Page 9 of Air Affair

But such thoughts served no purpose. She had to be practical. After all, how could she complain about a life of leisure and comfort when so many in the world struggled for their daily bread?

“Look at the crowd,” she said, changing the subject as New York City Hall came into view. “This may be our biggest rally yet.” Her heart swelled at the sight of so many women gathered to fight for their rights, displacing the hollow ache from thoughts of her long-deceased mother. The energy of the crowd was infectious, and she could hardly wait to join them and lose herself in the energy of the protest.

When the car stopped, a swarm of friends surrounded them, anxious to welcome them and get access to the signs Aunt Alva always had stashed in the trunk. Rory allowed her spirits to be buoyed up by their infectious enthusiasm.

“Evelyn,” Rory cried, climbing out of the car. “I’m so happy to see you!” She rushed to her friend’s side. “How is Clyde?” she whispered.

“Shh! Not here.” Evelyn blushed.

Rory laughed. “No one can hear us, dear. I swear your secret is safe with me. After all, you already know all my secrets.”

“Speaking of… Have you seen your pilot again?”

As soon as Rory returned to the engagement party after visiting the hangar, she dragged Evelyn into a quiet corner and told her everything, much to her friend’s delight. There was nothing Evelyn loved more than a juicy secret, not that she would ever tell a soul. Rory trusted her completely. It was because of Evelyn’s encouragement that she’d gone to the airfield in the morning.

“Maybe I have,” Rory said with a wink. “But you go first. How is that artist of yours? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

Evelyn leaned closer. “We’ve been keeping a low profile. Mama got suspicious, but maybe you’ll see him tonight if⁠—”

“Uh oh. Aunt Alva is signaling us. We’d better get in place. I’ll catch up with you later.” Disappointed at the interruption, Rory wove her way to the front of the crowd beside her aunt, but her spirits soon lifted as the energy of the crowd infected her.

During marches like this, the collective power of thousands of protesters filled her with hope for a better future that she hardly dared imagine. Nothing would change her engagement with Edward, but perhaps life would be more tolerable with him if women won the vote and could fight for fairer laws. Once she married, Edward would own her property and her person in every meaningful sense. The only way to buy herself a modicum of freedom and autonomy was to change the laws of the land.

Holding up their signs, the crowd of suffragettes began to march. “Shout, shout up with your song! Cry with the wind for the dawn is breaking,” they sang in a remarkably civilized chorus. They practically sounded like a church choir. Rory floated on a wave of hope and exhilaration at the sound.

Police closed in around them as they marched. That only prompted Rory to sing all the louder, even if she wasn’t the most tuneful of the bunch. She linked arms with Alva and Evelyn, bracing herself for a confrontation.

As they marched past the doors of city hall, Rory belted her favorite line of the song, “Life, strife, these two are one, naught can be done but with faith and daring.” She had both faith and daring and was determined to win the day. The country might have founding fathers, but after the suffrage movement won the day, it would have founding mothers too. And she was determined to be one of them.

As the march turned south on Broadway toward the southern tip of Manhattan, the police formed a human barricade to stop them from proceeding. Rory’s heart beat faster as they approached. She, Evelyn, and Aunt Alva were at the center of a human chain that pressed closer and closer to the police, forcing them to edge back to avoid direct conflict. The police knew exactly who the three of them were and knew better than to push back, but the women behind them were more vulnerable. It was an honor to be part of this powerful group of angry women and to lend her name to their defense. This must have been how George Washington felt, vanquishing the British at long last at the Battle of Yorktown.

Rory yelled the final words of the song instead of singing them. “March, march, many as one! Shoulder to shoulder, and friend to friend!” A particularly burly looking policeman locked eyes with the working-class woman behind her, leering and smacking his baton in his hand. Rory stepped forward to shield the woman. She might not have a bayonet, but she had an umbrella and knew how to use it.

He made a move toward them, baton swinging.

“Don’t you touch her,” Rory said, positioning herself directly in front of the officer.

He narrowed his eyes and smirked without slowing his advance. “You’re a troublemaker, ain’t ya, princess?”

“I’m exercising my right as a citizen to protest unjust laws.” She grasped her umbrella, ready to raise it in defense, as her heart pounded so loudly she could hardly hear the crowd around her.

All her accumulated anger at her father, Edward, and her circumstances focused to a point as the world fell away and she stared the officer down. She refused to let another man try to put her in her place, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to touch a hair on the heads of any of the women behind her. If he was foolish enough to cross her, he would learn just how much fight she had left in her, despite the world’s attempts to put her down.

Aunt Alva pulled her back and stepped forward. “Come to the other side of me, right now,” she said, hauling Rory with a force that belied her age. “I promised your father you wouldn’t get in trouble, and I’ll thank you not to tempt fate.”

Rory kept her eyes locked on the officer.

For a long, tense moment, they stared each other down.

“If you touch one hair on the head of these women, I swear you will live to regret it.” Rory knew she shouldn’t goad the man, but she refused to be silenced.

“Let it go, Ernie. These birds ain’t worth it,” said the officer beside him, pulling him back. The man backed away slowly. “Go take a walk and cool off before you do something stupid.”

With one last resentful look, the man turned and disappeared.

A little burst of triumph welled in Rory’s heart. She had won. At least for now.

She let out her breath slowly, relaxing the death grip she had on her umbrella. Her pent-up fury receded slowly, leaving her on edge and spent. The sun beat down on her, and she gritted her teeth, grim determination replacing her earlier buoyancy.