by Ginny Dye
Rose shrugged again. “They aren’t.”
“That’s not true,” Abby protested in the same gentle tone. “You lost someone you grew to love a great deal. You lost the little child you saw growing in Carrie’s womb. And,” she added tenderly, “in many ways you have lost your best friend to the grief that has consumed her.”
Rose blinked back the tears burning her eyes. She couldn’t deny that any of that was true, but her grief still seemed miniscule compared to what Carrie was suffering.
“Grief is grief, Rose.”
Rose gazed at Abby. She was almost used to the woman reading her mind, but there were still times it surprised her. “I can push down my own grief to help Carrie through hers.”
“Can you?” Abby asked keenly. “Can you truly help Carrie if you are swallowed by a grief you refuse to acknowledge?”
Rose looked down. She didn’t have an answer to the question. “It’s not just that,” she admitted.
Abby cocked her head and waited.
Rose took a deep breath. “It could so easily have been Moses,” she whispered, images of the night once again rampaging through her mind. “He told me if he had gotten back sooner he might have been able to stop it…” Her voice faltered.
“And he might have been the one to take the bullet,” Abby finished softly. “And so you feel guilty because as much as you hate the grief Carrie is feeling, you are still grateful Moses didn’t die that night.”
Rose could do nothing more than stare, searching for judgment in Abby’s eyes. She was relieved when she saw nothing but warm compassion. “Yes,” she murmured.
“You would be less than human if you didn’t feel that way,” Abby said. “Your heart can be filled with grief over Robert’s death, and at the same time be grateful it wasn’t Moses. Your gratitude does not negate your sadness.”
Rose pondered Abby’s words, recognizing truth, but Abby continued on with what was really the crux of what was bothering her.
“And you’re glad to be going to New York for the ERA Convention, but you’re scared to death because you have left Moses and your babies back on the plantation when there are still vigilantes loose in our country.”
Rose momentarily closed her eyes to block out the images of what could be happening. “That’s true.”
“Do you think your being there will change what might or might not happen?”
Rose considered the question carefully, knowing that Abby was offering her a lifeline. “I think that if something happens, my children will need me there to love them and help them through it,” she murmured. Images of baby Hope gazing up at her with complete trust filled her mind. She knew Annie and Polly would take excellent care of the children, but what if something bad was to happen? They would need their mother.
“I believe that is true,” Abby agreed, “but if you had chosen to stay would you have given power to the vigilantes to let them control your life and your decisions?”
“Yes,” Rose admitted. “That’s why I finally decided to come. Moses and I talked it through, and we decided once again that we couldn’t let fear control our lives.” She sighed. “I just wish I felt better about it.”
Abby gazed at her for a long minute. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely.
Rose raised a brow. “Sorry for what?”
Abby’s eyes were full of sadness. “I’m sorry it is so very difficult for you to live in America. I hate that you have to worry every moment about your family’s safety. I mostly hate that there is so much hatred in people’s hearts.” She shook her head heavily. “There are times I am ashamed to be an American. What we have done to black people is truly horrific.”
Rose’s heart swelled with gratitude. She reached out and clasped Abby’s hand. “It is true that white people are making our lives difficult, but it is also true that white people were responsible for our finally gaining our freedom. It was white people who set up the Underground Railroad. White people who changed the laws that held us enslaved.” She paused as she let her thoughts come together. “It is not race that makes people good or bad—it’s what is in their minds and hearts. I’m reminded by something almost every day…that I have to see each person as an individual, not as a color. It would be too easy for black people to be angry at the entire white race, but if we do that, then we are really no better than the people who hate us. I agree we have to be careful, but complete fear will do nothing but close our minds and hearts to the good waiting to be discovered.”
Abby smiled with admiration. “You have become a very wise woman, Rose Samuels.”
Rose returned the smile. “Thank you.” She hesitated, and then frowned. “I’m hoping I don’t become wiser, though.”
“Excuse me?” Abby asked with bemusement in her eyes.
Rose could not rid her mind of the conversation between her and Carrie by her mama’s grave. “My mama told Carrie that great wisdom comes from great suffering.”
“And you’re watching Carrie suffer right now, and don’t feel the wisdom gained is worth the price,” Abby observed astutely.
Rose didn’t see any reason to deny it. “If I have a choice, I would rather not be any wiser, but I have a feeling I don’t really have a say in the matter.”
“I wish I could disagree with you,” Abby murmured, “but evidently we don’t, because I remember wishing the same thing once.”
Rose considered that and sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to go through any more suffering, but I also long to be as wise as you and my mama, so I guess I just have to walk out whatever comes.”
“I believe that’s the only way to get through living,” Abby agreed somberly. “The only thing I would add is that we have to choose almost every day to not become bitter and angry. Life will always be a mix. There will be wonderful times that will fill us with joy, and then there will be seasons of darkness that threaten to rip our souls from us.” Her eyes darkened with painful memories. “We just have to keep walking forward through the darkness until we reach the next season of light.”
“Do they always come?” Rose asked, more for Carrie than for herself. “Do the seasons of light always return?”
“I believe so,” Abby said. “But only if we keep bitterness and anger from our hearts. I have discovered that if I accept the dark times as a part of life, I can release them and be ready for the next season of joy. If I flounder in bitterness over what I am having to deal with in my life, I find it makes it impossible to move forward.”
Rose thought about this carefully, but a question rose to taunt her. “Don’t you ever feel angry, though?”
“Of course,” Abby said quickly. “I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel hurt. It’s only natural for you to feel those things, Rose, but it’s when we hold on to those feelings and let them take on a life of their own that we become trapped in the bitterness that robs us of the joy of living.”
Rose listened with all her heart. She could feel her mama’s spirit reaching out to her in Abby’s eyes and voice. She had a sudden urge to know something. “Do you get lonely, Abby?”
Abby blinked, obviously surprised by the change in subject. “Lonely?”
Rose nodded. “I have felt lonely so many times during the last years. It seems I want things that many other women don’t want—that I care about things many other women don’t care about. I seem to always be defending why I do what I do.”
Abby’s eyes cleared of confusion. “Now I understand. And, yes, there are many times I feel very lonely. When I made the decision to run my husband’s business after he died, I was attacked by equal numbers of both men and women.” Her eyes clouded. “There were so few people who supported me.”
“How did you do it?” Rose pressed, almost desperate to know.
“Matilda Greenwold,” Abby said quietly, a tender smile on her lips. “She came to my door in Philadelphia one day and introduced herself to me. She was one of a handful of businesswomen in the city. She offered her friendship that day, and she also became a mentor. She exp
lained to me that most women would criticize my decision because they felt it threatened their own decisions to be satisfied with their lives as they were. Instead of either choosing peace about their decision, or deciding to change it, they would attack me because they believed it made them look better.” Abby took a deep breath. “She explained that powerful women would always find each other and be there as a support. Matilda was my lifeline through those first years. She encouraged me to be all I could be, and she held me when all of it was too much for me to endure. She was the reason I made it through that time.” Her eyes filled with sadness.
“What happened to her?” Rose asked.
“She died from pneumonia three years after we met,” Abby replied. “I’ve missed her every day since.”
Rose nodded with complete understanding. “You were very lucky to have her.”
“Yes,” Abby murmured. “I was very lucky indeed. She introduced me to a world of powerful women who wanted more for their lives than what society offers. I met other women who were pushing the boundaries and demanding more. They became my source of strength, and their presence in my life kept me from being lonely.” She paused. “It’s why I go to these conferences. I truly want women to have the vote, but I also long to be around women who refuse to accept less than everything they believe they should have.”
Rose was surprised when she heard a snort come from the row behind their seat on the train. She glanced back over her shoulder, right into the furiously indignant eyes of a well-dressed woman. She might have imagined the snorting sound, but there was no mistaking the anger directed at her and Abby. Before she could think of anything to say, the strange woman filled in the gap of silence.
“Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves!” The woman’s cultured voice was full of disdain.
“Excuse me?” Rose asked pleasantly. She thought about what she and Abby had been talking about. Certainly there had been nothing said to promote this kind of ire.
The woman looked away from her, almost as if she didn’t exist, and fixed her eyes on Abby. “I know who you are,” she said accusingly.
“I’m so pleased,” Abby responded graciously, her eyes dancing with fun. “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
Rose bit back a smile, suspecting it would cause even more irritation, but the fun lurking in Abby’s eyes made her relax. It was obvious Abby had faced many women like this.
“I wish I could say it was a pleasure,” the woman said in a biting tone, “but I feel it’s my duty to tell you that you are destroying womanhood in America.”
“My, I had no idea I have that kind of power,” Abby replied.
“Oh, you and your kind are determined to wield all the power you have to destroy my life,” the woman shot back. “Mine, and the lives of millions of other women who want nothing to do with your agenda.”
“The right to vote?” Abby asked. Her voice was still pleasant, but her eyes had narrowed with the last accusation.
“That’s correct,” the woman snapped. “It is quite unnatural for women to have a say in the political process in America. It will destroy the family, and it will also destroy the place of women.”
Rose watched her in astonishment, wondering how she could possibly mean what she was saying. “I don’t understand,” she interjected. The woman turned her attention from Abby to stare at her. She could tell from her expression that the woman believed Rose’s lack of understanding came from her being black, but Rose refused to look away from the woman’s piercing brown eyes surrounded by lined skin.
“It’s really quite simple,” the woman sniffed as her voice took on a patronizing tone that made it clear she believed she was communicating with someone of lesser intelligence. “Suffrage does not make political sense. Not for women, and not for the nation as a whole. It is a blessing that women are exempted from political and legal responsibilities like serving in the army or sitting on juries.” Her eyes widened as she suppressed a shudder. “Why would women want to have to shoulder male responsibilities like providing for the family, paying debts, and going to jail for minor crimes? I find the possibility horrifying.”
“And if the wife engages in illegal business, the law will hold your husband responsible, not you. I can certainly understand why you would find that preferable,” Abby said dryly.
Rose was glad Abby had responded to the woman because she was still too shocked to find words.
The woman turned back to glare at Abby. “That is scarcely the point,” she retorted.
“I would say it is exactly the point,” Abby answered. “There are far too many women who want to be exempt from any responsibility for their lives. If they can blame everything on men, because they have no choice in the matter, then they believe that to be a better way to live their life.” She held up a hand when the stranger opened her lips in protest. “I’ve heard women like you say that the right to vote simply makes women aggressive.” Her lips tightened as her voice took on an aristocratic tone that matched their attacker’s. “You say that it makes us unlovely or less pleasant. You say it makes women bitter, aggressive, and antagonistic, and that it takes them away from caring about their family.”
The woman lifted her head arrogantly, her eyes blazing. “And all that is certainly true,” she said stiffly.
Rose could no longer stay silent. “That’s ridiculous,” she snapped, certain pleasant tones were not being appreciated in this conversation, so there was no need to make the effort. “I have three children I adore and care for. I also happen to be a teacher who is educating over fifty children. I have a husband who supports my desire to have the vote because he believes in the intelligence and value of women. How can you possibly believe that is a bad thing?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed until they were little more than slits. “I hardly think you are capable of understanding the intricacies of politics.” All pretense of pleasantry disappeared from her voice. “It’s bad enough that black men are going to receive the vote.” Her voice hardened. “It’s simply inconceivable that black women will vote. What will happen to this country when so many ignorant people have a say? Thank goodness there are women who realize how ludicrous the idea is.” She turned away from Rose and stared at Abby. “You must be intelligent enough to know Congress is not going to give suffrage to women. And just in case they consider it, there will be plenty of women telling them to block it.”
Abby met her eyes evenly. “It will be a battle,” she agreed, “but in the end we will win. Then this country will simply have to figure out what it means to have women voters.” She smiled pleasantly, but her eyes were sharp. “Women voters, and then women in Congress. And someday?” She paused dramatically. “We will have a woman president.”
The woman barked a disbelieving laugh before she turned away to stare out the window.
Rose gazed at Abby for several moments before she felt a smile twitch her lips. “Seriously?” she murmured. She was careful to keep her voice low so she wouldn’t be overheard. “That woman is serious?”
Abby smiled, though the gravity in her eyes revealed just how often she had faced situations like this. “She is serious,” she whispered with a wink. “Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t vote in the future.”
Rose swallowed a laugh and settled back against the bench for the rest of the journey. As she let her mind roam, she realized that hearing the woman’s ignorant response to female suffrage had released something inside her. She found it almost inconceivable that there were women who truly wished to have no say in their country, or in their lives, but it had taught her something very valuable. No matter what she would choose to do with her life in the future, someone was not going to like it. There would be people who would fight against her efforts and the things she believed in. There would be people who would belittle her opinions and actions. She would never be able to please everyone.
As she let the realizations fill her mind, she felt a strength and confidence she had never known pour through her. She c
ould hardly wait to reach the ERA Convention and meet other women courageous enough to take a stand.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rose felt it as soon as they entered the large meeting room in the Church of the Puritans, closing out the noise and chaos of New York City. Tension buzzed through the rooms like the hum of millions of honeybees swarming on a dark, summer night. A casual look revealed nothing more than determined-faced women talking in little groups, but a closer examination showed the tight lines of tension, and the suspicion radiating from eyes as they gazed around the room. The air crackled with the expectancy of a late summer thunderstorm right before the lightning struck with ferocious intensity.
Rose took hold of Abby’s arm. “What’s going on?”
Abby frowned. “I’ve been rather out of the loop because of the factories, and most recently the situation with Carrie, but I didn’t realize things had gotten so strained.” She gazed around the room, smiling when her eyes settled on who she was looking for. “Nancy Stratford is here. She will fill us in. Let’s go.”
Rose followed Abby through the crowd, increasingly aware of the tense atmosphere. She had heard many stories about Abby’s friend Nancy Stratford, from New York City. Her husband was a real estate mogul, and her son was a New York policeman.
A petite blonde looked up as they approached. A wide smile bloomed on her face. “Abby Cromwell!” she cried, rushing forward with outstretched hands. “I was afraid you would not be able to come.”
Abby hugged her friend and introduced Rose.
Nancy greeted Rose warmly. “Carrie has told me so much about you. I’m thrilled you could be here.” She turned to Abby. “How is your daughter?”
“Grieving,” Abby said. “I wasn’t sure if I could attend this year, but I believe Carrie needs some time alone on the plantation without her mother and best friend hovering over her.” She changed the subject quickly as her eyes swept the room. “Have things really gotten this bad? I can feel the angst pulsating in here.”
