Page 3 of In These Hills

She still wanted to believe that, and she still knew the Scriptures instilled in her from childhood. But mysterious was one thing—seeing no sign of his hand at all was another. Had he simply turned away from her? Was he weary of her repeated disappointments, as her earthly father had once been? If so, the feeling was mutual.

Across the street, younger compatriots huddled en masse as a half dozen men poked and prodded them with sticks as though they were cattle, laughing and making fun. A few tore off the women’s sashes, the ribbons snagging their upswept hair and drawing even louder jeers.

Fuming, Josephine started toward them just as pea whistles shrilled. A horse-drawn police wagon rounded the corner. Finally. It was about time. The authorities would disperse the crowd and protect the—

“No!” she screamed as officers seized the young women instead, shoving them toward the patrol wagon. When the suffragists resisted, the policemen raised their clubs.

2

“OFFICERS, PLEASE!” Josephine called, approaching the man who appeared to be in charge. “These women have done nothing wrong. Our organization obtained the necessary permit with the city to hold a public—”

“That permit was for a peaceable gathering. You call this peaceable?” He glanced down at her sash. “You women are inciting a riot.”

“Inciting a riot? It’s the men who resorted to violence!”

“You best get in the back of the wagon, ma’am.” His jaw firmed. “Or I will forcibly install you there.”

Josephine’s chin lifted of its own accord. “You will no more place me in the back of that vehicle than—”

He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her forward. She’d counted the cost when joining the suffragist movement two years ago, inspired to fight for women as Todd had fought for freedmen. “Great change requires great sacrifice, Jo,” he’d always said. His passion for justice had inspired her—and had cost him his life.

She thought of the women still in jail. Three weeks earlier, eight suffragists—mothers all—had been arrested while picketing outside the courthouse. The women had agreed beforehand that, if taken into custody, they would, in solidarity, refuse food. But the mayor, a fierce opponent of suffrage, ordered them force-fed. Three nearly died from liquid being pumped into their lungs instead of their stomachs. The others suffered cuts to their mouths and throats resulting in sickness and fever. So while Josephine was willing to suffer for the cause, she had no intention of going to prison under Mayor Darden’s rule without a fight.

Seething, she resisted as the others did and took a hard blow across her backside. When the officer raised his club again, she lifted her hands in surrender. His grip tightened on her arm as she fell into step beside him, glancing back and hoping the others would follow her lead.

Todd—older by only seven minutes but a true big brother—had taught her much about the differences between men and women: how men often underestimated women, and how women mistakenly assumed men reasoned as they did. Those lessons, sometimes humorous and sometimes maddening, had proven useful. Especially now.

She reached for the back of the patrol wagon as if to climb in. The officer loosened his grip—and she tore free. He lunged for her, but she ducked, twisted away, and bolted into the crowd with the other suffragists. Not looking back, she cleared the electric streetcar rails and kept running.

At the corner she finally glanced back. No sign of the officer. But she did see Sarah. A man had her friend by the coat collar, shouting in her face. Sarah, well acquainted with cruelty, fired back something Josephine couldn’t hear, but the smirk said enough. The man drew back to strike her, and Josephine rushed at him from the side, trying to get there in time—but couldn’t. Sarah’s head whipped hard to the right as Josephine, shoulder down, sent the man sprawling.

She grabbed Sarah by the hand and helped her up. “Are you all right?”

Sarah nodded, her cheek bearing a handprint that all but matched the fiery red of her hair. “Thanks, Finny girl.” Sarah turned and kicked the man in the abdomen. “That’s what I’m thinkin’ of your opinions on me friend’s speech today—and of your asinine views on givin’ women the vote.”

Hand in hand, they set off through the crowd, Josephine unable to quell a smile. Sarah’s language, matching her Irish temper, could be quite colorful, so Josephine had taken to suggesting more acceptable vocabulary. Asinine was one of Sarah’s recent favorites. Never mind that she emphasized the first syllable far more than needed.

They reached the corner and broke into a run, but Sarah tripped and went down hard. Josephine bent to help her when someone grabbed her hair from behind, snapping her head back. White-hot pain radiated across her scalp.

“I’ll show you lack of decency and intellect.” The young man from earlier grabbed Josephine around the waist.

Sarah helped her fight him off until another man yanked Sarah away and hurled her to the street. The last Josephine saw, Sarah lay motionless on the roadway.

Josephine kicked and screamed for help as the young man dragged her into an alley, but her strength was no match for his. He shoved her down and her head slammed back against the hard-packed dirt. Her vision blurred, and when it finally cleared, he was unfastening his belt. Her insides went cold.

She scrambled back but he caught her by the ankle, dragged her toward him, and straddled her, pinning her to the ground.

“You’re so high and mighty up there, Miss Josephine Dunham. Let’s see how you are once I’m done with you.” With quick movements, he pulled the belt from his waistband and raised it high over his head.

His intentions now clear, Josephine felt the thinnest sliver of relief—until he followed through.

She covered her face and turned away, but the crack of leather on her palm wrenched a cry from deep inside. Her hand burned like fire as he raised the belt again. She reached frantically for something to use as a weapon, but had to shield herself again when he brought the belt down. The sting of cut flesh on her left cheek, jawline, and corner of her mouth drew hot tears.

Her stomach roiled from the pain as he hauled back for a third time.

“Finny!”

At Sarah’s voice, he stilled and looked behind him. Josephine blindly groped for something—anything—when her hand closed around an object rough and hard. She brought it up with as much force as she could muster and slammed the broken brick into the side of his head.