Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction (49 page)

Before I could think clearly, before I could calm down, I heard my name announced. My little group applauded around me, opening the way to the gazebo. My shaky legs carried me up there, although for the life of me, I didn’t know how. The wood planks of the flooring beat my footsteps like a heartbeat as I walked across to where Cady
stood applauding, her megaphone clamped under one arm. Cady then handed this to me with a warm smile. I attempted to smile back but my bottom lip quivered in other directions. Cady squeezed my elbow and then left me alone to face the many upturned eyes. I suddenly wished I’d brought my written poem, for then at least I’d have something else to look at, some words to read rather than reading these many expressions on so many faces. I grasped the megaphone with two hands and looked out at the sea of hats and bonnets. Alone, and oh so afraid – could they hear my heart?

I was floating, swaying, oh I needed an anchor! I thought surely, surely I was going to faint when once again I saw the man, the ponytail man, step forward into my view. He smiled reassuringly and nodded as if to say,
Everything is fine and I want to hear what you have to say.

I reached out to the railing and steadied myself.

“Cat got your tongue, little lady?” some fellow piped from the crowd and with it followed some snickers.

I glanced back over to the ponytail man, and he nodded and smiled again. Such kind eyes! I returned his smile shakily, and slowly raised the megaphone to my mouth. I was amazed at the voice that came out the other end of it. It didn’t sound like my own, and so much louder, bolder. Hearing myself talk so, gave me strength, and the feeling of fainting finally subsided. From my heart, my words came:

Let my voice and my hands

Reach to others in need.

Give me the right to be counted,

Good deeds feed, not just breed

A door to a freedom,

Of vote, of choice.

More than a cry in my home.

To be community’s voi—

Gunshots choked words in my throat. I shrunk away from the deafening blast coming from the side, while others screeched or squealed. Then another blast that moved the crowd as one body away from the sound. Through the gazebo opening I could see
a horse, its rider aiming a rifle at the trees. He fired a shot again and echoes could be heard in the deafening silence. I held onto the gazebo railing trembling, needing to sit down but too shocked at what I saw. Preacher Paul sat on that horse, his face red with anger and breathing hard as if he’d come in on foot. He rode closer to the gazebo, parting the silent and stunned crowd while I stood frozen on the spot, watching him in horror.

“Ruby!” he shouted, and he pointed a finger at me. It startled my heart so, the pain might not have been different than if he had shot his rifle at me. I clutched my chest with one hand and dropped the megaphone from the other hand.

“I’ve been sent here on God’s errand to beseech you to leave here at once!” He pointed to the stairs. “Now go! And save your soul!”

I felt all eyes turn to me expectantly.

Numbed and shamed, I turned and walked toward the stairs.

“Let the lady stay.”

I looked over the railing to see the ponytail man striding toward the horse. He moved as if in slow motion. I had never seen such a beautiful graceful creature – and I’m not talking about the horse. I stared in awe.

“Let the lady stay,” he repeated, calmly, without shouting, yet I believed the outer edges of the park could hear his ring. “Her poem’s asking to be heard. Let her speak.”

Preacher Paul ignored him and faced the crowd. “Now you’ve heard from a woman and an Injun. What next for this devil’s meeting – a darkie? Listen now to a man of God. Folks, here’s what this man of God is telling you to do. Go home. Take your women home. Tell everyone who didn’t come that this legion of women is of the devil. Brethren, we are in perilous times when we see mothers, wives, and daughters who no longer wish to abide by the Holy Word. We must, as masters of own domains, fight this Eve and her venomous vipers and protect what is rightfully ours. It is my
duty,
” he pointed toward the heavens, “to stop this wormwood, as prophesied in Deuteronomy, before it eats our town of everything good and pure!”

From behind his horse came his deacons. I knew all of them of course but seeing Robert shocked me further. I gasped and the ponytail man glanced up at me questioningly. Preacher Paul leaned down to his deacons. “Now you go ahead and hand out God’s Word to these good folk.” The deacons began working their way through the crowd passing out papers, those taking the sheets looked stunned enough to do as they’re told.

Robert ignored them. He was facing the ponytail man, glaring at him. Like some western stand-off, they stood facing each other in silence until Robert at last stepped around him.

“Ruby.”

It took me a moment to turn my attention to where Robert stood at the bottom of the gazebo stairs. It seemed as if my body turned, but not my heart.

“Ruby,” Robert repeated. “Come on down. You’re going home.”

I stepped slowly down the stairs, my head hung, not wanting to meet any eyes.

“Sir, you have no right to disturb this convention!”

I stopped on the bottom step and swung around.

Cady had picked up the megaphone I had dropped. With one hand on the rail to keep her steady, her arm rigid, she shouted, “If you wish to be heard, you should do so from your own pulpit!”

I had never seen her angry and shaking before.

“Sister, I appreciate what you are saying there,” the preacher called down to her from his high horse, “and I’d be more than happy to preach to you this Sunday morning! Might do you some good! When was the last time you stepped foot inside a church, ma’am?”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Thomas stepped forward and grabbed the reins to Preacher Paul’s horse with such rage, I winced in fear of what he might do.

“That is enough, Paul!” Sheriff Porter came into view, mounted on his own gray mare, his rifle in plain view across his legs. “This is a public place and you are disturbing the peace.”

“Are you, as a fellow man, going to stand by and let these men-haters destroy our families?” Preacher Paul called back across the crowd to him.

“As the sheriff of this town, I say they are breaking no laws and doing no wrong. Let them be and have their say. You’ll have your own soon enough, I’m sure.” Sheriff Porter placed both hands purposefully on his rifle. “But it won’t be here.”

Preacher Paul raised his empty hand. “As I said, I’m not here to cause any harm. I’ve said what I have to say and I’ll say no more. Let our brethren finish passing out my declaration and then we’ll be on our way.”

Sheriff Porter shifted on his saddle. “They’re not disturbing the peace but you are. I’ll have to ask you to leave – now.”

“Now sheriff, you and I go way back. As God is my witness, I don’t understand-”

“
Now
, Paul.” Sheriff’s tone was deeper now, more foreboding. Thomas let go the reins and smacked the rear of Preacher Paul’s horse so hard, it startled and jerked forward, causing the preacher to lose his cap and focus his attention on trying to stay on, while he trotted away.

Robert took my elbow and silently we walked to the edge of the crowd. I could hear Cady’s clear voice behind me, introducing Lizzie to recite Sojourn Truth’s
Ain’t I a woman?
Oh, how I hated to walk away from hearing that. And how heartbreaking it would be to miss Mrs. Catt’s
Ballot for Bullet
speech, too, such a famous suffragist. I wanted to cry.

“My God, Bess is here! Are you trying to corrupt my daughter, too?”

I had forgotten about Bess. She had obviously followed us.

My words were still stuck in my throat, and flooding with tears. I made no argument. We walked to the outskirts of the crowd, Lizzie’s voice becoming fainter. I could take it no longer.

“Robert, please stop and listen to me. I want to stay!”

“Do as I say, Ruby. No more scenes. You are in enough trouble as it is.” His eyes looked straight ahead, still walking, still gripping
my elbow, his jaw muscles working. “There’s the wagon. Now get on without another word and go home.”

I looked over to where he was motioning with his head, and saw Opal sitting on the wagon, reins in hand, waiting like a prison guard. Their betrayal took away any strength I might have had to resist. With what defiance I could muster, I jerked my elbow from Robert’s clinch and refused to step up onto the bench where Opal sat.

Instead I walked to the back of the wagon and jumped up onto the open back of the wooden bed. If I was going to be treated as a farm hand, I would look like one. Bess climbed up beside me, somehow understanding to keep quiet. We sat side-by-side, legs dangling over the flat bed, my arm around her shoulders. I stared straight ahead, not daring to give Robert the pleasure of seeing me cry. The wagon lurched and we rode silently home.

When finally Opal pulled in the reins in front of the house, I jumped down and turned to help Bess and there behind her I saw a large oblong box, a fabric-covered one that had made many trips with Opal to customers carrying their new wedding gowns, evening gowns, jackets and dresses. These must be her altered dresses. Did she think she could do the same to me? Cut me down to fit one person, when I was designed for another? I would’ve given my right arm to have heard the ponytail man’s speech.

“Keep your dresses,” I called back over my shoulder to Opal. “I prefer black and white.”

I approached slowly, watching Eunice pick up pieces of the booth, boards splintered and scattered about. The two clay pots of thick climbing ivy Eunice had so meticulously placed through chicken wire over the booth as an archway yesterday, was broken, dirt and vines scattered. One of the signs from the gazebo had been moved over
here and stuck in the dirt by the broken booth. The sign had been altered with a big red ‘R’ in ‘Fight’, to read, ‘FRight for Women’s Rights!’

“What happened, Eunice?” I asked, placing my dinner basket on the ground.

Eunice flinched, startled. “Oh Ruby, I’m glad to see it’s you. Seeing this sort of destruction at someone’s hands makes me skittish, being here alone.” She straightened and put her hands on her hips. “What happened here, I believe, is a coward from that church came in the night. Look at this!” and she kicked at a splintered board, anger showing on her flushed face. “Now I don’t know what to do. We announced yesterday that the booth would be open every afternoon for two weeks, to collect signatures. Here you are, our first volunteer to station here, and I have nothing...” she kicked at another board, harder this time. “I hate men. If I could just get my hands on the man who—”

“Whoa, whoa, don’t take it out on all the men!”

We turned to see the ponytail man walking through the oak trees toward us.

He ducked under a low-hanging branch. “So, we had more than one enemy in our midst yesterday, did we? Could’ve been worse – I’ve seen women shot at for asking for fairer wages at a bicycle factory. Annan is actually a peaceful little town.”

“That’s comforting,” said Eunice, in a tone of one not impressed. She continued to look at the damage around her.

I could only stare, not quite believing he’s standing here, just as I had fervently hoped for but thinking such a wish wouldn’t happen. My face flushed crimson in being so impolite and I quickly bent to examine a piece of vine, its roots exposed.

“We can have a new booth built in an hour,” he said. “If one of you can come with me and show me the way to the lumber mill or general store.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, er ... Mr. Bluemountain, isn’t it?” said Eunice.

“Jeremiah.”

“Well, I must be frank here, Jeremiah, and say I have no money left to buy supplies. What little I saved went into this,” Eunice said, waving her hand around to the damage at her feet.

Money? I dropped the vine. I hadn’t put in a penny for any of this, or for the sashes or the signs - worse yet, I suspected Robert had done this damage; he hadn’t come home until long after I’d gone to bed, soaked to the bone from the night’s thunderstorm.

“I think I can swing a few dollars for a good cause,” Jeremiah was saying.