There's Wisdom in Women

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Catherine Hartwell:

I stood at the head of the classroom and searched the pages of the newspaper for the correct article: “A Letter to My Readers” The girls chattered with each other “Quiet, girls.” I hushed them. “It is time to start.” On the front page of  the suffrage newspaper, was written a quote of Susan B. Antony. I read it aloud to the girls, “There is not the woman born who desires to eat the bread of dependence, no matter whether it be from the hand of father, husband, or brother; for any one who does so eat her bread places herself in the power of the person from whom she takes it.”

“Now each of you are here for your own reason,” I asserted with confidence. “You each have your separate motives and opinions, but in truth, would any one of you be content to have a life of childbirth and house cleaning, all the while being bound indefinitely to a man? Society tells us, that we,” I gesture to myself and the girls, “ as female individuals are incapable of achieving anything of value. The men have put roadblocks in place to deter us from succeeding, and even when we overcome these difficulties they steal our earnings away from us. Now would you all listen to this next article-”

“Ex... Excuse me, Miss Hartwell” One of the students, a young Mary Neely, had stood up and raised her hand to catch my attention. Mary was small and one of the youngest to attend the meetings, which usually were more suited for the older girls. Mary pointed out the window, and a male silhouette was distinctly visible. “I think someone is coming.”

“I think so, too.” My worrisome countenance served as a signal to the students. They rapidly wiped their slates clean and hastily crumpled their parchment, so the names of various suffragettes were no longer visible. I opened the furnace and tossed the newspaper inside the fiery furnace, and promptly rushed to the door. I gnawed at my bottom lip as I moved, if we were caught just once, me, and all the girls were through. There was serious punshiment for advocating suffrage publicly.

I whipped the door open, not giving myself time to think, and saw the four-foot tall milk boy standing there. I glared at him, agitated that such a boy could throw us all into a fit of panic. “If you arrive late once more, I’ll have a word with your superiors,” I said as menacingly as I could. Painting a picture for him of a strict scary school teacher, which I hoped I did not appear to everyone, “Now run along, I’ve got my own business to attend to.” The rascal scurried off, and knew I had succeeded in intimidating him.     

I closed the door and returned to my place at the front of the room. The girls were as upset as I. Now that the newspaper was burnt and all of us so distracted, it was futile to continue the lesson. I sent the girls home with consolation that we would continue when we met again in a weeks time. The girls grumbled out, and I soon departed after them.

I took a path north to the way of the home of Mr. Charles Blue, my husband to be. We had been “courting” each other for the past five months, if you could qualify it as courting. Each visit was an hour or more Mr. Blue coquetting for my attention, while being an all around bore otherwise. At first glance I though he a philanderer, but on closer inspection I discovered, he was but only a young, flirtatious man whom has only a small taste of love. And I am much relieved that it is, truly, the latter. I myself am not fond of the man, but he is of a family of wealth, and I am not one to be the judge of men.

My family and I were quite surprised when Mr. Blue showed such interest in me. My family is owner of fairly successful farm, but we surely have never been well off. For most my early childhood I was raised just as elder brother, Martin, was. We would go out every day and work alongside my father and the other workers, and in the afternoon we’d climb trees and talk of all the adventures we would have when we were grown.  As I walked recounted the best days of my brother and I. 

But when I grew older, my mother decided it wasn’t fit for a young woman to be running around out in the dirt. I wasn’t allowed to play outside with Martin, or help my father pick the vegetables in the fall. I was bound to the indoors and learned to read and write well, then taught the craft to my younger sisters, as they grew up. I learned to love books and being able to create beautiful calligraphies. There was always something missing, though. I was always secretly yearning for the life I used to have; a life my brother still enjoyed.

I soon arrived at the home of Mr. Blue, and I gave a knock on the grandiose door and was greeted by a butler. He ushered me inside and offered to escort me to the sitting room. “No, that’s alright. I believe I can find it myself, thank you though.” The house was practically teeming of servants, and it made me feel a bit uncomfortable. We never had servers at home. It had always been the job my sisters and me to clean and help mother cook.

I walked down the marble halls, searching for the parlor. I had though I knew where it was, but now I suppose not. I searched my memory for my prior visits, but I couldn’t remember. At a moment I was quickly roused from my thoughts. A young servant girl had ran into me with a tray of tea. She jumped back in surprise, obviously caught in her own mind, as was I. She leaned forward now, desperately attempting to regain her balance and save the tea, but alas, she had lean forward to quickly and fallen forward right into me. The china clattered to the floor, and tea splashed onto my dress. “Pardon me, I’m so sorry,” I said instinctively as I crouched to the floor to collect the broken pieces of the tea set.