Faith Goodell opened her front door wide, letting the crisp autumn air rush in along with a flurry of eager women.
She greeted each with a gracious smile, directing them toward the parlor, where a table of refreshments and chairs had been arranged.
The women shrugged off coats and hats, chatting excitedly amongst themselves.
This was the first official meeting of the Mystic Women’s Alliance, and the air was thick with anticipation.
“Thank you all for coming,” Faith called out. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
The women took their seats, some perched on the edges of their chairs, as if ready to spring into action.
Faith surveyed the room, her heart swelling.
These were the women who would help shape the future of Mystic—business owners, mothers, and teachers—all united by a common goal.
The room buzzed with the sound of passionate voices and clinking teacups.
A knock at the door momentarily hushed the crowd. Faith opened it to find Naomi and Annalee Beckett standing on her stoop. She blinked in surprise.
“Naomi, Annalee. I didn’t expect to see you here. Please, come inside.”
Annalee flashed her trademark confident grin. “You know we support what you’re doing, Faith.”
Naomi nodded, her expression more reserved but no less committed. “It’s important work. We want to help.”
Faith’s surprise melted into genuine pleasure. “I’m so glad. Your presence means a lot.”
The Becketts were an institution in Mystic. Their support could sway others who were on the fence, giving the alliance the legitimacy it sorely needed. Faith ushered them inside, where the other women greeted them with a mix of respect and curiosity.
With the Becketts here, the Alliance suddenly felt more formidable, more real.
For a brief interlude, the women turned their attention to the refreshments laid out on a side table.
Maisy and Aggie had outdone themselves, providing an array of sweet breads, fruit bars, coffee, and a large pot of steaming tea.
The women mixed and mingled, forming small knots of conversation as they filled their plates and cups.
“It’s wonderful to see so many women interested in the Alliance,” said Melody Jennings, her voice carrying over the hum of the room.
Faith circulated, making sure everyone was introduced and felt welcome. She paused to speak with Annalee, then moved on to exchange a few words with Mia Duval, the newcomer from New Orleans who had recently joined their ranks.
The pleasant atmosphere did more than fill stomachs. The informal conversations built bridges. The women settled into their chairs, eyes bright with expectation.
As Faith prepared to start the formal proceedings, the front door opened once more. A tall man with dark hair and a rugged manner stepped in, removing his hat.
“Ladies,” Doyle Shaw said with a nod.
An uneasy silence settled over the room. Some of the women exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Others, like Melody Jennings, offered more welcoming smiles.
“We’re glad you could make it, Doyle,” Faith said, though she sounded a bit uncertain. Shaw was the owner of the Starlight Saloon and had a reputation for being progressive. Then again, he was still a man, and this was meant to be a women’s gathering.
“I won’t stay long,” Shaw said. “Just wanted to show my support and see how I might assist.”
The women murmured among themselves. Having Doyle on their side could be invaluable, but there was also the fear he might twist their words or intentions.
For now, they tolerated his presence, knowing he could be an ally or a hindrance.
Faith stood, and the room fell silent. Doyle Shaw leaned against a wall, folding his arms and watching with interest.
“Ladies, we have a lot to discuss,” Faith began, her voice measured. “This is just the start, but it’s an important one. Our goal is to give the women of Mystic a voice in our businesses and in our community.”
She pointed to a large piece of blank newsprint tacked to the wall, covered in neat handwriting. It listed various topics. Taxes, business growth, voting rights, the children’s fund, and opening a library were issues most women were interested in addressing.
“These are some of the issues we might tackle. Your input is crucial.”
The women leaned in, their faces set with interest as they read the topics.
Aggie Price was the first to speak. “The new taxes the all-male council voted in are hurting small businesses. I don’t mind paying a fair share for town improvements, but if we don’t get some relief soon, many of us won’t last another year.”
Melody Jennings countered. “While taxes are a concern, we need to think long-term. The right to vote affects everything else.”
“Can we do both?” asked Annalee, her eagerness cutting through the more seasoned women’s pragmatism. “Tackle immediate issues while working toward the bigger picture?”
Different voices chimed in, each woman bringing her own perspective and experience to the table. Evelyn Graham, the town’s teacher, spoke passionately about the children’s fund, while Mia Duval made a case for legal protections for women.
Doyle Shaw listened to the ideas and comments, his presence a constant reminder their words could reach beyond this room.
Their enthusiasm was contagious, spreading through the room like wildfire.
After nearly an hour of vigorous debate, Faith held up her hands for silence. “It’s clear we have many important issues to address. For now, let’s vote on the priority of each one.”
She passed around small slips of paper and a tin for collecting them. The women scribbled quickly, some whispering to their neighbors, others casting furtive glances at the Becketts or Shaw.
Faith tallied the votes aloud. “Taxes… four. Children’s fund… three. Library… five. Voting rights… six.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. While some had hoped for a different outcome, it was clear most agreed on the fundamental importance of suffrage.
“So, we start with the right to vote,” Faith said. “Are we all in agreement?”
“Hold on,” Melody Jennings said, standing. “We need to be smart about this.”
All eyes turned to Melody, who dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a lace handkerchief. “I’m not saying we back down on the important issue of getting the right to vote. However, perhaps we start with something less contentious. Build some goodwill and momentum first.”
“Such as?” Annalee asked, a hint of skepticism in her voice.
“Opening a library,” Melody said. “It’s something everyone can get behind. Imagine the knowledge and resources it would provide. Once we’ve established ourselves with a popular project, we’ll be in a stronger position to tackle the tougher issues.”
Gloria Graham, seated next to Melody, nodded in agreement. “It’s a pragmatic approach. We need the community’s support, and this could be a way to earn it. Rushing headlong into the most controversial issues could splinter our Alliance before it even gets started.”
The room grew quiet as the women considered their words.
Some of the women shifted uncomfortably in their seats, not wanting to seem as if they were backing down from the fight. But Gloria’s words carried weight. As the wife of the bank president and member of the town council, she understood the intricacies of community politics.
“If we can show them we are reasonable and thoughtful in our approach,” Gloria continued, “we’ll be more likely to gain the support we need.”
The women began to murmur, their initial hesitation giving way to a growing sense of agreement.
“Imagine having access to a wide range of books,” said Evelyn Graham, daughter of the bank president. “I believe what Melody and Gloria are saying makes sense.”
Annalee spoke up next. “A library would benefit everyone. It’s something we can point to as a tangible accomplishment.”
The enthusiasm for the library grew, with women suggesting book drives and fundraising ideas. Even Doyle Shaw looked impressed.
Naomi Beckett raised her hand, and the room fell silent. “If we’re serious about this, I can offer space in one of the buildings we own. It’s not being used for anything at the moment, and it would save us the trouble of finding a location.”
The women turned to Naomi, their eyes widening with hope and gratitude.
“That’s very generous, Naomi,” Faith said, beaming. “Having a space will make all the difference.”
Doyle Shaw cleared his throat, catching Faith’s eye. “If it’s worth anything, I’ll start the fund with fifty dollars.”
A collective gasp went up, followed by applause. Even the more skeptical women couldn’t hide their appreciation for Shaw’s gesture. Having a successful business owner behind the idea, plus his significant donation, gave the library project an immediate boost.
“Thank you, Doyle,” Faith said, genuinely touched. “Your support means a great deal.”
Shaw nodded, accepting the thanks with modesty. “Just doing my part, ladies.”
Perhaps Doyle Shaw wasn’t such a bad egg after all , Faith thought.
With the major discussions concluded, Faith looked at the clock on her mantle. “We still have a bit of time. Let’s elect our officers.”
The women looked at each other, some leaning back as if to distance themselves from the process, others sitting up straighter, ready to volunteer. Faith passed around more slips of paper and the tin, and the women quickly cast their votes.
“First, for president,” Faith said. “Mr. Shaw, perhaps you would count the votes and announce the name for each position.”
“I’d be honored.” Walking to stand next to Faith, he opened the tin and read the slips, noting each position and the names on a piece of paper. “Faith Goodell is your first president of the Alliance.”
She blushed as the women applauded. “Well, thank you. I accept.”
The results for the other positions came swiftly. Doyle cleared his throat before continuing. “Vice president is Melody Jennings. Secretary is Maisy Cox. Treasurer is Mia Duval. And at-large committee members are Gloria Graham and Naomi Beckett.”
Each woman accepted her role, and a few of the women rose to give them hugs and congratulations.
They had a plan, they had leadership, and most importantly, they had a group of women committed to being involved.
The meeting adjourned, and the women gathered their belongings, still talking excitedly about the library and their new Alliance. Faith walked to the door and opened it, letting the cool air rush in.
What she saw outside made her stop short.
A group of men—ten or twelve—stood on the walkway, their postures rigid and confrontational.
Among them, Faith recognized several prominent townsfolk: Farley Byrne, owner of Mystic Feed and Grain, Elmer Moss, the town barber, Attorney Braxton Reed, and Casper Jennings, Melody’s husband. Casper’s presence was a huge surprise.
The women filed out, their conversations tapering off as they realized what awaited them. One by one, they paused and took stock of the situation, their earlier optimism colliding with the stark reality of the opposition they now faced.
The men’s faces were flushed with irritation, their bodies tense with purpose.
The women held back, unsure whether to confront the men or simply wait them out. Whispers of “What do they want?” and “This can’t be good,” floated through the group.
Evelyn Graham muttered to no one in particular. “I thought Casper would be supportive, given Melody’s involvement.”
Maisy shrugged, her usual cheerfulness dampened. “Maybe he’s here to protect her. Or maybe she didn’t tell him.”
Mia Duval, ever the analytical mind, observed, “It’s one thing to have their wives express an opinion. It’s another for us to organize.”
Faith lingered at the doorway, her thoughts racing. Were they truly prepared for this kind of resistance? The Alliance had seemed like such a noble, straightforward endeavor just an hour ago. Now, the path ahead looked much more perilous.
Faith squared her shoulders and stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. Raising a hand, she signaled for the women to wait. “Is there something you’d like to say?” she called out to the men.
Farley Byrne stepped forward. “We hear you’re planning to stir up trouble,” he said, his voice clipped.
“We’re just trying to improve our community,” Faith replied, struggling to keep her tone even.
“Your community?” Farley scoffed. “What about your families? Your husbands? They’re what’s important.”
The tension was palpable, like the charged air before a lightning strike. The women behind Faith stood in silent solidarity, waiting to see how this first test would play out.
“We want what’s best for everyone,” Faith said, her voice firm.
Then Doyle Shaw made his way through the women to stand next to Faith.
“Gentlemen, let me assure you the women do have the best interests of the community in mind. Their first project is to establish a library in town. To start off, Naomi Beckett has donated a space in town, and I’m putting up fifty dollars as seed money.
What are you men willing to offer in support of such an important endeavor? ”
The men grumbled, their dissatisfaction far from resolved. One by one, they began to disperse, but the threat lingered in the cold night air. As they left the area, one man continued to stand toward the back of the group.
Arms crossed over his chest, his booted feet shoulder width apart, Joshua Beckett locked eyes with Faith.