Chapter 3
On the ride back to the city, Papa ignored Rory as usual, making notes in his ever-present little black notebook.
After all these years, it shouldn’t have needled her, but it did.
His accounts had always taken precedence over her.
But ever since her scandal, he seemed determined to pretend she was part of the scenery.
She stared out the window in stony silence, trying not to let the distance between them get under her skin.
To distract herself, she let her mind wander to airplanes, the magic of flight, and…
a certain pilot. She couldn’t shake the memory of his muscular arms surrounding her—that deep voice, that smoky scent, those penetrating eyes.
What would it be like if she was someone else, someone who was free to see where their flirtatious encounter led?
Alas, she would never find out. Her fate was sealed.
Her wedding had been announced, and her father had already signed the marriage contract on her behalf.
From a legal standpoint, she as good as belonged to Edward already.
Her gilded cage awaited. A bleak, loveless life stretched out before her, and she shivered despite the heat.
It was a relief to arrive home to find Aunt Alva waiting for her. If she couldn’t have love, at least she could find purpose.
Rory looked at her stout and imposing aunt decked out in blue serge despite the heat, her face as hard and determined as any army veteran.
If Rory was something of a hoyden, Aunt Alva was Her Majesty Queen of Hoydendom.
A notorious bluestocking from her early days, her aunt had been attending rallies, chaining herself to things, and getting arrested for several decades.
Every time she saw Aunt Alva, she had to resist the ridiculous temptation to salute.
“Rory, my dear,” Aunt Alva said with the cadence of a general, “are you prepared for battle this afternoon? We march on city hall, August,” she said, turning to Rory’s father.
“We’ll show that Mayor Hylan the power that women hold in this town.
And then we’re headed down to Wall Street.
Those stock-market hooligans are overdue for a lesson in women’s equality. ”
“For the love of God, be careful, Alva. You know I don’t want Rory to end up in jail. It would reflect poorly on the senator,” her father said. “None of us want a scandal so close to the wedding.”
Aunt Alva waved her hand, brushing his concerns away.
“He should consider it a privilege to be marrying a young lady so dedicated to the cause. But don’t you worry, August. You know I always look out for her.
” Peering over his shoulder toward Rory, she called out, “Don’t forget water.
We can’t have you passing out. And bring an apple too in case you’re hungry.
And a handkerchief. And don’t forget a parasol—dual purpose.
It protects you from the sun and you can whack people with it. ”
Rory rushed around collecting supplies and provisions for the afternoon. In no time, she was packed and ready to go.
She waved goodbye to her father, who didn’t even look up, and headed out, taking a deep breath and grinning at the afternoon sun.
“Thank heavens for you,” she said as she stepped into the back of her aunt’s chauffeured car.
“Papa was such a trial this morning. I went all that way out to Belmont Park with him, and he wouldn’t let me fly. ”
Aunt Alva tutted. “Your father is enlightened about many things, but he doesn’t believe women can face the same dangers as men.
And your stepmother is no help. She wholeheartedly agrees.
Someday I’ll succeed in convincing them both the only way to make you safe is to let you take risks and harden yourself through adversity. ”
Rory yearned for the chance to do exactly that. Her life was altogether too coddled, and she longed to test herself against real and meaningful challenges.
“If only your mother had lived,” Aunt Alva continued, “she would have set him straight. She was a formidable woman, your mother. It’s a shame you never got to know her.
I may have only married into the Belmont family, but I knew your mother for many years.
She was always a fiercely loyal friend. When things fell apart with my swine of a first husband, she stood by me even as many of my other society friends suddenly stopped calling.
Did you know she was my matron of honor when I married Oliver? ”
Rory did know. She’d heard the story many times. Stories were all she had of her mother. Aunt Alva always made her sound so heroic…and so different in every way from Rory’s stepmother Eleanor.
“I wish I’d known her,” Rory said because she knew her aunt expected her to say something, though she never really knew what to say when Aunt Alva talked like this.
“She was so happy when I joined the family, and we got to be sisters. It broke my heart to lose her just two years later. I was almost as devastated as when my Oliver died. I cried for months! You become more like her with every passing day, did you know that?”
Rory swallowed hard, heat rising in her throat. What would it have been like to grow up with two loving parents instead of one who seemed to resent her very existence?
“She would have been so proud of you, my dear.”
Shifting in her seat, Rory looked out the window and clenched her fists, nails digging into the palms of her hands.
It would have been so lovely to believe her aunt’s kind words, but she knew exactly where she stood with her only surviving parent.
Would Mother have been any more understanding of my dramatic fall from grace had she lived?
But such thoughts served no purpose. She had to be practical. After all, how could she complain about a life of leisure and comfort when so many in the world struggled for their daily bread?
“Look at the crowd,” she said, changing the subject as New York City Hall came into view.
“This may be our biggest rally yet.” Her heart swelled at the sight of so many women gathered to fight for their rights, displacing the hollow ache from thoughts of her long-deceased mother.
The energy of the crowd was infectious, and she could hardly wait to join them and lose herself in the energy of the protest.
When the car stopped, a swarm of friends surrounded them, anxious to welcome them and get access to the signs Aunt Alva always had stashed in the trunk. Rory allowed her spirits to be buoyed up by their infectious enthusiasm.
“Evelyn,” Rory cried, climbing out of the car. “I’m so happy to see you!” She rushed to her friend’s side. “How is Clyde?” she whispered.
“Shh! Not here.” Evelyn blushed.
Rory laughed. “No one can hear us, dear. I swear your secret is safe with me. After all, you already know all my secrets.”
“Speaking of… Have you seen your pilot again?”
As soon as Rory returned to the engagement party after visiting the hangar, she dragged Evelyn into a quiet corner and told her everything, much to her friend’s delight.
There was nothing Evelyn loved more than a juicy secret, not that she would ever tell a soul.
Rory trusted her completely. It was because of Evelyn’s encouragement that she’d gone to the airfield in the morning.
“Maybe I have,” Rory said with a wink. “But you go first. How is that artist of yours? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Evelyn leaned closer. “We’ve been keeping a low profile. Mama got suspicious, but maybe you’ll see him tonight if—”
“Uh oh. Aunt Alva is signaling us. We’d better get in place. I’ll catch up with you later.” Disappointed at the interruption, Rory wove her way to the front of the crowd beside her aunt, but her spirits soon lifted as the energy of the crowd infected her.
During marches like this, the collective power of thousands of protesters filled her with hope for a better future that she hardly dared imagine.
Nothing would change her engagement with Edward, but perhaps life would be more tolerable with him if women won the vote and could fight for fairer laws.
Once she married, Edward would own her property and her person in every meaningful sense.
The only way to buy herself a modicum of freedom and autonomy was to change the laws of the land.
Holding up their signs, the crowd of suffragettes began to march. “Shout, shout up with your song! Cry with the wind for the dawn is breaking,” they sang in a remarkably civilized chorus. They practically sounded like a church choir. Rory floated on a wave of hope and exhilaration at the sound.
Police closed in around them as they marched. That only prompted Rory to sing all the louder, even if she wasn’t the most tuneful of the bunch. She linked arms with Alva and Evelyn, bracing herself for a confrontation.
As they marched past the doors of city hall, Rory belted her favorite line of the song, “Life, strife, these two are one, naught can be done but with faith and daring.” She had both faith and daring and was determined to win the day.
The country might have founding fathers, but after the suffrage movement won the day, it would have founding mothers too.
And she was determined to be one of them.
As the march turned south on Broadway toward the southern tip of Manhattan, the police formed a human barricade to stop them from proceeding.
Rory’s heart beat faster as they approached.
She, Evelyn, and Aunt Alva were at the center of a human chain that pressed closer and closer to the police, forcing them to edge back to avoid direct conflict.
The police knew exactly who the three of them were and knew better than to push back, but the women behind them were more vulnerable.
It was an honor to be part of this powerful group of angry women and to lend her name to their defense.
This must have been how George Washington felt, vanquishing the British at long last at the Battle of Yorktown.