“Yes,” Rose said, putting down the pen and clasping her hands in her lap. “Rude.”
“We’re not inviting people to a house party; we’re trying to change the law.”
Rose bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from scowling. “I am well aware of our purpose—”
“Mypurpose—”
“Ourpurpose,“ Rose said, nostrils flaring. “I am a part of this, too. And I question the tone you use in your letters. It’s far too harsh.”
“You’re not part of this, and we’re not here to make friends.” Ben leaned against the window and planted his free hand on his waist. His spine tensed as though he was expecting an attack. Rose wished she did not notice how his biceps swelled under the thin fabric of his shirt. “We’re looking to change minds.”
“You have no chance of changing minds if no one reads the letters.” She pushed to her feet and crossed the room to him, holding up a letter she had transcribed for him earlier in the day. “‘Dear Mayor Low. Your politics are disgraceful and you should be ashamed of the toll your actions take on the average woman and child of New York City.’” She dropped the letter and fixed him with a harsh glare. “Do you truly believe he would read beyond the first four words?”
He scowled and pushed past her, picking up another letter from the stack on the small table serving as his—and now Rose’s—desk. “Being polite won’t make change.”
“But being polite will make people listen.” Rose resumed her seat and withdrew a fresh sheet of paper while Ben leaned his hip against the table, his free arm shoved deep in his trouser pocket. A lick of heat curled in her belly as she marveled at the sharp edges of his cheekbones and the hollows below, the perfect symmetry of his features. She cleared her throat and lifted the pen. “When Mayor Low finishes reading this letter, what do you want him to know or do?”
“I want him to understand how denying women the right to vote traps them in a cycle of poverty that will destroy the city.”
Her brows raised. “Quite a heavy lift for one letter, but I’ll do my best.” She flexed her fingers. “Low is an educational reformer, is he not?”
Ben stared at her for a long moment. “He is. How would you know that?”
“I needed something to do yesterday while Cass was studying and Abby was baking, so I read the newspapers. Andnotjust the society pages.” She started there, of course, but not knowing any of the names made the task dull, and the political pages seemed intriguing by comparison.
Rose smiled at Ben’s bewildered expression and turned back to the page. “‘Dear Mayor Low. I wish to start by commending you on your work to improve the education of the common child in the great City of New York. Our children are in excellent hands with you looking out for their best interests.’”
Scoffing, Ben raked his hand through his hair. “Why would you praise a man you wish to take action?”
“Because everyone enjoys being praised,” she retorted. “Once, my sister Violet purchased a new dress that was hideous on her. She’s quite petite, and there were so many flounces and ruffles you could barely see her. If I’d told her she looked like a child’s doll, she would have dismissed me outright, so I complimented the color choice, and how the neckline flattered her features.ThenI convinced her to return the frock and wear one of mine.”
Ben blinked. “And… your point?”
“If you start with an attack, he will never listen. No one will. If you reason with him, approach him as a man who is trying his best, you’ll have a far better chance of earning his respect and his ear.” She returned her gaze to the letter and scrawled several more lines before nodding her approval and passing it to Ben.
“‘While your reforms benefit children of school age, the youngest and most vulnerable citizens of our city will not have the chance to attend your magnificent schools—’” He dropped the letter and huffed, but Rose motioned for him to continue, “‘—if their mothers cannot advocate for the needs of their children. They will never break free of poverty, let alone attend school.’” He lowered the letter and scowled once more.
“I think it’s far better this way.” Rose lifted her chin, attempting to appear calm while her insides skipped about wildly anticipating his judgment.
Ben said nothing, staring at a point over her head for a long moment before exhaling. “This won’t work.”
“How many letters have you written to the Mayor?”
“Fifteen, sixteen with this one.”
“And how many has he returned?” Ben rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Rose grinned in triumph. “We might as well try my letter. It isn’t as though you could havelesssuccess.”
“Fine,” he humphed, “we try it your way.”
Rose drew a different letter from the pile. “Shall we revise your message to Commissioner Patridge as well?”
With a world-weary sigh, Ben pulled a kitchen chair beside Rose and sat, his heat warming her arm. “We might as well.”
Several hours, even more cups of coffee, and dozens of discarded drafts later, Rose tied a ribbon around a thick stack of letters, letting her palms rest on the paper for a long moment. Satisfaction spread through her veins like warm honey, the power of the words humming along her skin. “A good day’s work,” she said, but Ben scoffed.
“You realize you’re not getting paid for this.”
Rose furrowed her brow. “I know. I’m not doing this to be paid.”
