A Great Catch (3 page)

Nodding to his brother, Carter spoke to his team. “Looks like we have some spectators. All right, men. Let’s give them a reason to spread the word that the Manawa Owls are the best players west of Chicago.”

The dull ache in Emily’s wrist had awakened her over an hour ago. Not wanting to rouse Aunt Millie, who shared the room with her, she remained abed. Finally, she could tolerate it no more and swung her feet over the side. The iron bed creaked, but Aunt Millie’s snores continued their raucous crescendos in the tiny room.

The morning sun filtered in through Emily’s east-facing window, leaving sun spots sparkling on her cotton nightgown and sling. Dust motes danced in the early morning crisp air. Thankfully, yesterday’s warm temperature had taken a milder turn.

She considered starting the day off with a prayer of thanks, but she pushed the thought aside. Prayer would still be there later. God understood the pressing matters on her mind. Right now she needed to dress and prepare for today’s suffrage meeting.

Easing a ruffled white shirtwaist and powder-blue skirt from the wardrobe, she gathered her stockings, underpinnings, and shoes, nestling as much as possible in the sling. With nowhere else to put her broad-brimmed hat, she clamped it in her teeth and slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

“What in the queen’s name are you doing?”

Emily spun to find apron-clad Britta, her grandmother’s matronly housekeeper, blocking the hallway. Britta tugged the hat from Emily’s mouth.

“I didn’t want to wake Aunt Millie, but I needed an early start to the day.”

“A steam engine thundering through your room wouldn’t wake your aunt.” Britta relieved Emily of the blouse and skirt too. “Your grandmother is awake and out having her morning tea. Why don’t you dress in her room?”

“I’ll need your help to do up my dress.”

“Of course you will, pumpkin. And I’ll have a gander at that wrist while we’re at it.”

Thirty minutes later, Emily had won the battle with her silk stockings and lost the battle of whether the sling was still necessary. Britta insisted she continue to wear it for at least a few days. Truth be told, as much as the injury ached, she didn’t mind the inconvenience.

Britta adjusted the sling. “Now, you join your grandmother under the oak, and I’ll bring out a fresh plate of waffles for you.”

“With strawberries?”

“God’s smiling on you today, young lady. One of the local boys was selling big, juicy, ripe ones yesterday. The warm weather brought them on early this year, and I bought a pint basket with your name on it.”

“You’re too good to me, Britta.”

“I certainly am.” She chuckled, a deep, full-bellied laugh, and propelled Emily toward the door. “And I plan to put some meat on those skinny bones of yours or die trying.”

“I know I’m too thin.”

“No, pumpkin, you’ve become a beautiful young lady right before our eyes.”

Emily nudged the screen door open with her foot and stopped short. Dressed in a tawny-colored linen suit, narrow striped tie, and checkered sportsman’s cap, Carter Stockton sat at the rattan table with her grandmother. Suddenly her corset felt cinched too tightly. Even the cool morning breeze wafting off the lake didn’t provide enough air. What was he doing here?

Her grandmother waved her over. She smoothed the side of her skirt and touched her hair, then smiled and took a deep breath. With no other options, she crossed the lawn and joined them.

Carter stood and pulled out a chair for her. “Good morning, Emily.”

Emily took the seat and forced a weak smile. “Good morning.”

“Mr. Stockton came to see how you were doing.” Her grandmother spooned sugar into her tea.

“I’m fine.” Emily’s voice quivered, and she paused to swallow. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“It’s the least I can do after plowing you over.”

“As I said yesterday, I accept full responsibility for the fall.”

Her grandmother smiled and picked up her cup of tea. “I told him you’d need to keep your arm in the sling for a few days.”

“Will it inconvenience you terribly?” Carter forked a bite of waffle.

“My biggest concern is finishing the articles I have due.”

“Articles?”

“For the
Woman’s Standard
.”

His mouth dipped in a frown. “You believe women should have the right to vote?”

“You don’t?” She stiffened. She shouldn’t be surprised. Most men disapproved of her work. “Why should they not be granted suffrage? Because women aren’t capable of intellectually dealing with the political arena? I’ll have you know, Carter Stockton, women can think just as well as any man.”

“Darling, need I remind you of James’s admonition?” Grandma Kate’s voice grew stern. “‘Let every man be swift to hear and slow to speak.’”

Emily’s chest tightened at the mention of the Scriptures. Guilt pricked her like thorns on the gooseberry bush every time her grandmother brought up the Bible. From the beginning, she’d not consulted the Lord regarding her suffrage work. She hadn’t dared. It was too important for her to risk. What if God told her no?

She glanced from her grandmother to Carter and let her anger grab hold at yet another man’s lack of support for the cause.

“I didn’t say I was against women’s suffrage, Miss Graham, although your little outburst does seem to lend itself to the ‘too emotional’ argument many men use.” Flecks of gold sparkled in Carter’s brown eyes. “But I’m willing to overlook that given your condition.”

She shot him a scorching look.

Britta delivered Emily’s plate of waffles topped with a generous helping of strawberries. The berry syrup cascaded down the side of the stack, and Emily’s stomach rumbled.

“Perhaps we could hold off on suffrage discussions until after you’ve eaten your breakfast and are in a more cordial frame of mind.” Emily’s grandmother paused to allow her the chance to say grace. “Are you aware Carter graduated this last spring from Iowa State College of Agriculture and Mechanics?”

Emily blinked and shot a puzzled look in her grandmother’s direction. Carter? What happened to calling him Mr. Stockton? While her grandmother had never been one to adhere to strict social rules, the two of them could not have become so familiar in such a short time.

“Congratulations. I’m sure your parents are very proud.” Emily forced the words out and eyed the pile of waffles, her mouth tingling. The empty gnawing in her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten supper last night, and the plump berries begged to be plucked from the plate.

Carter blotted the corners of his mouth with his napkin and laughed. “My family would be happier if I put my education to work in my father’s bank.”

Emily picked up her fork and contemplated eating the waffles left-handed in front of Carter. Her skin prickled as she imagined a trail of strawberry syrup cascading down the ruffles of her pristine blouse.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Emily?” Grandma Kate asked. “Your waffles will get soggy.”

“I like it when the syrup soaks in.”

“Nonsense.” Her grandmother waved her hand in the air, shoved her own empty plate away, and set a leather-bound ledger on the table.

Emily bit her lip and used the side of her fork to try to cut off the corner. Ah. Success.

She glanced up and caught Carter grinning at her. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze back to her breakfast. Even without looking, she knew he was still watching. She’d show him she was a woman who could tackle anything—big or small.

Her grandmother thumbed through the ledger. “And Carter studied finance, Emily. Since your brother is busy running your father’s business, I’ve asked Carter to help me manage my assets.”

“But I thought—” Emily jerked. The bite of waffle on the tip of her fork, drenched in strawberry syrup, went flying across the table.

Instinct alone propelled Carter to catch the chunk of waffle midair. The contents squished in his palm, and he grabbed his napkin from the table. When he’d managed to scrub the worst of the berry stain off, he looked up and met Emily’s horrified gaze. Laughter rumbled in his chest, but with great effort he kept it in check.

“Carter, here are the current investments. As you can see, they are quite diverse.” Grandma Kate nudged the open ledger in his direction, clearly unaware of the entire waffle fiasco. “Of course we’ll have much to discuss, which means you’ll have to join us for breakfast on a regular basis. Will that be a problem?”

He grinned at Emily and watched her cheeks bloom pink. “Not at all, ma’am. Not at all.”

Grandma Kate glanced at Emily’s plate. “Why haven’t you touched your waffle? Oh my, I forgot. You can’t cut it.”

“I can take care of it, Grandma.”

“Nonsense, dear.” She pulled the plate over and began to cut neat squares. “We wouldn’t want any mishaps, now would we?”

Carter snickered, and Emily shot him a glare. His midair catch obviously hadn’t won him any favor in her eyes. If he had to guess, she’d tried and convicted him of being a cocky baseball player, not worthy of thinking beyond the field. Fine. He’d change her mind. He enjoyed a challenge. And she should realize he wasn’t used to losing.

She pushed back from the table, stood, and pressed a hand to her stomach. “Never mind, Grandma. I’m not hungry anymore. Besides, I need to prepare for my meeting this afternoon.”

Carter rose to his feet beside her. “I enjoyed having breakfast with you, Emily. I’d offer my hand, but . . .”

Her cheeks flamed afresh, but she met his gaze defiantly. “You should be more careful about that syrup.”

“Maybe so.” He pushed a nest of curls off his forehead with the back of his berry-stained fingers. “I don’t mind a little mess, even when things get sticky. What will you be discussing at your meeting?”

“Renewing our efforts—not that you’d care.”

“I don’t think you have any idea what I care about, Miss Graham.” He turned toward Grandma Kate. “Ma’am, I’ll be here tomorrow at the same time, and there’s a game tonight if you and your sisters care to attend. We’re playing the Merchant Browns.”

Grandma Kate glanced from Carter to Emily. “We might come watch, and thank you for coming to check on Emily.”

“Yes, Carter, thank you for your concern.” Emily gathered her tablet. “But I really must be going.”

“In that case, I’ll walk with you since we’re going the same way.”

“The baseball field is on the opposite side of the lake from the Yacht Club.”

He gave Emily a lopsided grin. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

Before she had a chance a respond, Aunt Millie waved from the doorway of the cabin. “Oh, Emily, wait for Aunt Ethel and me. We have a new prospective suitor we wish to discuss with you.”

Carter’s lips tugged into a grin as a crimson blush infused Emily’s cheeks.

Emily lifted her chin. “Well, apparently I won’t need a walking companion, so you can be on your way.”

“Just like that?”

“I know you’re a busy man.”

Even though he didn’t expect Emily to let him be privy to the details her aunts would be giving, his curiosity had been piqued. The don’t-you-dare-ask look in Emily’s eyes told him, however, now was not the time to broach the subject.

He touched the brim of his ball cap. “All right, I’ll leave you in your aunts’ capable hands.”

Nodding to the ladies, he spun and jogged down the path away from the whitewashed cottage. He chuckled as he pictured the horrified expression on Emily’s sweet face when she realized he’d caught the piece of waffle. Things were probably always exciting around that little spitfire.

He flexed his sticky fingers and shook his head. If he wasn’t careful, he could get stuck thinking about her a lot more than he should.

No girl—certainly not one who’d already made up her mind about him—could be in his plans for this summer.

Dragging another set of chairs over to the center of the Yacht Club’s upstairs meeting room with her good arm, Emily completed the seating arrangement. In moments, the Council Bluffs chapter of the Iowa Women’s Suffrage Association would arrive for their first lakeside meeting of the summer. She hoped the change of venue would give the ladies a much-needed boost in their enthusiasm for the cause. Marguerite Andrews had arranged for them to use the second floor of the usually men-only Yacht Club for their meeting. That alone should give the ladies’ spirits a lift.

“Emily, you’re early.” Marguerite breezed through the doors and tugged off her gloves. “I said I’d help you set up. How’s your wrist?”

“My pride aches worse than the sprain. I came early because I needed to escape.”

“From your grandmother?”

“Among others.”

“Are your aunts bothering you again?”

“They have designated themselves my personal matchmakers, as I am fast approaching the age where no one could possibly want me. I have to meet their newest prospective suitor after our meeting.”

Marguerite chuckled. “They mean well.”

“Humph.”

Lilly Hart strode in and took a seat. “Why does Emily look as if she swallowed a lemon?”

“Her aunts and grandmother have decided to take her lack of matrimonial bliss into their own hands.”

“Mercy me, Emily. Are you going to let them?”

“I don’t see how I can get out of it without hurting their feelings.” She tugged the string hanging from the electric ceiling fans and listened for the whir. Slowly the blades began to stir the humid air. “Aunt Millie and Aunt Ethel are basically harmless, and they mean the world to me.”

A few more members filtered in, most of them married. Emily let out a wistful sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate her aunts’ efforts, but she’d made her choice. Gaining the right to vote for women was worth the lonely nights. It had to be. No man would tolerate the long hours she put in toward the cause, and they shouldn’t have to.

“Who knows? Maybe they’ll actually find you the perfect match.” Lilly removed her hat and set it beside her on the chair.

Emily adjusted the sling. “Lilly, be serious.”

“Well, the Lord does move in mysterious ways.”

Marguerite glanced toward the oak-framed doorway, where Mrs. Olivia DeSoto paused to make a dramatic entrance, wearing yet another new frock. “Speaking of mysterious ways, look who’s coming.”

Emily moaned. “I thought you’d said she was ill.”

“Wishful thinking?” Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “She certainly keeps you on your toes, Madam President.”

“She hates me.” Emily rubbed the ache in her wrist.

“Only because you bested her in the election,” Lilly said. “She thrives on being the center of attention, and you thwarted her plans.”

The middle-aged beauty, flanked by two of her cohorts, glided across the room and immediately readjusted the carefully placed chairs. “There. That should do nicely,” she said. “Marguerite, Lilly, so glad you could make it. Emily, you aren’t going to be carrying on again, are you?”

“This is a suffrage meeting, Olivia. Not a social club.”

“Of course it is, but you do seem to drone on and on and on.” She spoke loudly and looked around as if to see who was listening. When it appeared she had the attention of one of the newcomers, a smile played on her lips.

“Olivia, why don’t you come sit by me?” Lilly patted the chair beside her. “Let me hear about your attractive new skirt. Where did you get it? It’s a lovely color.”

Emily moved to the window, anger simmering inside her, but grateful Lilly had deflected Olivia’s hurtful intent. Taking a deep breath, Emily sent up a silent prayer for a smooth meeting. Why did she let Olivia get to her? Simply because the woman tried to make the meetings more about her own popularity than about the cause, that was no reason to let it chafe her so.

Staring down from the second-story window, Emily saw the electric launch docking. While the steamers still ran once in a while, resort guests were now most often transported by the new boats that had to be plugged in and recharged every night. She recognized a few fellow suffragists disembarking and waited until they’d made their way upstairs before she started the meeting.

“Ladies.” Emily rapped the gavel on the podium and knocked her notes off in the process. She dove for the fluttering papers, but with only one useful arm, they scattered like autumn leaves on a windy day. Holding her breath, she counted to ten as the papers settled. Lilly scooped them up and offered them to her.

Ignoring the twitters filling the room, Emily straightened her shoulders and fanned her burning cheeks with the papers in her good hand.

“Welcome to the first lakeside meeting of the season. Before we begin, I want to remind you of our demonstration on the pavilion steps this Saturday. As we voted at our last meeting, I will be speaking, and everyone needs to arrive wearing their banners. It is an excellent opportunity to educate the large weekend crowds here at the lake as to the advancements made in the movement.”

“Advancements?” Olivia scoffed in a shrill voice. “Need I remind you the petition before the Iowa assembly failed? A petition, I believe, you assured us would make the politicians finally listen.”

“And they did listen.” Emily slapped the papers on the podium. “We barely lost the fight, and there were over a hundred thousand signatures from Iowa’s citizenry. I understand this is an unfortunate setback, but we should be proud of our efforts, and now more than ever we should press onward.”

Mrs. Gertrude O’Neil clucked. “Why? It will be two years before the legislature meets again to even discuss amending the state’s constitution.”

Emily took a deep breath. “If we slow down now, then we lose whatever ground we’ve gained. In most states, women now make up a fifth of the workforce, but they make less than half the wages of a man who does the same job.”

Chatter broke out among the ladies, and Emily had to call them to order again. “The difference in wages is what makes it vital we encourage the women who are working in places like Woodward’s Candy Factory to join the cause. I believe they are the key to the future and will be quick to lend their support if they are invited to do so.” She studied the faces before her. “Do I have a volunteer who feels comfortable talking to the ladies working in the factory?”

Lilly raised her hand, and a few women gasped. She silenced them with a glare. “I haven’t been married to Benjamin Davis Hart long enough to have forgotten what it was like to work for a living. I’ll speak to them. I’ll go every day if I have to.”

“Thank you, Lilly.” Emily smiled.

“I don’t see how that is going to make a difference.” Olivia waved a silk fan before her face. “Perhaps what we need for this organization is some new direction and leadership.”

The ladies in the room fell silent. Emily clenched her fist tight inside the tea-towel sling. “That very well may be, Olivia, but my term is not over until the end of the year, and I have no intention of giving up this fight—or any other.”

“I’ll second that!” Marguerite applauded, and like dominoes, soon the other ladies joined her.

Olivia snapped her fan closed and rose to her feet. “This room is stifling. I need some air. But before I go, I want to remind you ladies of the spring tea at my home less than a month away. Your invitations should have been delivered already. I thought some of you”—she raked her gaze over Mrs. Tjaden’s wrinkled skirt—“may want to have something new made. I’ve got a lovely crepe summer dress ordered for myself.”

Emily’s heart tugged at the deliberate snub. No invitation had come for her, but she kept her expression frozen, unwilling to give Olivia DeSoto the satisfaction of ruffling her.

“Oh, and did I mention Mrs. Mary Jane Whitely Coggeshall has agreed to be our honored guest? I believe you all recognize the name of the past president of the Iowa Women’s Suffrage Association.” Excited chatter filled the room, and Olivia cast a smirk toward Emily. “She says the future of the suffrage movement in Iowa lies with
married
women such as myself.”

The now-silent ladies awaited Emily’s response. With a mouth as dry as wool batting, Emily swallowed. “She should be a delightful and informative guest. I hope she will be able to share what is truly imperative in this cause, and the importance of rising above petty differences.”

Olivia huffed, swung her lace-trimmed floral skirt in a circle, and whooshed from the room.