Faith Goodell leaned across her cluttered desk, her gaze bright as she described her reasons for wanting to organize a women’s group in Mystic.
“It’s not just about women getting the vote, Maisy. We need a place where women can gather, support each other, and make our voices heard. Especially women business owners. The men have their say in everything. Why shouldn’t we?”
Maisy Cox, her dark hair pinned up in a hurried twist, considered Faith’s words. She was the quieter of the two sisters who ran the Golden Griddle, but her silence often carried more weight than a shout.
“You’re right. Do you really think the women of Mystic are ready for a group like this? It’s a big change. Bozeman has twice the number of women business owners as Mystic. We may not get the support you expect.”
“We won’t know until we try,” Faith countered, a wry smile tugging at her lips.
“Remember when your sister, Aggie, wanted to add ground elk meatloaf to the menu? Everyone thought it was madness. Who would order the meatloaf when they can get an elk instead? Now the meatloaf is one of the most popular dishes on your menu.”
Maisy shrugged, conceding the point. “All right. So, what issues will we focus on first?”
Faith grabbed a pencil and started scribbling on a piece of newsprint. “Taxes, growing businesses, the right to vote, supporting the church’s children’s fund, and opening a library. Can you imagine how wonderful it would be to have a library in Mystic?”
Maisy peered over Faith’s shoulder, her eyes thoughtful. “It sounds ambitious. Who will lead this group?”
“Initially, I will,” Faith said, sitting back in her chair. “My idea is for it to be a collective effort. Every woman will have a chance to lead and to speak.”
“You know Aggie and I are with you. But prepare yourself. Not everyone will be so supportive.”
“I know.” Faith sighed. “We have to start somewhere. Your backing means a lot.”
Maisy stood and gathered her shawl. “I’m going to talk with Aggie. We’ll see you soon. Good luck. We’ll definitely need it.”
Faith watched as Maisy walked out into the brisk autumn morning. Her determination was as unyielding as the Montana winter, and she knew the first step was simply spreading the word.
The clatter of the old printing press filled the room as Faith carefully fed paper into its maw.
It had taken her two hours to set the type and wood blocks for the images.
Each large sheet came out with bold, black letters proclaiming the formation of the Mystic Women’s Alliance and details of their first meeting on Sunday after church.
When she finished, and the sheets were dry, Faith cut them into 11 X 14 posters. She stacked the papers and read one over, satisfaction washing over her.
An hour later, she was making her rounds through town, the chill air nipping at her cheeks.
The Mystic community was tight-knit and sometimes resistant to change.
She liked to think growing up here gave her an advantage.
She understood the rhythms of the town, the way people swayed with new ideas before either embracing them or letting them fall away.
At Butterman’s Boardinghouse, she handed a poster to Rosamund Butter, who accepted it with her usual warmth. “Maisy mentioned this to me. This is quite exciting, Faith.”
Faith smiled. “As you can see, the first meeting is set for Sunday after church. I hope we get a good turnout.”
“I only serve breakfast and supper on Sundays, so I’ll be able to attend. I’m looking forward to hearing what others have to say,” Rosamund said.
Next, she stopped at Jenning’s Mercantile. The bell above the door tinkled as she entered. She waved to Casper Jennings, who stood behind the counter sorting bolts of fabric. His once-thick hair was now a sparse halo around his scalp, giving him an angelic appearance.
“Casper, how’s business?” Faith called, walking up to the counter.
“Faith Goodell,” he said, his voice carrying a note of fondness. “Busy as ever. What can I do for you?”
She held up a poster. “I was hoping you could mention this to your women customers. We’re starting a group to discuss issues affecting us all.”
Casper took the poster and adjusted his spectacles. He read it slowly, his lips moving with each word. “A women’s alliance, eh? Sounds a little progressive.”
“It’s important we have a place to talk about issues that matter to us, Casper. Like taxes and education. You know how much I care about this town.”
He scratched his chin, looking uncertain. “You know my Melody has strong opinions about these things. If I start pushing this, she might think—”
“Just mention it,” Faith interrupted, her tone pleading but firm. “Let the women decide for themselves.”
Casper set the poster down and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Deflated, Faith muttered her thanks and left the store. As she walked down the boardwalk, she thought about what Maisy had said. Not everyone would be supportive . Faith knew this, but Casper’s hesitation stung more than she expected.
Back at the Gazette office, she fired up the printing press again and made a few tweaks to the original design. The new posters emphasized how the group would discuss various issues affecting Mystic, making it sound less like a radical movement and more like a community forum.
When the ink was dry, she headed back to Jenning’s Mercantile. Casper looked surprised to see her again so soon.
“I made some changes.” She handed him the new poster. “I think this better explains what we’re trying to do.”
Casper read it over and nodded, a small smile forming. “This looks more reasonable. All right, Faith, I’ll mention it. No promises, but I’ll mention it.”
“That’s all I ask. Thank you, Casper.”
She left the mercantile with a lighter step, reminding herself even small victories could turn the tide.
Maisy slipped into a chair at the Golden Griddle, rubbing her hands together to chase away the cold. The restaurant was quiet, a lull between the breakfast rush and lunch crowd. Her sister, Aggie, stood behind the counter, flipping through a worn cookbook.
“How did it go?” Aggie asked, looking up.
“Faith is determined, as always,” Maisy said. “She makes a convincing case. I think the group could really make a difference.”
Aggie closed the cookbook and leaned on the counter, her gray eyes intent. “We’ve always supported her, you know that. But this is different. It’s a bit more political.”
Maisy shrugged. “Remember when folks got upset because we started serving coffee from a dealer in Seattle? They wanted what they knew, even if the new coffee was better. It didn’t take long for them to appreciate the new beans. Sometimes, change is necessary.”
Aggie considered her sister’s words and nodded. “You’re right. So, what can we do to help?”
“Faith needs a good turnout for the first meeting. We should go, of course, and maybe bring something to eat. Spice bread and the new pumpkin bread recipe you’ve been working on.”
“Food always helps,” Aggie said. “All right, we’ll make a batch of each. Let’s hope the other women are as willing as we are.”
Meanwhile, Faith returned to the Gazette and sat at her desk, staring at the article about a new bull a local rancher had bought. She set it aside.
She’d been relieved when Casper agreed to mention the meeting but knew his willingness was only the beginning. The first meeting had to be a success if they were to gain any momentum.
She thought about the women in Mystic. All of them worked as hard as the men, yet had little say in matters affecting their lives. Would they see the value in what she was proposing? Would they risk the disapproval of their husbands and the community?
Standing, she moved to the old printing press and ran her fingers along its metal frame. It had been her father’s, and working the press always made her feel closer to him. He’d taught her the power of the written word, the way a single article or pamphlet could spark a revolution.
She loaded a new roll of paper and let the machine take it, watching as the ink was applied with precise pressure. The press groaned and clanked as it came to life, a mechanical heartbeat that echoed her own growing anticipation.
With a stack of freshly printed posters in hand, Faith made her way to the mayor’s office.
Carl Jurgen had been mayor for as long as she could remember, balancing his public duties with running the town’s lumberyard.
He was a fixture in Mystic, his wiry frame and quick-talking nature well known to every resident.
The mayor’s office was a modest affair, tucked above the lumberyard’s storefront.
Faith climbed the creaky wooden stairs and knocked on the paneled door.
A muffled “Come in!” greeted her, and she pushed the door open to find Carl seated behind a cluttered desk, papers strewn about like fallen leaves.
“Faith Goodell! To what do I owe this pleasure?” Carl said, standing and extending a hand. Faith shook it, noting the rough calluses that spoke of a man unafraid to work alongside his employees.
“Mayor Jurgen, I’m here to ask for your support on something important.” She took a seat opposite him and handed him a poster. Carl put on his reading glasses, peering at the paper with the intensity of a beekeeper inspecting a hive.
“A women’s alliance? This is ambitious,” he said, setting the poster down. “What’s your aim with this, Faith?”
She took a deep breath. “We want to create a space where women can discuss issues that affect us all. Taxes, education, charitable works. It’s not about stirring trouble. It’s about making sure our voices are heard.”
Carl leaned back in his chair, intertwining his fingers over his stomach. “You know I’ve always respected your family, Faith. Your father was a fair man, and you’ve followed in his footsteps. But this… some might see it as upsetting the balance.”
“We’re not looking to upset anything,” she said, her voice unwavering. “We just want to contribute more directly to the community. Mayor, you know how hard the women in this town work. Isn’t it only fair for us to have a say?”
Carl considered her for a long moment, his bird-like eyes unblinking. “What do you need from me?”
“Just your support. If you could mention the meeting during the town hall meeting tomorrow, it would mean a lot.”
The mayor removed his glasses and rubbed his temples. “All right, Faith. I’ll mention it. But remember, balance is key.”
“I will. Thank you. We appreciate it.”
As she stepped out into the crisp air, she allowed herself a small, hopeful smile.
The white steeple of the Mystic Church stood in stark contrast to the gray sky, a beacon of faith in the small community.
Faith pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside, where warmth wrapped around her like a quilt.
The church was empty, save for Pastor Owen Ward, who was arranging hymnals near the altar.
“Pastor Ward,” Faith called softly, not wanting to disturb the serene atmosphere. Owen looked up, his ruddy face breaking into a warm smile.
“Faith, it’s good to see you. How are you?” He walked to meet her in the center aisle.
“I’m well, thank you. I wanted to talk to you about something we’re starting up,” she said, handing him a poster. “It’s a group for the women of Mystic. We’ll be discussing issues that affect all of us, including ways to support the church’s children’s fund.”
Owen read the poster, nodding slowly. “Sunday after church, huh?”
“Yes, Pastor.”
“Well, I think this is a fine idea. The women of this town do so much already. The church women are always busy helping out parishioners and distributing Bibles. Giving them a platform to organize and speak out on other issues is only right.”
Relief washed over Faith. “So, you’ll support us? Maybe mention it to the congregation?”
“You have my support,” Owen said. “And I’ll make sure Catherine spreads the word as well. The charitable aspects alone make it well worth the effort.”
“Thank you, Pastor. This means a lot.”
Owen placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Your father would be proud, Faith. Remember, every great change starts with a small, courageous step.”
Faith left the church with a renewed sense of purpose. She envisioned a room full of women, all eager to make a difference.
Back at the Gazette, Faith hung up her coat and sat at her rolltop desk.
The wood had worn smooth from years of use, and she liked to trace the grain with her fingers when she needed to think.
Today, her thoughts came quickly, fueled by the tentative support she’d garnered from the mayor and the pastor.
She pulled a sheet of letterhead from a drawer and loaded it into her typewriter.
For a moment, she stared at the contraption her father had purchased on a trip back east, not long after they became available.
The Remington typewriter had a few flaws, but she loved the black machine.
The clack of the keys filled the small office as she pounded out the headline.
“New Mystic Women’s Alliance Seeks to Address Important Community Issues.”
The article flowed from her fingertips, each sentence crafted with care.
She explained the purpose of the group, the issues they planned to address, and the importance of women having a voice in the community.
She detailed the first meeting, inviting all women of Mystic to come and share their thoughts.
Writing was where Faith felt most at home, where she could pour out her passion and reason in equal measure. As she neared the end of the article, she chose her words with extra caution, wanting to leave a lasting impression:
“We believe a stronger voice for women will lead to a stronger Mystic. Join us as we take the first steps toward a more unified community.”
She imagined women reading the article over their husband’s shoulders, feeling a spark of hope. Faith leaned back, wishing Joshua was here to give his opinion.