not, we talk things through. We argue, but we never endeavor to hurt the other.”
Zylphia flushed at Amelia’s words.
“Why should that embarrass you, Zee?”
“Because I intentionally hurt the man I love. Out of fear.” Zylphia shrugged her shoulders. “Makes me realize I’m not as mature as I like to consider myself.”
“Or you’ve yet learned to trust yourself and others,” Amelia said. “I know what it is to be afraid of the future. To wonder how I’d ever survive.” At Zylphia’s curious stare, she nodded back toward the mill. “Sebastian’s my second husband. Liam—Nickie and Annie’s father—died in the mines in Butte when they were very young. I never thought I’d love again.”
“But you did.”
“I did. You never know what’s possible, Zee, unless you give yourself permission to fully experience life. To not worry what others are saying or if you are disappointing someone.” She smiled at Zylphia. “It doesn’t mean you have no concern for those around you. But I think we become so focused on what is expected of us and our vision of who we think we are that we lose sight of what we truly want. Who we truly are.” She gripped Zylphia’s hand. “Come. Let’s go to the Hall and organize the gathering for tonight.”
“I’m an artist,” Zylphia blurted out. “It’s the one
thing in this world I love to do.”
Amelia smiled and then teased her. “Good. Because when you’re rich and famous, the painting Sebastian says you’re gifting us will have even more value.”
“Amelia, are you certain about this?” Clarissa asked as she ushered the McLeods into the Hall. Amelia and Clarissa carried boxes filled with cookies. Sebastian was at the saloon, obtaining a few kegs of beer and drumming up interest in the gathering, while Zylphia and Sav carried pies. Along with beer would be kegs containing apple cider.
“This is the perfect way for you to speak to the members of the community. Who doesn’t like a gathering?” Amelia asked as she set up her treats on one of the tables. “Besides, when people learn Sebastian will play his fiddle, they’ll come out to hear him and to dance.”
“I’m not sure the women in charge of the committee would be pleased we’re serving alcohol,” Savannah muttered.
“Well, those temperance women aren’t welcomed here,” Amelia said. “If we didn’t have beer, there wouldn’t be much of a gathering. The men want to have a drink when they’ve finished a hard day’s work.”
Clarissa shared a worried look with Savannah and Zylphia but moved to work beside Amelia. “Have either of you thought about what we’ll say?” she whispered.
“No,” Savannah said, then giggled. “This could be an unmitigated disaster.”
“I think we need to keep it short and to the point. The men coming here tonight will have worked a long day and won’t be interested in listening to us go on and on,” Zylphia said. She winked at young David as he purloined a cookie, then ran off to join his friends on the other side of the Hall.
“Zee, you’re the calmest of us all. You should speak,” Savannah said.
“I’m from Massachusetts and have the strongest accent. I haven’t lived here for over a decade. They won’t listen to me like they would you. Besides, you’re the one who’s best friends with Amelia and Sebastian,” Zylphia argued, nodding at Clarissa. Zee pulled out a scrap of paper and handed it to Rissa. “Here’s a list of things you might want to touch on but keep it brief.”
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