Legacy (10 page)

Emily was even less enticing. 'We must do something with your hair, Emmy,' Anne said. 'And you ought to smooth out your piano playing.' Brother Malcolm was more direct: 'Emmy, a girl with few graces has until her

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twenty-fifth birthday to get married. Anne has been most generous in helping you, but now you must help yourself.' And that was when the Starrs first realized that in their Emily, they had a young woman quite out of the ordinary, because she said to her brother, within earshot of both Anne and the General; 'I've been thinking there might be more to a human life than being wife to someone who doesn't want me.' Three gasps greeted this extraordinary assault on values, but since the revolutionary subject was now opened, Emily revealed the amazing turn her thinking had taken: 'In all the noble work the men of our family did, Declaration of Independence to the rebuilding after Appomattox, Father, the word woman is never once mentioned. Women were not declared free in 1776. They weren't mentioned once during the Convention. Roly-poly judge Edmund never handed down a decision to protect or guide them. And the War Between the States was fought by men for men's reasons.' 'Emily!' the General cried, as if his honour had been impugned. 'The men of the South revered women. . .' 'If women had been consulted in that ridiculous affair, it would have ended in 186V There was more, whipping back and forth, lay- ing bare ugly wounds that had not previously been ventilated, and at the conclusion, the General said; 'Emily, you talk like an enlightened woman bred in Massachusetts, and an uglier tribe was never born.' Leaving her alone in the darkening room the three retreated to the General's study, where they conducted a painful discussion on 'what to do with Emily,' and once again Anne volunteered to take

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draconian measures: 'She finds herself a husband within the year, or it's over.' Before anyone could react, she corrected herself: 'No, we find her a husband within the year, or else.' That was how a shy, attractive man from Con- necticut appeared at the Starr home. Philip Rawson was twenty-nine, unmarried and a dis- tant cousin of the wealthy Greers. The money had not flowed his family's way, but Anne had inti- mated to Philip that if he found Emily interest- ing, he would also find his fortunes enhanced, considerably. He proved to be such an amiable fellow that the Starrs were happy to have him as a guest. Emily, cognizant of the fact that Anne and Malcolm had gone- far out of their way to find him, actually blossomed, to an extent that caused the General to confide to his son: 'I think our problems are solved.' But Malcolm warned: 'Only if she doesn't resume that nonsense she was talking.' One night, while Emily was playing the piano for Philip, the other three Starrs held a council of war in the General's study, where Malcolm posed the question that had been worrying his father: 'If this Rawson is as acceptable as he seems, why hasn't he married long before thisT and Anne explained: 'I wrote to friends in Hartford to ask that same question.' 'And what did they sayT 'The Rawsons are even poorer than I thought. They had two daughters to marry off and there

was nothing left for Philip. He makes such a pitiful living as a librarian that he felt he could not fairly ask any girl of good family to marry him.' She paused. J find him quite acceptable and we must pray that things go well.'

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t They did. He was enamoured of books and intro- duced Emily to the richly textured works of William Dean Howells. At the end of three weeks, when it had been understood that he would leave, Anne asked him to stay on, and she extended her invitation in such a way that he now knew without question that they wanted him to consider an alli- ance with Emily. He accepted their invitation so graciously that Malcolm informed the General that night: 'I think we've solved Lady Emily's problem.' And they might have, had not a tempestuous woman stormed into Washington at that moment. She was Kate Kedzie, widow of a Wyoming cattleman and the first woman in America to have voted in a general election. She had waited in a snowstorm to cast her ballot under the Territory of Wyoming's revolutionary law of 1869 granting women suffrage. She was short, dynamic and darkened by the western sun, but she was also intellectually mature, for she had attended col- lege at Oberlin in Ohio, where she had developed her talents in music, physical education and ora- tory. Upon graduating, she did not return to her Indiana home to marry and raise children; she went instead to Chicago, where she found a job with a publisher and married his son, who had attended Yale. Together they moved west into Wyoming Territory, where they gambled their mutual savings on an enormous spread of almost barren land at six cents an acre. They thrived under frontier conditions, and when she surprised him by saying 'I think women should be allowed to vote,' he said 'Why not?' and the two formed the team which initiated and passed the legislation. Having conquered the prejudices of her own

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area, Kate, as a widow, branched out into Colorado, where the miners rebuffed her with obscenities, and then into Kansas, where she was well received. Before she was fully aware of the transition, she had become a woman suffragist, working with great leaders like Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton in the apparently fruitless drive to alter the Constitution so that women could vote throughout the nation. In frantic pursuit of that goal, she had come to Washington to persuade a reluctant Congress that an amendment was necessary, and at one of her first public meetings she made a soul-searing impression on Emily. Using every oratorical trick she had acquired at Oberlin, she finished in a low, pulsating voice: We are the forgotten people. We are the abused, the trampled upon, the ridiculed, because we are powerless. But, my friends, a storm is rising, and above it our voices will be heard. Justice, we cry! We demand justice! And . . we shall ... attain ... it!'

Emily did not move forward to speak to her that night, nor on the two nights that followed, but Kate Kedzie was a clever woman. She li~d spotted reluctant converts before, so at the conclusion of her fourth stormy lecture she reached out, caught Emily by the wrist, and asked: 'Who are you, young woman?' 'I live here. Emily Starr.' 'Are you of my persuasionT 'I think so.' And from that hesitant beginning, Emily became a suffragist who suspected that she might be entering upon a battle that could last the rest of her life. The Constitution must be changed

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so that all women could enjoy the political and property rights that Kate Kedzie had won for Wyoming in 1869. Emily's introduction to the fray was dramatic, for on a June morning in 1886 her father choked on his breakfast eggs, and roared: 'Emily, what's this in the paperT and there it was:

Among the speakers on behalf- of what she claimed were 'long-delayed women's rights' was the daughter of General Hugh Starr, who said in a voice that could scarcely be heard: 'We shall fight for the ballot in every known venue until Congress offers the states a chance to vote on an amendment.' Loud boos greeted the challenge, but Miss Starr held her own.

The General was a formidable man, fifty-three years old and in full possession of his considerable force. Should a new war erupt on Monday, he would be ready to ride forth on Tuesday, so he was more than ready to punish his daughter's assault on decency: 'Did you parade yourself in publicT ,Yes,' spoken firmly. 'And you presumed to advise Congress?' 'I did.' A torrent of abuse followed, scathing in its denunciation of women who wanted to be men and contemptuous of the idea that they might want the vote or know what to do with it if they got it: 'Have you ever heard that splendid chain of words invented in Germany not long ago? Kaiser, Kirche, Kinder, Kiiche. That's what women really want. Obedience to the ruler. Faithfulness to the church. Care of the children. And supervision of the kitchen and home.'

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Emily, even though she was now twenty-eight, had hoped to avoid confrontation with her father, but she was so imbued with the daring ideas of Kate Kedzie that she simply could not remain silent: 'I think that if our form of government has errors, they must be corrected-' 'Errors? And who are you to determine error?, 'If half the population is denied participation-' 'Participation? You women run the home, high- est calling in Christendom. What more do you want? A soldier's uniform and a gunT He was so agitated that he dispatched one of his daughter-in-law's servants to fetch Anne and Malcolm, and when they appeared in dressing gowns, for they rose late, a triumvirate was formed, three people who would oppose Emily for the rest.of her life: General Hugh in the middle, stern and forbidding; brother Malcolm on his left, pallid but always willing to preach; sister-in-law Anne yn the General's right, cool and able and formidable. The General spoke first: 'Our Emily has dis- graced herself. Acting up in public. Wants women to be soldiers.' He ranted for nearly five minutes, ridiculing his daughter's aspirations and lam- pooning her presumptions: 'Suffragists? Is there an uglier word in the language? I would march to the shore and swim away if my country ever encouraged women to leave the sanctuary of the home and dirty themselves in cheap politics.'

He looked to his son for confirmation, but Malcolm, like many indecisive men who have mar- ried women wealthier and brighter than them- selves, merely nodded and deferred to his wife. Now another phenomenon of this tense period in American life began to manifest itself. Anne

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Greer, a woman of privilege with six servants, became a vigorous foe of everything that her sister-in-law Emily was fighting for: 'The General is right. Woman's place is within the chapel of the home, tending it, making it a haven, providing a refuge from the busy cares of the world . . .' On and on she went about the glories of homemaking, despite the fact that she never performed any of these tasks; her servants did. But her first outburst was so effective, so filled with cherishable imagery that Emily thought: She'll be more dangerous than the men, and that would be true, for without waiting for a chastized Emily to disappear, Anne said: 'The thing to do is got Philip Rawson down here immediately, and you marry him Emily, because he's your last chance.' Philip was summoned by telegraph, arrived on the first train, and his courtship was both proper and forceful. It was obvious that he had grown to like Emily and dislike the prospect of endless years in a Connecticut library. On her part, Emily appreciated what a decent young man he was and how, on the assured income that Anne promised, they could have a meaningful life together. Malcolm, supervising the strange woomg, reported to his co-conspirators: 'I think it's settled. We can be damned grateful.' But now Kate Kedzie blustered back into town for her next shouting match with congressmen, and when Emily unwisely invited her home for tea, the other four very tense Starrs, counting Philip Rawson as one soon to be, met uneasily with the type of new woman they had not previously encountered. It was not a pleasant afternoon, especially when Kate told the three men, hoping to

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enlist their support: 'It was actually my husband who got the movement started in Wyoming.' 'I should think,' the General snapped, 'that men of any significance in their community would unite to oppose this foolishness,' to which Kate replied with a smile: 'But isn't the real foolishness for men to suppose that they can continue to hold in bondage fifty percent of our populationT Here Malcolm broke in with a beautiful non sequitur that Nancy and I always chuckle about when we remember it: 'Slavery was the real bond- age, and my father gave his slaves their freedom even before the war started.' From there the afternoon degenerated, with Anne making perhaps the most ominous and revealing comment: 'You must be aware, Mrs Kedzie, that women of breeding will oppose the ugly things you're trying to do, and oppose you with skill.' 'You plways have,' Kate said icily, and warfare betwee'n these two was declared. Kate won the first engagement, because when the tea ended, Emily boldly left her family and accompanied the Wyoming suffragist to a public meeting, where she not only spoke with some effectiveness but also tussled with the police and went to jail. After Anne gave Malcolm the money to pay her bail, the General took Emily into his study, and said fiercely: 'Young lady, this has to stop,' and she, hoping to remain friends with him, asked

pleadingly: 'Father, why were you so generous in defending black slaves? I've always been proud of you for that. But now the next reform comes along and you're dead set against us.' He saw no anomaly. 'Blacks like Hannibal knew

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their place and I was proud to help them. Every- one has a proper place, and women should not be seen ranting and raving in the streets or lecturing United States senators.' He felt so strongly about this that he convened a no-nonsense family meeting in which he read the riot act, with Anne delivering the crucial blows: 'Emily, if you ever repeat this disgraceful behav- iour, your father and your brother will not want you to remain in this house. It's too embarrassing.' Then she turned to Librarian Rawson, who had earlier been informed that the promised dowry for Emily would not be forthcoming if she persisted in her shameful ways. Realizing that without such a dowry, a Rawson-Starr marriage would be impos- sible, he told Emily in front of the others: 'No man can retain his self-respect if a wife acts up in pub- lic. Real women don't want the vote. They want the security of a good home. command.' Emily felt dizzy and was afraid she was going to be sick. The forces arrayed against her were too powerful. Her father was remorseless; Anne was too clever; and Philip, the person she had begun to feel might be her partner, had turned traitor. Ignoring the others, she stepped before him and said: 'There's always been a great wrong in this nation and I must try to correct it. I'm sorry, Philip,' and the threatened sickness passed as she left her family and her intended husband.

. . where they are in

Nancy and I have a scrapbook which someone in our family put together. It shows in ugly images Emily Starr's turbulent years at the change of centuries, and often Nancy has tears in her eyes as we see this procession of determined women in

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their long black skirts being attacked and reviled and even spat upon. Nancy says: 'I wouldn't have had the courage,' and I tell her honestly: 'I Inight have reacted just like Malcolm or Rawson. I wouldn't have been prepared for this.' In the scrapbook there is one newspaper clip- ping which summarizes the opposition my great- auntfaced: