Color rose in Sadie’s cheeks. “Children working outside in fields is understandable. But in dark and loud buildings? How many hours a day are they in there?”

  Diana shrugged.

  Sadie asked, “Is no one concerned that they are not in school?”

  “The Unitarian women speak of it—intermittently.”

  Sadie snorted. “Is there nothing they won’t speak of—intermittently?”

  Diana defended her faith: “We take up many causes because there is so much that needs reform.”

  Sadie could not argue with that. She replied wistfully, “I wish the reforms could simply be done with. Why must each be fought for over and over and over again?”

  “Come to the Unitarian women’s auxiliary with me,” Diana encouraged. “You will appreciate the strong women fighting for a better tomorrow for everyone. The topic of our suffrage is our current cause.”

  A tug of hope along with a stab of fear filled Sadie’s chest at the thought of involving herself in political matters. An image of Heinrich’s face—incredulous and surprised—popped into her mind. But her husband was gone, perhaps never to return. She had to make her own way now.

  Sadie asked, “Can I bring May?”

  “Certainly,” Diana replied. “You can leave if she becomes a disruption, but we are all mothers. We understand.”

  “Then I will come!” Excitement stirred in Sadie—at the idea of getting out of the house and meeting like-minded women.

  Diana’s smile showed her approval.

  CHAPTER 19

  JORDAN

  Oakland

  MARCH 1895

  Fifteen women boarded the train at the depot on Seventh Street in Oakland. Miss Flood and Jordan were the only Colored people, but they were warmly welcomed by the other delegates. As this was the terminus of the line, the women from San Francisco were boarding here as well.

  The National American Woman Suffrage Association had paid the fare for any woman who could make the journey to the capital of California: Sacramento. Dozens of women from many cities would go before the state assembly to claim their right to vote.

  Jordan hoped she looked as confident as Miss Flood appeared. She didn’t feel as if she belonged with these well-to-do women making demands of the government. Many of them were married to wealthy men and had been organizing for this cause for years. She felt like an impostor, though she shared their ardent desire to see women have the vote.

  Jordan was proud to be representing the Colored women of Oakland along with Miss Flood. She’d been surprised when Miss Flood offered this ticket to her, but apparently Jordan’s connection to the Columbian Exposition and Ida B. Wells had been all the information the club needed to choose her as the second delegate. After shaking hands and making acquaintance with the other women, Miss Flood and Jordan searched for seats.

  “Would you prefer the window?” Jordan offered, though she dearly wanted to see the view. The last time she’d traveled this route, she’d been too busy tending to Sadie and May to gaze out a window.

  “Go right ahead.” Miss Flood gestured for her to go first. “I can greet people and chat more easily from the aisle.”

  Jordan nodded and slid onto the third-class bench. There was no need to be in second or first class on such a short journey. Others on this train would be traveling all the way to Chicago—some in a Pullman car.

  Jordan’s mind flashed to Willie. Her letter had long since been delivered to his mother, but Naomi had not reported any change in their intention to marry. Hopefully Emily was working to convince Willie that this marriage would be unwise. It would be a painful but temporary blow to her daughter, but better than a lifetime of distress.

  Gazing out of the right side of the train, Jordan saw the same mix of people she’d taught in her temporary classroom. She’d been their teacher for only two weeks, but in that time she had experienced for herself the racial mixing that Naomi and Willie spoke about. Out the window she saw people of various shades and hair colors in all kinds of clothing. Most of the Chinese wore American clothes, but a few were in black pajamas or bright silk.

  The sight of the porters, in their telltale uniforms, brought up longing for her husband in heaven. He’d be cheering her on, going to fight for her right to vote. Mama too.

  Hello, Booker. Hello, Mama. I hope I’m making you proud—getting on with my life and fighting for the good, she thought.

  The train jerked away from the station. She waved back at the people on the platform. The familiar sights in Oakland flashed by, and they quickly passed through Emeryville township. In Berkeley she looked for the great university, but Miss Flood said it was too far from the tracks.

  At each stop two or three women joined them until she estimated there were twenty-five when they pulled into the station in Sacramento three hours later. The warm, dry air hit her skin, signaling she was in another world. The dramatic differences in the climate of California were perplexing.

  On the train platform the women lined up in a formation. Miss Flood hooked her arm through Jordan’s. A White woman she’d never met linked elbows on the other side.

  “I’m Miss Miller of Berkeley,” she leaned in and said.

  “Mrs. Booker Wallace of Oakland. And this is Miss Flood,” Jordan replied.

  The young White woman smiled and declared, “Let’s make history.”

  Jordan’s heart hammered as they walked toward the capitol building. Alert for any signs of danger, she scanned ahead. She expected verbal attacks and prayed they would avoid anything physical.

  In this moment Jordan sincerely felt her race was no barrier to these women. They were united in their work for the common good of all women. Pride swelled in Jordan’s soul; she was fulfilling a long-ago dream that she’d given up for dead.

  Soon the capitol building loomed before them. It was stately with its round dome and smooth walls. They marched up the marble stairs, their arms connecting them in rows of three.

  A lone White workman snarled, “Women don’t get no vote. Especially no nigger women!”

  Jordan’s breath caught. Miss Miller gasped.

  “Ignore him!” Miss Flood instructed. “He is beneath our concern.”

  Jordan stumbled over the foot in front of her. The line had suddenly stopped moving forward because Mrs. Gordon had paused at the top.

  She bellowed instructions, “Ladies, join hands for a prayer.”

  Jordan’s arms were shaking, and she took a deep breath to settle her emotions. Miss Flood patted her hand.

  “He cannot harm you. We are strong together,” the young woman said.

  Jordan was embarrassed to be so disturbed. She nodded and lied, “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Hands clasped and arms hooked, the group of women encircled the stately matron.

  “God, give us the strength to do your bidding. In the beginning you said, ‘It is not good for man to stand alone.’ We are here to fulfill your word. Women’s suffrage means every citizen possessing the necessary qualifications shall be entitled to cast one vote at every election and have that vote counted. We do not ask to be elevated above the men. We do not reject our duties for home. We ask for a government that professes to be a republic to be a republic and not pretend to be what it is not. Amen.”

  Amens echoed back.

  Mrs. Gordon declared, “Ladies, we are making history. The women of the great state of California will not tolerate being second-class citizens.”

  Jordan joined in the rousing cheer, and then they stepped into the imposing statehouse.

  The large meeting room was brimming with energy. Jordan read signs being held up high: “Votes for women,” “No taxation without representation,” and “Through thick and thin we begin.” A chill traveled down her spine and her flesh raised up. Many women held bouquets of flowers.

  The crowd of women listened quietly to the proceedings until Judge Spencer of Lassen County introduced the bill. Jordan joined the others in a loud chorus of approval. A gavel silenced them. As Judge Spencer spoke, women walked one by one down to his desk and placed flowers on it.

  Jordan leaned in to make out every word.

  Miss Flood whispered in Jordan’s ear, “That is Mr. Spencer’s wife at his side.”

  Jordan nodded, impressed at the model of equality. As he spoke, she made notes and slid them over to her husband. A number of women were allowed to add their voices to the cause, and they each made their case well, a testament to their sex.

  Mrs. Blinn closed the introduction of the bill. “The men have made a mess of our nation. None can argue with that fact. It is our turn to bring the passion and care of a mother’s touch to our country. We will have a cleansing effect that will make our state great.”

  Jordan joined the crowd of women in a brief shout of endorsement.

  A Mr. Lackman stood up to speak. “What folly we will bring upon our government if we allow illogical and weak women to assume political duties. What would be the effect on affairs of this state today were its governor in the throes of childbirth? I tell you that which might be heaven for this new woman would be hell for old men!”

  Jordan was surprised that a raucous uproar of protest greeted his assertion, but she joined in, feeling the power of public dissent.

  Mr. Bledsoe spoke next. “As we all know, the constitutionality of this plan is under question. And I wonder at the wisdom of taking such a step. But I shall give women the benefit of the doubt and be adding my voice in favor when we take up a vote.”

  Another cheer went up. And so it went on, with more saying they would vote in favor of the bill than those who proclaimed they would vote against it. By the time the assembly was finished with the topic, Jordan was confident the women’s cause would prevail when the time came for a vote.

  After the session was adjourned, the women gathered for a picture on the steps of the capitol building. Dozens of petitioners, of many ages and sizes and locations, gathered close. She and Miss Flood were the only Colored faces. It might not have mattered to the proceedings that she was here today, but she was proud that representatives from their race would be memorialized in this historical record of the delegation that fought for women’s equality. She grabbed Miss Flood’s hand and leaned in close.

  “Thank you for including me,” Jordan whispered into her delicate ear.

  Miss Flood squeezed her hand and they held fast as the delegation posed in the sunshine. It was exhilarating to be a part of history.

  A few days later, Jordan arrived at the women’s auxiliary meeting at the Unitarian Church. She scanned the sunny room looking for Miss Flood and was surprised to see her seated near Sadie and May. She sat down by the young woman and scooped up the little one into her arms. A sweet delight spread from her chest outward, like sinking into a warm tub.

  “May looks so good!” Jordan declared, grinning at the baby.

  May’s hazel eyes locked onto Jordan’s brown ones. Then her gaze moved around Jordan’s face. She returned her focus to Jordan’s eyes and slowly, ever so slowly, a tiny smile turned into a huge toothless grin. Jordan beamed back, completely smitten.

  Jordan said, “She’s so lovely. I’m so happy to see her, and you, doing so well!”

  Sadie nodded with a smile, and then her lips pulled down in a frown. “You are not well?” Jordan asked.

  Mrs. Gordon, the leader of the women’s auxiliary, brought them to attention before Sadie could respond.

  The women’s auxiliary approved the minutes from their past meeting and turned to new business.

  “Great news—with the suffrage bill passed in the state assembly, we are halfway to our goal. There is a groundswell of genuine support.”

  Jordan cheered with the women and smiled at Sadie.

  “We must not let up. The state senate will be voting on our cause. We must be there in large numbers. The National American Woman Suffrage Association does not have funds to cover our expenses again, so, ladies, we must pay our own way.”

  Jordan’s hopes sank. Neither she nor Naomi had found steady employment. Though it had paid well, the temporary position as a substitute teacher did not give her the means to pay for a ticket to Sacramento. Even with a regular income, the cost of a ticket for such a journey would be too dear. She’d so very much wanted to be there on the historic day when the California Senate voted to enfranchise the women in this state, setting an example for the nation.

  Miss Flood stood up. “I shall take up a collection at church. Fifteenth Street AME will support us!”

  The group cheered.

  “That is the precise spirit that will see our cause won!” Reverend Tupper Wilkes proclaimed. “Who else can pledge to be there?”

  Miss Flood leaned in to have a private conversation. “If the church will support us, I trust you will join me again?”

  “Certainly,” Jordan agreed with genuine desire. “Thank you.”

  The larger conversation continued with women pledging their presence, their financial support, or both, until they had a delegation Oakland could be proud of.

  When the meeting ended, Jordan reluctantly handed May back to her mother. The little one had happily stayed on her lap for the entire gathering.

  “What a joy to have both of you join us,” Jordan exclaimed.

  Sadie explained, “Diana, Sam’s wife, encouraged me to join in. She attends this church.”

  “We do as well. Their lady preacher is refreshing,” Jordan said. “What did you think of the meeting for our great cause?”

  “It’s quite exhilarating,” Sadie replied. “It recalls the debates from my childhood about women’s, and the Negroes’, franchise. You will be there next week? For the vote?”

  “It seems so,” Jordan said.

  “I suppose there’ll be no more need for meetings like this after that,” Sadie said. She looked disappointed.

  “I imagine we will meet to support other causes,” Jordan replied. “Our franchise will just be the beginning to a great social movement of liberation. Perhaps your mother will join in too.”

  “That would surprise me,” Sadie said. “She has never been one for politics.”

  Reflexively, Jordan raised one side of her mouth. Some people have that luxury, she thought to herself.

  “Please give her my very best,” Jordan said as they bade one another farewell.

  Jordan rushed home, excited to share the news about the vote. Naomi had been glum in the many months since the visit with the county clerk. Perhaps this information would cheer her spirits.

  Mrs. King was bent over in the garden. They exchanged pleasantries, and then Jordan went into her house.

  Naomi was standing at the door, a look of hatred on her face. Jordan’s throat clenched tight.

  “You are determined to undermine my very happiness, aren’t you?” her daughter hissed.

  Jordan’s heart beat hard in her chest. She swallowed. The letter!

  “How dare you write to Willie’s parents,” Naomi seethed. “They shared your betrayal with him, and he had no choice but to tell me of it.”

  Jordan stammered out, “I only have your well-being in mind.”

  “You cannot determine the course of my life,” Naomi replied, her hand over her womb.

  With sudden certainty, Jordan’s fear was confirmed: Naomi carried Willie’s child.

  Naomi glared and spit out, “Your duplicity won’t be rewarded. Emily and William are coming to Oakland to swear before the clerk that they are Willie’s parents so that we may get our license. Despite your interference—perhaps because of it—we will be married soon.”

  Naomi stormed away, leaving Jordan gasping for breath. Her mind was swirling in confusion, and her heart sank in pain. Naomi had already leaped off a cliff. Jordan no longer trusted her daughter. And Naomi did not trust Jordan.

  CHAPTER 20

  SADIE

  Oakland

  March 1895

  Sadie rushed home from her errands, hoping to beat her baby’s hunger pangs. Now that she was seven months old, May loudly broadcast her need for food. It was at once a burden and a joy to have her daughter be demanding. With each week that passed, Sadie was more confident in May’s strength and her own ability to give her what she needed. Her little one had a fierce determination that inspired.

  Sadie went through the back door, set the bags of produce on the counter in the kitchen, and put away a few items with May still tied to her body. It was a habit she had yet to end. She felt most comfortable with May close.

  “Hello, Sadie.” The low voice startled her.

  A rush of adrenaline coursed through her. Standing in the doorway to the dining room was her husband, the man she had feared dead. His cheeks were chiseled and his suit hung on his body. He’d lost an enormous amount of weight.

  “Heinrich?” Sadie questioned. Confusion delayed her rush of relief, but then it came. “Heinrich!” She rushed to him and wrapped her arms around him, May sandwiched between them.

  He exhaled with a snort and patted her back as they embraced. Her lip trembled. He’s alive.

  When they pulled apart, she wiped away tears.

  “Are you so sad to see me, wife?” he teased.

  She shook her head. “I thought you were . . . dead,” she squeaked out.

  “You cannot be rid of me so easily,” he replied with a smile.

  “Why didn’t you write?” Sadie asked.

  “Surely you have read about the situation in Hawaii?”

  She nodded and bit her lip.

  “Mail was interrupted. Then I became ill, and by the time I could hold a pen, it was time for me to come home.”

  She forced a smile. She was relieved to see him, but anger still welled up in her chest. Four months without word. He’d left her wondering if she’d been abandoned or widowed.

  “Are you mad at me, wife?” he asked, sounding as if he were angry himself.

  She shook her head to clear it. “I’m sorry, Heinrich. I am behaving horribly.” She pasted a smile on her face. “Come.” She took his hand and led him into the living room. “You can hold your daughter and tell me about your time away.”