“Son of a bobcat.” The oath she’d learned on the street that morning slipped from her lips before she could stop it. The man’s snort snapped her gaze upwards, and her heart sank.
It was none other than Mr. Mack Donnelly, her employer’s nephew and assistant editor. Tall and lean, he held himself with innate confidence. Even now, a small coffee mug dangling from one hand, he seemed annoyingly comfortable with himself, as if he knew he looked good and that women liked to look at him.
Though she was loathe to admit it, he wouldn’t be wrong. It was impossible to miss how his gray, three-piece suit accentuated his long legs and broad shoulders, or how his navy tie brought out the nuances of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. A sizzle of awareness shot through her.
She had never been this close to him before—normally he was locked away in his office—and the proximity was unsettling. His official title was editor, but everyone knew very little happened at thePostwithout his direct involvement. While that fact normally impressed her, all she could do now was stare with nervous consternation.
“Could’ve been worse.” His lips twitched into a half smile. “At least it wasn’t hot.”
Her eyes narrowed. So not only did he laugh, no,snort,at her, he couldn’t even bother to offer an apology? Granted, he had no idea this was her best suit—or what a late night she would have soaking and scrubbing the stain—but he certainly wasn’t earning any points for being a gentleman. Editor or not, the man was a lout.
“Indeed,” she replied through gritted teeth. “If you’ll excuse me.” Before she could get herself into more trouble, she rushed outside and rounded the corner.
Leaning against the wall of the mammoth Arcade Building, she closed her eyes and drew a few shaky breaths. What a disaster. And to think she’d practiced her humble acceptance speech in the mirror that morning.
She took a hard grip on herself—wallowing would have to wait until she was alone in her tiny boarding room. Besides, there was nothing to be ashamed of. She hadtried. Wasn’t that why she had picked up her life and moved across the country? To find adventure and attempt things she had never done before? Nobody said it would be easy. In fact,everyonein her former life had delighted in telling her just how hard it would be. This was a setback, but so what? If she kept pushing, she’d get there eventually.
Above the chaotic sounds of pedestrians, electric streetcars, and the clopping of horse-drawn wagons, a woman’s voice snagged her attention. At the intersection of Second Avenue and Union, a petite blonde spoke to passersby as they crossed the street, giving a flyer to anyone who would accept it. She was perhaps only five feet tall, dressed in a smart, tailored shirtwaist dress with tucks from shoulder to waist, her hair pinned beneath a matching hat. Her gait was slightly lopsided as she marched to-and-fro, yet she didn’t seem to notice. Possibly the unevenness was something she had long become accustomed to.
What really drew Winnie’s attention, however, was the woman’s confidence. She spoke with an earnestness that made Winnie want to lean in to hear every word. There was also a hint of a southern accent, which she had not come across in Seattle.
“I implore you, fellow Washingtonians, to join our cause and grant women the right to vote. As brave frontiersmen, it is our responsibility to lead the way.”
Woman suffrage was an ideology that had always interested Winnie. Her memories flitted back to all the times suffrage had come up over the dinner table with her father—My daughter will not indulge in unladylike behavior. To do so would bring shame to our family.And then with her late husband, John—My wife will not march in the streets like a common hooligan. Her place is here, at home.
A dull pain in her jaw alerted her to the fact that she was grinding her teeth again. She made a concerted effort to relax and focused on the woman’s message. It called to her like a lifeline in a stormy sea.
“Now is the time to act,” the woman continued. “A new age is upon us, and women must claim what is rightfully theirs. All those interested may join the first meeting of a new women’s club, the Seattle Suffrage Society.”
And there, standing on the busy sidewalk in the heart of downtown Seattle, the woman’s appeal rooted close to Winnie’s heart and bloomed into something suspiciously like hope.
She stepped into the woman’s path. “I’m interested.”
“Wonderful,” the woman said with an inviting nod. “We need women like you.”
She tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean, women like me? For all you know, I could be a troublemaker.”
The woman handed her a flyer, her eyes twinkling. “Even better. Change cannot happen without a little trouble. You strike me as brave and purposeful.”
“Do I?”
“Didn’t you just decide to become involved in something bigger than yourself?”
Winnie threw her head back and laughed. “You’re a silver-tongued sorceress, aren’t you?” If she wasn’t careful, she’d be forking over her weekly stipend.
“I may have heard something like that before,” the woman admitted with a mischievous smile. “Did I see you come out ofThe Puget Sound Post’soffice? They wouldn’t take my flyer.”
“The owner isn’t known for his tolerance.”
The woman gave her a curious look. “Do you work there?”
“As a stenographer, yes.” And then, because she had a feeling this woman might be the only person to understand her, she added, “I hope to be a reporter one day.”
The blonde’s eyes widened. “My dear, I believe it’s fate. The Society desperately needs women who are talented at penning words. So many things need to be written. Petitions, invitations, reports, letters, even human interest stories to share our experiences with others.”
Her dream, despite being dashed beneath Mr. McEntire’s foot moments ago, found new life.
“I want to do it.” The words tumbled from Winnie’s mouth in a rushed breath.
