with a smile and a kiss.
Hello, sweetheart. I missed you.
I’m home now, Teddy.
It was Louise who first sensed Maddie’s growing frustration that nothing she did seemed to make much of a difference in the lives of the women she wanted to help. After she helped heal their bruises, they returned to their men, only to come back to her with fresh hurts, in an endless cycle. If she gave them money to pay the rent or buy their children clothing, their husbands took it and drank it away. Maddie tried not to hate those men, because that would not help either, but her frustration was building again.
Almost without realizing it, she began to take her pent-up feelings out on Teddy, goading him about his lack of a job or any kind of useful interests. To Teddy’s credit, he did not retaliate; instead, he took a job with Richard Brokmeyer, who had won his election and was in a position to give his friends jobs that were both lucrative and, more important to Teddy, that enabled him to spend those nights when Maddie came home angry—again—with his political cronies in their favorite tavern.
It was only after Teddy disappeared that Maddie found out that Richard had fired him a month after he hired him.
By then, Maddie had found a new way to do something definite and lasting for her cause. She bought a large house in downtown St. Louis and had it converted into a hotel for abused women and their families, where the women could live free of worry about money or fear of their husbands. Pleased with her efforts at last, she was ready to try yet again to make Teddy happy, too. But they had drifted even farther apart without her noticing it.
“Maddie, I hope that when you stop running around in circles, you end up at home again.”
“How can you say that? I must have something to do or I shall go mad!”
“You can stay at home. That’s your job!”
“But you’re never here!”
“And who told me to get out and find something to do?”
It was true. Everything that Maddie had done for her own good had been the worst thing she could have done for Teddy. Conscience-stricken, she tried to apologize, to assure him that she would never relegate him to second place again, that she would never take his love for granted again.
She was never sure later if he believed any of it.
#
“Mrs. Malcolm?”
Maddie’s wandering attention was drawn by Geoffrey Wingate’s voice behind her. She looked around to see that Laurence Fox had disappeared under his black cloth again and that Florence was still fixed to her field glasses.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, smiling up at Geoffrey. “The sun must have made me doze off for a moment.”
“Have you no burning desire to spy on your neighbors, Mrs. Malcolm?” he asked and, indicating the empty space beside him, offered to move her chair into the shady part of their box.
“I have no doubt that your wife will pass on the most interesting gossip about all the fashionable people here today,” she said, accepting his offer and a glass of champagne. “And Mr. Fox will do the same—with illustrations—about the less exalted folk obliged to stand to view the horses. Is there going to be a race, by the way? Nothing seems to be happening at the gate, and there are people wandering around on the course. Surely they will be in the way of the horses if they are not warned off.”
“The next race is not scheduled for nearly half an hour, I’m afraid. Are you bored waiting? We might take a stroll.”
Maddie would have liked to stretch her limbs but knew that she would have to wait until Laurence Fox was ready to accompany her. She was not sure she would recognize her quarry, despite the photograph Laurence had shown her of Peter Kropotkin, and in any case, she could not very well march up and introduce herself to a notorious anarchist when she was supposed to be just strolling with an unsuspecting Geoffrey Wingate.
“Thank you,” she said, “but I believe I should wait to watch at
Hello, sweetheart. I missed you.
I’m home now, Teddy.
It was Louise who first sensed Maddie’s growing frustration that nothing she did seemed to make much of a difference in the lives of the women she wanted to help. After she helped heal their bruises, they returned to their men, only to come back to her with fresh hurts, in an endless cycle. If she gave them money to pay the rent or buy their children clothing, their husbands took it and drank it away. Maddie tried not to hate those men, because that would not help either, but her frustration was building again.
Almost without realizing it, she began to take her pent-up feelings out on Teddy, goading him about his lack of a job or any kind of useful interests. To Teddy’s credit, he did not retaliate; instead, he took a job with Richard Brokmeyer, who had won his election and was in a position to give his friends jobs that were both lucrative and, more important to Teddy, that enabled him to spend those nights when Maddie came home angry—again—with his political cronies in their favorite tavern.
It was only after Teddy disappeared that Maddie found out that Richard had fired him a month after he hired him.
By then, Maddie had found a new way to do something definite and lasting for her cause. She bought a large house in downtown St. Louis and had it converted into a hotel for abused women and their families, where the women could live free of worry about money or fear of their husbands. Pleased with her efforts at last, she was ready to try yet again to make Teddy happy, too. But they had drifted even farther apart without her noticing it.
“Maddie, I hope that when you stop running around in circles, you end up at home again.”
“How can you say that? I must have something to do or I shall go mad!”
“You can stay at home. That’s your job!”
“But you’re never here!”
“And who told me to get out and find something to do?”
It was true. Everything that Maddie had done for her own good had been the worst thing she could have done for Teddy. Conscience-stricken, she tried to apologize, to assure him that she would never relegate him to second place again, that she would never take his love for granted again.
She was never sure later if he believed any of it.
#
“Mrs. Malcolm?”
Maddie’s wandering attention was drawn by Geoffrey Wingate’s voice behind her. She looked around to see that Laurence Fox had disappeared under his black cloth again and that Florence was still fixed to her field glasses.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, smiling up at Geoffrey. “The sun must have made me doze off for a moment.”
“Have you no burning desire to spy on your neighbors, Mrs. Malcolm?” he asked and, indicating the empty space beside him, offered to move her chair into the shady part of their box.
“I have no doubt that your wife will pass on the most interesting gossip about all the fashionable people here today,” she said, accepting his offer and a glass of champagne. “And Mr. Fox will do the same—with illustrations—about the less exalted folk obliged to stand to view the horses. Is there going to be a race, by the way? Nothing seems to be happening at the gate, and there are people wandering around on the course. Surely they will be in the way of the horses if they are not warned off.”
“The next race is not scheduled for nearly half an hour, I’m afraid. Are you bored waiting? We might take a stroll.”
Maddie would have liked to stretch her limbs but knew that she would have to wait until Laurence Fox was ready to accompany her. She was not sure she would recognize her quarry, despite the photograph Laurence had shown her of Peter Kropotkin, and in any case, she could not very well march up and introduce herself to a notorious anarchist when she was supposed to be just strolling with an unsuspecting Geoffrey Wingate.
“Thank you,” she said, “but I believe I should wait to watch at
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