Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction by Vanessa Russell Page A

fellow warrior, Miss Wright.”
    “Proud to meet you, ma’am.”
    I nodded and forced a smile, not particularly wanting a stranger, and a man at that, standing in such close proximity to me at such a moment that I may wish to cry or display myself foolishly, depending on the vote. The lighting being poor behind the massive pillar where we stood caused his face to be shadowed, but his wide smile looked friendly enough.
    “Mr. Phillips, by your accent, you must be from ‘around these parts’ as they say?”
    “That’s right, ma’am. Just an hour’s drive up into the hills, when my truck’s running alright. Hard to believe now. It wasn’t that long ago, a trip like this by horse was nigh on a full day.”
    He stood a foot taller than most men with hair longer than most and tucked behind his ears. He seemed to notice our disadvantaged heights as he looked at our heads and then toward the center of the chamber, many people in between. “Ladies, why don’t we poke on up to the second floor balcony, where we can look down on these politicians for a change?”
    Mrs. Catt agreed and we spent too much precious time weaving our way up to a space along the balustrade. We arrived just as someone from below was banging a gavel, ordering that the meeting is now in session. I watched them, while Mr. Phillips watched me. Finally I turned to him and said, “Sir, you are staring.” I noticed then his distinct Indian features, with skin darkened by more than the sun, black hair penciled thinly with silver.
    He blinked several times as if clearing his mind. “Sorry, ma’am, but you look very familiar to me. What did you say your name was?”
    “Miss Bess Wright. And I don’t know you, sir. Nor do I wish to.” I turned back toward the proceedings thinking what unusually blue eyes he had.
The better to see you with my dear,
said the wolf. Well, I knew the outcome of that story and this wolf was not going to come close enough to eat me. I had fought off big bad wolves before.
    The fateful roll call began, and I truly tried to concentrate, but Mr. Phillips would turn his attention to below, then back to me, then to below, and then – well it totally distracted me, him standing so close beside me and making his attention so obvious. I felt my face flush and become increasingly warm, to the point that perspiration rolled down my neck, behind my ear. I stepped back and behind Mrs. Catt. Soon enough Eunice turned and gripped my arm.
    “Oh my God, Bess,” she hissed. “It’s tied with one vote to go!”
    I stepped back up to my place at the balustrade – oh, this is all still so vivid to me! - and watched below as a very young-looking man stood up to a hushed audience. He turned toward me and I gripped the railing – he wore a red rose! Oh no, it can’t be! A lady and gentleman standing amongst our small upper mass of anxious spectators hugged one another in anticipated celebration, crushing their wilted red roses, I hoped fervently. The tiebreaker below us said nothing for what seemed like ages and then patted his breast pocket.
    “What is your vote for the state of Tennessee to ratify the Nineteenth Amendment, Mr. Burn?” The speaker called out. “Do you vote yes or no?”
    Mr. Burn cleared his throat. “I vote yes.”
    Such an uproar around us and below us! I couldn’t believe it at first, until those closest to me, Mrs. Catt, Eunice, Mr. Phillips, were hugging each other and me. Mrs. Catt looked happiest of all, tears flowing freely, all reserve gone for now, declaring that every day of her forty years of fighting for this had been worth it, for this very moment. “Now I can truly rejoice!” she cried. Many others were approaching Mrs. Catt to congratulate, to extend their appreciation to her. I was so happy to be a part of this that I simply returned the kiss that Mr. Phillips planted fully on my mouth. He appeared as elated as Eunice and I, and I didn’t understand his connection to all this, but at that moment it