The women piled inside the decorated auto, Judith in the driver’s seat, Della beside her, and the young ladies in the back seat. Rhoda was already following suit, pulling open the driver’s seat of the second auto and giving them an impatient look over one shoulder.
“Let’s go, already,” she said with a huff. “We can’t be left behind.”
This was the moment to commit or run away.
If she climbed into the second auto, she would be seen—albeit in shadowy form—by anyone watching from the sidewalks, the street corners, or the railroad terminal. Of course, she could go further. She could be a true suffragist. She could remove the motoring hat and lift her chin in defiance for all the world to see. She could be the kind of woman who didn’t hesitate, who wasn’t held back by what ifs.
Oh, who was she kidding?
She couldn’t. She absolutely, positively could not.
Anonymous participation was all she was meant to have. Hidden behind veils, tucked among the stronger women like a weak lamb needing protection. She hated it, but it was her lot in life. Her consolation prize. She tucked her chin and climbed into the rear seat. Winnie gave her a wide grin from the front seat, but Clem remained on the sidewalk, studying Rhoda suspiciously.
“What’s the problem?” Rhoda asked, her voice colored with an annoyance that shocked Olive into stillness.
“Does your father know you took his automobile?”
“Yes.” Two bright spots appeared on Rhoda’s pale cheeks. “Stop worrying so much.”
“I’m worried about you,” Clem retorted. “Did you tell him what you’re using it for? Or will this come as much of a surprise to him as to why you were in the Capitol?”
“My father is my problem.” Rhoda’s hand moved to the handbrake. “Are you in or out? Because I’m leaving.”
“There’s no need to be testy,” Winnie said, staying Rhoda’s movements with a hand. “Clem has every right to ask. Our actions today will reflect directly on her leadership. A confrontation with your father would greatly disturb our goals.”
Rhoda was silent, her jaw ticking. Olive exchanged a worried glance with Clem, but dared not speak. She had no idea how to help.
“He won’t be a problem,” Rhoda finally said, her tone noticeably less defensive. “I’m sorry to be such a pain.”
Clem pulled herself into the back seat, then leaned forward and wrapped her arm around Rhoda’s shoulders. “It’s already forgotten. Let’s redirect our energy toward the deplorable Reverend, what do you say?”
“Agreed,” Winnie said.
“Yes,” Olive chimed in.
“Already done,” Rhoda said, then shot them a sly glance. “Though we need to stop at Pike Place Market.”
“Why?”
“To pick up my order of tomatoes, of course.”
Clem smacked Rhoda playfully on the shoulder. “Nice try.”
Their laughter was drowned out by the whir of the engine. Olive sat back in her seat, shaking her head with relief. Maybe everything would turn out all right, after all.
By the time the enormous brick clock tower of King Street Station was within sight of the cavalcade, Olive’s nerves had been eclipsed by cautious optimism. The two dozen autos carrying suffragists downtown had been met with a dizzying mixture of reactions that demonstrated all too clearly the city’s divide.
Support was evidenced in the smile of a young woman in her waitress uniform and the energetic clapping of the elderly man she served outside a café. That was far better than the censorious glare one woman laid upon them as she yanked her child away, or the offensive taunt a young man yelled from the window of a streetcar as it clattered past. Still others were simply mystified, either by the sight of women in automobiles or the cause for which they fought.
And through it all, Olive’s friends never wavered. Rhoda was a careful driver, beating a jaunty rhythm with her horn. Winnie waved her pennant in the front seat, occasionally belting suffrage lyrics at the top of her lungs. And then there was Clem, their leader. She waved and greeted the women from other suffrage groups in the procession by name.
Pride surged in Olive’s breast. She was lucky to know these strong women. She was honored to be at their side as they brought the question of woman suffrage to the people. And she was tired of being a lamb. If Emil were there, he wouldn’t be pleased by her timidity. He wouldn’t accept it, either. He’d command her to do better. It would annoy her, but it would spur her into action.
Before her courage could desert her, she unpinned the sheer veil from her hat and folded it across her lap. She welcomed the invigorating, cool wind against her cheeks, and met Clem’s broad—perhaps even proud?—smile with her own.
“Isn’t this exciting?”
“It is,” she admitted. “I’m very glad I came.”
