Hands of Women

By Stacy M Wray

Haddie Kellar is passionate about three things: her marriage, her doctorate in botany, and women’s rights. It’s the injustices of the latter that sends her conscience plummeting into a dark lens of how to level the playing field, even if it goes against the grain of morality.
After creating a gel that alters the personality, Haddie feels invincible after women from all over take action against men who have wronged them. Her movement is working and everyone is noticing, even though her identity has been kept secret. So, when her loving, supportive husband discovers that she’s behind the shocking events revealed on the news, it rocks her world.
Haddie knows what she’s doing is unlawful, but she refuses to stop, knowing she’s improving women’s lives. But how far will she go? It’s not only her but all the ladies that she’s recruited for her cause.
When her identity is finally discovered, Haddie feels trapped, especially when they come knocking on her door. Will this be the end of her crusade?
Hands of women everywhere have been changing the offensive behaviors of men. So, how can it be so wrong when the outcome is so convincingly right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacy M Wray
• Release date: Apr 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005152352

Stacy M Wray

Stacy M Wray loves writing and reading anything romance - Judy Blume being one of the first authors she read in middle school. After all, a world without love, heartache and angst would prove a boring place to live.Lover of gray and white cats, craver of all things sweet, enthusiast of hiking and camping, wife of an extremely supportive husband, and mom to two amusing adult children, she realizes life is pretty damn good.She also appreciates that it's never too late to try something new. Never.Join me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorstacymwrayWebsite: www.stacymwray.comFollow me on Twitter: www.twitter.com/stacymwray

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Prologue

Leaning over the black porcelain toilet in the ladies’ room, Jade felt her lunch travel up against her will, spilling into the shallow water, making small splashes against the rim. She knew her nerves were the cause and not anything she had eaten.

It wasn’t every day she assigned herself the task which helped her fellow woman. And so willingly! Jade had never been more passionate about a cause—a crusade, as she’d like to think of it—than what she was about to do. Still, she was a good person. She knew this without a doubt. She cared about human souls, perhaps too much, although she would never label herself a do-gooder. Jade never wanted to be one of those, merely a simple, quiet cheerleader, usually performing gracious gestures behind the scenes. Such as when she would rescue her neighbor from pulling out her hair when one of her kids fell ill. Jade had no problem taking their healthy siblings, coloring pictures or taking a quick trip to the park. Or even sending an elderly stranger a birthday card when she saw his daughter’s post on Facebook begging for mail, even though he had no idea who she was.

But this? She wouldn’t quite call it kindness, more like a favor. One which simply had to be done. She volunteered for this assignment and would see it through. That’s because Jade was loyal, her allegiance knowing no bounds for what was about to happen.

After Jade cleaned herself up, swishing water in her mouth, she avoided the mirror in attempts to stay focused on what waited for her in the other room. Or more like who.

Softly creeping inside where a man awaited, no doubt lying on his stomach with a towel discreetly placed over his naked bottom, Jade entered the Zen-like atmosphere as the soft notes of calm and serenity floated through unseen speakers. Sure enough, there he lay with his face pressed into a round opening, his eyes either closed or staring at the cloudy linoleum below while his arms stretched, circling his head, his fingertips hanging over the edge like a boney waterfall.

Mr. Allen Suiter.

A man who was well-known in her community. Well to do, sporting a tan line which indicated he’d been somewhere tropical recently since it was smack dab in the dead of winter here in Ohio. Jade didn’t begrudge anyone escaping the chill and gray slush that lay in small piles along the frozen streets, wishing that she could be sunbathing on one of those strappy lounge chairs herself. That wasn’t the reason for her saltiness. Not even close.

Mr. Suiter shifted his head, causing panic to stir, bile threatening to rise to her tender esophagus, but he kept it in place to Jade’s relief, only saying, I thought you had forgotten me.

It was imperative that he didn’t see her. His regular masseuse, Sally, was out sick today, her afternoon being spent in a doctor’s office—a plan that was put into place to protect her in case anyone traced the events of Mr. Suiter’s day back to the Tranquil Massage Spa. Jade was simply a fill-in, using the alias Jennifer Smith. She’d be long gone before that happened.

Jade cleared the nerves from her throat. So many women before her had done their part—carried the plan through without a hitch—and Jade would do the same. They all made it sound so easy. So far, no one had been linked—and she wasn’t about to be the first.

Jade filled her lungs with lavender-scented mist which was being diffused through a wooden, water-filled sphere nearby, needing a moment as some of the tension left her shoulders and hands.

Sorry about that. My last customer ran a bit late, Jade lied.

You know how I feel about my time, sweetie. Let’s get on with it—I have an important meeting I can’t be late to. His voice sounded as if he were in a tunnel.

Jade quickly warmed her hands before pouring the Roman chamomile-infused oil into her awaiting palms, her mind wandering anxiously, knowing the rest of his day wouldn’t pan out as he had anticipated. Smiling to herself, she rubbed her hands together before applying pressure to Mr. Suiter’s back, working her fingers in a strong circular motion, moving up toward his neck.

Muted groans leaked from the man as his muscles relaxed under her touch. Those sounds made Jade sick to her stomach, imagining him making such a response while he forced himself on weak women, threatening their jobs—or worse—if they ratted him out. After all, he had a wife and children—he would never. He attended church, for crying out loud, passed the offering basket to his fellow parishioners nearly every Sunday. No one would ever suspect such behavior from a God-fearing man, would they? Heavens no!

His groans turned into grunts as Jade realized she was digging her knuckles into his skin with more force than necessary, blaming the thoughts tumbling inside her head. She eased up and continued down the length of one leg, hating the way his coarse hair felt against her oily fingers.

It had been relayed to Jade that Mr. Suiter had tried putting the moves on Sally once, but she quickly put him in his place, appalled that he hadn’t been the least bit embarrassed or remorseful, even offering her quite a handsome tip. Sally was shocked when he returned the following week after his first visit, requesting her as his masseuse, once again. She had been worried his advances would continue, but he never again offered with words, only leering stares through his intimidating eyes that scanned her body up and down, lingering on her chest. But that didn’t give him a free pass—Jade knew for a fact what he was capable of and what he had done. Sally had shared her knowledge of others who were on the receiving end of Mr. Suiter’s advances. Unfortunately, they suffered more than suggestive words or an uncomfortable gawk. There was no turning back now.

She glanced at the clock every five minutes, her nerves getting the best of her as his allotted time ticked by at an excruciating pace. With her heart rate escalating, she knew what would happen when the big hand reached the number eleven. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Mr. Suiter never turned over—he was one of those odd ones that only wanted his massage performed on his backside, never his front. To each his own. But Jade already knew this about the man, Sally filling her in with all the important details. That only aided her when it came time. Jade had thought out the scenario over and over as if she were viewing a short film inside her head—almost as if she had stepped out of her body and taken a seat on the other side of the room, leaning forward in anticipation for what was about to happen. But when she looked up, there was only a row of slender, black cabinets lining the wall—no chair and no Jade.

Strangely, her body calmed with the final tick as she moved to the drawer that was embedded inside the table that Mr. Suiter lay on. He hadn’t moved at all, and she wondered if perhaps he might be asleep. She could only hope for such an unexpected gift.

Sliding the drawer slowly toward her, Jade reached for the glove that she had previously placed inside. As she shoved her hand inside the thin latex, she couldn’t help but notice the three letters that would eventually be visible to all. Soon, Mr. Suiter would become a man no one would recognize—behavior-wise, at least. The blisters would eventually fade, but their effects would be long-lasting. His colleagues and friends would wonder what became of the arrogant man who probably sat at the good ol’ boys’ table, parlaying an exaggerated conquest of some poor, helpless woman who didn’t stand a chance against his power.

Jade quickly removed three thin strips of paper adhered to the latex and pressed her gloved hand firmly, yet gently, into the skin on Mr. Suiter’s back. She then leaned over and lowered her head toward his.

I’m afraid your time’s up, Mr. Suiter.

Chapter One

Haddie Kellar lined up small tin containers and brown-glassed medicine bottles along the granite countertop in her kitchen. She was in the middle of preparing her homemade concoctions derived from plants and herbs she had collected from her latest trek into the wilderness. There was nothing she loved more.

Today, Haddie was creating a salve for her neighbor, Nancy. Her arthritis had flared in her hands, and Haddie had just the remedy: calendula, arnica, cottonwood buds, St. John’s Wort, cayenne, along with the oils of helichrysum, frankincense, and Vitamin E. Olive oil and beeswax served as the carriers for her all-natural healer that she prepared in large batches, pouring the organic solution into the assembly line she had created.

When the rumble of the garage door vibrated, Haddie knew Sam was home from work, hardly believing it was that late in the day. Her husband was in the real estate business here in the Florida Keys, often not returning home from his job until late, leaving Haddie plenty of free time to play mad scientist in the confines of her bright white kitchen.

Sam stepped inside, shaking his head when he saw Haddie leaning over tiny silver tins, meticulously measuring small amounts of liquid before it hardened into a soft, waxy balm.

Looks like we’re having takeout again, love?

Haddie didn’t answer right away, knowing if she lost concentration, she would overfill the containers, not only making a mess, but wasting precious amounts of what she painstakingly slaved over all day. When the last one was filled, she looked up at her husband and smiled. I’m sorry. Yes, takeout it is. As always, I lost track of time.

Sam gingerly placed his hand on the back of Haddie’s neck and drew her closer, pressing a kiss on her upturned lips. It’s okay. I’ve got a craving for Crab Rangoon. I’ll make the call—you just carry on, witchy woman.

Haddie set the empty pot in the sink. I’m done for the day. I just need to clean up. Tendrils of hair framed her face as she shoved them back with her forearm, her body swiftly moving, collecting the dirty pots and lining them beside the sink.

Sam noticed how flushed her cheeks were, a rosy tinge embedded in the skin on both sides of her nose. He loved how his wife got swept away in her brewing, as he liked to call it, remembering the day she asked if he cared that she quit her job from the university where she taught biology and botany classes. Her love of creating overshadowed her love of teaching. And in order to create, she needed to travel the world, collecting plants and herbs from all over for her potions. The day she erased the pain of an old knee injury made him a believer, surprised how it rarely made an appearance anymore.

Haddie didn’t need to work for financial reasons since Sam made more than enough money. The fact that they lived well below their means and never had kids meant their bank account only grew. Of course, he didn’t care that Haddie wanted to pursue her passion, only wanting her to be happy and fulfilled. They had a partnership and treated their marriage as such. He always knew she would support him if the roles were reversed.

Loosening his tie, Sam yanked it off his neck and tossed it on the bed, quickly shedding his work clothes and slipping into shorts and a tee. After shoving his feet into flip-flops, he fished his phone out of his work pants and dialed the local Chinese restaurant down the road and placed their order. Only fifteen minutes and dinner would be ready—that’s what he loved about Chinese takeout.

Once Sam returned with their food, the two sat at their small bistro table, eating off each other’s plates, Haddie snagging all the shrimp from Sam’s lo mein. Hey, leave some for me, why don’t ya?

Haddie giggled. I thought you wanted crab, mister.

Sam grabbed her hand and playfully squeezed it. I wanted both.

When Sam placed his fork down and his face turned serious, Haddie sat up, waiting for his words. Sam usually did this when he was about to share something she didn’t want to hear.

I talked with Lacey today…she didn’t get the job.

Haddie’s eyes widened, her body stiffening as she stared at Sam. But she was the only qualified candidate if they were hiring from within. Isn’t that what she told us?

Lacey was Sam’s much younger sister, working as a lawyer in a corporate law firm in New York. She was up for a senior associate position, her boss’ continual praise of her work leading her to believe she would be a shoo-in.

Haddie tossed her napkin on her half-eaten plate of chicken broccoli. So, what happened?

Sam shrugged. They hired some hotshot from Connecticut.

With narrowed eyes and a scrunched brow, Haddie hissed, Why wouldn’t they stick to hiring within? I’m assuming the firm is paying for the relocation of the new hire, right? Doesn’t make sense to me—Lacey would have made a great partner.

"I don’t think the firm is worried about some moving expenses—it’s probably a drop in the bucket to them. The man they hired is apparently loosely related to one of her bosses. Guess it’s hard to compete with nepotism."

Haddie’s head jerked back at the mention of the word man, bringing up bitter memories of how she had been overlooked for tenure at the university she taught at. Right! She hadn’t been overlooked—she’d been railroaded. Jim Bellows was a good-looking professor, popular with the female students, and made it his mission to wine and dine each member of the department—specifically the older men—knowing he could convince them to choose a professor who would remain in the classroom and teach. Jim knew Haddie would focus more on research, recognizing he couldn’t compete with her in a lab. The older members of the department leaned toward professors remaining in the classroom, their university having a solid reputation of offering established, seasoned instructors. It was a stuffy environment, one Haddie was thankful to be away from. But Haddie learned from one of her dear friends and colleagues how Jim had planted a seed of doubt into their heads: women got pregnant and took leave, their hearts putting their family first. It was too late once she found out—the decision had been made. Not only had the news stung when Jim landed the prestigious title, but Haddie was outraged upon discovering his blatant sexism, not to mention the department’s. She was unable to have kids, something she and Sam had come to terms with. Everyone just assumed that they were waiting to have children. It simply wasn’t something she discussed with her colleagues, seeing it was none of their business.

Haddie thought back to the moment when she encountered Jim two days after she had received the news, passing each other in the hallway. Her pulse accelerated as he neared, knowing she’d have to have the conversation, forcing herself to swallow her anger and contempt behind his actions.

Jim had paused as he approached, a clear sign he intended to rejoice in his victory, the smug grin on his face a clear indication.

I guess congratulations are in order. Saying the words felt like a pure misrepresentation of her true feelings, but Haddie refused to be unprofessional, her calm demeanor acting as a cloak of her ambivalence.

He stopped in front of her, his stance wide, preening the cuff of his shirt casually. Thank you.

I’m sure you’ll stop at nothing to succeed, contributing to the success of the university. As Haddie said the words, her narrowing eyes met Jim’s, and they shared an unspoken conversation in a manner of five seconds.

You would have, also.

If he thought he was paying Haddie a compliment, he was way off—she would never stoop to his level to attain success.

When Jim glanced at his watch, Haddie was relieved by the cue to cut their forced conversation short. Got a meeting in five.

Sure.

Haddie stepped aside as Jim walked around her, hating the irony behind the gesture.

The ten-year-old memory twisted her insides—she had wanted that position more than anything, especially since women were not well-represented at the college. Not only did she want to tap on the glass ceiling, but achieving tenure was something Haddie strived for, only to have it yanked away by a man who was threatened by her brain and skill when it came to research. The university’s high-tech lab was Haddie’s adult playground, sometimes holding her hostage for hours on end.

Haddie shook her head in disgust. It just figures. Even if Lacey wasn’t your sister, her record speaks for itself. And don’t get me started how she doesn’t get paid as much as the male junior partners when she does more work than they do just to prove she’s worth the promotion. Haddie tossed her hands into the air. When will it ever stop, Sam? I’m so sick of living—existing—in a man’s world when women have proved themselves over and over with their capabilities—most times surpassing that of men’s. Poor Sam, Haddie thought. Always on the brunt end of her tirades. He was such a good sport.

I know it frustrates you, love. But we don’t know the facts—you can’t just assume sexism is at the root of the firm’s decision. But I do love how you always root for Lacey and all women.

Haddie’s shoulders slumped as she stared at her husband. I know you do. She sighed heavily, completely frustrated. "Why can’t all men be like you, huh? Why can’t we just start all over—get rid of all the narrow-minded Baby Boomers and the Traditionalists on up? I’m not asking for much. I just want a level playing field. I don’t think women are better than men, necessarily…I only want to start out even and remain even. No one sex better than the other. Who the hell ever decided it had to be the men?" Haddie’s voice rose in pitch, something Sam was quite used to.

Before Sam could answer, Haddie waggled a finger at him. It all comes down to the penis, doesn’t it?

Sam smiled. I’m kind of fond of mine. If I’m not mistaken, you are, too.

Haddie grinned. Stop trying to get me sidetracked. We aren’t talking about yours.

Sam nodded and reached for Haddie’s hand. I’m always in your corner. I can sympathize and support you, but to be honest, I will never fully know the woes of your convictions. I have not lived your life or any other woman’s—you know that, love.

I know. But you get it better than most which is why you get to stay, Mr. Gen Xer. You need to be an influencer, so I deem you of great importance.

Placing his palm over his heart, Sam teased, I’m doing my best, love.

Later that night, as Haddie lay awake in bed listening to Sam’s light snores, her brain was unable to shut off all the injustices that had been brought to light over the past few years. The movie producers who hung movie roles over women’s heads, only giving them parts if they gave in to their sexual advances. Or the anchor of a major morning television program coming on to women, locking them in his office, preying on them like the animal that he was. It’s not enough that he lost his job and his wife—what about justice? The entire #metoo movement wasn’t just a precursor to Haddie’s anger—she had witnessed so much oppression in her fifty years. If only she had an answer to the madness. She read not too long ago that even though women’s equality was getting better every year, if things continued at the pace they were, the playing field between men and women wouldn’t be leveled for another hundred years.

She simply could not wait that long. Her two nieces, whom she loved and adored, could not be brought up in such a world where the scales had always been unfairly tipped. They could not live in a world where they had to dress in a specific way so that men could control their urges. They should be able to walk down a street at night without fear instilled into them that they could be attacked and raped by a man. Or how about the despicable freaks who nabbed young girls and boys to be sold into human trafficking, so that men could have their sick, twisted way with them by force?

Haddie whipped the covers off her legs, her stewing anger causing the beginnings of a hot flash, her insides flaming like fire. She wished her thoughts would stop scampering like trapped cockroaches, only yearning for her mind to shut off.

Tears dripped from Haddie’s eyes out of sheer frustration, spilling onto the pillowcase. She was unable to fathom and comprehend what women had to deal with, knowing how far they’d come since her mother and her grandmother and even before that. Her heart broke for every woman who felt the thumb impression of a man—or his backhand. She rolled her head to the side and stared at the outline of Sam’s head. He was such a good one, forever understanding how she felt. He was kind and gentle. Many men like Sam who had a platform were beginning to speak up, probably looking weak to most of the older generations. Haddie reached over and touched Sam’s hair, curling it around her finger. Not once had he made her feel like she was making a big deal out of nothing. He listened to every complaint that ever spilled from her mouth, even if it pertained to his own gender.

As always, Haddie felt hopeless as she begged for sleep to find her, knowing she would become busy with her remedies and helping her fellow woman while her anger would fall to the wayside.

But only until the next injustice surfaced.

It always did.

Chapter Two

Haddie rapped on Nancy’s door again, wondering if she might be out back gardening. Stepping off the front porch, Haddie ventured around the house until she reached an oasis of flowers—her neighbor perched on a wide, low stool, tugging at some weeds.

There you are. I was wondering if I’d find you back here.

Nancy’s head rose higher than needed, so she could see out past the huge brim of her shade hat. Oh, am I glad to see you! You bring my stuff? Nancy stood and brushed some dirt crumbs from her lap.

Haddie laughed. You mean my secret potion? She held out her hand, producing three of the small tins.

Nancy squealed with delight. Now I can garden forever, she declared, swiping the tiny containers from Haddie. Come on inside—I’ve made some sun tea.

Once they were both inside, Nancy removed her bonnet, tossing it on a hook before turning to Haddie. I wish you’d let me pay you for these.

Haddie shook her head. You can pay me in shortbread. That’s it.

Nancy laughed. Deal. What does your hunky husband like? I’ve been in the mood to bake. Grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, Nancy got busy pouring them some tea, the ice cubes crackling upon the liquid impact.

Haddie laughed at how Nancy always called Sam hunky, knowing how he secretly loved it. He’s quite fond of your shortbread also.

Nancy took a seat beside Haddie at the kitchen table, handing Haddie a glass of the freshly brewed tea. Before Nancy indulged in her own beverage, she twisted the lid off the salve and rubbed a generous amount into the tops of her hands. I really do appreciate this. You should be making a business out of your brains and not simply giving these away. You could help so many people.

Scrunching her nose at the thought, Haddie said, "There are people selling this stuff—that would take the joy away, I think. I’m too old to start a business. Besides, I don’t want to."

"Rubbish. You aren’t