“Here.” Imogen waved from behind her tripod, where she stood with the nervous-looking gardener. “I’m ready when you are.”
Clem clapped her hands for attention, and the room fell quiet. “Ladies, gather around for our photograph.”
The women bustled into position, adjusting their skirts and smoothing flyaway hairs with a good bit of laughter. Della, Clem, and Judith sat in chairs in the front, holding a sign between them reading Seattle Suffrage Society. Everyone else squeezed behind them in two rows. Olive was beside Rhoda and Winnie on the front row, and she angled herself so that her gray skirt and peach flannel shirtwaist were mostly hidden behind Rhoda’s elegant tailor-made suit.
“Hold still, everyone.” Imogen gave a final instruction to the gardener, who stared at the contraption before him like it had teeth, then dashed across the room to stand beside her Aunt Judith. A moment later, there was a sharp pop, and the room was momentarily bathed in a blinding white light.
“Now we are immortal,” Winnie declared.
A loud cheer faded into friendly chatter as the women wandered back to tables covered in projects. Olive hesitated, the poignance of the moment fading. What could she possibly do when there was no piano to play? She had missed the last two meetings, both of which had fallen on a weekend during the holidays when she’d been hired to perform at house parties. She’d hated to miss them, but she couldn’t afford to give up even one penny.
Now, however, she felt out of step. The others moved with purpose, exchanging comments and tools with a fluidity that made her acutely aware of her own stillness. Her hands twitched at her sides, but she couldn’t make herself move. What if she was in the way?
“Olive, will you give us a hand?”
Rhoda waved to her from a table where she sat with Yuki and Susannah, the youngest member of the Society at only fifteen years old. The tension in her chest loosened a smidgeon, and she hurried over and slid into the empty chair.
“What are you working on?” she asked breathlessly.
“We’re making duplicates of the petitions we’ve collected over the last few weeks,” Rhoda said. “We’ll keep the copy for our records, but the originals will go with Clem, Inez, and me to Olympia this weekend.”
“And I’ll help Winnie make a typed copy while they’re gone,” Susannah added eagerly. “She said she could make an office girl out of me.”
Olive smiled at the eager young woman. “You’ll be in good hands.”
“Rhoda, you must remember every detail of the trip,” Yuki said. “A week’s stay in the state suffrage headquarters is a rare opportunity.”
“Imagine all the interesting people you’ll meet,” Susannah added. “You’re going to have so much fun.”
“If you think being part of the newest cohort trained to hound state legislators with petitions sounds entertaining—and I absolutely do—then yes, it’s going to be the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”
“Hound is a strong word,” said Clem, who had drifted over to their table.
“Fine. I’ll march down the streets singing She’s a Suffragette instead. That’ll get their attention as they head into the legislative session.”
Susannah clapped her hands. “Oh, would you really?”
“All those in favor, say aye, aye, aye,” Yuki sang out.
“Raise your voice and lift it high, high, high!” Others chimed in. “For the fight’s not over yet, no, don’t you forget. We’re marching for our future with the suffragette!”
The impromptu singing made Olive’s heart shine. She had penned that simple chorus. She was the reason the den overflowed with the spirit of the cause. An urge to reveal herself fluttered in her chest. While it was paramount that her identity remain hidden from the public, couldn’t she at least tell the few women who would celebrate her actions? They were her friends, her sisters-in-arms—they’d be proud of her, wouldn’t they? She sang along softly, her needs and wants warring within her. When the song ended, she took a deep breath and willed herself to be courageous.
“I can’t wait to teach the Olympians our anthem,” Rhoda declared.
“As much as I enjoy the anthem,” Clem began, her apologetic tone and careful words a gentle damper, “I’m not certain it would be welcome at WESA headquarters.”
Olive’s words stuck in her throat.
“Why on earth not?” Rhoda asked. “Do they have their own anthem?”
“It’s the use of suffragette. Our latest instructions have been to distance the clubs from the word.”
“But why?” Yuki asked. “It’s already being used in the newspapers. What’s the harm?”
“Unfortunately, the term has been used to mock our English sisters’ more radical approach. There is fear the same mockery will be applied to our efforts, so Mrs. Hutton and Mrs. DeVoe are adamant that we stick to more ladylike strategies.”
Rhoda heaved a sigh. “The still hunt approach is so boring.”
