She should be happy, but her heart was mired in misery.
How could losing a man she’d only known for weeks be so devastating? If it were anyone else, she would have wondered at their sanity. Unfortunately, it was undeniable—their torrid affair may have been short-lived, but she would feel its effects forever.
She downed the rest of her champagne and welcomed the instant lightness of being.
“If you dance,” Olive said, her tone even more gentle than normal. “You might feel better.”
“That’s true.” She glanced over the men once more. “Perhaps being blond isn’t so bad.”
Olive smiled. “He’s an old friend of the family. Shall I introduce you?”
If her shy friend was willing to do something out of her comfort zone to make her feel better, how could she refuse? Besides, shehadto move on. What better place than a gala full of eligible men who weren’t stingy with their admiring glances? Trading her empty flute for a full one, she allowed Olive to introduce her to Mr. Bradley, a perfectly nice—and likely perfectly boring—man. Soon, she was dancing, and she threw herself into the lively steps.
Four dances and four partners later, she begged for a break, laughing and gasping for breath she wandered to the refreshment table. Her head swam from the twirling and the bubbly champagne. A moment later, she sat in an empty seat in the corner of the ballroom and forked in a large bite of cake with a sigh of pleasure.
She spotted Della and Judith at a small table tucked behind a large flower arch of chrysanthemums, dahlias, and goldenrod. Della was hunched over the table, laughing so hard that she could barely keep her drink from spilling. Judith leaned toward her, murmuring intently, a smirk on her face. Della wiped away tears of mirth and regained control of herself. As Winnie watched, Della cupped Judith’s cheek and whispered something with a soft, tender expression. Judith turned her head and pressed a quick kiss into the palm of Della’s hand before pulling away.
The brief, clandestine moment between the older women squeezed Winnie’s already sensitive heart. The true nature of their relationship was not her business, but their obvious affection for each other was enviable.
Mere days ago, she had dared to hope Mack would be that person for her. In their time together, he’d become her friend, her lover, her confidante, and her champion.Howhad it all been a lie? A fresh wave of misery swept through her, and she eyed the nearby doorway leading away from the party.
Rhoda’s sudden appearance thwarted her plan. “Winnie, have you seen this?” A newspaper was clenched in her hand, and a distressed Olive hovered behind her.
She took another sip of champagne and pasted on her overly bright smile. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“It’s the evening edition fromThe Puget Sound Post.”
A shard of ice pierced her bubbly haze. “Why would I care what that paper has to say?”
Rhoda shoved the paper under her nose. “Trust me, you’ll care.”
Winnie huffed, but she obediently took the paper. The top headline read, “PostUnder New Leadership.”She scanned the article, her blood pressure rising at the announcement of Horace McEntire’s early retirement, followed by a glowing homage to his prestigious career and information about the man who was now in charge. “Turns out Mack had a few tricks up his sleeve all along,” she said bitterly. “Bully for him.”
“Not that article.” Olive jabbed a finger at the article on the bottom of the page. “Read this one,right now.”
Winnie’s brows rose at her friend’s uncharacteristic behavior, but she dutifully read the headline out loud. “‘What Was Once Ours’ by Winnifred West.”
It washereditorial.
The paper went limp in her fingers, and it would have fallen to the floor if Rhoda hadn’t grabbed it.
“‘Dear readers,’” Rhoda read aloud, “‘the fight for woman suffrage is not a new cause, but Washingtonian women lay claim to a curious, albeit enraging, history. Humor me and put yourself into the shoes of Mrs. June Wilson. It’s 1887, and your dreams come true: Washington Territory passes woman suffrage. With pride, with honor, you cast your vote in the next elections, secure in the knowledge that your voice matters. But it is not meant to be. Washington, of all the states—of all thenations—that have enfranchised women, is the first to withdraw your privilege.
“‘To add insult to injury, your right was revoked without the people’s vote, without an act of legislature, or even an act of Congress. Every man noted the questionable court decision that took place, but none stood against it. Instead, they agreed your rights meant less than earning statehood. Forced to dust off your campaign slogans once more, you…’”
Rhoda read the entirety of the editorial out loud. With each sentence, Winnie’s soul climbed higher and higher until it felt like she was floating. Her words—her voice—had been printed for all the city to read. And not only that, it was word for word as she’d written it. Unedited, undiluted. Even if those horrible menhadagreed to publish her article, she’d fully expected it to be chopped up, to have the emotion removed. But it wasn’t. It was unthinkable, and so very, very gratifying. Even as joy bloomed within her, a thorn of doubt pricked her.
“Why would Mack publish my article? Does he think that’s enough to atone for what he did?”
Rhoda lowered the paper, her expression serious for once. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t want to see him.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Olive’s attention was caught somewhere over Winnie’s shoulder.
“What?”
“Have you noticed,” Rhoda mused. “That our wordsmith only loses her wits when it comes to Mack Donnelly?”
