Yellow Roses // Thomas Shelby

Chaper Eleven

July 20, 1914

I took a drink of water before going out onto the stage, dressed in pinstripe pants and a white button up. I was in Brooklyn, New York about to make a speech about feminism and the rights of fellow ladies.

I wrote down the word 'silence' on a piece of paper and smashed my cigarette in the ashtray before walking out onto the stage, showing the mobs of people the paper. There were men, children and women here. Most of the men were shouting profanities at me, but the women were cheering.

After about two minutes of saying nothing, the crowd quieted down, watching me take a final drag of my cigarette, then smash it into the floorboards of the building. They were confused.

"You fucking greaser!" A man yelled from the back. I flashed him a smile as I put the sign down, pacing the stage.

"Who cooks your meals, who irons your clothes, who looks after your children while you're working?" I asked all the men in the room. The profanities started again, but died down after a few seconds.

"You make the money, it's a fair point." I paced the stage, eyeing all of them. "But who runs the household? Who has the authority when you are not present?" I looked at them all. "Your wives do. The woman does."

"America was founded on July 4th, 1776, correct? The time where we had slavery, the time where we went to fucking Africa, and took anything we could, yes?" I asked the crowd. Most of the crowd were people of color. I was still smiling.

"We're those enslaved women not women?!" I yelled, making people cheer. "Did those women not work to their death? Did those women work more that the average fucking Joe, sitting on his ass while he had women and men slaving away on his property?!" More cheers came into play, getting the crowd riled up.

"Do these women not provide for you every hour of the day? They give you men everything you want. Sex. Children. Folded laundry. Fucking food on the table every fucking day, and have you ever said thank you?" The crowd got silent again.

"That's their fucking job, you bitch!" A man shouted from the middle of the crowd when it was dead silent. I smiled once again.

"Sir, Do you kiss your husband with that mouth?"

The crowd gasped, then started laughing at the man I had just insulted. The man's face was inflamed with fury. I don't think I've ever seen a man this angry at one of my insults.

"Us women have been silent since 1776, and we have done countless things to make our rights equal." I pointed at the crowd, yelling so everybody could hear me. "Yet congress and Wilson have ignored us time and time again, leaving no choice but to protest in the streets."

"We created a document 137 years ago, saying that the creator made us all equal. Yet, men can get jobs, men can go to a high learner than women, and men can fucking vote for their government." I paced the stage once again.

"As you all know, I live in England. Women there can order at pubs, go out with girlfriends without their husbands, hell, the whores there have more respect than educated women here." I straightened my posture. "Yet women in the country of freedom cannot vote for their leader!"

I walked over to the podium where the sign laid, picking it up and ripping it into quarters in front of everybody.

"And that I will not be silent. I will not be silent for every aching woman who works for men with no pay. I will not be silent for the millions of women who were slaves and not recognized. I will not be silent until every woman in America is treated with the respect a man is!"

The crowd erupted with joy, even some men joined in. They were raising their hats into the air, whistling as I paced the floor. I looked around the room, my face starting to sweat from all the pressure.