Riding Grey Dawn

By Julie Hadler

1897.

Headstrong Ida wants equality for women, but Emma is trying to convince Ida that even an Amazon like her could slow down a little bit. Ida, with customary passion, refuses to abort the suffrage campaign she began ten years ago at Vassar. Emma again watches her sister mount the podium. In spite of chronic illness, Ida draws strength from hundreds of supporters, including her manipulative father, who has his own agenda and favors Ida over Emma. Yet Ida's crusade is about to fall apart.

Will Ida forgive her father's manipulations and prevail over her chronic illness to successfully complete her cross-country tour on the Suffrage Special?

Meanwhile, a young journalist, Adela, is planning her own contribution to Ida's career. But her boss isn't a fan. If Adela follows Ida's journey, it will be on her own dime. Will Adela find a way to enhance Ida's fame, without Ida's money or connections?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Hadler
• Release date: Feb 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524210632

Julie Hadler

Julie Hadler is proud to have been raised in the Iowa City area. She now lives in Chicago with her husband and two daughters. When not writing, Julie has more passionate interests than will fit on this page. A few interests that will always remain are Christian meditation and baking!

Book preview

Riding Grey Dawn

by Julie Hadler

Prologue

Los Angeles, California  October 23, 1916

The Masterson Hotel 's parquet floor gleamed around the edges of the plush oriental rug. After they left Washington state, Emma had been trying to convince Ida that even an Amazon like her could slow down a little bit. Suffrage champion Alice Paul could easily reschedule some of Ida’s speaking engagements.

Had Emma not been examining the bruise blotching down Ida’s shin so intently, she probably would have noticed Ida's heel begin to wobble as she transferred her weight off the last step and onto the lobby floor.

Emma didn't react until Ida's foot turned sideways, wobbling. Ida reached for the carved bannister; missed by inches, and tipped sideways, landing on the floor. Her laugh was a single blast.

Thank God these rugs are as thick as comforters, thought Emma. But stopping Ida compared to shutting off Niagara Falls.

Haaah. Oh Emma, Mama told me these heels didn't suit me. I guess I should have packed the beige flats. Emma reached out and helped Ida clamber to her feet. She looked at Ida's sweaty face. What good does it do to blame it on the shoes, she thought. We both know it isn't the shoes.

Emma found a lace-trimmed handkerchief and planted it firmly in Ida’s distracted hand. That’s it. I’m taking you to the doctor. We’ll have to cancel for tonight. Her face resembled the Falls in winter.

What do you mean, cancel Blanchard Hall? The most revered venue on our trip!

You're not yourself, Ida. You need rest. You could catch influenza in your run-down state.

Oh, pipe down, mother hen. After this I'll have two whole days to laze around.

Two days on a bone-shaking train, you mean.

I can sleep anywhere.

But you don’t. That’s the point! You lie down, and then get up just as exhausted as before. It’s time to see a doctor.

But Ida, with customary passion, had refused this time. So here Emma sat, watching her statuesque sister mount the podium. Her words rang out strong and clear. Ida drew strength from the hundreds of supporters who obviously worshipped the ground she walked on—something she’d taken for granted ever since she began her suffrage crusade at Vassar ten years ago. Wavy tendrils of nut-brown hair escaped hairpins as her speech reached its apex: 

President Wilson, how long must women go on fighting for liberty?

Emma knew the next line by heart, but it didn’t come. Ida was swaying back and forth. It wasn’t from emotion, but her desperate concentration. She was battling to remain upright. Emma watched, horrified, as Ida scrambled to grasp the podium. Emma leapt up from her chair. She swam forward in slow motion. Ida’s hands skidded, struggling to maintain her grip. Emma reached out a hand to Ida—and now someone was screaming. Shrill voices surrounded them. Reality seeped into Emma—she is the one screaming. Ida’s eyes closed and her body caved in on itself. But Emma was too late to catch her—the woman battling to save women from servitude. Ida dropped to the floor, a broken statuette.

Chapter 1: Ida.  Brooklyn, New York 1892

Our family is rich . No—Mama says well-off, or comfortable. Daddy's job as a New York Tribune editor sees to that. He's an inventor too. All of the people who live here on Madison Square are very comfortable.

Mama says we need a nanny so she has time for her women's meetings. They need meetings to decide which poor people will get the mittens and scarves they knit. So Emma and I go on lots of summer outings with Nanny. Sometimes we stop and look at the pretty china dolls and toy trains at F.A.O. Schwartz. I like to watch ladies with hats as wide as the bottom of their skirts.  

Yesterday we went to the park. A small one near our house, not like Central Park. The boys were running around, playing with their slingshots and tossing baseballs back and forth. There is plenty of room for that between the trees that shed helicopter seeds every fall.

That day I saw some children I didn't know. I wondered how far they had walked to get to our park. I could tell they weren't from our neighborhood. The girl's dress had patches and missing buttons, and the little boy's knickers were torn and dirty. Just because I'm only six doesn't mean I don't notice things.

Nanny told me once that kids like that live in narrow, dirty apartments without windows. Not even one! They’re called tenements. Their Daddies work in the factories and they are very poor. They are called immigrants. That means they weren't born here, they just came on a ship.

Some kids from my block were there. My friend Tabitha wanted to play jacks, which is great—I can beat her at jacks any day of the week. Which I wouldn’t say to her—when I remember my manners.

You know better!

Nanny says this a lot to me. 

Anyway, Tabitha was trying to teach my four year-old sister, Emma, jacks, but I was curious about the dirty children. Nanny was sitting on a park bench getting out her knitting. She wasn’t looking at me, so I walked up to the new children.

Hello, I'm Ida. Want to play with me? I said. The three little boys looked up at me like they were scared, then looked away. But the girl my age wasn't afraid to look in my eyes.

Who are you? Why are you talking to us? she said.

Why shouldn't I? Do you have fleas? I laughed—even though I knew it wasn’t good manners. The girl made a mad face, so I started over. Say—would you like to have some fun? Let's go climb that tree. I said. We ran over to the big tree I climb when Nanny is busy with Emma. It's a nice tree—each branch splitting off into so many smaller ones, nice and round. Sometimes I think of it as a queen, serious and royal. But today it seemed like a friend ready to play. Soon it would be letting down its helicopters just for us. I had just sat down on the lowest branch when Emma and Tabitha came and peered up at us.

Eyeee-da—come down and play jacks! Remember—Nanny said not to talk to strangers, said Tabitha, pointing up. 

Mama says no climbing trees, is what I think Emma said around the finger stuck in her mouth.

Tabitha, don't be such a prissypants. Mama is Nanny’s boss, and anyway, Mama won’t mind. If you don't want to play with them, all right for you—you don't have to play with me. We'll just stay right up here, I said with a jerk of my chin. The tenement girl was nearly by my side. When her apron caught on a branch she pulled herself free. She was just as good as I was at finding the right branches to grasp and climb up.

The tenement girl covered her mouth and giggled. We swung our legs and tore leaves off the tree. We sent some of them drifting down on Tabitha and Emma’s heads and laughed at them.

I’m going to tell Nanny! Tabitha said over her shoulder as she stomped away. I knew she would, and I wished I hadn’t said that, ‘cause Nanny made me come in for my bath only a few minutes later.

But I didn't care if Mama made me read a whole library full of improving books (Miss Mary Anne’s Book of Manners put me to sleep!)—I didn't feel one bit guilty. Daddy would have been glad I made friends with those poor children. I believe—and so does Daddy—that even poor people and colored people are just as good as us. Besides, if you want me to stop having a good time, you better have a better reason than taking a bath.

You shouldn't take chances like that, Nanny growled at me. She helped me pull my pinafore over my head and step into the bathtub with the lion-paw feet.

You mean climbing trees, or playing with the poor children?

Don't be sassy, Miss Ida—your Mother will be hearing about this.

Well—that's alright for you! I told Nanny before I splashed her.

The city is exciting, but I dream of Mama letting us spend a day playing in the park til the sun sets. Climbing trees all day would be my dream come true. I'd be free as a bird. I don’t think she will though, because she wants me to knit clothes for the orphan babies. Also I have to read for an hour every day, which isn't too bad as long as it isn't an improving book. 

I loved shocking Nanny that day, it was fun—but not as fun as going to the circus. When the Barnum and Bailey Circus came the next week I was in heaven! After Nanny told on me I was afraid Mama would say no, but she must have forgotten to be mad. I only wish I could have gotten tickets for the poor children.

It was grand in every way. I've never seen so many animals in one place—and the horses! I couldn't take my eyes off the grand white horse and the pretty lady riding him. She wore a pink feathered hat, a sparkly blouse and short swirly skirt. But it wasn't just her clothes—it was watching her standing up on the horse as she raced around the ring. All relaxed, like she was standing in her own parlor. Free. I've decided I will always be free like that, no matter what I do when I grow up. I will find a way to stand up and ride away on my horse—proud and carefree. 

Chapter 2:  Brooklyn, New York. June 1904

My mother is conscientious , well-organized person. She has always managed our home well because she plans ahead.

So for her, I think it is hard to admit she doesn’t really understand my goals and dreams. Oh, she pays attention to my latest fascinations. Nanny took us out every day, but she always made time to talk with Emma and I every evening before bed. It wasn’t that.

I’m not sure she has stopped fretting about my preference for Daddy. Daddy thinks he knows my heart, but he merely identifies with my moods. We do both have the same mercurial temperament—which may have led to this awkward