A Lack of Temperance (4 page)
The second poster in the grocer’s window, however, wasn’t a campaign poster, nor was it one I had seen before. It advertised the annual meeting of the American Women’s Temperance Coalition. It read S
PRING INTO
H
EALTH AND
W
ELL
-B
EING
across the top in capital red letters. P
ROPOSITION
V
OTE
M
ARCH
, T
UESDAY
, R
ALLY AT
B
ASIN
C
IRCLE
P
ARK
, S
ATURDAY
was in large black letters beneath the title. A detailed schedule of the week-long event was listed. In addition to lectures, Bible study, marches, and other organized events, a testimonial gathering was scheduled each day at a different spring. Saloon smashing was not mentioned.
PRING INTO
H
EALTH AND
W
ELL
-B
EING
across the top in capital red letters. P
ROPOSITION
V
OTE
M
ARCH
, T
UESDAY
, R
ALLY AT
B
ASIN
C
IRCLE
P
ARK
, S
ATURDAY
was in large black letters beneath the title. A detailed schedule of the week-long event was listed. In addition to lectures, Bible study, marches, and other organized events, a testimonial gathering was scheduled each day at a different spring. Saloon smashing was not mentioned.
The picture in the middle of the poster grabbed my attention. I pressed my hands to the glass and leaned closer. My breath steamed up the window. I wiped the condensation away with my glove to reveal the face. Her piercing eyes, her stooping shoulders, the mark across her cheek were unmistakable. The picture was labeled,
Our heroic and righteous leader, Mrs. Edwina Trevelyan.
Our heroic and righteous leader, Mrs. Edwina Trevelyan.
Yet in the picture her gaze was arresting. Determination stared at me, unlike last night when she appeared dazed, angry, and unfocused. I looked straight back at her image, meeting the challenge.
What kind of woman are you?
I wondered.
I wondered.
My culottes fluttered in a gust of wind. Was it merely the cold air that sent a shiver down my spine? Not knowing for certain, I pushed myself away from the window and continued my walk downhill toward Basin Circle Park, forgetting all about the cakes in the bakery.
C
HAPTER
5
HAPTER
5
B
asin Circle Park was located at the base of the western mountain, encompassing an entire block of Spring Street. Framed in by two grand hotels at each end, the park’s terraced gardens and crisscrossing of stairs led to a towering semicircle cliff of limestone. Circular in design, it centered on an ornate wrought-iron fountain that tapped the most famous spring in town, Basin Spring. It was both a natural and man-made marvel, but I couldn’t enjoy it. Unlike the other springs I had visited, there were dozens of people in the park, drinking from the fountain, lounging on the benches, and socializing. The poster of Mrs. Trevelyan had disturbed me, though I couldn’t say why, and the unexpected crowd made it worse. In lieu of lingering in the park, I decided to confront Mrs. Trevelyan earlier than I had planned. I needed to get to work.
asin Circle Park was located at the base of the western mountain, encompassing an entire block of Spring Street. Framed in by two grand hotels at each end, the park’s terraced gardens and crisscrossing of stairs led to a towering semicircle cliff of limestone. Circular in design, it centered on an ornate wrought-iron fountain that tapped the most famous spring in town, Basin Spring. It was both a natural and man-made marvel, but I couldn’t enjoy it. Unlike the other springs I had visited, there were dozens of people in the park, drinking from the fountain, lounging on the benches, and socializing. The poster of Mrs. Trevelyan had disturbed me, though I couldn’t say why, and the unexpected crowd made it worse. In lieu of lingering in the park, I decided to confront Mrs. Trevelyan earlier than I had planned. I needed to get to work.
I headed back to the Arcadia Hotel, taking a different route this time. I climbed several steep blocks of Mountain Street to the top of the hill with the rising sun warm on my back. The buildings were fewer and farther apart here than in the valley. With patches of open woodland and unused pasture, I was able to find several plants that I’d never seen before. I collected a specimen of each before moving on. My walk had taken me back to the hotel grounds in time for breakfast. As I crossed the manicured lawn, my path intersected with that of a woman dressed in a fitted black English riding habit and top hat.
“Good morning, Mrs. Anglewood,” I said, recognizing her from the night before.
Cordelia Anglewood, a diamond-studded gold collar pin at her throat, took one glimpse at me, with dirt on my knees and wilting plants in my hands, and then, without a word, continued walking in the direction of the riding stables.
“Oh, don’t mind her, dear; she’s a sourpuss these days. Too much on her mind.”
I glanced up to see an elderly lady in an old-fashioned matron’s bonnet leaning over the railing of the hotel’s front portico, squinting down at me. Her white frizzy hair was piled up and pulled away from a round face. The lace of her high-collared mauve morning dress couldn’t hide a double chin. She had a cherry-red stain on her shoulder. Her thin smile and gleaming eyes radiated either serenity or senility; I couldn’t tell which.
“Oh, that’s all right,” I replied.
From behind the railing, I heard another woman’s voice.
“Who can you possibly be talking to in the shrubbery, Lizzie? It’s like seeing Moses in a lace bonnet, talking to the burning bush. I thought you wanted me to read this?”
“Yes, in a moment, Lucy, dear.”
As I climbed the stairs, I caught a glimpse of Lucy. Although dressed in pale gray, she was an identical, albeit thinner, version of the other woman. She was rocking back and forth, her hands twitching, with a book in her lap. She looked up as Lizzie approached me.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning, dear,” Lizzie replied.
“Yes, yes, fine morning and all that,” Lucy said. She picked up her book again and peered over the spectacles set low on her nose. “Let the gardener get back to work, Lizzie, so we can get back to the passage I was reading.”
“I’m Miss Hattie Davish, ma’am. I’m not the gardener. I’m Mrs. Trevelyan’s new secretary. I just arrived yesterday afternoon.”
“Secretary? So you’re Davish.” Lucy removed her spectacles and waved them about. “Why on earth are you covered in dirt and dead plants, then?”
“We’re pleased to meet you, Miss Davish. I’m Miss Elizabeth Shaw, dear, and this,” Lizzie said, indicating the seated woman, “is my sister, Mrs. Lucinda Fry. We’re members of the AWTC, you see. We heard that Edwina sent for a new secretary.”
“Yes, I’m on my way up to see her now,” I said. “I caught a glimpse of her last night but I haven’t actually spoken to her yet.”
“Oh, dear,” Miss Elizabeth Shaw said. “I heard about last night’s, ah, incident. You weren’t there, were you, dear?”
It was Mrs. Fry who answered for me. “Where else do you think she saw her, Lizzie? Edwina wasn’t there to meet the girl’s train.” She turned to me. “So is it true?”
“I’m sorry, but is what true?” I said.
The old lady licked her lips. “That Edwina went down there, like David facing Goliath, swinging an ax in one hand, a cane in the other, toppling every drunkard that got in her way? That she burned the place down to the ground? I heard there was blood everywhere.”
“Oh, it was shocking. I’ve never witnessed anything like it. Mrs. Trevelyan shattered a window with a hatchet and intentionally started a fire inside the saloon. And yes, several people were injured.”
Mrs. Lucinda Fry clucked her tongue. “I knew it. What was she thinking? She never listens to me. There go any hopes we had for—”
She stopped in mid-sentence when Josephine Piers appeared in the doorway. Mrs. Piers hesitated when she saw the little crowd of women on the porch. She stepped back in retreat.
“Josephine, dear,” Miss Elizabeth Shaw said, “please join us. We were talking about Edwina’s indiscretion last night.”
At the mention of Mrs. Trevelyan’s name, tears welled in the woman’s eyes. “That indiscretion, as you call it, is God’s work, Sister Elizabeth. Mother Trevelyan was destroying that evil place. I’m proud to say I was with her last night.” She jutted her chin up in defiance, but her hands were shaking. One hand was wrapped in a bandage. So she
was
one of the women in blue I saw last night. Maybe even the one who left blood on my sleeve.
was
one of the women in blue I saw last night. Maybe even the one who left blood on my sleeve.
“We all know you’ve wielded your share of hatchets and canes, Josephine,” Mrs. Fry said. “You also know our feeling about it. This is a temperance organization, not a militia. I don’t know how many times I have to say it. We’re supposed to advocate moderation in all things, not just in drink. We’re supposed to all be on the same side in this fight.”
“But we are, Sister Lucinda, each to her own. You serve by writing letters, drinking tea, and raising funds. I serve by smashing bottles with bricks and sitting in prison cells.”
“We do appreciate your passion, dear,” Miss Lizzie said, “and we could all use more of your youthful energy. It’s just that . . .”
Mrs. Lucinda Fry frowned and snapped her book closed. “No harm comes by our letters and tea, unless you count paper cuts. Maybe you’d be happier if we drew blood on the occasional chipped china cup, Josephine?”
“Now, ladies, let’s not argue,” Miss Shaw said. “This is Miss Davish, Josephine, Edwina’s new secretary. Miss Davish, dear, this is Mrs. Josephine Piers, one of Edwina’s closest friends and associates.”
“Yes, we’ve already met,” Josephine Piers said. “You haven’t reconsidered, have you, Miss Davish?”
“Reconsidered what?” Mrs. Fry said.
“Mrs. Piers was kind enough to offer to continue as Mrs. Trevelyan’s secretary,” I said.
“Josephine, dear, why would you want to burden yourself further?” Miss Shaw said. “You already do so much.” She pointed to the woman’s injured hand. “And whatever did you do to your hand?”
“I cut it on a broken liquor bottle. But it’s merely a surface scratch. I can still serve as secretary.”
“No, no, it was nice of you to step in temporarily, but let the girl do her job,” Mrs. Fry said. “Knowing Edwina, Davish here has already been well paid.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. My energy could be better spent. She’s only a typewriter. I can serve the cause in many important ways.”
“Yes, dear,” Miss Shaw said, “just try to be more temperate in your actions from now on.”
I was grateful that the conversation came back to the subject of the saloon smashing (
I am not only a typewriter,
I thought).
I am not only a typewriter,
I thought).
“Has this happened before, last night, I mean? Aren’t you worried about the police?”
“Saloons are the devil’s work, home wreckers, the bane of a happy existence, Miss Davish,” Josephine Piers declared, her voice rising with each consecutive phrase. “We were doing a righteous and heroic act. God’s hand guides us. We shall prevail. You’ll see. Proposition 203 will be passed and victory will be ours.”
“Josephine, dear, we all pray the men pass the proposition, but I can see this is upsetting you. Why don’t we go in to breakfast?” Miss Shaw patted Josephine Piers’s arm. “Lucy, why don’t you go with her? I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
“Oh, all right,” Mrs. Fry said. “Come to think of it, I am starving. Davish, help me out of this chair.”
“Poor Josephine, she rarely quarrels with anyone. She must be worried about the convention,” Elizabeth Shaw said, watching her sister and Mrs. Piers leave. She picked up ajar of cherry preserves that had been sitting on the railing and unexpectedly scooped several spoonfuls into her mouth. She continued talking as if eating jam straight from a jar was the most natural thing to do. I was astounded.
“And of course, there’s the vote. Josephine’s quite dedicated and has worked tirelessly for the cause. Like many of our members, she came to us fleeing an abusive drunk of a husband.” I recalled the scars on Mrs. Piers’s face and shuddered. “Thinking about Cordelia’s gruffness this morning, it seems we’re all a bit on edge. Nothing good comes from saloon smashing.”
“It’s true then, Miss Shaw, that Mrs. Trevelyan does this on a regular basis?” I said.
“Oh, do call me Lizzie, dear. And my sister, Lucy. Everyone does, except Josephine, of course. And I’ll call you Hattie. My favorite great-aunt, Harriet Shaw, had us call her Auntie Hattie, you know.” She patted my knee. “Yes, Hattie, this was not the first time Edwina, Mrs. Trevelyan to you, has caused a great scene.” Miss Lizzie Shaw’s head swayed back and forth.
“Why does she do it?” I asked. “What does she hope to accomplish?”
“You heard Josephine. Many in the coalition call for such brash action. I fear it may cause a rift in the membership. Lucy and I are very much set against it. Sermonizing, protesting, yes, we can all agree saloons breed evil and destroy families, but we must not condone such violence. Violence is the antithesis of temperance, Hattie. We must all remember that. And Edwina crossed the line again.”
“But I still don’t understand. Isn’t that hypocritical?”
“Yes, there are those, myself included, who would say advocating temperance while participating in anarchy is hypocritical. Yet, as I said, members disagree.”
“If so many members disagree with her, why is she still the president of your club?”
Miss Lizzie patted my cheek, then rose. “Welcome to the temperance movement, dear.”
“How’s Mother Trevelyan, Josie?”
After her insistence, I had joined Miss Lizzie and her sister in the dining room. They had assured me Mrs. Trevelyan wouldn’t mind. Miss Lucy, who had claimed to be famished, picked at her food while her sister, after eating everything on her own plate, astonishingly began eating off her sister’s plate as well. It was two hours before I was able to get away from the breakfast table. When I did, I headed straight for Mrs. Trevelyan’s room. Josephine Piers was leaving as another woman, with thick spectacles and a bulbous nose, arrived. Mrs. Piers closed the door behind her.
“I’m not sure, Eleanor,” Mrs. Piers said. “She’s not in her room.”
“Really? I thought we were supposed to meet her here.”
“So did I.”
I didn’t bother asking the women if I could see for myself. Instead, I set to the task of finding Mrs. Trevelyan, wherever she was. Starting in the basement and working my way up, I made a systematic search of the entire hotel—the storerooms, the laundry, the parlors, the library, the dining room, the ballroom, the hairdresser’s salon, the baths, as well as the servants’ quarters, the offices, the service rooms and pantry—with no luck. No one had seen her, including the doorman. I took a quick stroll through the gardens, checking every porch and bench, just in case. When I returned to the lobby, I encountered the American Women’s Temperance Coalition in full force for the first time. From the number of women I’d seen wearing the sky blue AWTC buttons, I would’ve guessed no fewer than a third of the hotel’s guests were coalition members, here for their annual meeting. But no Mrs. Trevelyan. It was frustrating. Instead of helping the lady with her duties, as I had expected, I spent the remainder of the morning mingling with the crowd inquiring after her whereabouts. Though no one was able to answer with certainty, many members were quick to speculate.
“Did you check the dining room? She likes to linger over coffee.”
“She might’ve had an appointment at the American Bathhouse this morning.”
“There’s a lot of meetings scheduled for this week. Maybe she’s meeting with the other organizers. I’d ask Cordelia Anglewood or Diana Halbert.”
“I saw the police earlier; maybe she’s with them.”
Once, after I introduced myself to a Mrs. Miller, the lady exclaimed, “Her secretary? Too bad. After last night, Edwina probably skipped town.”
Now, after talking with coalition members, asking questions, and listening to their gossip, I was no closer to having a face-to-face meeting with my new employer than when I’d started. And I had completed all my work the night before.
Now what do I do?
Now what do I do?
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