Chapter 2 #2
I stare at myself and cannot deny Evangeline’s magic. I indeed do not need the belt, yet it completes the outfit, and mirrors exactly what a man would wear. I know she did this with that purpose in mind, being a fellow suffragist and equalist herself.
I take in my new attire, already envisioning it paired with my custom leather boots, and an accessible tool kit fastened around my waist. For the first time, I will be looking the part as an archaeologist, preserver of history.
And all thanks to Evangeline, I have confidence that I need to start learning how to become a great one.
I glance at her through the side mirror, and a smile of gratitude shines on my face.
Throughout my life, I have been judged. Either from my unconventional upbringing, my refusal to conform to the standards of women in high society, my insistence on women’s rights, or my drive to live as freely and ambitiously as men do.
But Evangeline has always been one of the few who understood and supported me throughout my life. She was the one who brought me to my first suffragist procession when I was fifteen, opening the doorway to a lifelong fight for our freedoms.
“How does Lord Claremont feel about you wearing trousers during this expedition?” Evangeline asks, a side smirk creeps up on her lips.
She’s familiar with Grandad’s persistent vocalization for women’s suffrage and equality.
“You know he would make them himself if he knew how.” I laugh, running my hands along the length of my pants, still mesmerized by them.
As I stare at my reflection, delighting in the freedom my new attire grants me, I’m reminded of what the world is like for me beyond these walls. Once I step outside this shop, I’m still a woman who cannot vote, a woman who has nonexistent freedoms. No pair of trousers will ever change that.
My eyes shift to Evangeline, and a tinge of sadness settles in my chest at the sight of her joy reflected at me.
She has endured five and fifty years without the right to vote, surviving in a world that thrives on dictating women’s lives without resistance.
For three and forty of those years, she has lived as an unmarried woman, running a successful business she built with her own hands.
Nearly every year, some man has threatened to take down her business, but Evangeline, being the smart fighter she is, always found a way to stop them.
Despite the challenges and hardships that accompany any woman who dares to pursue a career, Evangeline knows who she is.
She knows her ambitions and doesn’t let anything stand in her way.
She is the very reason why I found the courage to study at Oxford and pursue archaeology.
By exemplifying this, I show that I shouldn’t let society dictate what I do, and that I can make my dreams come true.
I often wonder what it would be like to live in ancient times when women weren’t subordinated but respected, held power, and were worshipped by society. What happened throughout history to cause society to change its position on us?
“I wish wearing something as simple as a pair of trousers wasn’t such an ordeal for us,” I murmur, glancing down at my fingers as they trace over the smooth surface of the leather belt.
Evangeline moves closer, placing her hands on my shoulders. Our eyes lock through the tri-fold mirror. “One day, my dear, we can live exactly as we desire to.”
I step down from the raised platform and reach for her hands. “Thank you. For everything. Not only the clothes, but also for always being a supportive friend and mentor. I cannot thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me.”
Evangeline hugs me, then examines her handiwork once more.
“It’s been an honor to be your friend and dressmaker these past years, Clara Fairfax.
” She cups my cheek. “I’m so proud of you.
And for all that you’ve done and will do.
Keep in mind your fellow sisters and I are cheering you on and will be with you in spirit on your journey.
Promise me you’ll come visit when you are back.
I want to hear all about your adventures abroad. ”
“You will be the first person I will come visit once I’m back home.”
“Now, how about we try on the remaining pieces I made you, and I can send you off to prepare for your trip.”
Evangeline also made me a handful of cotton dresses and skirts in muted shades of beige, blue, and green—should I choose, or need, to wear them instead of the trousers.
Like the trousers and shirts, every piece is made perfectly, exactly as I requested, with all the pockets I can hope for. Only one skirt needs its hem adjusted, so Lottie retreats to the backroom to fix it as I change back into my dress behind the privacy screen.
I settle onto the dressing room settee, waiting for them to package my new garments so I can take them home.
As I chew on a jellied biscuit, I recall what Evangeline said about my fellow suffragette sisters.
As much as it brings me joy to hear they are rooting for me, a terrifying fear of failing them is now starting to gnaw at me.
Ever since I stepped foot into Oxford, I’ve had eyes constantly on me—watching and waiting for me to make one mistake to prove their narrative that women don’t belong outside the house.
Now, with our impending expedition, there will be more eyes on me than ever before, which is why I must succeed in making a discovery.
If I do so, I will not only prove my worth as an academic and archaeologist, but I’ll help further prove that women can achieve anything a man can.
But in the meantime, I hope to clear a better path for those after me who wish to pursue academia.
My contribution is small, but it is part of a much larger plan.
Our fight for equality is a war that could last years, possibly decades.
Any battle we win along the way—no matter how small—means we are one step closer to getting what we deserve.
That also means that any battle we lose pushes us three steps down.
That is how I know, with absolute certainty, that I cannot let my sisters down. There is simply too much at stake.
“Clara,” Evangeline calls from beneath the awning at the front room of the shop, breaking me from my reverie. I glance at her. “Your new garments are ready to go.”
“Thank you, Evangeline,” I say, standing to give her one last hug.
Lottie graciously helps me carry my new wardrobe the few blocks west on Bayswater Road, where Mr. Hughes awaits with the Silver Ghost. I walk down the street with heavy steps, feeling the immense pressure upon me.
Confidence slowly slips in with each step I take.
With my new wardrobe in tow, I feel closer than ever to being Athena, certain I will prevail in this mission.
Our male-dominated society can think that women are in over their heads. They can believe that we will surrender and pack our movement up like it never happened. Little do they know, we women aren’t planning to win the battle; we are planning to win the war.