A Proper Pursuit (24 page)

She looked surprised. “Certainly.”

“Um … you’re not marching today, are you?”

“No, not today. Why?”

“I-I need to know which shoes to wear.” In truth, I had no desire to get arrested and end up in a jail cell alongside Silas and his thieving pals, Robert and Josephine—or whatever their real names were.

“We’re not marching today; we’re stuffing envelopes,” Aunt Matt explained while I fetched my hat and gloves. “Next month is our anniversary rally. We need to spread the word so we’ll get a good turnout.”

“Yes, of course.” I nodded as if I was as concerned with the turnout as she was, but as we headed toward the streetcar stop, I began formulating a scheme of my own.

“Aunt Matt? I noticed that we passed LaSalle Street the last time I went to the association with you, and I was wondering … Do you think we could make a stop on our way there? There’s someone I’ve been meaning to visit who lives on LaSalle Street.” I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t ask for a name.

“It will have to be on our way home, after our work is finished. They’re expecting me at headquarters at ten-thirty sharp.”

“Yes, I understand. That will be fine. On the way home, then.”

My heart raced with excitement. Finally, I would see my mother. I bit my lip to keep from grinning foolishly and told myself to calm down. I had all morning to plan what I would say to her. In the meantime, I didn’t want Aunt Matt to learn my true intentions.

“What will the rally be about?” I asked her.

“This July marks the forty-fifth anniversary of the first Women’s Rights Convention in America. That was when Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucretia Mott, and the other women drew up our Declaration of Sentiments and Resolutions.”

“Is that when the Suffrage Association got started?” A streetcar rounded our corner as I asked the question, the horses’ hooves clomping noisily on the cobblestone street. Aunt Matt waited until the vehicle stopped and we’d taken our seats before answering.

“One of our organization’s founders, Lucretia Mott, was a Quaker minister. They allow women to preach, you know. The Quakers also believe in equal education for men and women. Lucretia met another one of our leaders, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, at the World Anti-Slavery Convention in London, England. Elizabeth and her husband had traveled to England on their honeymoon just to attend the convention.”

I nodded and began sliding down in my seat, already sorry that I had asked. I had forgotten how loudly Aunt Matt lectured—and how openly the other passengers stared at us.

“Several of the delegates arriving from America were women,” she continued. “But they—along with Elizabeth and Lucretia—were forbidden to take part in the meetings with the men. Can you imagine traveling all that way and then not being allowed to participate? Simply because they were women? Instead, all of the women, even the duly elected delegates, were forced to sit in a separate gallery.”

“That’s terrible.” My voice sounded like a whisper compared to hers.

“Of course they were outraged. Mr. Stanton was entirely sympathetic and supportive, but most husbands aren’t, you know. That’s when the two women decided to work together for women’s rights here in America. They held the first convention in 1848.”

“That seems like a long time ago.”

“You’re right, Violet. Progress has been much too slow.”

My mind drifted back to my conversation with Silas yesterday. He’d seemed sure that in the new century many of the restrictions on women, such as chaperones, would be considered outmoded. “How long until women have the same rights as men?” I asked.

“Well, even though victories have been few, we are making progress nonetheless. Three years ago, Wyoming became the first state to grant women the right to vote. Colorado will follow suit this year. We’re focusing on voting rights because then we’ll be in a position to influence lawmakers to make other changes.”

“Is that why men don’t want women to vote? Because we’ll change things?”

“Yes, that’s part of the reason. It’s also because they would have to acknowledge the fact that women are capable of thinking for themselves. They would have to do away with the belief that a woman needs her father or her husband to make decisions for her.”

“I want that freedom now, Aunt Matt. I wish I didn’t need a chaperone, and that I could go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted instead of what my father wants me to do. Aunt Agnes said he sent me here to find a husband.”

“And he probably told Agnes to keep you well away from me… . Here, this is where we get off,” she said, rising from her seat. She set off down the street, walking at an even brisker pace than usual. Evidently our conversation had her up in arms.

“I understand why you don’t want me to marry a rich husband,” I said, puffing to keep up, “but how can I support myself if I don’t get married?”

“Someday it will be different. Someday women will be able to earn a decent living, and we won’t be dependent on our husbands or fathers. I’m not against marriage, Violet. It’s the idea of marrying someone just for his money that seems wrong. There should be qualities in the man that draw you to make the commitment to him besides his money.”

“Do you believe in love, Aunt Matt?”

She paused before replying. Too late, I remembered Aunt Birdie telling me that Aunt Matt had once been in love.

“It’s better to marry someone for love than for his money,” she finally said.

We reached the association headquarters and went inside. Aunt Matt introduced me to the president.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Violet. We are very grateful for your help.”

“I’m glad that I could come.”

She and the other ladies seemed like gentle, intelligent women, not militant radicals or men-haters. We sat around a huge worktable with stacks of letters and envelopes piled in front of us. It was mindless work, folding letters and stuffing them into envelopes and licking them shut. I enjoyed it more than peeling vegetables at the settlement house though. Better to have a dry tongue and a few paper cuts than hands stained with beet juice—not that the state of my hands mattered much. I didn’t plan on holding hands with Nelson anytime soon, nor with the devout Louis Decker—and never again with Silas McClure.

The women chatted while they worked. I wasn’t paying too much attention until one of them said, “By the way, ladies, did you hear that there was another robbery at the Woman’s Pavilion yesterday?”

I stopped licking. My entire body began to tingle as if I were being slowly submerged in boiling water.

“I didn’t see anything in this morning’s paper about it,” Aunt Matt said. “What happened?”

“You know how the lady managers have their cookbooks for sale? Well, a pair of thieves came into the building, and one of them grabbed the money box when no one was looking.”

My cheeks must have bloomed like hothouse roses as the heat rose to my face. I hoped no one would notice.

“That’s the third robbery we’ve had, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s the fifth! And the worst one yet. In all of the other incidents, the women had things stolen from their purses. This time they snatched an entire strongbox full of cash. There were two of them, working together.”

I stopped breathing. The Great Fire couldn’t have burned hotter than I did.

“That’s dreadful!” all the ladies agreed. “How frightening.”

“They figure that the thieves must have been watching the sales booth for some time, because they knew exactly what they were doing. One of them distracted the clerk while the other one grabbed the money box. But what they didn’t know was that we’ve hired the Pinkertons. They were guarding the pavilion at the time of the robbery, and they came running to the rescue as soon as the theft occurred. They caught one of the thieves—the one with the cash box, fortunately—but the other thief slipped away.”

The room began to spin. I had to grip the edge of the table to keep from sliding out of my chair. I was involved with a gang of thieves! Silas McClure and his friends truly were thieves—and I had helped them escape! Did that make me an accomplice?

“Have they had thefts in any of the other pavilions?” someone asked.

“A few, I think. But not nearly as many as ours. We’re presumed to be an easy target because we’re ‘helpless’ women.”

“I guess we showed them!We were clever enough to hire our own guards, weren’t we?”

“Yes, but it’s very costly to have Pinkerton’s men there all the time.”

“Where were the police? Doesn’t the fair have security people?”

“They have the Columbian guards, but have you seen them? They’re all young pups in their twenties with no experience doing police work. They can barely help lost children find their parents, let alone deal with professional thieves.”

“What’s this country coming to when one must hire private investigators?”

“W-were the thieves men or women?” I asked when I finally could speak.

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of women thieves, have you? But I suppose it’s possible. Why?”

“No reason. But since it’s the Woman’s Pavilion, I just wondered …”

I suddenly recalled how oddly Josephine had behaved and how strange she had looked with her homely face and hairy arms. I added all of the clues together: her tall frame and unfashionable clothes, her hoarse voice and lack of manners. Of course! She had been a man disguised as a woman! I had been stupid not to figure it out the moment I met her. Silas McClure had intentionally deceived me.

I heard my aunt talking with the other women, but their voices grew softer and softer, drowned out by the rushing sound in my ears. The worktable slid out of focus. I felt as dizzy as I had when riding the giant wheel. I closed my eyes to make the dizziness stop, and the next thing I knew, Aunt Matt was calling my name.

“Violet… ? Violet! Are you all right?” She gripped my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “What’s wrong? You look as though you’re about to faint.”

“She’s as white as those envelopes.”

“Is her corset too tight? Maybe she should unlace it.”

“I-I don’t feel well,” I murmured. But it had nothing to do with my corset.

“It’s my fault,” Aunt Matt said. “I should have waited for you to eat some breakfast.”

“Take her into the privy, Matilda, so she can unlace her corset.”

“Corsets should be outlawed. It’s a crime that young girls have to torture themselves simply for the sake of attracting a man.”

“I-it’s not my corset,” I said. I didn’t think I could stand, let alone walk to the privy. Someone brought me a glass of water, and I took a long drink.

“There. Feeling better?”

“Yes. Thank you. I guess I got dry after licking all those envelopes and stamps.”

“If women ran the world, envelopes wouldn’t need to be licked,” Aunt Matt declared. “Stamps either.”

I felt like one of the main characters in a
True Crime
story or Ruth’s
Illustrated Police News
. If Pinkerton’s men had captured all four of us yesterday, my picture might have been on the cover of it!

“I should take you home.”

“I think it might be better if I stayed seated, Aunt Matt. I’ll be all right. I want to help finish the envelopes.”

“You’ve been burning the candle at both ends, haven’t you, young lady? Rising at dawn to run all over the slums with Florence and going to parties with Agnes until all hours of the night? And weren’t you at the fair yesterday?”

“Y-yes. I was.”

Should I tell the authorities what I knew? But I really didn’t know anything at all about “Josephine” or how to find him. No wonder Silas hadn’t told me his last name. I had Silas’ business card with his post office box information. I could give that to the authorities.

“What did you think of the fair, Violet? Did you see theWoman’s Pavilion?”

“Just from the outside. I-I didn’t go in.”

“Good. I’d like to show it to you,” Aunt Matt said. “They sponsor wonderful lectures by prominent women on all manner of subjects. We’ll go some afternoon when the mailing is finished.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak, but I smiled and said, “I would like that.”

The conversation switched to other topics, and the opportunity to report what I knew about the robbery passed. I felt relieved. I really didn’t want the police to arrest Silas. After all, he was with me at the time of the robbery. He wasn’t responsible for his friends’ actions, was he? But I made up my mind to have nothing more to do with Mr. McClure.

“Let me give you and your niece a ride home, Matilda,” someone offered when we’d finished our morning’s work. “She still looks pale to me.”

I started to protest, but Aunt Matt overruled me. “Yes, thank you, Emily. We accept. That’s very kind of you.” I clenched my fists in frustration and disappointment. I couldn’t impose upon Aunt Matt’s friend by asking her to stop at LaSalle Street to visit my mother.

By the time we arrived home, I’d recovered from my shock and no longer felt faint. My heart was beating normally again—until Aunt Birdie greeted me at the door with an envelope.

“Violet! You’ve received
another
letter.”

“W-who is it from?”

“Someone named”—she read the return address—“Herman Beckett.”

“Oh no.” I closed my eyes in dismay. I had forgotten all about him.

“Who is he, dear?” Aunt Birdie asked.

“A gentleman I know from back home in Lockport. Mr. Beckett courted me a few times before I came here.”

“Oh, how nice.”

I ripped open the envelope without benefit of an opener, guessing what it might say. Herman’s printing was so small and neat it might have been made on a typing machine. The somber black ink nearly bled through the page. I scanned it quickly, wincing at every sentence.

“You have such a long face, Violet. I do hope it isn’t bad news,” Aunt Birdie said. “Is your young man fighting the Rebels?”

“No, Mr. Beckett isn’t fighting. He’s coming to call on me this weekend. He wants me to go to the fair with him and his sister.”

“Don’t you care to go with him?”

I not only didn’t care to go with Herman Beckett, I didn’t care if I ever returned to the fair.

“No,” I sighed, “but I already promised him that I would go. My father gave Herman permission to court me. He likes Herman.”