CHAPTER1
Seattle, Washington
August, 1908
Winnie West stared into the glass reflection of the founder of the newspaper’s office door and tucked an errant strand of auburn hair beneath her sensible hat. “Pull yourself together, woman,” she lectured under her breath, conscious of the busy hallway atThe Puget Sound Post.“You’re nobody’s doormat. Not today.”
She nodded for emphasis, ignoring the fact that her heart galloped so fast it could be a contender for a purse down at The Meadows. She smoothed the collar of her double-breasted jacket and straightened her cluster-pleated skirt that was onlyslightlyfaded at the hem. Her Sunday best wasn’t much, but what sort of outfit could one wear to make their dreams come true? Inhaling once more, she rapped on the wood.
“Enter.”
Winnie winced at the all-too-noticeable impatience in the rumbling voice. She had only worked at thenewspaperfor six weeks, but she was well aware of Mr. Horace McEntire’s reputation. The other stenographers had schooled her in the older man’s brusque ways, and she strived to deliver her work the way he demanded: quickly, accurately, silently. He was not a man for conversation with his underlings, and even less so with the ladies who worked for him. Was she mad to break his unspoken rules? She swallowed hard and stepped inside the office, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Good morning, sir.”
Mr. McEntire rose half-heartedly to his feet and gestured to the chair in front of his desk before returning his attention to the newspaper gripped in his hands.
Winnie perched on the chair and waited for him to address her. After a few awkward heartbeats, she tried again.
“I asked your secretary to schedule me five minutes of your time. I hoped to speak with you about a matter of great personal interest.”
He continued to glower at the paper. Winnie’s brows rose when she realized it was not a copy of thePost,butThe Seattle Register, their undisputed rival. If nothing else came of this interview, at least she would be able to report that the rumors he read it obsessively rang true. Why were men so fragile when it came to competition?
“Ah, yes.” Mr. McEntire snapped the paper shut and tossed it on the desk. “Be quick about it, Miss West. You have three minutes until my editors arrive.”
“Missus,” she said automatically. He didn’t correct himself. She wasn’t even sure if he was listening. The wrong honorific shouldn’t bother her—at twenty-three, few people knew she had been a widow for almost two years now—but neither did she deserve to be disrespected. Her eye twitched.
“I’d like to inquire about the open reporting position. I have received excellent reviews on my work as a stenographer, and I believe I have more to offer. I wrote several pieces for my local weekly back in Boston, and I’d love the opportunity to—”
“I’m afraid not, miss,” Mr. McEntire said, though his tone failed to convey the emotion. “I don’t hire female reporters.”
“I understand that is currently the case. However, I do think it’s becoming more common.” Her gaze darted to the paper on the desk, and an idea teased its way forward. “A recentRegisterarticle reported that Washington state now has over ten female reporters. If you hired me, sir, you could be at the forefront of change.”
“Change.” He let out a huff and jabbed his finger at a column on the front page. “You sound just like these women theRegisteris so fond of supporting.”
Winnie craned her neck and read, “Washington Women Demand Suffrage Once More.”
Ah. Nothing like women’s rights to foul a man’s mood.
She’d heard the western states were pushing hard for suffrage, and the confirming headline sent a trickle of excitement through her. Her gut urged her to align herself with these women, but common sense held her back. If she said the wrong thing, Mr. McEntire would not hesitate to sack her. His track record assured her of that. And until the ongoing contention over her late husband’s will was settled, she could not jeopardize her job. Her savings would last another month or two, but only if she were frugal. Losing her meager income would lead to ramifications too unpleasant to consider, so she swallowed what she wished to say and turned a placating smile on her employer.
“I arrived in Washington just six weeks ago, so I can’t say whether that’s true. I simply aspire to join the ranks of the talented newspapermen who come before me.”
His bushy gray brows formed a formidable vee. “Since you’re new to town, I would advise you to follow the lead of the other stenographers in the office. They’re content with a job that befits their abilities, as should you be.Thatis how you can elevate the ranks of the newspapermen around you.”
“Yes, sir. But should you wish to reconsider—”
“That will be all, Miss West. Back to the stenographer’s room, if you please.”
A sour taste filled her mouth, but she inclined her head. “Thank you for your time, Mr. McEntire.”
Winnie closed the office door with extra care, tempted to slam it shut and make that condescending man know he had underestimated her. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. There was nothing to do but accept that her carefully rehearsed words had fallen like shriveled leaves on cracked earth. At least she still had a job, a somewhat lackluster consolation prize.
Turns out she was a doormat, after all.
A painful lump formed in her throat, and her breathing grew shallow. She needed outside before a sob or a curse—she wasn’t sure which—broke loose and she made a fool of herself. She swept down the hall toward the exit, focused on escaping. A man stepped out of the office nearest her, mug in hand.
She jumped to the side and avoided a direct collision. The movement startled the man, and he lurched sideways. Coffee splashed down her skirts and instantly absorbed into the fabric.
