gulp our gin and brandy!
Faces appeared in windows as they passed, and people strolling down Military Road in the fine spring afternoon paused to stare. Lily pulled her hat a little down over her brow so the veil covered her eyes, but Abby tipped her own hat back and laughed. “Whoever would have thought I’d be out marching with a bunch of bluestockings! If Norman Winsor were to see me now—well, wouldn’t he get a shock? It’d serve him right, too!” Norman was the latest of Abby’s many beaux.
Inside the Colonial Building, the women filed up the stairs to the Ladies’ Gallery and crowded onto the benches. The session began at four o’clock. It was hot, and no subterfuge was required for Lily to take out her fan and keep it vibrating in front of her face. The veil on her hat had to be pushed back, though, for otherwise it was hard to see the rows of white-haired, mutton-chopped men on the benches below.
Still, now that she was inside surrounded by the cluster of ladies, she felt safe from discovery. Mother or Papa might still find out, of course, that she had not been at Abby’s all evening: there might be a reckoning, but for now she was free and she was here. Here to see history being made.
The worst thing about making history was that much of it was awfully tedious. The old men below were fond of long speeches, and there were other items of business to discuss before the women’ssuffrage bill came up. Even when it came, the attitude of the speakers was disappointing. Mr. Morison presented the bill and spoke of the need for Prohibition. Mr. Morris replied with a stirring speech about how men had the right to vote for laws because they had a duty to go out on the battlefield and defend those laws. Mr. Morison had no good response to this.
In the row ahead of Lily, Mrs. Ohman leaned over the gallery rail, perching so far forward on her seat she looked as if she might tumble forward into the assembly of men below. If she did, Lily knew from the set of her shoulders and thetrembling of her hat that she would land with her mouth open, ready to defend the cause of women’s suffrage even before she picked herself up off the floor.
But Mrs. Ohman kept her seat and kept silent even when the premier, Mr. Whiteway, rose to speak. There had been some speculation that he might come around to the cause, and indeed he started off by saying that he had originally been inclined to support giving women the vote in the local option elections.
“Oh, mercy,” Mrs. Ohman said to Mrs. Peters. “If he says he was originally inclined to support it, that means he’s decided not to.”
The premier went on to say that after hearing several speakers who seemed to view this as a first step towards a general franchise for women, he had changed his view. “I am surprised,” he said, his voice booming in the musty air of the chamber, “to see Christian gentlemen trying to upset the Biblical doctrine that the woman is subject to the man!”
Lily felt the hot waves of anger from the women around her, heard the murmur of comments. Premier Whiteway painted a vivid picture of the happy home ruled over by a contented wife and mother. “What would the condition be,” he asked, “if the husband returned home to find his wife away on a political mission, and the comforts of home and children neglected?”
Mrs. Ohman, unable to hold back any longer, shouted, “Disgraceful! Shame!” Her outcry was stifled by cheers and jeers from the gentlemen below, but Mrs. Peters jabbed Mrs. Ohman in the arm with her fan. “You’ll do our cause no good if you get thrown out of the House,” she reminded the other lady in a sharp whisper.
It was long past supper-time. Lily’s stomach growled. Surely they would be missed at Abby’s house. Surely her mother, however distracted she was by paint and paper, would send a messenger up to the Hunt house to see why the girls had not arrived. But when she whispered this to Abby, Abby smiled. “I
Faces appeared in windows as they passed, and people strolling down Military Road in the fine spring afternoon paused to stare. Lily pulled her hat a little down over her brow so the veil covered her eyes, but Abby tipped her own hat back and laughed. “Whoever would have thought I’d be out marching with a bunch of bluestockings! If Norman Winsor were to see me now—well, wouldn’t he get a shock? It’d serve him right, too!” Norman was the latest of Abby’s many beaux.
Inside the Colonial Building, the women filed up the stairs to the Ladies’ Gallery and crowded onto the benches. The session began at four o’clock. It was hot, and no subterfuge was required for Lily to take out her fan and keep it vibrating in front of her face. The veil on her hat had to be pushed back, though, for otherwise it was hard to see the rows of white-haired, mutton-chopped men on the benches below.
Still, now that she was inside surrounded by the cluster of ladies, she felt safe from discovery. Mother or Papa might still find out, of course, that she had not been at Abby’s all evening: there might be a reckoning, but for now she was free and she was here. Here to see history being made.
The worst thing about making history was that much of it was awfully tedious. The old men below were fond of long speeches, and there were other items of business to discuss before the women’ssuffrage bill came up. Even when it came, the attitude of the speakers was disappointing. Mr. Morison presented the bill and spoke of the need for Prohibition. Mr. Morris replied with a stirring speech about how men had the right to vote for laws because they had a duty to go out on the battlefield and defend those laws. Mr. Morison had no good response to this.
In the row ahead of Lily, Mrs. Ohman leaned over the gallery rail, perching so far forward on her seat she looked as if she might tumble forward into the assembly of men below. If she did, Lily knew from the set of her shoulders and thetrembling of her hat that she would land with her mouth open, ready to defend the cause of women’s suffrage even before she picked herself up off the floor.
But Mrs. Ohman kept her seat and kept silent even when the premier, Mr. Whiteway, rose to speak. There had been some speculation that he might come around to the cause, and indeed he started off by saying that he had originally been inclined to support giving women the vote in the local option elections.
“Oh, mercy,” Mrs. Ohman said to Mrs. Peters. “If he says he was originally inclined to support it, that means he’s decided not to.”
The premier went on to say that after hearing several speakers who seemed to view this as a first step towards a general franchise for women, he had changed his view. “I am surprised,” he said, his voice booming in the musty air of the chamber, “to see Christian gentlemen trying to upset the Biblical doctrine that the woman is subject to the man!”
Lily felt the hot waves of anger from the women around her, heard the murmur of comments. Premier Whiteway painted a vivid picture of the happy home ruled over by a contented wife and mother. “What would the condition be,” he asked, “if the husband returned home to find his wife away on a political mission, and the comforts of home and children neglected?”
Mrs. Ohman, unable to hold back any longer, shouted, “Disgraceful! Shame!” Her outcry was stifled by cheers and jeers from the gentlemen below, but Mrs. Peters jabbed Mrs. Ohman in the arm with her fan. “You’ll do our cause no good if you get thrown out of the House,” she reminded the other lady in a sharp whisper.
It was long past supper-time. Lily’s stomach growled. Surely they would be missed at Abby’s house. Surely her mother, however distracted she was by paint and paper, would send a messenger up to the Hunt house to see why the girls had not arrived. But when she whispered this to Abby, Abby smiled. “I
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