"...not only do men dictate our fashion," the young woman was saying, "but they make laws that we must submit to, and for which we have no redress..."
Sarah ceased her rummaging and listened. No. It couldn't be. Not again...
"...if there must be rules by which the vote is cast, let the ignorant, drunken, and immoral be denied, and the educated, sober, and moral of both men and women be given the right—"
"Josephine Cromwell!" Harriet Galbraith's voice cracked like a whip. "Your father and grandmother will certainly hear of this!"
Sarah stood abruptly. "Oh, no!" Stepping out of the wagon, she saw Harriet Galbraith and Josephine squared off a short distance away. Climbing down, Sarah pushed her way through the crowd and arrived just as Harriet saying to Josephine, "If you had studied your Bible lessons, you would know that because woman was a sinner in the Garden of Eden, she must be excluded from oration and be subservient to man."
"If that is so," Josephine countered, "how is it that Queen Victoria sits on the throne of England ruling over men?"
Harriet looked at Josephine, aghast. "You are an impertinent, disrespectful young woman."
"And you are nothing but an old biddy—"
"Josephine!" Sarah shoved her way past two women. "Leave at once!"
Josephine looked at Sarah, her face displaying a blend of hurt and chagrin, and said, "But... I was only trying to help you. Why are you mad at me?"
"Because you should not be here. Why aren't you in school?"
"I am. My class is just over there—" she pointed toward the water "—on the beach. Madam Pettibeau brought us to gather rocks and shells for our science class."
"Then return to your classmates at once," Sarah demanded.
Josephine looked at Sarah. "I'll rejoin my classmates for you—" she glared at Harriet Galbraith "—not because she's going to rat on me to my father. I still say she's an old biddy."
From the direction of the waterfront, a woman marched toward them, a scowl on her face, a willow stick in her hand. Josephine broke from the group and made her way toward the woman. "Madame Pettibeau—"
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"I just stepped over here to—"
"Mon dieu!" Raising her willow stick, she whacked it sharply across her own hand, then fluttered it at Josephine, who turned abruptly and left the scene.
As Josephine and Madame Pettibeau walked briskly from the gathering, Harriet pointed an accusing finger at Sarah, and said to the crowd, "That woman should be cast from respectable society. She has been lured by debase pleasures, and now she's luring you down the same path."
Deciding that she could not allow the woman to degrade her in front of these promising customers, Sarah said, "A woman does not break divine laws and commit grievous sin simply by reducing the unwieldy burden of present-day fashion."
Cheers and applause swept through the crowd.
Harriet's face turned as white as a bleached bone. Saying nothing more, she pivoted and strode off, her skirts whisking up a billow of dust. Shifting her gaze beyond Harriet, Sarah noted a small sternwheeler docked in the direction Harriet was marching. She eyed the steamer—a fancifully decorated vessel with cherubic gargoyles, ornate wooden scrollwork, and the name Revelation inscribed in gold letters on its stern—and wondered if it was some sort of church. Her view was soon obstructed as enthusiastic women gathered around the wagon once again...
An hour-and-a-half later, as she repacked her trunks to leave the waterfront, Sarah was elated. She'd sold more garments and collected more orders than she'd ever imagined she could. But with no building from which to operate, she'd have to set up her sewing machines at the cottage and make her garments there. She only hoped Flora had been serious about sewing for her because several of the women who'd ordered bloomer costumes would be moving on to the goldfields with their husbands, and she had little time to fill the orders.
Smiling with satisfaction, she'd just closed the last trunk and moved to the box to take the reins when she spotted Jon heading toward her, the fast clip of his. Jumping off his house, he fixed stormy eyes on her, and said, "Harriet Galbraith just paid me a visit. Where is Josephine?"
Sarah raised her hand in protest. "You have undoubtedly received from Harriet Galbraith a distorted picture of what happened."
"Given the fact that you are indeed peddling bloomers from a pie wagon, I believe I've received a very accurate picture. Now, where is Josephine?"
"I suppose with her classmates."
"You suppose! You you don't know!?"
"Stop yelling! Josephine rejoined her classmates. And it's not as bad as you've been led to believe. Josephine merely came to see what I was doing."
"Did she not stand here while delivering a lecture on giving women the right to vote?"
"Well, yes, actually she did... sort of. That is, she mentioned something about it."
"Mentioned it! According to Harriet Galbraith, she delivered a lecture on it!"
"Josephine did not deliver a lecture. She merely made a few comments on the subject."
"And did not Josephine speak with total disrespect to Mrs. Galbraith?"
"For heaven's sake," Sarah said irritably. "You know how Harriet Galbraith is. She exaggerates."
"Did Josephine call her an old biddy?"
"Harriet Galbraith is an old biddy."
"That's beside the point."
"Frankly," Sarah said, "I think Josephine handled herself well. But really, you've overblown the incident, which hadn’t lasted more than a couple of minutes when Madame Pettibeau came for Josephine—"
"Madame Pettibeau!"
"Will you stop yelling as if I were deaf!"
Jon sucked in a breath and said in a tight voice, "Madam Pettibeau has strict rules regarding the young women at the seminary. If Josephine violates those rules, she could be expelled."
"What Josephine did hardly warrants expulsion. It was a trifling, insignificant incident that has undoubtedly been forgotten by now. And I did not encourage Josephine. As I said before, she's an independent young woman. You should be proud of her, and of the strength of her convictions. Were she a man she'd make an excellent governor." Jon cast her a sidelong glance, and Sarah was certain she saw laughter flicker across his features.
Jon gazed off toward the bay and released an extended sigh. "Sometimes I feel at a loss as to how to handle the girls. They're each so different: Josephine so strong-willed and assertive, and Louella quite the opposite."
"Like her mother?" Sarah asked.
Eyes narrowed with disdain, Jon replied, "No, not like her mother."
So, Jon's wife had committed adultery, and he was still bitter. "What was your wife like?" she ventured, curious about the woman with whom Jon had fathered two children.
Jon's eyes sharpened. "She was a beautiful, charming, well-bred bitch."
Sarah was shocked by his choice of words. "Why did you marry her?"
"Because I was a fool."
"Then why did you stay with her?"
"Because she was the mother of my daughters."
"Yes, I suppose that would be a reason to stay," Sarah said inanely, since it was evident Jon didn't want to discuss his dead wife.
After a long pause, Jon said, "I don't want you coming to the waterfront anymore."
Sarah planted her hands on her hips. "You cannot tell me what I can and cannot do. That is precisely what I was trying to point out to you after the city council meeting."
"Well, someone better tell you or you're libel to get yourself kidnapped."
"I hardly think I'd be kidnapped in broad daylight with so many people around."
"That's where you're wrong." Jon's face darkened. "Yesterday a woman disappeared in the middle of the day. That's why I was concerned about Josephine."
"Well, I had nothing to do with that."
"Besides the fact that she's in awe of you and will do anything you do."
"That's just not so. And I refuse to stand here defending myself for something over
which I had no control," Sarah said. "And now, for the very reasons I walked out of the room the other day, I would like you to leave."
Jon lapsed into thoughtful silence. "Well, I've been thinking about that."
Thinking, hell! He'd been obsessed with it. The fact was, Sarah swept him off his feet like Caroline had. And like Caroline, she too renounced a woman's place in the home. But there were also differences. Sarah was perceptive and altruistic compared to Caroline's taxing self-indulgence. And Sarah was deeply intense compared to Caroline's frivolous superficiality. Caroline would have considered Sarah boorish and uncultured. But he found her charming...
He took her hand and drew her around behind her wagon and gathered her against him, and said, "I've missed doing this." He tipped her face up and covered her mouth with his in a long, lingering kiss.
But after a few moments, Sarah pulled his arms from around her, and said, "Not here. Harriet Galbraith might see us. She was just over there." She pointed toward the Revelation, and to her shock, saw Hollis and Tyler standing on the prow talking to Reverend Galbraith. She hadn't heard from them since the day Mandi found the note. Seeing them now made her stomach knot. "What do you suppose they're up to?" she asked.
"Maybe they took what I said to heart and plan to go to the goldfields."
Sarah looked at him, curious. "On The Revelation?"
"It's a mission ship," Jon explained. "Reverend Galbraith preaches to the miners." He stared at the ship for a few moments, then said, with concern, "I hope those bloody bastards go with it because I’ll be in Westminster next week, and I don't like the idea of them hanging around. But as soon as I get back, I'll be over to see you. We need to talk, and other things."
"No," Sarah said quickly. If he came to her with roses and kisses and words of endearment there was no question how she'd respond.
"Yes," Jon said. "I will be over." He squeezed her hand, mounted his horse and left.
"No..." Sarah called after him. But she knew there was no way she could stop him. He was a man who went after what he wanted, and he'd made it clear, he wanted her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Josephine hastily tucked Madame Bovary under her mattress as the sound of footsteps in the hallway drew closer. Quickly, she reached for the piece of embroidery she'd been working on during the past week. Ever since she'd started reading about the shockingly exciting affair of Madame Bovary, painstakingly in the French she'd learned at Madame Pettibeau's, her progress on the embroidery had almost ceased. At least the book made the hours of her after-school confinement pass more quickly. That old shrew, Harriet Galbraith, had delighted in the chance to notify her grandmother about the incident on the waterfront. And her grandmother immediately told her father. But what ultimately got her confined to her room was Madame Pettibeau’s threat to have her expelled if one more incident occurred, which was untimely. One more day and her father would have been away on business. But in one week, she'd be able to resume her after-school activities—a small price to pay for the excitement she'd felt on addressing the women at the waterfront about having the right to vote.
Glancing up from her embroidery, she saw Louella standing in the doorway, hands behind her back, an excited look on her face. The portent of another of Louella's secrets. Louella glanced up and down the hallway before stepping into the room, and saying in a hushed voice, "I'll tell you something if you promise you won't tell Papa or Grandmother."
Josephine shrugged. "I won't tell. What is it?"
Louella tiptoed over to the bed, her hands still behind her back, and said, "Millie O'Shaunessey asked me over to her house, and I told her I'd come."
Josephine looked at Louella in alarm. "You can't go there," she said. "Her father's a drunkard. And besides, Papa has forbidden you to go." She realized there were other things about Mr. O'Shaunessey that Louella wasn't aware of: that he beat his wife, and that he'd taken improper liberties with Millie, although she wasn't sure what that meant. She'd only heard it from Jenny Barker, who'd heard it from Emily Norton. But whatever it was, it was dreadfully bad.
Louella's eyes darkened. "Millie's father is not a drunkard," she countered. "Millie says he only drinks because he has a bad leg and it sometimes hurts."
Josephine started to tell Louella about the improper liberties, but deciding that being an imbiber was probably worse, she focused on that issue. "Mr. O'Shaunessey hurt his leg falling down the stairs of a saloon. Everybody knows that. And everybody also knows he's a drunkard."
"Well, they're wrong," Louella insisted. "And I am going to visit Millie. I plan to tell Ida that I'm going over to see Clarissa, so if Papa or Grandmother should ask where I am, you tell them the same thing."
Josephine gave Louella a sharp look. "Millie's father is a drunkard. Besides, if you go near the waterfront where Millie lives, you might get kidnapped like those other women."
"No, I won't. I heard Ida tell Esther that all the women were bad women and that so far no respectable women have disappeared. So I'm not worried."
"Well, if you go, I'm going to tell Papa, because you shouldn't be over there."
Louella shot Josephine a smoldering look. "You promised you wouldn't tell."
"I did not. I said I wouldn't tell. I didn't promise."
Louella pressed her lips into an angry slash. "Well, if you tell, I'll show Papa this." She held Josephine's scrapbook just out of Josephine's reach.
"Give me that, you sneaky little snake." Josephine jumped up and rushed after Louella.
Louella darted around the bed. "Not unless you swear not to tell about my going to Millie's."
Josephine jumped onto the bed and marched across the mattress in bouncing strides, hoping to corner Louella. But Louella ducked under Josephine's arm. Panic-stricken at the thought that her precious scrapbook might fall into the wrong hands, Josephine grabbed Louella's arm, ripping her sleeve. "You know what Papa said about going through my things. Give me my scrapbook or I'll—"
“You’ll what?” Louella dashed around the bed. "If you want it back, you'd better promise you won't tell or I'll give it to Papa and you'll never see it again."
"Give it to me!" Josephine lunged after Louella, who scurried across the bed, jumped down with a thump, and rushed for the hall, meeting her grandmother headlong in the doorway.
Dorothy Cromwell's eyes shifted between the girls. "What on earth is going on?" She noted that Louella was holding something behind her back. "What is that?"
"Nothing," Louella said.
Dorothy held out her hand. "May I please have it?"
"No!" exclaimed Louella. Her face went ashen and her lips quivered. "I mean... it's nothing."
Dorothy stared at Louella. "It is not like you to be disobedient,"' she said, "so obviously, whatever you are holding behind your back is vital. You girls were engaged in a most unladylike fracas moments ago. And the sleeve of your dress is torn quite raggedly, Louella. Must I call your father?"
"He's home?"
"Yes, he just walked in the door. And this is a most unpleasant way to greet him, after being away all week. Now, give me whatever it is you are holding."
Louella handed her the scrapbook, shot a penitent glance toward Josephine and hung her head. Dorothy perused the clippings. "I assume this is yours, Josephine?"
Josephine slumped her shoulders. "Yes, ma'am."
Dorothy snapped the cover of the scrap book shut and tucked it under her arm.
"What are you going to do with it?" Josephine asked, her brow gathering in a worried frown.
“Give it to your father. He can decide. Louella, change your dress. And Josephine, I suggest you work harder on your stitchery. It's progressing dreadfully slowly."
"Yes, ma'am," Josephine replied, lowering herself to the bed and picking up her embroidery.
Dorothy closed the door and immediately sent Ida to summon Jon and Esther to meet her in her chambers, where she waited for the others.
Esther was first to arrive. "You wanted to see me, Mother?" she asked,
appearing in the doorway wearing a pair of black bloomers and a gingham overtunic with black lace cuffs.
Dorothy stared in shocked surprise. "Go remove those trousers at once!"
"No, Mother, I will not," Esther replied. "They are practical and comfortable. I can move about unrestricted like this—" she squatted to a crouch, rose onto her toes, and stooped several times "—and I don't have to wear a corset or drag around layers of petticoats. Besides, I'm only wearing my bloomer costume in the privacy of our home."
Dorothy snapped open her fan and fluttered it furiously. "Those trousers—"
"Bloomers."
"That garment you are wearing is obscene, and I insist you change your clothes at once."
"I am long beyond childhood, Mother," Esther said, "and quite capable of making my own decisions. And I choose to wear bloomers in the privacy of our home."
Dorothy glared at her. "Has everyone in this house been bedeviled by the Ashley woman?"
"Oh for pity's sake!" Esther said. "You sound like Harriet Galbraith. Sarah opened our eyes to other options, and although you refuse to admit it, she opened Jon's eyes to other options too."
"I hope you're not implying what I think," Dorothy said, her lips quivering in dismay.
"I mean exactly that," Esther said. "Mary Letitia Windemere may be your choice of a wife for Jon, but the simple fact is, Jon has his eyes on—"
"Did someone mention my name?" Jon strolled into the room, smiling as he regarded Esther's bloomer costume. He'd never thought he'd see the day she'd stand up to their mother. But moments before, he'd heard her most definitely hold her ground. Somehow, by wearing that silly bloomer outfit, she'd also gained courage. He liked that in Esther. She'd been far too long under the domination of their mother.
Esther returned his smile, and in her eyes he saw the glint of chicanery. "I was just telling mother that Sarah has opened our eyes to other options." Her smile widened. "Don't you agree?"
Come Be My Love Page 20
