Winnie looked around the room. “Is everyone attending?”
“Of course we are,” his aunt exclaimed. “It’s not every day that Mrs. June Wilson invites local suffragists to her home for more than a simple reading. Not to mention that several of my long-time correspondents will be in attendance. I am eager to meet them face-to-face.”
Winnie gazed at his aunt like she had become the most fascinating person in town. Mack hid his smile, but her innate curiosity was a joy to observe. He wouldn’t be surprised if her notebook made an appearance at any moment.
“It often feels like a never-ending battle,” a woman lamented.
“But Washington has been mobilizing in droves, especially in Tacoma and Seattle,” Winnie told her. “We have already held numerous events.”
She launched into a description of the Seattle Suffrage Society’s activities, and the women occasionally offered praise or recommendations. Mack noted that although Winnie professed to be an acolyte, she had clearly done a fair bit of reading about the topic. He was impressed, but not surprised, when she put forward keen opinions complete with a near photographic list of figures and facts, including the source.
The more he interacted with Winnie, the less her competence, her intelligence, surprised him. She wielded it with a surgeon’s precision, yet her tone and mannerisms were approachable, respectful. In short, she would make an excellent and dangerous journalist—if only she were unleashed upon the world. When Jenny met his gaze, he could tell she was equally impressed.
The final guests arrived, and Mack’s brows shot upward as Mr. Eugene Olms followed his wife inside. From the quick glances and mutters between his aunt and her friends, they were also surprised to see a man who, for as long as Mack could remember, was exceedingly antagonistic in his opinions. It was a shock he had allowed his wife to attend at all, let alone accompany her.
This was an opportunity for Mack to prove himself. If he distracted the man for the rest of the evening, Mrs. Bartlett wouldn’t be placed in the uncomfortable position of asking him to leave, the other attendees wouldn’t have to listen to his drivel, and Winnie’s first suffrage dinner would go without a hitch.
He sidled near. “Mr. Olms, it’s been a long time. Mack Donnelly.”
Mr. Olms looked him up and down. “I remember. Still working atThe Puget Sound Post,are you?”
“I am. Are you one of our readers?”
“Occasionally. I vastly preferThe Pacific Review.”
Mack schooled his features into a bland nod. The weeklyReviewwas known for its extreme anti-suffrage stance. Did the man think Mack wouldn’t know, or was he trying to signal something?
“Last week’s edition made an impression on me,” he said, which was the truth. He had rolled his eyes through the article espousing the notion that women didn’t need the vote because they already had an advantage over men, who were required to support their wives and children. The article had made an excellent paper airplane. “I look forward to more.”
Mr. Olms leaned in. “Seems we’re like-minded men. The Association’s upcoming agenda should make a splash, wouldn’t you say?”
Mack smelled a story brewing beneath the surface, and his fingers itched to rip off the veil. “You’re referring to the Association…”
“Opposed to Woman Suffrage, yes.” Mr. Olms tilted his head. “I thought you said you read last week’s edition.”
“From front to back,” he lied smoothly. “Unfortunately, I come across many sycophants in my line of work. I needed to confirm you were a true supporter before revealing my hand.”
“OfcourseI am.” The man lifted a brow meaningfully. “I even got a glimpse of theunpublished calendar of upcoming events.”
Mack took a sip to hide his excitement. Was the foolish man so desperate for attention that he’d reveal something he shouldn’t? If Mr. Olms knew what the cagey association was up to, it could be a huge scoop. Front-page headlines and potential accolades flashed before his eyes before he could stop them.
No.No. He was unearthing information forWinnie,not himself. Jesus, it was disconcerting how easily he turned to self-serving behavior.
“I’ve been wanting to get more involved,” he said instead. “How fortuitous to meet someone in the Association’s inner circle.”
“I was just thinking the same thing. In fact, we’re on the search for a specific kind of journalist.”
Mack’s senses prickled. “How so?”
Mr. Olms angled his head closer and spoke in a low voice. “Let’s just say a prominent orator will make an unplanned stop in Seattle. If you can agree to a front-page spread in thePost,we can make you our point man.”
“Interesting,” Mack murmured. It would be all too easy to snatch the opportunity and never look back. Covering the story would coincide perfectly with his uncle’s anti-suffrage angle and would practically guarantee his inheritance. His gaze settled on Winnie’s nose and the delightful splash of freckles that begged to be kissed.
She was infinitely more important thanallof that.
“Shall we continue our discussion during dinner?” Mr. Olms asked.
Mack almost said no, but the prospect of gathering more information couldn’t be dismissed. “A sound plan.”
