Read Ebook: Spellbinders by Banning Margaret Culkin

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Ebook has 2195 lines and 81830 words, and 44 pages

Over recovered ease of manner, Gage smiled at Helen. She had taken that up neatly. She had penetration, not a doubt of it. Why did she try then to subordinate herself to these other women, people like this Duffield girl, these arrogant spinsters? He greeted his hostess, who came from the library, where a group of people were already settled about the card tables.

"Will you make a fourth with the Stantons and Emily Haight, please, Gage? You like a good game and Emily can furnish it."

Mrs. Brownley was a tall, elaborately marcelled woman of about fifty. Handsome, people said, as they do say it of a woman who commands their eyes even when the sex attraction has gone. She had the ease of a woman whose social position is of long standing, the graciousness of one who has nothing to gain and the slight aggressiveness of one who has much to bestow. Gage liked her. He remembered distinctly the time of her reign as one of the "younger matrons"--he had been a boy home from college when, at thirty-five, Mrs. Brownley, successfully the mother of two children, was dominating the gayety of the city's social life. Just as now--her hair gray and marcelled, and her dancing vivacity cleverly changed into an eagerness of interest in "welfare work" or "civic activity"--she released energies more in keeping with her age.

"I'll go anywhere you want me to," he said, "I'll play checkers or casino. I'll do anything--except talk to feminist females."

"Well, Emily's surely no feminist--go along then--"

It was a very small party, a dinner of ten to which the Flandons had not been able to come because of a late afternoon meeting at Gage's office. So he and Helen had come along later, informally, to meet the guest of honor, now sitting with Helen on a divan, out of the range of the card players.

"Have you begun operations yet?" Helen was asking.

"Oh, no. It's a very vague job I have and you mustn't expect too much. I am not supposed to interfere with any local activities--just lend a hand in getting new women interested, speaking a bit, that sort of thing, rousing up women like you who ought to be something more than agreeable dilettantes."

"If I'm agreeable--" began Helen.

"I won't be put off. You write that nonsense in your letters. Why aren't you interested in all this?"

"I truly am. Very noticeably. I'm secretary to this and treasurer to that--all the women's things in town. On boards of directors--no end."

"And you care about them as much as your tone shows. Are you submerged in your husband then?"

"He'd love to hear you say that. Love you for the suspicion and hate you for the utterance. No--hardly submerged. He's a very fascinating person and I'd go almost any lengths--but hardly submerged. Where did you get the word anyway? Ultra-modern for subjugated? Gage is good to me. Lets me go and come, unchallenged--doesn't read my letters--"

"Stop being an idiot. I'm not insinuating things against Gage. What I'm trying to find out is what you are interested in."

"I'm interested in so many things I couldn't begin to tell you. Psychoanalysis--novels--penny lunches--you--Mrs. Brownley's career as a politician--my beloved babies--isn't that enough?"

"I'm not at all sure that it is enough."

"Well, then you shall find me a new job and I'll chuck the old ones. Tell me about yourself. I hardly had a chance to hear the other day. So the great Harriet Thompson sent you out to inspire the Middle West with love of the Republican party? It's hardly like you, Margaret, to be campaigning for anything so shopworn as the Republican party."

"I do that on the side. What I do primarily is to stir up people to believe in women--especially women in women."

"Then you don't believe in the G. O. P."

"I'm not a campaign speaker, Helen. I'm an organizer. Of course I think I'd rather have the Republicans in than the Democrats for certain obvious reasons but if you mean that I think the Republican candidate will be a Messiah--I don't. Gage is a Republican--how about you?"

"Half Republican--half Socialist."

"The extent of your Socialism is probably a subscription to a couple of magazines."

"About."

"You ought to focus on something, I think."

"Go on. It does me good. After years of hearing mouthing nonsense," Helen spoke with sudden heat, "of hearing people say 'How wonderful you are, Mrs. Flandon' and 'How do you manage to do so much, Mrs. Flandon?' and all sorts of blithering compliments, it's wonderful to listen to you. Though I'm not sure I could focus if I wanted to--at least for any definite period. I do, for a while, and then I swing back to being very desperately married or extremely interested in something else. You can't put Gage in a corner like some husbands, you know, Margaret."

"I should imagine not."

"Suppose," said Mrs. Brownley, coming up to them, now that her other guests were disposed of, "that we have a little talk while the others are busy and plan our work a little. You don't really mean to carry Miss Duffield off, do you, Helen?"

"I must, Mrs. Brownley. I've been trying for years to get this young woman to visit me and, now that she is in the city, I couldn't let her stay with any one else. I didn't have any idea that she was going to be the organizer sent by the Women's Republican Committee."

"I wouldn't have been sent either, if Mrs. Thompson hadn't been dreadfully short of workers. But she was, and I know her very well and though she knows I only go with her part way, I promised to do the best I could to organize things for her and get the women interested, even if I couldn't speak in behalf of the party and its candidates. You see, Mrs. Brownley, we've done so much organization for suffrage work among women that it comes pretty naturally to us to do this other work, just as it does to you."

Mrs. Brownley nodded.

"You'll be an immense help, Miss Duffield. What I had sketchily planned was a series of small meetings in the city, lasting over a period of a couple of weeks and then a big rally of all the women. You assure yourself of your audience for the big meeting by working up the small ones."

"We must have some good speakers," said Margaret, "I am sure the National Committee will send us those from time to time."

"The heavy work will be in the country districts."

"I suppose so. The women there will have to be rounded up and we should have some women of influence from the country districts to work with us. Can you find some?"

"There are some," answered Mrs. Brownley, "who've done a good deal of club work. There's a Mrs. Ellsmith and there's a new district chairman for the Federated Clubs who seems to be a bright little woman--a Mrs. Eric Thorstad. She comes from Mohawk, about seventy miles out of the city. It's a Normal School town, quite a little center for the surrounding villages. We might write to her."

"We ought to see her," answered Margaret, "it works better. The more personal contact you get with the women now, the better. Why can't we go to Mohawk--is that what you called it?--and some of the surrounding towns and do a little rounding up?"

"We could--very easily. Mr. Brownley would let us have the Etta--that's the special car on his railroad which runs through all that country."

"I think it would be better not. That identifies us too much, if you don't mind my saying it, with the railroad. No--let's take the regular trains. And make this person come with us to do a little talking." She indicated Helen with a laugh.

"I'll come," said Helen, "of course."

She sat back, as Margaret Duffield went on talking in her deft, sure way, outlining the work to be done. It seemed to Helen that Margaret had hardly changed in eight years. She had been just like this in college, eager, competent, doing things for suffrage, talking feminism. Well, so had Helen, herself. But something had changed her point of view subtly. Was it being married, she wondered? She couldn't rouse her enthusiasms really over all this woman business any more. Was it laziness? Was it lack of inspiration? Had she been making too many concessions to Gage's ideas? She must have Margaret at her house. She wanted to see her and Gage in action. How they would row! She laughed a little to herself, thinking of Gage. The warm little feeling crept over her that always returned as she thought of him. How foolish Margaret was to miss all that--living with a man. Suddenly she felt expanded, experienced. She wanted to do something to show that all her discontents had vanished. She had been nervous and dissatisfied since Margaret had come. Well, she had come, and Helen had measured herself up beside her, fearful of shrinkage in her own stature. What was it that to-night had reassured her, made her feel that Margaret had not really gone beyond her, that she was not really jealous of Margaret's kind of life?

The others were still talking of projected trips into the country. "Let's go then," said Helen, leaning forward, "and get them so stirred up that we leave all the old farmers gasping. Let's start a rebellion of country women. Let's get them thinking!"

Margaret stared at her.

"That sounds more like you!" she exclaimed.

"I'm full of energy," said Helen, on her feet now. "Margaret, you must come to my house within three days or I'll send a policeman for you. And now I'm going to break up Gage's bridge game."

She could break it up. Gage was immediately conscious of her. As she sat beside him, pretending quiet and interest, he could feel that she was neither quiet nor interested. He was pleased that she had broken away from the Duffield girl to come to him. He wanted to acknowledge it. To throw down his cards and put his arms about her. Since he couldn't do that he kept on thinking of it.

"You bring us bad luck, Mrs. Flandon," said Gage's partner, with a flavor of tartness.

She rose again, laying her hand lightly on her husband's shoulder.

"Driven away from the serious minded everywhere. If I go into the music room and shut the door tightly, may I play?"

That she knew would disturb Gage too. And she couldn't help disturbing him. She would play the things that held especial meanings for him and her. She would play the things which she had used to play in college for Margaret on Sunday evenings, set her by the ears too, startle her out of her seriousness as she had used to startle her. She would arouse in Margaret some of those emotions which couldn't be dead. She would find out if she had those emotions still.

Then over the first notes she forgot what she meant to do. She was alone with herself--she had forgotten the others. And because she had forgotten, the things happened to the others as she had meant them to happen. Gage, bidding deliberately to make his hand the dummy, left the card table and outside the door of the music room found Margaret, also listening. They took refuge in immediate conversation.

"So she keeps up her music," said Margaret.

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