American Suffrage

1910, New York City

                   Nora walked beside Joan, terrified.  She snuck out of the house earlier that day, almost tripping over the hem of her full-length white dress.  Her white boots clicked as she jogged down the street over to 6th Avenue where she was to meet Joan.  A sea of white had gathered from sidewalk to sidewalk.  White wide-brimmed hats were decorated with white feathers or flowers, and she couldn't find one frown in the crowd, besides her own.  The women talked excitedly as they waited for the march to begin.
         Banners were laid across the women's shoulders that read "American Suffrage."  A policeman nervously rubbed at the brass buttons on his knee-length overcoat.  His mustache twitched as he eyed the crowd.
         "Jackson's at the club," Nora said, rubbing her elbow nervously.
         "That's good," Joan said.  "It's best that he not catch wind of this."
         "Oh, he knows about the march.  He just doesn't know about my participation."
         "What changed your mind?"
         "Just the simple need to do something again, to get out of the house.  I was all alone in Quebec, but I had a job.  I had something to do every day.  Here, I'm surrounded by people that I know and love, but I feel lonely and bored."
         Joan nodded.  "I get that.  But you weren't all alone in Quebec.  You had Desmond."
         Nora frowned.  "Don't bring him up.  This isn't the time."
         "Why not?  If you were truly over him, you'd be able to speak about him at any time."
         "Who said I was over him?"  Nora stared her in the eyes, and Joan took a step back, her hand at her throat.
         "You still have feelings for the man?"
         Nora held her head high.  "I do."
         Joan blinked hard a couple times.  "That sure is news.  Here I thought it was all a thing of the past.  You still carry a torch for him.  That's so sad."
         Nora looked away.  "Are you trying to make me cry?"
         "Oh, no, honey!  Of course not.  I'm just thinking aloud is all.  You know me.  Rambling on."
         Joan took Nora's hand and squeezed it. 
         "If it makes you feel better, I won't bring him up again."
         "Actually, I'm glad you did.  I miss him dearly.  I love just thinking about him, and the good times we had."  She laughed.  "He was such an ass sometimes, though."
         "Nora!"
         "Forgive me.  I'm used to speaking so openly with him."
         "You mean you curse like that?"
         "Sure.  He does."
         "How rude."
         "It's not rude at all.  It's just they way they speak in the country.  He's spent too much time in the country, I guess."
         "Well, that aside, I still don't know if I like him.  A man who takes advantage of a woman like that cannot be trusted."
         "He didn't take advantage at all.  At times, it was I who initiated it."
         "Nora!"
         "It's true," she laughed.  "I don't know how to explain it."
         Suddenly the crowd began to stir.  They looked over to the far end of the street and saw people slowly moving. 
         "You shock me more and more," Joan said.
         Nora squeezed her hand as she looked at Joan.  "Can I tell you a secret?"
         "Oh, please do!"
         "But you can't judge me."
         Joan crossed her heart.  "I'll keep an open mind."
         Nora took in a deep breath.  "Desmond came to see me the night of our engagement ball."
         "He didn't."
         Nora nodded her head.  "He wanted me to run away with him.  Return to Canada.  I have to tell you I was tempted."
         "How romantic.  But you told him you couldn't?"
         "I did.  We both were upset, but I have my obligations."
         "You do realize you just called Jackson an obligation?"
         Nora winced.  "I didn't mean it that way."
         "Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something."
         "I know what it's trying to tell me.  I know what my heart cries for, but I just can't.  I won't do that to Jackson."
         They walked down the street with the other marchers.  Policemen adorned the sidewalks and onlookers stood watching, waiting for any sort of spectacle.  Nothing too interesting happened.
         As they turned a corner, Nora's chest tightened.  Standing at the forefront of the crowd of onlookers was Jackson's mother, who frowned when she saw Nora.
         "Oh, God," Nora groaned.
         "What is it?"
         "Mrs. Duvall."  Nora quickly pointed her finger in the direction of her future mother-in-law, and Joan's eyes followed.  She turned back to Nora with her eyes wide.
         "What are you going to tell Jackson?"
         "I have no idea."

*****

         "What -- exactly -- were you thinking?"  Jackson held his head in his hands, tugging at his hair.
         Nora was quiet a moment as she thought.  Her heart beat rapidly as she remembered seeing the look of disapproval on Mrs. Duvall's face earlier that day.  Jackson's face now held a look more of disgust than disapproval. 
         "I hadn't a thing to do," she offered. 
         She knew that idle hands were not an excuse.  She simply tried to put out Jackson's fire as he fumed beside her.  Any sort of talk would do.  Silence would only fan the flames.
         "You expect me to believe that?" he cried.  "I feared it all along, and now I'm certain.  You haven't given up this hobby of yours, and you don't plan on giving it up either."
         "I can't help it!  Oh, Jackson, have you ever felt so passionate about anything in your life?  When I'm with Joan, it's like something is illuminated within me.  I feel alive.  I feel important.  It gives me a purpose."
         "I knew that Joan was no good."
         "She's not the problem," Nora said, waving her hand. 
         Jackson rose to peer out the window, parting the off-white curtains.  He gazed across the street and saw two children with lollipops walking along with their mother.  The older of the two swatted the younger one in the head, who then turned around and slapped the older one's cheek with her lollipop.  It got stuck a bit, and the older child cried out as it left a sticky mess on his face.  He began to cry.
         Sighing, Jackson shoved his hands on his hips.  His head shook as if to say "No."  He gazed up at the sky as Nora watched him.  There were a few clouds, nothing spectacular.  It was a mild day.  As a woman passed by in front of Nora's home, a light breeze rustled the feathers in her wide-brimmed hat.  Then one of the feathers took flight and left the hat, floating in the wind down the street. 
         "Why couldn't you just be like all the other women?" he asked.  "Coffee in the parlor with guests, dinner parties, grand balls that occupy an entire evening and sometimes well into the morning.  Hats, shoes, feathers, all of those frivolous things that make women so annoying sometimes, and I wish that just for once you had any interest in them at all!  How tragic is that?"
         "I do care about those things, but there's more to life than that."
         "Oh, now you're a philosopher?"
         Nora clenched her teeth as she looked at the wall.  The grandfather clock's pendulum was swinging right and left, and it seemed a sort of omen. 
         Time was running out.  They were to marry, and soon.  Problems like these couldn't carry over into the marriage.  They must be settled now.  Someone must cede, but neither one was willing to do so.  A bitter standoff was on the horizon, bringing with it gray clouds and a light precipitation. 
         The sun became shy and hid behind a few clouds.  Nora rose to stand beside Jackson, gazing out at the city's denizen.  How carefree they all looked.  A gentleman in a knee-length coat passed by with a newspaper under his arm.  He had an air of importance about him.  Probably a businessman.  Coming from the other direction, a young woman not much older than Nora bumped shoulders with the businessman, and they both stopped and mumbled apologies and "Excuse me."  Behind her, a mother and son, who was just a boy, approached the other young lady.  The boy's sailor outfit was impeccably white, and Nora looked at the mother with approval.  Her full-length beige overcoat was crisply pressed, and the hem of her gray dress almost touched the ground.  She reminded Nora of her mother.
         A shudder came over her at the thought.  Slaps across the face met with profanities and cursing the day she was born came crashing into her mind.  She took in a quick breath as she remembered how pitiful Mother looked right before she passed.  It took her a while to pay her respects, but it had to be done. 
         It had to be done with Eugene as well, but that took two years.  Never had she truly breathed in all her life until the day she was free of him.  Her sense of self and reality had become so warped that she didn't remember what normal felt like.  Her childhood had been anything but, but the interval between losing Mother and marrying Eugene had been a prosperous era. 
         Father proved he was worth his salt as a parent, catering to their needs in his own way.  He wasn't the touchy-feely sort of man, as few were.  He showed his love through actions.  Said actions might not have been interpreted as love by a child, but when one reflects back on life, one understands their parents' motives.
         Nora understood her father, and she understood Jackson, too.  It wasn't his fault that he was raised in such a traditional family with ideas that now seemed backward to many in society.  One must have patience in dealing with such a creature.  One must gently lead him into new ideas, without pushing too hard.  Nora hadn't yet mastered that approach, as she was practically beating Jackson in the head with her new life's passion.
         Jackson began to pace in front of the window, holding his temples.  His breathing was shallow and he stared at the floor.  "What am I going to do with you?" he repeatedly asked, more of himself than her.  She placed her hand on the window and watched the crows perch atop Mrs. Hamilton's old brownstone across the street. 
         "Don't have a fit over me," she said gently.  She tugged lightly at his shirt, and he swatted her hand away.
         "How can you think that any of this is all right?"
         "I don't!"
         "Then you admit you're at fault?"
         "I never said that."
         "Et voila!  We come full circle.  You insist you're right, I insist I'm right.  We can go at it like rams on a mountainside if we like, or we can discuss this openly and maturely.  I opt for the latter."
         Eugene would've opted for the rams.  Thank God Jackson had never laid a hand on her.
         "We are discussing it openly," she said.  "I'm simply telling you that I cannot -- will not give up on my passion."
         "Your passion?" he cried.  "Not two minutes ago you didn't even know what a suffragette was!  Now magically you're one of them?"
         "So what if I am?"
         Stopping in the middle of the parlor, his eyes shot up to hers.  "Then this will not work."
         "Whatever do you mean?"
         "This.  Us.  It will not work." 
         "How can you be so unjust?"
         "I am being unjust?  Don't be so selfish.  Think about others for once."
         "I've thought about others my whole life.  It's time I've devoted a bit of time to myself for a change."
         "And you have perfect timing!"  His back was to her and he loosened his collar, for it was getting hot. 
         "How ignorant you are," she said.
         The back of his hand cracked her cheek before she even realized he had turned around.  Her mouth open, she stood there, gawking at him.  She held her cheek where it stung, taking a step back.
         "Don't ever insult me like that!" he growled.
         Heat rushed up from her heels into her spine.  Her body felt like it was going to explode at any minute, and she took a deep breath.  Taking a step forward, she placed her hands on his chest and shoved him as hard as she could.
         "Don't ever touch me!" she yelled.  She shoved him again.  "You don't get to touch me like that!  Ever!"
         A look of amazement came over his face, not at her reaction, but at his very action that brought it on.  He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her legs and burying his face in her dress. 
         "Forgive me, I didn't know what I was doing.  Forgive me, for I have acted wrongly.  Oh, would you forgive me?"
         "Get up, you fool," she snapped.  He didn't rise, but only pulled his head back to look up at her.  Horror had etched itself into his face.
         "I knew not what I was doing.  Oh, Nora, you have to forgive me.  I'll never do it again."          
         "Right you are," she said.  She pointed her finger at the door.  "Get out."
         "Sweetheart," he cried, jumping up.  "I lost my head.  If I could take it back, I would, believe me."
         Her face became hot as she was almost literally boiling over with rage.  Pointing her finger in his face, she practically hissed at him.  "I will not make the same mistake twice."
         "Oh, dearest, whatever do you mean by that?"
         "You know damn good and well what I mean."
         He winced at hearing her curse, but thought it best not to address that issue at the present.
         "I've already lived that nightmare," she continued.  "You know how he treated me.  How DARE you touch me!"
         Jackson was at a loss for words.  He tugged at his hair as a light rain fell outside.  Movement outside of the house became hurried as everyone rushed to get indoors, out of the cold and wet world.  Inside, nerves were shot and the air was stuffy with rage. 
         Nora never thought he was capable of it.  She had seen him cross a time or two, but nothing like this.  He almost seemed like he didn't have it in him.  He proved her wrong. 
         "It's my fault entirely," he said.  "I didn't think.  I didn't stop to think.  Now that I do, I realize I've made a disastrous choice." 
         He reached out to grab her shoulders but she recoiled.  Offended at her rebuff, he realized he deserved it.  He hung his head as he gathered his coat and hat, and silently made his way to the door.
         "This discussion isn't over," she said. 
         He looked up with hope in his eyes, setting his hat back down on a table.  He came to stand before Nora.
         "We haven't settled the score," she continued.
         "You mean the march?"
         "What else?"
         "Listen, I already told you where I stand on the matter."
         "Likewise."
         "Then a decision must be made."
         "When?"
         "Tonight."  He rubbed his chin as he thought.  "Meet me on the east side of Riverside Park, you know, where the ducks gather?  Meet me at nine.  Come with your decision."
         "My decision?  Why does it have to be me?"
         "Because you're the one offending your honor with your traitorous ways."
         "Traitorous?  Traitorous to whom?  Do you mean men in general?"
         "That's the idea."
         "That's absurd."          
         "You'd best realize that you're a minority.  There are many women, in fact, who stand in opposition to you.  It's hardly a fair fight.  I foresee a miserable battle, only with women like you to lose in the end."
         "You mean we'll never have the vote?"
         "Of course you won't!  Who in their right mind would want that?"
         She took the hint.  Shoving her hands on her hips, she marched over to his hat and threw it at him.  "Tonight at nine.  Now get out."