1870, Philadelphia, USA.
Martha Whitcomb, the wild child of Philadelphia society, is now a grown woman, independent in wealth and in personality. At twenty-three, still unmarried and childless, she is exposed to constant rumors and ridicule, crushed...
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Martha sat at her dressing table, her trembling hand running her hairbrush through her waist-length mane of silver tresses. Despite her sixty-five years, she still had to remind herself not to rush and accidentally tear more hair from her scalp than was wholly necessary. In any case, she knew that rushing through her morning rituals would not change the outcome of the previous day.
The previous day.
Election day.
Also known as 'you are not truly a citizen of this nation, ma'am' day. Also known as 'no thank you, but you cannot be trusted with an opinion, you silly little girl' day. Also known as 'keep out of it and leave these decisions to your betters, child' day.
She was no longer a child, no longer a silly little girl, and yet, Martha remained a non-citizen in her own country. She was certainly taxed like a citizen, and certainly had to follow the laws like a citizen, but she had no say in how those tax dollars were spent, no say in those laws that ruled her life.
Today, however, might just be the day that all changed. She would remain a non-citizen of America, but, perhaps, just perhaps, she might become a citizen of the newest state to join that union. On February 14th of that year, Arizona had finally graduated from the final territory in the contiguous United States to its 48th state. Along with that promotion had come yet another heartbreaking defeat in the fight for women's suffrage—the legislature had rejected their bill by one vote.
Fed up with leaving these matters to pompous politicians forever paying lip service to progress while thinking of only themselves, the suffragists, led by Martha's dear friend Fannie Munds, had instead put out a petition to gather the needed signatures to put the question of women's suffrage on the ballot, to leave the decision to the people themselves. It had taken three months to acquire the necessary four thousand signatures, but Mrs. Munds had accomplished her goal, and Martha had spent most of the year campaigning for the cause. She had participated in the endless parades, demonstrations, and even a booth at the Arizona State Fair, and she had spent the previous day, from six in the morning to six in the evening, standing outside her nearest polling place with her badge and pennant, doing her part to remind the men coming by to vote of this most cherished issue.
She had more than once been dismissed as 'desperate', and perhaps that was because she was. She had spent five decades of her conscious life watching elections parade on by without being allowed a seat at the table, and the pain in her heart was growing heavier than she felt she could bear.
Her bedroom door opened, and without so much as knocking to announce his presence or a word of greeting, Benjamin entered the room. She searched his face for any sign of what news he might bring, but he remained neutral, entirely unreadable. He approached her dressing table, bending down first for a kiss before dropping a fresh, crisp, copy of the Arizona Republican into the table:
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