petition once again,” the speaker continued, “asking our United States senators to support a constitutional amendment granting women the right to vote. I urge you to join our demonstration as we march to our senator’s office today and present him with our request. We will be heard!”
Before I knew what was happening, someone handed signs to Aunt Matt and me and we were swept along as the crowd marched down the street. One group of women carried a banner that read National American Women’s Suffrage Association . I hadn’t felt such a thrill of excitement since the night Ruth Schultz and I crept into the school’s basement at the stroke of midnight, carrying a candle, in an attempt to divine who our future husbands would be.
Cross traffic came to a halt as Aunt Matt and I surged down the middle of the street with hundreds of other women. Heads turned and pedestrians stopped to watch as we marched past. Cab drivers and teamsters shook their fists at us in rage for blocking traffic. We were definitely attracting attention.
Then I spotted an expensive carriage similar to Aunt Agnes’, and I stopped in my tracks. Neither she nor her wealthy friends would be caught dead at this rally. What if one of them saw me? Would it ruin my chances for a wealthy husband?
The woman behind me bumped into me, forcing me forward again. But I had lost my enthusiasm for the cause, knowing that I had a great deal more to lose. What did it matter if I won the right to vote if I never found true love?
I instinctively lowered my sign. I was afraid to look at the crowds of people lining the sidewalks as we marched past. I heard angry catcalls and wished I were shorter, or that I could hide in the center of the procession. If only I had worn a larger hat—or one with a veil.
Yet the rebel in me realized that Aunt Matt had made some excellent points. In spite of Madame B.’s indoctrination, I did balk at the idea that I was somehow inferior. Besides, on the train ride into the city I had decided to leave my suffocating cocoon and fly freely, and this certainly felt like flying. I lifted my sign again, proud to be supporting a good cause. And maybe, if I held my sign just right, I could fight for women’s suffrage and shield my face from view at the same time.
I marched for several more blocks in this proud yet timorous state—until I spotted a squad of uniformed policemen armed with billy clubs moving into the middle of the street to stop us.
“Aunt Matt? Are … are the police going to arrest us?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time. Honestly! The city officials should be ashamed of themselves for sending the police. This is a peaceful march. The constitution grants men the rights to freedom of speech and freedom of assembly; shouldn’t women be accorded the same rights?”
“I-I guess so.”
The parade halted. As I watched the policemen move in, I imagined what it would be like to be taken into custody by a handsome young Irish policeman with curly dark hair and Irish-green eyes. I made up my mind to struggle so that he would have to take me into his brawny arms to subdue me and carry me away, but of course he would fall hopelessly in love with me the moment he lifted me off my feet. He would try to find a way to spring me from jail, but I would refuse to accept his offer, preferring to suffer with my fellow suffragettes. What fun it would be—and so dramatic—to be arrested and locked inside a cell and forced to spend the night in jail! I might even have to share a cell with so-called “women of the night” and listen to their scandalous stories as we ate our meal of bread and water. I would have a prison record and—
I would have a prison record?
I saw all of my chances for a society husband going up in smoke. I tugged on my aunt’s arm to get her attention.
“Um … Aunt Matt?”
“Yes?”
“While I clearly see the merit in what you’re trying to accomplish, and I agree wholeheartedly with everything
Before I knew what was happening, someone handed signs to Aunt Matt and me and we were swept along as the crowd marched down the street. One group of women carried a banner that read National American Women’s Suffrage Association . I hadn’t felt such a thrill of excitement since the night Ruth Schultz and I crept into the school’s basement at the stroke of midnight, carrying a candle, in an attempt to divine who our future husbands would be.
Cross traffic came to a halt as Aunt Matt and I surged down the middle of the street with hundreds of other women. Heads turned and pedestrians stopped to watch as we marched past. Cab drivers and teamsters shook their fists at us in rage for blocking traffic. We were definitely attracting attention.
Then I spotted an expensive carriage similar to Aunt Agnes’, and I stopped in my tracks. Neither she nor her wealthy friends would be caught dead at this rally. What if one of them saw me? Would it ruin my chances for a wealthy husband?
The woman behind me bumped into me, forcing me forward again. But I had lost my enthusiasm for the cause, knowing that I had a great deal more to lose. What did it matter if I won the right to vote if I never found true love?
I instinctively lowered my sign. I was afraid to look at the crowds of people lining the sidewalks as we marched past. I heard angry catcalls and wished I were shorter, or that I could hide in the center of the procession. If only I had worn a larger hat—or one with a veil.
Yet the rebel in me realized that Aunt Matt had made some excellent points. In spite of Madame B.’s indoctrination, I did balk at the idea that I was somehow inferior. Besides, on the train ride into the city I had decided to leave my suffocating cocoon and fly freely, and this certainly felt like flying. I lifted my sign again, proud to be supporting a good cause. And maybe, if I held my sign just right, I could fight for women’s suffrage and shield my face from view at the same time.
I marched for several more blocks in this proud yet timorous state—until I spotted a squad of uniformed policemen armed with billy clubs moving into the middle of the street to stop us.
“Aunt Matt? Are … are the police going to arrest us?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time. Honestly! The city officials should be ashamed of themselves for sending the police. This is a peaceful march. The constitution grants men the rights to freedom of speech and freedom of assembly; shouldn’t women be accorded the same rights?”
“I-I guess so.”
The parade halted. As I watched the policemen move in, I imagined what it would be like to be taken into custody by a handsome young Irish policeman with curly dark hair and Irish-green eyes. I made up my mind to struggle so that he would have to take me into his brawny arms to subdue me and carry me away, but of course he would fall hopelessly in love with me the moment he lifted me off my feet. He would try to find a way to spring me from jail, but I would refuse to accept his offer, preferring to suffer with my fellow suffragettes. What fun it would be—and so dramatic—to be arrested and locked inside a cell and forced to spend the night in jail! I might even have to share a cell with so-called “women of the night” and listen to their scandalous stories as we ate our meal of bread and water. I would have a prison record and—
I would have a prison record?
I saw all of my chances for a society husband going up in smoke. I tugged on my aunt’s arm to get her attention.
“Um … Aunt Matt?”
“Yes?”
“While I clearly see the merit in what you’re trying to accomplish, and I agree wholeheartedly with everything
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