suspicious and very, very upset. Earlier in the day, several hundred feminists had begun arriving in Washington for the annual January convention of the National Woman's Suffrage Association. Isabella, the organizer of the convention, already had had enough trouble trying to arrange for speakers. She had failed so miserably that Susan Anthony returned early from a lecture tour to straighten out the mess.
Now this, she thought, as she stared at the newspaper on her lap. There, in black and white, was a report that Victoria Woodhull would address the House Judiciary Committee tomorrow morning, January 11, 1871. Her appearance was set for ten a.m., exactly the same time as the opening of the convention. Although this was entirely a coincidence, Isabella suspected that Vicky had arranged it deliberately.
Meeting later at teatime with Susan, Pauline Davis, and other feminists, Isabella could not contain her anger. Nor could the others, who seemed to forget all about the convention. They could talk of nothing but Mrs. Woodhull.
Not surprisingly, they remembered the gossip they'd heard about Vicky: she was divorced; she lived with both her husbands; she entertained radicals and "free lovers"; she held orgies.
One woman brought up the unconventional Tennie and her relationship with Commodore Vanderbilt.
"She's a bold one," said Isabella. "They say she smokes cigars."
What disturbed them most was Vicky's coup. None of the feminists had been invited to address Congress. How had an immoral woman like Victoria Woodhull managed to achieve this great honor? Their cries of outrage mounted to a crescendo.
Finally Susan Anthony made a suggestion. "Why don't we attend the committee hearing tomorrow and find out what she has to say?"
"Certainly not," retorted Isabella obstinately. "I would never associate with that woman nor will I contaminate myself by listening to her speak." The others fluttered in agreement.
The group was meeting at the home of Senator Samuel Pomeroy where Isabella was a house guest. Susan suggested that they ask the senator from Kansas for his opinion.
As it happened, Senator Pomeroy had no sympathy with their agitation.
"This is not the way politics works," he told them bluntly. "Men could never work in a political party if they stopped to investigate each member's background. If you are going into a fight, you must accept all the help you can get."
Swallowing their pride, the feminists decided to postpone their convention until the next afternoon.
January 11 was a typical Washington winter day, sunny and fairly mild. Arriving early at the Capitol with Tennie and James, Vicky nervously clutched a copy of her speech— "Further Arguments in Support of Victoria Woodhull's Memorial." Soon the marble corridor outside the hearing room began to fill up. Clerks hurried through the crowd carrying sheafs of papers and documents. Congressmen assembled in small groups, peeping at Vicky out of the corners of their eyes. Also waiting in the corridor were three stern-looking women—Susan Anthony, Isabella Beecher Hooker, and Pauline Davis.
Vicky recognized Susan immediately, but the other faces were not familiar. Fearful of meeting their eyes, she continued talking to Tennie. It would be impossible for her to speak to them. From the frosty expressions on their faces, she could read their feelings about her.
Actually, the women were gaping at Vicky more in disbelief than in disapproval. Until this morning, they had never seen her in person, and they had difficulty believing their eyes.
"Why, she looks like a lady!" declared Isabella in a shocked whisper.
Vicky wore a tasteful plum-colored gown with a white rose at her throat. Her face, framed by short curly hair, looked sad. In truth, she was scared to death.
James had been quietly circulating through the crowd to hear what people were saying about Vicky. Now he returned to her side.
"One of those women over yonder must be the Reverend Beecher's sister," he reported.
Now this, she thought, as she stared at the newspaper on her lap. There, in black and white, was a report that Victoria Woodhull would address the House Judiciary Committee tomorrow morning, January 11, 1871. Her appearance was set for ten a.m., exactly the same time as the opening of the convention. Although this was entirely a coincidence, Isabella suspected that Vicky had arranged it deliberately.
Meeting later at teatime with Susan, Pauline Davis, and other feminists, Isabella could not contain her anger. Nor could the others, who seemed to forget all about the convention. They could talk of nothing but Mrs. Woodhull.
Not surprisingly, they remembered the gossip they'd heard about Vicky: she was divorced; she lived with both her husbands; she entertained radicals and "free lovers"; she held orgies.
One woman brought up the unconventional Tennie and her relationship with Commodore Vanderbilt.
"She's a bold one," said Isabella. "They say she smokes cigars."
What disturbed them most was Vicky's coup. None of the feminists had been invited to address Congress. How had an immoral woman like Victoria Woodhull managed to achieve this great honor? Their cries of outrage mounted to a crescendo.
Finally Susan Anthony made a suggestion. "Why don't we attend the committee hearing tomorrow and find out what she has to say?"
"Certainly not," retorted Isabella obstinately. "I would never associate with that woman nor will I contaminate myself by listening to her speak." The others fluttered in agreement.
The group was meeting at the home of Senator Samuel Pomeroy where Isabella was a house guest. Susan suggested that they ask the senator from Kansas for his opinion.
As it happened, Senator Pomeroy had no sympathy with their agitation.
"This is not the way politics works," he told them bluntly. "Men could never work in a political party if they stopped to investigate each member's background. If you are going into a fight, you must accept all the help you can get."
Swallowing their pride, the feminists decided to postpone their convention until the next afternoon.
January 11 was a typical Washington winter day, sunny and fairly mild. Arriving early at the Capitol with Tennie and James, Vicky nervously clutched a copy of her speech— "Further Arguments in Support of Victoria Woodhull's Memorial." Soon the marble corridor outside the hearing room began to fill up. Clerks hurried through the crowd carrying sheafs of papers and documents. Congressmen assembled in small groups, peeping at Vicky out of the corners of their eyes. Also waiting in the corridor were three stern-looking women—Susan Anthony, Isabella Beecher Hooker, and Pauline Davis.
Vicky recognized Susan immediately, but the other faces were not familiar. Fearful of meeting their eyes, she continued talking to Tennie. It would be impossible for her to speak to them. From the frosty expressions on their faces, she could read their feelings about her.
Actually, the women were gaping at Vicky more in disbelief than in disapproval. Until this morning, they had never seen her in person, and they had difficulty believing their eyes.
"Why, she looks like a lady!" declared Isabella in a shocked whisper.
Vicky wore a tasteful plum-colored gown with a white rose at her throat. Her face, framed by short curly hair, looked sad. In truth, she was scared to death.
James had been quietly circulating through the crowd to hear what people were saying about Vicky. Now he returned to her side.
"One of those women over yonder must be the Reverend Beecher's sister," he reported.
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