Her anger faded, replaced by puzzlement when she looked up to see who had spoken. A shrewd-looking man with dark, luxuriant sideburns that met under his chin, stood. Sarah recognized him at once as Mr. Babington, the lawyer in the building next to Wellington Brown's store. Addressing the councilmen, Mr. Babington said, "Miss Ashley has raised some valid points. However, the fact remains that nowhere in the city Bill of Incorporation is it stated that the mayor and council have the power to collect any money from the person or property of the inhabitants for municipal purposes. Therefore, the city has no legal authority to impose a license fee at all. If Miss Ashley is not granted a license, I suggest she bring action against the city to rescind this tax. Since the city has already collected in excess of $12,000 in license taxes, possibly illegally, that raises the question of refunds, should the case be decided in her favor. In light of this, I respectfully suggest that the esteemed city council contemplate their final decision in this matter, most carefully."
Mayor Harris pounded his gavel. "Mr. Babington, would you please sit down. This is not an open hearing." He turned to Sarah. "Miss Ashley, perhaps you misunderstood our motives." His gaze shifted from her to Mr. Babington and back again. "We are not your adversaries; we are only attempting to determine the suitability of your proposed business enterprise for the city of Victoria. If you'll give us a few minutes in chamber to review the papers, we will return with our decision." He nodded to the other councilmen. "Gentlemen, shall we adjourn to my office?"
The councilmen filed out of the room behind Mayor Harris, and ten minutes later they returned and took their seats.
Mayor Harris remained standing. "We have carefully considered your application, Miss Ashley, and we have reached an agreement. However, we are curious as to why you believe that women are oppressed by men. A gentleman always relinquishes his chair to a lady, she is given the best seat in the carriage, and she enjoys the warmest place in winter. Her wardrobe costs thrice that of a man's, and with the prevailing fashion, she occupies three times as much space. It would seem, if there be oppression, men are the ones who suffer. Yet we ask no redress for having assented to the destiny given us by our Creator: that women are to be obliged and cared for. But since you have chosen to give up these amenities and privileges and suffer the discomforts and adversities borne by men over the ages, then we are prepared to issue a business license to you." He slid the document in front of Jon, who dipped his pen in the ink well.
Sarah stood in stunned silence when she saw Jon signing the document. As she waited for her license, Mr. Babington passed a card to her. "If you need me further, Miss Ashley, please contact me at my office."
Sarah studied the card imprinted with the name David Babington, Attorney. "Perhaps I will," she said, but found herself talking to his back as he left the room.
The excitement over, the crowd quickly dispersed, and Sarah was left standing in the middle of a closed circle of Charlotte Potts, Flora and Jeremy Pickering, Elizabeth Thurman, and Esther. Sarah looked down at the card and said to Esther, "Do you think there's anything to what he said about the license tax being illegal?"
Esther shrugged. "You'll have to ask Jon, who's coming this way." Bidding a quick farewell she left, and Sarah suspected she didn't want to be intercepted by her brother.
Jon nodded to the group surrounding Sarah and took her arm. "If you folks will excuse Miss Ashley, she and I have some business to attend to."
As he ushered her away from the group, Sarah gave him a sharp look. "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I don't want to be dragged away from my friends by you?"
A lazy smile crossed his face. "Of course not, because you do."
She pursed her lips. "I'd say that you are cocky and conceited, but you already know that, and it doesn't seem to matter to you."
"Right."
She stared at him. He was so incredibly sure of himself. She wanted to feel incensed by his haughty behavior, but the feeling wouldn't come. Instead, she found herself eyeing his attire with amusement and thinking he looked like a big, not-so-tame wolf in sheep's clothing. "Why are you all dressed up?” she asked. “I've never seen you wearing anything but shirts and breeches."
He smiled wryly. "I always dress for hangings."
"Then you knew what was going to happen to me today?"
"Vaguely."
"Why didn't you say something?"
He looked at her soberly. "Would you have listened if I'd told you to throw in the towel because the council had no intention of issuing your license?"
"No."
"That's why I dressed for a hanging."
"Sorry to disappoint you."
"Believe me, love, you didn't disappoint me. The last thing I wanted was to see your lovely neck in a noose. I have other, much more interesting plans for that neck."
"Forget them."
"Never." He led her into a shadowy office that appeared to be in disuse. After shutting the door, he lifted her carpetbag out of her hands, placed it on the desk and curved his arms around her. She braced her palms against his chest. "You're not being very discreet," she said. "I can't imagine what everyone must be thinking right now."
Jon laced his hands behind her waist. "Why should they think anything more than that you're absorbed in important business with the governor? After all, you're going to be one of Victoria's merchants now so naturally there are governmental issues we need to discuss... behind closed doors." He gathered her closer, forcing her to bend her arms and rest her hands against his chest.
Sarah felt the tingle of his breath on her forehead. "I thought you agreed not to do this sort of thing," she said, aware of the tight feeling that seemed to come whenever Jon held her.
Jon's eyes filled with amusement. "This isn't what I agreed not to do," he said, giving her a wicked grin. "I agreed not to do this..." His finger traced a meandering path toward her cleavage, lingered there for a moment and trailed away. "But I’ll try to control my animal lusts long enough to enjoy one chaste kiss to celebrate your overwhelming victory here today."
Trying to force from her mind the thought of what his touch could do, Sarah said, "Why would you want to celebrate my victory? Not too long ago you were clearly against me."
"I’ve never been against you," Jon said, "only against your cause. But since you've managed to gather in your behalf an impressive group of dedicated followers, including my sister, and you are determined to carry on with your plans in spite of my efforts to convince you otherwise, I have little choice but to step aside and give you my official sanction." He kissed her.
Sarah pulled away before the kiss could deepen. "Then you agree that a woman is equal to a man in labors, duties, honors, and offices, and that she should be allowed to deposit her vote in the same ballot box?"
Jon looked at her, befuddled. "I never said that."
"But if you gave me your sanction, that's what you’d have to mean. And you must also accept that a woman should marry out of choice, not economic necessity, and that the only fair marriage is one in which husband and wife are equal partners and lead equal lives with equal privileges and restraints."
"I don't have to agree with you to wish you well," Jon said, wondering how the conversation had taken such a dramatic turn. It seemed he still had work to do if he expected to make her understand that what she wanted was unattainable. He admired her independence to a point, but he refused to let her wear the pants—be they bloomers or otherwise. He might acknowledge that marriage was a partnership, but the burden of support fell to the husband. And that was that. And why the devil was he thinking about marriage? It had nothing to do with them. "I'm merely wishing you well," he said, "nothing more."
"But if you wish me well," Sarah pressed, "then you must be on my side."
"I don't have to be on your side to wave my white flag," Jon said. "Consider it a sign that I’ve conceded to the enemy and I'm willing to accept my punishment."
Sarah eyed him dubiously. "You don't seem to me a man who would throw h
imself on the mercy of the enemy. What do you expect to gain by doing so?"
"My punishment." Jon gave her a devious smile. "What will it be, Miss Ashley? Feverish kisses branded into my naked chest? Scalding hands blistering my bare back? Fiery lips blazing a scorching path down to my... path's end? Whatever you plan for me, my wicked little love, I’ll bear like a man." He bent close to her ear, where he could nibble the soft lobe, and kissed the side of her neck, inhaling the warm fragrance of lilac. Then he curved his arms around her and drew her to him. Slanting his mouth on hers and parting her lips, he touched the tip of his tongue to hers, tasting, teasing, deepening the kiss until she moaned her pleasure.
Breaking the kiss, he said, I a ragged voice, "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me right now?"
Sarah tipped her head back to give him access to her throat. "Yes... umm," she moaned. "I'm allowing you to express your animal lusts."
"No, you're not--" he trailed kisses up her neck "--you're making me frustrated as hell." He stepped back to sit on the desk top, and pulled her to stand between his legs. "I have a mind to barricade the door, disrobe you, and express my animal lusts right here. And that's not exactly what I have planned for you the first time we make love."
"You talk as though it will happen," Sarah said. "You already agreed that—"
"I only agreed to wait a little longer. Nothing more." He pressed her palm firmly against his awakened body. "I want you, quite desperately, as you can plainly tell."
Heat rushed to Sarah's face. She snatched her hand from beneath his. "You must not do that," she said.
"My sweet, innocent, little mooncalf, I can no more stop that from happening than stop the sun from rising. As long you're near me, that will happen."
"That's not what I meant," she said. "I meant... what you did with my hand."
"Why should I stop that? You've already admitted in more ways than one that you share my desires. I'm simply guiding you toward the next step in our relationship."
"Relationship?" Sarah stiffened. "For us, that would be unthinkable, given your closed views about what a woman should and should not do."
"Closed views! Who gives a bloody damn about views?"
"You needn't raise your voice to me, Jon. After all, we are simply discussing the relationship between a man and a woman, which, as I said, would be unthinkable with us, given your unreasonable and inflexible views about a woman's place."
Jon tightened his jaw. "You have some harebrained idea that a man should step aside while a woman engages in all manner of enterprises, none of which seem to include keeping a home, raising a family, and tending to her husband's needs."
Sarah's eyes glowed. "And you have not listened to a word I’ve been saying. I never said that a woman should not be willing to keep a home, raise a family, and tend a husband. I only said that she should expect her husband to share in all of those activities so that she might pursue a business as well. And she should also be allowed to voice her opinion in matters of importance and not be obliged to endorse her husband's sentiments solely because he is a man and she is a woman. With close-minded views such as you hold, entering into a relationship with you would be tantamount to self-imposed slavery!"
"Is that what you feel when you're with me? Self-imposed slavery! Good lord! Maybe you're right. Maybe we should give up the whole idea."
Sarah looked into his unyielding eyes and saw the hard line of his mouth. He'd be satisfied with nothing less than a conventional wife, a dutiful wife who would run the house and tend her husband's wants, someone content to be an extension of her husband. But her philosophy simply would not allow her to be that person. But then, the subject of marriage was not an issue with them. Jon had been careful to avoid that. Nor had her feelings on the subject changed. And Jon's attitude was the very reason she never intended to give up her freedom.
"I believe this little meeting has come to an end," she said. Grabbing her carpetbag, she turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her, which was followed by Jon's string of expletives and the sound of something crashing against the door and falling to the floor.
Narrow-minded, single-minded, infuriating man!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Three days later, Sarah marched out of the office of J. D. Caravello, Commission Agent, Mandi close behind. On the board walkway outside, Sarah rested her hands on her hips and glared at the closed door. "No buildings for lease, my foot! I know for a fact that there are two vacant buildings on Wharf Street and one on Yates. And I'm certain that the small warehouse on Waddington Alley is also available."
"Waddington Alley?" Mandi's eyes grew wide with apprehension.
Sarah stared at her. "What's wrong with Waddington Alley?"
"Plenty." Mandi's brows gathered in a worried frown. "You remember what Ida said 'bout the women disappearin'? Well, Wellington told me when ah was tendin' the table this mornin' that two nights ago another woman disappeared. It happened near Waddington Alley. He said the police came 'round questionin' all the folks up and down the street and that no one saw nothin'. He's real worried 'bout us roamin' around down here."
Sarah pursed her lips. "We wouldn't have to roam around if someone would lease me a store. Obviously, I'm being manipulated by the men here. Maybe we should pack our bags and leave."
"We can't do that!" exclaimed Mandi. "What about Miss Charlotte and Miss Elizabeth and Miss Flora and all the other folks who are wantin' to see your business get goin'?"
"And Mr. Wellington Brown?" Sarah looked askance.
"'Specially him." Mandi looked at Sarah in alarm. "You aren't thinkin' of leavin', are you?"
"No," Sarah assured her. "We've come too far to give up now. Although I suspect it would give Jon great pleasure if we did leave." She still felt angry over the quarrel they'd had three days ago. How could a man who was so perfect in every other way be so narrow-minded when it came to the issue of rights for women?
Mandi looked at her, baffled. "Why do you say the guv'nor would be pleased if you left? Seems to me like he's pretty sweet on you, him walkin' away from that highfalutin Windemere woman so's he could rescue you at the picnic. And comin' a-courtin' with flowers and all."
Sarah gathered her skirt and started walking down the street. "Well, perhaps he doesn't want me to leave," she said, "but he does want me to quit what I'm doing and be an ordinary woman engaged in ordinary activities, like Mary Letitia Windemere, I suppose."
Mandi scurried along. "She is that, all right. From what Ida said, when the guv'nor was courtin' her, she was always flittin' over to the house doin' this and that, makin' pretty things that pleased the guv'nor."
"I don't want to talk about her," Sarah snapped, determined to delegate thoughts of Mary Letitia and Jon to a lesser position of importance in her mind. "If you want to stay in Victoria, we'd better turn our attention to finding a building to lease..."
After four hours of walking, searching, and questioning every banker, merchant, and land agent in Victoria, Sarah gave up. Every available building was either too expensive, in too bad a state of disrepair, or too far from the mercantile district. It became evident that they'd have to come up with an alternative plan. When they stopped at a cross street for a large, ungainly produce wagon to pass, an idea came to Sarah quite suddenly.
"I could lease a delivery wagon and peddle my garments along the waterfront to the prospectors' wives," she said excitedly. "Living in tents and shanties as they do, they should be anxious to be rid of their cumbersome clothes. That way I'd be generating operating capital while waiting for a building to become available."
Mandi looked concerned. "Would we still keep the table at Wellington's store?"
Sarah gave Mandi a reassuring smile. "Of course. Now, let's go see about a wagon."
At the livery, Sarah leased an elderly dray horse named Judd and a delivery wagon with the words, Royal Pie Company, scrawled in faded gold and green letters across its tall, broad side. It was the only wagon available that came close to satisf
ying Sarah's needs. She'd selected it from among three others—a timeworn milk wagon with missing floorboards, a huge two-horse furniture delivery wagon, and an undertaker's wagon that had been stripped of its accessories.
During the course of the afternoon, Sarah packed three footlockers with bloomers, shirtwaisters and overtunics, and she and Mandi lifted them into the pie wagon. After dropping Mandi off at Wellington's store to tend the table, Sarah set out along the waterfront. As she urged Judd onward, she pressed repeatedly on the foot-operated bell mounted under the toe board, and in a very short time a sizable crowd followed along beside her. After pulling Judd to a halt, she stood and faced the women, most of them drab, tired-looking women whom she surmised were prospectors' wives. Before she could speak, one woman waved a hand and shouted, "You're the lady in the newspaper. I heard about them things you're wearin'."
"They're called bloomers," Sarah said. "And yes, I'm the lady from the newspaper. I've come to relieve you of the burden of restrictive dress so you can tend to your duties in comfort. Any woman who spends more than four hours a day washing clothes, cleaning house and cooking should own a bloomer costume such as the one I'm wearing." She turned around slowly so that everyone could get a good look at her gray poplin outfit with its crocheted cuffs and collar. "The costume can be purchased in plain fabric and unadorned, or in ginghams and calicoes fancifully trimmed with crocheting at the collar and cuffs. And the price of these attractive, utilitarian garments is within reach of every woman here."
"How much for that outfit you're wearing?" one woman asked.
"This costume made of poplin, is two dollars if purchased without the crocheted cuffs and collar, and three dollars with the crocheted trim. But I have others in plain cotton for as little as one dollar and seventy-five cents."
While Sarah distributed handbills, a woman called out, "Can I get one of those outfits now?"
"Yes, you certainly can," Sarah said. "Step over here where I can estimate your size and I'll get you what you want." As the woman pressed her way through the gathering, Sarah scanned her briefly and ducked into the wagon. While crouched over a trunk, sorting through stacks of bloomers for the appropriate size, she was aware of a young woman's voice in the background.
Come Be My Love Page 19
