“I’m sure you’ll come up with an idea sooner or later.”
“If we could discuss this further—”
He peered at his pocket watch. “Look at the time. Your shift starts in a few minutes, doesn’t it?”
She gave him a terse nod and rose to her feet. “Thank you for meeting with me.” If her voice were any colder, it would be a jagged icicle aimed at his heart.
“Same time next week, Mrs. West. I have faith in you.”
The door shut behind her, and he slumped in his chair. His hangover was back in full force, made worse by his detestable behavior. At least he’d managed to thwart her for a week. He’d have to get creative about why her next ideas fell short.
He didn’t enjoy being an ass, but it was better than the alternative. Horace would buy his excuse this time, but there was no telling how long he’d be able to keep it up. In the meantime, he just had to convince Mrs. West that a position as a full-time stenographer was more desirable than an inconsistent, low-paying writing job. Anyone with brains could see the logic in that.
Then why did he suspect the attractive stenographer was about to push him to his limits?
CHAPTER5
Winnie ran a finger down the list of names that had been added to their petition. The Seattle Suffrage Society had manned a booth for three hours, engaging in dialogue with a steady stream of men and women enjoying their Sunday afternoon in Pioneer Square.
“How many did we get?” Olive hovered close, tugging on the sash draped across her slender torso that readVotes for Women.
“I’ll be happy no matter the number,” Clem said from where she sat resting her leg beside their folding booth.
“Oh, posh,” Rhoda said. “If it’s not fifty, I’m marching into Spencer’s Bar across the street and not coming out until I have them.”
Olive gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“Hush.” Winnie grinned at their banter. “I lost count again because of your chattering.” Her friends obediently went silent, and a moment later, she declared, “Sixty-three. Rhoda, no bar for you.”
Olive let out a cheer, and then clamped a hand over her mouth. “That’s incredible,” she said in a softer voice.
“I’m so proud of us,” Clem said. “Sixty-three is perfectly respectable for our first attempt. No doubt Rhoda’s attractive sign is responsible for many of those signatures.”
Winnie admired the white pennant with gold lettering. It stood in stark contrast to the dark green tablecloth chosen in homage of the state flag. “The goddess of Liberty in the corner was a stroke of genius.”
“It was nothing,” Rhoda protested, but she seemed pleased.
“And we only have three ribbons left,” Olive said. “They were quite popular.”
The green, white, and purple ribbons the Society members had assembled over the last week had flown off the table. Some women had pinned it to their breast at once, while others begged for another to gift a friend.
Pride and awe swelled in Winnie’s chest. It was hard to believe she was part of something so important, or that her actions had made a difference. Not everyone she spoke to had elected to sign, but she wasn’t bothered. With each conversation, she’d learned more about her own capabilities, her reasoning improved, and her confidence grew.
“Perhaps we should go for a celebratory cup of tea and dessert?” Clem suggested.
“A sound plan,” Rhoda said.
Olive’s smile faltered. “Oh, that sounds lovely, but I can’t aff—”
“You can’t refuse,” Clem interrupted. “The Society signed off on funds such as these, remember?”
Olive’s relief was obvious. “All right, then. If it was already decided.”
Winnie was also thankful she wouldn’t have to use her own money. Her attorney would scold her for spending her low funds so frivolously. Come to think of it, she hadn’t worried about her financial predicament all weekend. Now that their event was nearly over, the concern over the attorney’s message that had arrived two days past took root again.
Apparently, her late husband’s former shipping company was set to rule on his case in the next few weeks. There was nothing to be done in the meantime, and worry had become her constant companion.
