Come Be My Love Page 11

  Knowing she had little time to spare if they were to be out of the house before the editorial appeared on the streets, she quickly dressed in a plain shirtwaister and working boots, then set about closing the trunks...

  "May I come in, Miss Ashley?" Josephine appeared in the doorway. "I want to talk to you before you go."

  Sarah closed the trunk. "Yes, come in."

  Josephine glanced up and down the hallway before slipping into the room and quietly closing the door. "What I wanted to talk about was this." She held out a scrapbook.

  Sarah took the book and slowly fanned the pages, scanning the numerous articles clipped from the New York Tribune. “How did you get these?" she asked, noting the care with which the orderly collection had been cut and pasted.

  "From Mrs. Dewig-Gertz. Her husband owns Gertz's Drug Store," Josephine said, excitement bringing a flush to her face. "Mrs. Dewig-Gertz is in favor of suffrage for women and has even insisted on retaining her maiden name—Dewig. Her first husband, Mr. Moore, died a while back. She was Mrs. Dewig-Moore then. But now that she’s married to Mr Gertz, she’s Mrs. Dewig-Gertz. And Mr. Gertz doesn’t mind. Anyway, Mrs. Dewig-Gertz has a cousin who sends her the clippings, and when she finishes reading them she lets me have them. Of course, Papa and Grandmother don't know I'm keeping this scrapbook. They'd be frightfully upset."

  "Yes, I suppose they would be," Sarah said, lowering herself to the bed. Perusing the articles, she recognized the writings of Elizabeth Cady Stanton. "So this is where you get your rebellious bent," she said, raising amused eyes to Josephine and catching her furtive smile.

  "Yes," Josephine replied. "I mean, I don't believe I'm being rebellious, although Papa and Grandmother seem to think so. But now you see why I was so happy when I learned you were coming to Victoria to make things right for women."

  "Well, I don't know about that," Sarah said, giving Josephine a sideways glance. "It doesn't appear I have been doing very well so far."

  "Oh, but you will. And I'll help you." Josephine dropped to sit on the bed, tucked her feet under her and gathered her skirt about her knees. "I've been reading about temperance and suffrage and education for women," she said, in an excited voice, "and also about Mrs. Amelia Bloomer's costumes. Of course, I had never seen one before, so you can see how terribly thrilled I was when you mentioned you brought some. And twice I have worn the bloomers you gave me, but only when alone in my bedroom at night."

  A sense of uneasiness settled over Sarah. "Maybe you should wait until your father and grandmother become more accustomed to the idea of women in bifurcated outer garments."

  Josephine sighed. "But they are so behind the times," she said in an exasperated voice. Moving close to Sarah, she reached over and flipped the page of the scrapbook. "Look, right here it says that there is a woman doctor with the Federal Army who wears trousers and a tunic when she tends the soldiers on the battlefield, and that several nurses are considering the idea." She pursed her lips and added, "I imagine if Grandmother were there, she'd expect the nurses to wear layers of petticoats so they'd be properly dressed. I truly must not let her see this book."

  Sarah could just imagine Lady Cromwell's reaction on learning about her granddaughter's collection of clippings. "Does your Aunt Esther know you've been reading such controversial things?" she asked.

  "Well, no," Josephine replied. "I've thought about telling her, but I was afraid she might say something to Papa or Grandmother, even though she holds with most of my opinions. And I would simply die if I were told I could not have these writings."

  "Yes, that would be a shame," Sarah said. She returned the scrapbook and stood to continue her packing.

  But instead of leaving, Josephine's said, "Do you know anything about the Women's Rights Convention in New York?"

  Sarah glanced at Josephine, whose eyes were bright with curiosity. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I was there," she replied, while slipping a kid boot into a muslin bag. "I was only twelve at the time, but my mother thought it was important for me to hear Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

  "Oh, please. Do tell."

  Remembering how excited she'd been that day, Sarah replied, "All the roads leading to the church were jammed with carriages, and there was a huge crowd gathered on the lawn when Mother and I arrived. Some men had locked the church so the women could not get in, but someone crawled through the window, and soon, women filled the pews. A group of men, refused to leave, but that didn't stop the women from debating issues, sometimes quite heatedly. Of course the entire convention was denounced by the newspaper as a motley gathering of fanatical mongrels, fugitive slaves and lunatics. But, as my mother pointed out, it started people thinking and questioning, and that's the first step toward progress."

  Josephine clapped her hands with glee. "I should like to stand before a crowd of women someday and do just as Mrs. Stanton did. I’ve read that she is an eloquent speaker."

  Sarah looked into eyes kindled with sparks of fanatical fervor, vaguely reminding her of Elizabeth Cady Stanton herself. "I believe your father and grandmother would be mortified if you ever did such a thing," she said, tucking her boots into the trunk.

  Josephine sighed. "Grandmother absolutely insists we be proper ladies at all times. Being proper doesn't bother Louella though. She fashions herself as being exactly like Mama. But it bothers me greatly." She gave another despondent sigh. "I am so weary of hearing how a well-bred lady must conduct herself."

  "It does get a bit tiresome," Sarah agreed.

  Josephine smiled brightly. "You and Mrs. Dewig-Gertz are the only people in Victoria who understand. Grandmother is so... well, so behind the times. She says—" Josephine hopped to her feet, strolled theatrically across the room, and said, while reciting with great eloquence "—a proper lady must wear a smile, have a graceful bearing, a light step and—" she tipped her body forward "—an elegant bend. And she must sink gently into a chair." She carefully lowered herself into the lady's chair. "And, of course, retain an upright position."

  Sarah chuckled at Josephine's melodramatic parody, and added, "And the well-bred lady must also—" she dabbed at her hair "—avoid smoothing the tresses or arranging the curls—" she tugged at her bodice, wiggling as if she had a terrible itch "—or pulling at the dress. And the proper gentleman must simper and frown, quirk his little finger, and dance with precision." She danced about the room, stiff-legged, her little finger cocked in the air. They both broke into girlish giggles. After a few moments, Josephine stood, and her face sobered. "I must go before Grandmother finds me with you, but I'll stop by the cottage the first chance I can get away."

  Sarah eyed Josephine with concern. "I think it would be best if you didn't come to the cottage. I don't want your father or grandmother to think I put these unconventional ideas in your head, and how else could you explain them without disclosing your scrapbook?"

  "But we have so much work to do, spreading the word about women's rights and dress reform. I truly want to help. And I'll work in your shop without pay. Please, Miss Ashley, I do so want to do it."

  Sarah eyed her in amusement. "I'd have no objection," she said, "but I'm afraid your father and grandmother would feel otherwise." She studied Josephine's eager face. How easy the job of selling bloomers would be if every woman in Victoria felt as Josephine did.

  Opening the door for her to leave, she said, "I tell you what. When I’ve set up my store, then you might drop by and say hello. And maybe when things are going well and your father and grandmother have become a little more accustomed to the idea of women in business, you might approach them about working for me. Meanwhile, continue to act like a proper lady, because a woman with poise, dignity, and grace has far more power to persuade than one who is unschooled in such matters." She wasn't certain she truly believed that, but it seemed appropriate to say it to Josephine.

  "I suppose," Josephine said. "And later, I'll talk to Papa and Grandmother about working for you in your store." She gave Sarah a hug and scurried off.


  Sarah looked across the hall at the door to Louella's room. Ever since her arrival, Louella had been avoiding her, and she wanted to talk to her about occupying the room where her mother's possessions were kept. Deciding that now might be her only opportunity, she knocked lightly. "Louella, may I come in?" she called through the closed door. "I'd like to say goodbye."

  The door opened slowly. Louella peeked through the crack, then stepped back, allowing Sarah to enter. She stared at Sarah, her china-blue eyes cool and clear as she waited in aloof silence for Sarah to speak. Sarah reached out to touch her shoulder, but Louella backed away and said, "You should not have come here, nor should you have stayed in my mother's room."

  "Yes, perhaps you're right," Sarah said. "I certainly didn't mean to stay where I was unwelcome. And I truly hope I didn't disturb your mother's things. I tried not to."

  Louella refused to look at Sarah, as she said, in a quiet but caustic tone, "My mother was a well-bred, fashionable lady. She knew all the rules of conduct and the importance of proper dress. There was not a place my father could take her where she would be anything less than a proper lady."

  "I'm certain you're right," Sarah said. "And you must be very proud to have had her for a mother."

  "Then why are you trying to take her place?"

  "Where did you get that idea?"

  "It's true, isn't it?"

  "No, of course it's not true," Sarah said. "As a matter of fact, your father and I disagree on many issues."

  Louella turned and glared at her. "I don't believe you. I think you plan to marry him because he's the governor and he has lots of money. Well, you're not anything like my mother, and he won't marry you no matter what."

  Sarah peered into eyes glistening with tears. "Believe me," she said, "I have no romantic designs on your father. But you must face the fact that someday someone will, and your father will care for her, too."

  "You're wrong," Louella said, adamant. "He'll never love anyone like he loved my mother. And no one will be as pretty either." She turned toward the window again.

  "You and your father have a very special relationship," Sarah said, "but if you really love him, you'll allow him to have a life beyond you and Josephine."

  "My father doesn't need that," Louella replied. "He likes things the way they are. And as soon as you're gone, everything will be fine again."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," Sarah said, "and I hope we can eventually be friends." When Louella didn't respond, Sarah turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Thirty minutes later, having donned cloak, hat, and gloves, Sarah waited at the window. Soon, up the road came a man who drove a large open wagon pulled by a pair of unmatched, dingy brown horses, with a saddle horse plodding behind. Sarah had contracted for use of the wagon for moving, but once she and Mandi would be settled in the cottage, she intended to exchange the wagon for a buggy.

  After the man from the livery left, Jon's stablemen started loading Sarah's trunks into the wagon, stopping between loads to stand on the porch, out of the rain. Sarah tried to urge the men to move faster—she desperately wanted to be gone before Jon returned from the legislature building—but they seemed to be in no hurry. When they had loaded the last trunk, they covered everything with a canvas. But before they had secured it with ropes, it began to rain harder and they moved under the porch again. Anxious to be on her way, Sarah dismissed them, deciding that she and Mandi could finish the job themselves.

  "Come on," she said to Mandi, who was standing with her on the porch.

  Mandi hesitated. "It's raining mighty hard right now."

  "Well, we can't wait," Sarah said. "Those ropes aren't going to tie themselves, and we're running out of time."

  Mandi sighed. Holding onto the hood of her cloak, while attempting to protect her head from the unceasing rain, she followed Sarah to the wagon, and the women started crisscrossing ropes over the canvas and fastening them in a web of knots.

  "We'll be at the cottage in fifteen minutes," Sarah assured Mandi. "Then we can have something warm to drink." She tugged her hood over her head.

  "Ah sho' hope you's right... ah mean about bein' in the cottage and bein' warm in fifteen minutes," Mandi said. "Ah'm cold clear to my bones."

  "Then work faster and you'll get warm," Sarah urged, tugging on the last rope and fastening it with frigid, wet fingers.

  "Ah 'spect things are goin' to get warm sooner than that," Mandi said, gazing in the distance. "Here come the guv'nor on his horse, and he look plenty angry."

  Sarah glanced up, and to her alarm, saw Jon galloping toward her, mud flying, his rain cape billowing. From his reckless pace she suspected he’d read the editorial.

  Reining to a halt beside the wagon, he flung his leg over his horse's rump and dropped to the ground. "What the bloody devil do you think you're doing?"

  Sarah tugged on the rope. "Leaving, as I said we would," she replied, surprised that his first words had not been about the editorial. She'd expected an immediate outburst.

  Jon gathered his cape around himself and tipped his hat forward to deflect the rain from his face. "Why are you so determined to leave today? Is it because of my mother?"

  Sarah looked at him, puzzled. Obviously, the editorial had nothing to do with his behavior. If not that, why had he been racing home like the devil was on his tail? "Your mother?"

  "About finding us at the cottage," Jon said. "In spite of it, she doesn't expect you to leave in this downpour. No one does."

  "Well, I do expect to leave," Sarah said. With cold, stiff fingers, she looped the wet rope around itself, secured it, and snapped it to test the knot. Pulling her hood lower on her forehead, she trudged to the opposite side of the wagon, the soggy hem of her skirt dragging over the wet, muddy ground.

  "Then I’ll drive you myself," Jon said.

  "You’ll do nothing of the sort," Sarah snapped. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself. And I’ll thank you to step aside and let me get on with things." When Jon refused to move, Sarah marched around him to the other side of the wagon.

  Jon tossed a hand up in exasperation and slogged around the wagon to stand ankle-deep in mire. "You have a head as thick as gutter mud," he said. "Overlooking the fact that the roads are impassable, you'll no doubt catch pneumonia and we'll have that on our hands, not to mention our consciences. Now, for heaven’s sake, go inside and forget this lunacy."

  Sarah parted her sopping wet hair so she could look up at Jon, and said, "I simply must get moved so I can get on with my life and my business."

  "There's damned little you can do in this rain!"

  "That's not the point!"

  "Then what is?"

  "You'll find out soon enough."

  The muscles in Jon's jaw tightened. "Exactly what is that supposed to mean?"

  Sarah shoved her hair out of her face, glared up at him, and said, while squinting against the rain, "Look, I didn't ask to be in this position; you put me here. If it hadn't been for you and your council, by now I would have my business license, I would have a store leased, and I would be somewhere warm and dry instead of standing out here in this deluge. What I don't understand is why you're showing such concern for me now."

  Jon flailed a hand in the air. "Because you'll catch your death of cold! That's why!"

  "You needn't raise your voice to me, Jon. My hearing is quite sound." Gathering her skirts, Sarah trudged back around the wagon.

  "At least you have that to be thankful for," Jon called over the top of the load. "I fear your mind might not be so sound!"

  "You may not approve of what I'm doing," Sarah said, "but the least you can do is refrain from insulting me."

  "Bloody hell!" Jon pounded his fist against the wagon, swept his rain cloak closed, and marched around to confront her. Drawing in a steadying breath, he took her by the arms, and said, "Look at you. Your teeth are chattering, your lips are blue, and your hair is soaked to your scalp. Come in the house where we can reason this out."


  "There's nothing to reason out," Sarah said, shrugging from under his hands. "The wagon's ready so Mandi and I will be on our way. Come along, Mandi." She removed the whip from the whip bucket, threw the ends of the reins over her arm and gathered her skirts. Grasping the handle of the footboard, she propped her foot on the hub, mounted the box, and waited until Mandi had settled beside her.

  Jon backed away a few steps. Cupping his hand over his eyes to shield them from the rain, he yelled, "I don't know why you're running off like this, but since there's no talking any sense into your thick head, go on. Get the wagon stuck in the mud. Catch your death of cold and die. Maybe then I'll have some peace around here." Wheeling around, he stalked toward the house while muttering a string of expletives under his breath.

  Sarah shook the reins, flourished the whip in a loud crack and gave the command, "Harr harr... giddyap!" The horses sprang into action, rearing and jibbing, but refusing to move forward. Swinging the whip in an arc, Sarah gave the command again. The horses seesawed and then settled into their collars, pulling in unison, and the wagon moved forward.

  Laboring and creaking under the heavy load, the wagon wobbled down the road.

  They hadn't gone far when Mandi peered over the sideboard and said, in a worried voice, "The mud is sho' creepin' high on the wheels."

  Sarah felt the horses straining and the wagon gradually sinking deeper into the muddy ruts, which surprised her. In San Francisco she'd driven larger wagons than this on roads that appeared similar, but the roads there seemed to retain a solid base, even in the foulest weather. She certainly hadn't anticipated the road being a slurry. "It looks better up ahead," she said. "If we can just get through this slurry we should be all right."

  "I don't know," Mandi said. "It looks mighty bad to me. Maybe we should turn back... do like the guv'nor say and stay until the rain stops."