A Lady's Choice (10 page)

“Like Alice Paul?”

“Yes, Alice is a wonderful woman, and she's spent years working for suffrage just as I have. But she's become disenchanted with the slow progress our National American Woman Suffrage Association is making. As I'm sure you know, she left our party and founded the National Woman's Party. Her group is the one working in Washington right now. I worry about her and the women affiliated with her. With the uncertain times in the world and America trying to stay out of the war in Europe, President Wilson may grow tired of her demands.”

Sarah thought about what Mrs. Catt had said for a moment before she responded. “But don't you think perhaps both groups may serve a purpose in this fight? It's important to reach the elected people, but there's also a need for the common man to be stirred to the point of addressing his beliefs to the elected leaders from his state.”

Mrs. Catt smiled. “Ah, spoken like a true Alice Paul supporter.”

Sarah's face grew warm. “I do admit I admire her. In fact, I would love the opportunity to go to Washington and work with her.”

Mrs. Catt reached over and patted Sarah's hand. “Maybe you'll get your chance. But if you do, be careful. I'd hate to see anything happen to a sweet, young girl like you.”

She was about to respond when a man's voice startled her. “Ladies, look this way, please.”

Mrs. Catt laughed and pointed to a young man standing behind a camera on a tripod. “That's the reporter, dear. Smile. You might make the newspaper tomorrow.”

Sarah smiled for the camera and then looked around at the people waiting to speak with Mrs. Catt. “I don't want to keep you from the other guests. I've enjoyed our chat.”

Mrs. Catt took a deep breath. “Yes, I suppose I should talk with some of the other people here tonight, but I've really enjoyed our conversation.”

“This has been a wonderful experience. You are a great inspiration to me.”

Sarah pushed to her feet and stepped away from the sofa. She smothered a smile when a woman dropped down next to Mrs. Catt and settled herself for a picture. Sarah ambled toward the dining room and stopped next to the table laden with an assortment of sandwiches, cakes, and candies.

Her conversation with Mrs. Catt replayed in her mind. It was true she believed in everything Mrs. Catt had said, but nothing excited her like the thought of what Alice Paul and her supporters were involved in at the capitol. If only she could be there and experience what it was like to confront those opposed to suffrage.

Movement next to her caught her attention, and she turned to see a young man she'd noticed in the group earlier. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Miss Whittaker, I'm Timothy Windsor from St. Louis. I'm visiting my aunt and uncle, and she told me who you are. I've been watching you since you arrived, and I knew I had to meet you.”

He held out his hand, and she placed hers in it. The breath almost left her body. His dark eyes and his hair that tumbled across his forehead transported her back to a baseball field and another young man. Her limp hand could not respond to his fingers gripping hers. “Th–thank you, Mr. Windsor.”

“I understand you're a teacher.” He picked up a cup of tea and handed it to her. She gripped the saucer with her trembling fingers.

“Yes, I teach at Mrs. Simpson's school.” She took a sip of tea and walked to the far side of the room. He followed behind.

“Would you like something to eat?”

The cup rattled against the saucer. “No, thank you. I–I'm waiting for my friends to join me.”

He glanced toward the table and back at her before he smiled. “When I saw you come in tonight, I thought the man with you was probably your father. But when my aunt introduced us, I knew he wasn't.”

“No, he's not. I teach at his aunt's school.”

His dark eyes smiled down at her. “Aunt Mary insisted that I come tonight to meet her friends. I didn't want to, but now I'm certainly glad I did. I never expected to meet such an attractive young woman in the group.”

She steadied her trembling hand and clutched the saucer firmly. “Thank you, Mr. Windsor. I hope you enjoyed Mrs. Catt's speech. I certainly found it stirring.”

His dark eyes twinkled. “That wasn't the most stirring thing for me.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Whittaker, I'm going to be in town for several days. Would you mind if I called on you at Mrs. Simpson's?”

Call on her? Those words had been spoken to her before. Tears threatened to fill her eyes. This man might remind her of Alex, but he wasn't. And no one would ever take his place in her heart.

She glanced at Roger, who was talking with a woman at the table, and hoped her expression alerted him to the panic building inside her. He halted his conversation, looked from her to Timothy, and headed toward her. When he stopped beside her, she inched closer to him and smiled at Timothy with trembling lips.

“Roger, this is Timothy Windsor.”

“Yes, we met earlier.” The two men shook hands, but Roger turned a quizzical look to her. “Is everything all right, Sarah?”

She handed him her cup and saucer. “Yes, I'm just tired and ready to go home. Would you help me find my coat?”

“Miss Whittaker, I…,” Timothy began.

Sarah linked her hand through the crook of Roger's arm and took a step back. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Windsor. I hope you enjoy visiting with your aunt. Have a safe trip home.”

She turned and hurried away, pulling Roger after her. He handed the cup he held to a servant by the door as they pushed through the crowd. Mrs. Simpson followed them into the room where they'd left the lightweight shawls they'd worn.

Roger pulled Sarah to a stop. “What's the matter? Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”

“Timothy Windsor asked if he could call on me, and I wanted to get away from him.”

Roger fixed her with a stony glare. “Did he now? What did you say?”

“I tried to get your attention so I could get away from him. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I have no desire to know him better.”

Roger's body relaxed, and he smiled at her. “Good girl. Let's get out of here before he comes after us.”

Sarah draped her wrap over her arm and headed toward the front door. Just as Roger put his hand on the knob she heard a voice. “Miss Whittaker, wait.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Timothy Windsor approaching.

Roger opened the door, and she rushed onto the front porch and gulped a big breath of the chilly October air. He turned his back to block the door and faced Timothy. “Miss Whittaker is very tired, and we're leaving now. She has a long day ahead of her in class tomorrow. I'm afraid she's going to be very busy for the next few weeks. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Windsor.”

Roger turned and hurried his aunt and Sarah to their parked car. As they pulled away from the curb, Sarah watched Timothy Windsor standing on the porch with his hand on the column at the top of the steps. She settled back in the seat and wiped away a tear that trickled from her eye.

No one said a word as they drove through the dark streets of Memphis. When they pulled up in front of Mrs. Simpson's house, Roger got out, helped them up the steps, and followed them into the entry hall. His aunt stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned to him. “Did you want to speak to me before you go home?”

He glanced at Sarah. “No, I'd like to talk with Sarah for a few minutes.”

“Very well. Then I suppose we'll see you for dinner tomorrow night.”

He smiled. “Since tomorrow is Saturday, I may be here in the early afternoon. It will depend on whether or not I decide to finish up some work at the office.”

Sarah watched Mrs. Simpson climb the stairs and enter her room at the top of the landing before she turned back to Roger. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes.” He grasped her arm and steered her into the parlor. They stopped in front of the fireplace, and he gripped her arm tighter. “I want you to tell me what happened with that boy tonight. Did he do anything inappropriate? If he did, I'll see that he regrets it.”

She pulled away from him and shook her head. “No, no. It wasn't anything like that. It was my fault. He reminded me of someone, and I got upset.”

Roger's eyes narrowed. “Reminded you of someone? Who?”

She sighed and shook her head. “It doesn't matter. It was someone I met in Richland Creek.”

“A man?”

She frowned. Why was he asking these questions? “Yes, but…”

He took a step toward her. “What's his name?”

“Roger, please…”

“Sarah, I want to know the name of the man. You obviously still care for him or you wouldn't have gotten so upset tonight. Now tell me who he is.”

She threw up her hands in defeat. “His name is Alex Taylor. He's a lawyer and works in James Buckley's firm. But there is nothing between the two of us anymore.”

“James Buckley's firm?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Then that's why he hasn't been around here to call on you. Buckley's not about to let any of his lawyers associate with members of the suffrage movement.”

“No, he's not. I don't know why I got so upset when Timothy approached me. All I could think about was getting out of there.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “And I helped you. Don't forget that.”

A chill went down her spine. “I promise I'll never forget anything you and your aunt have done for me, Roger.”

He gave a sigh of relief. “Good. And I have a promise for you too, Sarah.”

“What is it?”

He reached out and took her hand in his. He stared into her eyes a moment before he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I promise I'm going to make you forget you ever knew a man named Alex Taylor.”

His words stunned her so she couldn't speak. Wide-eyed, she watched as he released her hand and strode from the room. The front door slammed, and then she heard the sound of his car pulling away from the house.

After a few minutes she sank into one of the chairs that faced the fireplace and buried her face in her hands. As the tears rolled from her eyes, she shook her head in denial. Roger was wrong. She would never forget Alex Taylor. Never.

Alex heaved another box off the floor of his office and set it on his desk. He propped his hands on his hips and let his gaze drift over the small room he'd been assigned as his first office at Buckley, Anderson, and Pike. It would be all right for a start, but he didn't intend to stay in here long. He would work hard, and before long he would have one of the larger offices with big windows that looked out onto Front Street and the river beyond.

He opened the box and was about to pull out a book when a tap at the door interrupted him. “Come in.” The door opened, and Lydia Stevens, his secretary, stuck her head in. “Lydia, what are you doing here on a Saturday afternoon?”

“I heard you say yesterday you planned to get your office in order today. I thought I might be able to help.”

He shook his head. “But I don't want to interfere with your personal time. I'm sure you have other things you need to do on your day off.”

She shrugged, and he recognized her no-nonsense attitude in the gesture. “Days off don't mean a lot to me. My life has revolved around this firm for the past twenty years, and I expect it will continue to in the future.” She straightened her shoulders. “But I really came in to help Mr. Buckley with some work. He sent me down here. He wants to see you in his office.”

The senior partner wanted to see him in his office? And on a Saturday afternoon? This couldn't be good. In the weeks since he'd been here, Mr. Buckley hadn't called for him. In fact he'd been under the tutelage of John Deadmon, one of the junior partners. Alex gulped before he spoke. “He wants to see me? What for?”

Lydia smiled, and the reproachful gaze she directed at him reminded him of Ellen. “I'm not in the habit of asking the senior partner of the firm why he does anything, Mr. Taylor. I learned a long time ago it's much easier to follow instructions than to determine the reason behind them.”

He grimaced and nodded his agreement. “I understand, Lydia. Just keep reminding me of that. I don't want to say or do the wrong thing.” He picked up his suit coat that he'd hung on the back of a chair and shrugged into it. “If I'm being called to the boss's office, I'd better try to look my best.”

Lydia crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “I think you'll pass inspection. Mr. Buckley is not a tyrant like some people think. He's been very kind to me since I've worked here. He has a love for the law, and he wants all his associates to share that love.”

“I admire your dedication to the firm.”

“Like I said, it's my life. I've seen a lot of young lawyers come through here. But I must say, I've never been as impressed with anyone as I am with you. I've seen your academic record and read your letters of recommendation. I know you can make partner here if you work hard.”

Alex took a deep breath and pulled his coat sleeves over his shirt. “That's what I intend to do. I'm glad to have you on my side. Keep me steered on the right path.”

“I will, Mr. Taylor.” She glanced at the box on his desk. “Now you go on to Mr. Buckley's office, and I'll finish unpacking these books for you.”

“Thanks.”

He headed down the hallway toward the suite of offices on the other side of the reception room. When he reached Mr. Buckley's office, he stopped outside the door and took a deep breath before he knocked.

“Come in.” When Alex stepped inside, he was struck at once by the difference in this room and the one where he worked. Polished mahogany appeared to be everywhere. Alex had never seen such beautiful office furniture in his life. From behind his desk Mr. Buckley gazed at him from the padded chair where he sat.

“Well, close the door and come in, Taylor. No need to stand there like you're scared to enter.”

Alex forced a smile to his face and closed the door behind him. He walked to the chair facing Mr. Buckley's desk and waited for an invitation to sit. Mr. Buckley gestured toward the chair, and Alex eased into it.

“Lydia said you wanted to see me, sir.”

Mr. Buckley leaned back, propped his elbows on the chair arms, and tented his fingers. “I've been busy since you arrived and haven't had much time to talk to you. I wanted to make sure Deadmon has helped you settle in.”

“Yes, sir. He has, and Lydia has been very helpful. Thank you for assigning her to me.”

He nodded. “Lydia has worked for me for many years, and she knows how to spot an up-and-coming lawyer. She tells me you've impressed her more than any other in a long time.”

“That's good to know, sir, but I don't know what I've done for her to judge. I've spent most of my time working on appellate briefs for some of the other lawyers.”

“I know. I've been keeping up with your work, and I've been impressed.”

Alex's eyebrows arched in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. I've found that more and more cases are being lost on appeal because of an ineffectively written brief. Some lawyers forget they learned about legal writing in the first year of law school. Instead they write what they think the judge wants to hear. Your briefs are tidy and to the point, just what I like to see. I wanted to compliment you on that.”

Alex smiled and let his shoulders relax. “Thank you, sir. I hope I can continue to impress you. I'll certainly try.”

Mr. Buckley picked up an unopened envelope and tapped it against his desktop several times. “Why don't we see if you continue to impress me?”

A ripple of concern swept through Alex, and he eyed the envelope with a wary expression. “How?”

“A letter came for you today. I wanted to be with you when you opened it.”

Alex frowned. “I didn't think the mail was delivered here on Saturdays.”

“It's not. I arranged for this one to arrive by special delivery.”

Alex's bewilderment increased. “I don't understand, sir. What is it?”

“It's the results of your bar exam.”

Alex sat in stunned silence and tried to absorb the fact that Mr. Buckley had arranged with the bar examiners to send his results by special delivery. Did the man's power have no limits?

Mr. Buckley handed the envelope to him, and Alex's heart fluttered when he saw the return address. He swallowed and looked up. “I knew this was supposed to arrive in October. Now that it's come, I'm afraid to open the letter.”

“Well, we have to find out the results. You might as well get it over with.” Mr. Buckley handed him a silver letter opener.

Alex slipped the blade under the seal and pulled out the folded piece of paper inside. He took a deep breath before he unfolded it and read the results. A wave of relief washed over him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “I passed.”

He glanced up, and Mr. Buckley was beaming. “Good news, young man. I knew you could do it.” He extended his hand, and Alex rose to shake it. “Welcome to the firm. I know you're going to be a valuable member.”

Alex smiled and sank back in his chair. He stared down at the letter and thought of Ellen. He could hardly wait to let her know his hard work had paid off, but she'd never doubted him. “Thank you for your confidence in me, sir. I'll work as hard as I can for the clients of this firm.”

Mr. Buckley's bushy eyebrows drew down over his nose, and he glanced at a folded newspaper lying on his desk. He picked it up. “I'm sure you will. But there's still one area we need to discuss. I wondered if you had read the afternoon newspaper.”

Alex shook his head. “I haven't had time. Is there something in it I should see?”

He pushed the newspaper toward Alex. “I thought you might be interested in a story on the front page. I believe the young lady in this picture is a friend of yours.”

“A friend of mine?” Alex frowned and reached for the paper. His eyes grew wide, and his hands shook. Sarah, seated next to a woman he'd never seen before, stared at him from the front page of the newspaper. He looked up at Mr. Buckley. “I—I don't understand.”

“You haven't read the article yet. The older woman in the picture is Carrie Chapman Catt, president of the National American Woman Suffrage Association. She's in Memphis stirring up trouble for a few days, and she spoke to a large gathering at Mary Windsor's house last night.”

Alex looked back at Sarah's picture. “And Sarah was there?”

“Evidently so.” Mr. Buckley folded his hands on top of his desk and leaned forward. He directed a piercing glare at Alex. “Isn't Miss Whittaker the young woman you asked me to help with an inheritance problem a few months ago?”

“Yes, sir.

“And at the time there was some kind of relationship between the two of you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now?”

“That's all over. It has been for weeks.”

Mr. Buckley relaxed and smiled. “Good. I can't have my associates mixed up in all this suffrage nonsense. I just needed to make sure you understood what's required of the people in my law firm.”

Alex rolled the paper into a cylinder and wrapped his hands around it. “I understand, sir.”

“Then I'm glad we had this little talk. Get everything out in the open, I always say. Now I'll let you get you back to your office.”

Alex pushed to his feet, but before he could move, the door to Mr. Buckley's office burst open. A young woman with long brown hair swept into the office and hurried to Mr. Buckley's side. She stared down at him with big, brown eyes. “Daddy, I've been shopping, and I ran out of money.”

Mr. Buckley scowled and stood. “Larraine, how many times do I have to tell you to knock before you come bursting in my office? I might have an important client in here.”

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “But this is Saturday, and you never have clients on days when you're catching up on work. Besides, you have that new associate you've told me so much about, and I wanted to meet him.” She looped her arm through her father's and batted her eyelashes at Alex. “Are you going to introduce us, Daddy?”

Mr. Buckley smiled at his daughter. “Larraine, this is Alex Taylor. Alex, I'm sure you've already figured out this is my daughter.”

Alex flashed a wobbly smile in the young woman's direction. “I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Buckley.” He backed toward the door, the newspaper still clutched in his hand. “I'll talk with you later, Mr. Buckley.”

Mr. Buckley nodded. “And Alex, congratulations on passing the bar.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Larraine's eyes widened, and she held up a hand to stop him. “You passed the bar? When did you find out?”

Alex held up the letter. “Just a few minutes ago.”

“That's wonderful.” She looked up at her father. “Daddy, we should invite Alex to dinner tonight to celebrate his success.”

Alex's face grew warm, and he shook his head. “No, I couldn't intrude.”

Larraine laughed. “You wouldn't be intruding. You would be our guest of honor. Not all of Daddy's associates pass on the first try.” She looked up at her father. “Tell him what time to be there, Daddy.”

Mr. Buckley only hesitated a few seconds before he nodded. “Larraine's right. We should celebrate your success. Dinner is served at seven o'clock. Do you know where we live?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh, don't worry about getting there, Alex,” Larraine said. “I'll come for you in my car. I saw your address on the office roster, so I know where you live. I'll pick you up about six-thirty.”

Alex realized her statement didn't require an answer, so he simply nodded and walked out of the office. His legs shook so that he wasn't sure if he would make it all the way back to his office. He lurched through the door and came to a halt at the sight of Lydia still unpacking a box.

“How did it go?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Fine. I found out I passed the bar.”

“Congratulations. I'm very happy for you.” Lydia's nonchalant tone gave no indication whether she was happy for him or not.

“And I've been invited to dinner at Mr. Buckley's house.”

Lydia pursed her lips and frowned. “Larraine?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

Lydia closed the box she'd been unpacking and directed an impassive stare at him. “Like I said earlier, I've been around here for a long time and have seen a lot of new lawyers come through here.”

Alex frowned. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

Lydia sighed. “I think you're smart enough to figure things out for yourself. Just be careful while you're doing it.”

She walked out of his office and left him standing in the middle of the floor trying to figure out what had happened since he'd stepped into Mr. Buckley's office. At first he'd been thrilled over the bar exam and with the compliment he'd received. Then he'd been frightened of the implied threat Mr. Buckley delivered. And Larraine Buckley? He couldn't even start to understand her.

Nothing had surprised him, though, like seeing Sarah's face on the front page of the newspaper. He laid the paper on his desk, opened it, and smoothed out the picture. He closed his eyes for a moment and remembered how beautiful she'd looked standing with her skirt lifted above her ankles. He'd tried to forget her, but he couldn't.

He dropped down in the chair behind his desk and stared at the envelope containing his exam results. He didn't know how long he sat there, but he finally straightened. Suddenly he had an urgent need to talk with Sarah, to tell her he'd passed the bar, and…just to hear her voice. Since it was Saturday, she wouldn't have classes today. Maybe he could reach her. He picked up the telephone receiver. Lydia answered right away.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lydia, can you get me Mrs. Edna Simpson's School for Girls? It's located on Adams Street.”

“I'll get it right away, Mr. Taylor.”

Within a few seconds the call connected, and the voice of a young woman answered. “Mrs. Simpson's School.”