The Cure for Dreaming (34 page)

Sadie narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“I believe I owe you the chance for an operatic solo,” said Henry, “which can certainly be arranged while you're up on this stage. I do not think there would be a sound more breathtaking this election night than your sweet voice filling this room with the national anthem.”

Sadie folded her arms over her chest and didn't budge.

Teddy slung his hand over her shoulder. “Do it, Sadie.”

Sunken-Eyed John raised a champagne flute and said,
“Yes, do it,” and his sister Eugenia clapped and added, “Yes, please, go up there, Sadie. What a laugh that would be”—all of them prodding at Sadie just as she had tried to bully Henry at her party.

“All right.” Sadie jutted her chin in the air. “But Eugenia and my mother have to come with me, and my voice had better sound like an angel's when I sing the national anthem.”

“
Bien sûr
, an angel,” said Henry with a wobble in his footing that got me worrying about his health again. “Certainly,
mademoiselle
. Please come up and sit in one of these chairs.”

The partygoers cleared a path for Sadie, Eugenia, and an older woman in a gown dripping in ecru lace, her hair a squat version of Sadie's strawberry-gold pompadour. Mrs. Underhill trooped up on stage with them as well, followed by Lizzie—the squeaky girl who had called me a freakish man with bosoms—and her equally sulky-lipped mother.

I perched myself on the leftmost chair and cleared the nervousness from my throat as the six other ladies joined me in sitting up there, all of us facing the audience in front of the orchestra.

“Thank you for helping us, ladies,” said Henry, angled toward both us and the crowd below. “Your cooperation will reward you in the future, for when we silence the suffragists—”

I forgot to gag, but Henry's pause pushed me into action. I choked with passion to compensate.

“—you will no longer need to concern yourselves with organizations such as this one. You will be able to devote your
time to charities and other, worthier endeavors instead of hushing up women with pluck.”

The mothers on the stage nodded their approval, while their daughters fussed with their skirts and slumped as if bored. I folded my hands in my lap and tried to ignore Father's watchful face out of the corner of my eye.

“Ladies and gentlemen”—Henry pivoted toward the audience and raised his hands—“I present to you America's idyllic future.”

He swirled around to us ladies and started work on Lizzie at the opposite end of the line from me.

“Close your eyes.” He stroked the girl's head of jostling brown ringlets. “You are drowsy. You can think of nothing but sleep. Melt down, melt down into sleep.”

He moved on to Lizzie's mother and embarked upon the same routine. “Close your eyes.” He kneaded the woman's supple forehead. “Think of nothing but sleep. You feel very sleepy. You are so tired. Melt down.”

He continued down the line of women, repeating the same phrases and massaging everyone's skulls and foreheads. This time I had ample warning to keep myself alert. I wedged my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Henry's silky voice alone was already persuading my chin to drop to my chest, but I forced myself to envision slamming a door in his face.

“You feel very sleepy,” he said to Mrs. Eiderling next to me. “You are drowsy. Think of nothing but sleep.”

Mrs. Eiderling's head and shoulders slumped forward.

Henry moved over to me and put his hands on the sides of my head. “Close your eyes.”

I pressed my tongue to my palate with all my might and shut my lids.

“Think of nothing but sleep.” He caressed my temples. “Go to sleep.”

I held my breath and strained to block out the potency of his words.
Slam the door. Slam it hard!
My thoughts strained toward suffragist anthems, train rides to New York City, moonlit bicycle rides in garnet-brown bloomers . . .

Henry left my side. My mind remained my own.

“You now feel your right arm drifting into the air,” he said. “You cannot help it—the arm is simply moving on its own, rising higher and higher.”

I played along and raised my arm, my eyes still closed.

“As you can see, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “some subjects are more susceptible to hypnosis than others. Miss . . . what is your name,
mademoiselle
?”

“Lizzie Yves,” said the chirpy girl in a wide-awake voice.

“You still seem awake, Lizzie. Stand up, please—and sleep! Go down, go down, you are so tired you can do nothing but sleep. Very good. You are doing beautifully.”

I found myself tapping my foot to get him to hurry along with everything, but I stopped myself as soon as I realized the blunder.

“Now, ladies . . .” His footsteps traveled to the center of the stage. “What I am about to tell you is extremely important, so
you must listen carefully. When I say the word
awake
, you will open your eyes, and you will not be able to speak. You will have no voice. No matter what anyone says to you, if you try to talk, all that will exit your mouth is soundless air. You will be silent.”

I bowed my head and heard the patter of his shoes leaving the stage, as if he were running away from the mess he was about to create.

“Awake!”

We all opened our eyes. Mrs. Eiderling spread her lips apart beside me, but all that came out was an empty gasp. Next to her, Sadie clutched her right hand around her throat and squirmed in her chair until the legs of the furniture tapped against the stage. Mrs. Underhill and Eugenia flapped their lips open and shut like wide-eyed fish.

“This, ladies and gentlemen,” said Henry from down in the middle of the crowd, “is the sound of silent women.”

The men in the audience let loose applause that threw us back in our chairs.

“Bravo,” shouted Judge Acklen. “Well done!”

Mr. Underhill whistled his approval, and his wife sat up with a fierce-eyed glare.

“Go ahead.” Henry grabbed Percy by the arm. “Tell those girls what you really think of women. They can't say a word back to you.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.” Percy lifted his hands and
retreated out of Henry's grasp. “They can still slap, can't they?”

The gentlemen laughed and patted Percy on the back.

Sadie stood and waved her arms.

“Oh, wait.” Henry wiggled a piece of paper and a pen out of his breast pocket. “One of them is trying to communicate.”

Sadie snatched the writing utensils from his hands and kneeled on the stage to scribble a note. She then shoved the paper down at Henry's nose.

Henry read the note over and shifted back to the crowd. “Well, this is a historic moment indeed. For the first time ever, an anti-suffragist woman has written the words ‘Give us our voices!'”

A few gentlemen laughed, but a sobering silence threw a bucket of ice water over the party. Glimmers of suspicion awakened in the eyes of the Oregon Association crowd. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled.

“Ladies.” Henry turned toward us, and he swayed for a moment, as if he had moved too fast. “Gentlemen are not kind when it comes to you speaking your minds. You must be cautious about giving us full custody of your voices. I am afraid we will take unfair advantage,
mes chéries
.”

Sadie stomped her foot on the stage and made the whole room jump.

“All right, sit down, sit down.” Henry waved her back to her chair.

He moved to take a step away from the crowd, but he stopped and tipped as though dizzy, and his eyes rolled toward the back of his head. He fell forward but caught himself by bracing his hands against the front edge of the stage.

I bolted upright in my chair. “Henry?”

He stayed still for a moment, panting as though breathing were a struggle, his head hanging between his arms.

“I'm sorry.” He managed to lift his face, now as white as ash. “Oh, God . . . maybe the orchestra . . . I'm really sorry . . .” He staggered backward and collapsed on the waxed ballroom floor.

'm not sure how I got off that stage—I believe I may have taken a running leap and jumped to the hard parquet below. All I remember is Henry's skin growing cold and gray beneath my hands.

“Are you breathing, Henry?” I shook his shoulders. “Oh, God. Please breathe! Please breathe!”

He turned paler by the second. The only thing I could think to do was jostle him.

“Don't die. Don't die. You can't die. Isn't there a doctor in this room? Why isn't someone helping him?”

I peeked up at the crowd and discovered that the floor
around us had cleared. Everyone stood back in their fine tailored clothing, watching me fumble to save his life.

“Why are you just standing there?” I asked. “This isn't part of the show. Someone needs to get him to a hospital. Put him in one of your carriages. Help him!”

Mr. Underhill grimaced at Henry. “He's a theater person. Some of us would rather not have him in our carriages.”

“Oh, Christ, you're idiots.” I cradled Henry's head against my chest. “If he dies, then your wives and daughters are going to be stuck without voices forever.”

Some of the men and boys actually laughed at that statement—
they laughed!

Claps of thunder erupted from the stage behind me. I gave a start and peered over my shoulder to discover the silenced mothers and daughters hurling themselves down the staircases at the sides of the stage in their long, shimmering gowns. They barreled toward us and shoved me away from Henry. Sadie and her mother lifted him by his shoulders. Mrs. Underhill and Eugenia grabbed his legs. Lizzie and her mother hoisted him up beneath his back. In less than two seconds, those women had his limp body up in the air and were rushing him across the room.

I jumped to my feet and chased after them through the palm-lined lobby and out to the cold night air. With Henry bouncing in their arms, the ladies reached an enclosed black carriage parked near Sixth.

I lunged to help them open the door and told them, “Be
careful,” as they maneuvered Henry's head inside and spread him across a padded seat.

Sadie waved her arms at the driver and mouthed the word
hospital
.

The driver shrugged his broad shoulders. “Speak up. I don't know what you're saying.”

“You need to drive this carriage to the hospital,” I said for her. “Quickly!”

Sadie dove inside the vehicle with her mother and Henry, and the other ladies ran to the carriage behind them. I tried to follow Sadie into her carriage, but the door slammed shut in my face, and the horses trotted away.

“Olivia!” Father stormed toward me with my coat hanging off his arm. “We're going home. That was a shocking thing you two did in there. I'm appalled beyond words.”

“What are you talking about?”

He gripped my arm with a squeeze that made me gasp.

“I'm not stupid, Olivia. You're able to speak when the rest of those women were silenced.”