Breathless(33)

Ada Jakes asked, “Do you get many Colored guests?”

Portia shook her head. “No. Most are European or Whites from back East.”

“Will there be any Europeans during our time here?”

“No. Mixing the races has caused problems in the past.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Jakes asked.

“Some of the Europeans mistook our Colored guests for servants. It happened on enough occasions that we stopped having both races on the property at the same time.”

The deciding incident took place two years ago when a German guest stopped the wife of a prominent New York City newspaper owner in the hallway and demanded she bring him fresh towels. She patiently explained that she, too, was a guest. He refused to believe her and grabbed her arm to force her to do his bidding. Her husband, viewing the assault, punched the German in the nose and a full-fledged fight ensued. The bloodied German wanted the husband arrested. The enraged newspaper owner demanded an apology, which was never given. The next day both parties decamped in a huff. Neither ever returned.

Ada asked, “Is it always this warm here? My goodness I feel like I’m melting.”

“It is Mrs. Jakes. Even though we’re in a more temperate part of the territory this is still the desert. It will get much warmer as the day goes on, I’m afraid.”

“How do you stand it?”

“You get accustomed to it after a while. There’s a water jug in the crate by your feet.”

“Thank you.”

She drank a bit, then passed the jug to her son. It was a warm morning. Even with the buggy’s canopy sheltering them, the sun’s heat was stifling. She wondered how Regan’s passengers were faring, but didn’t worry overly much because their buggy had water, too, and Kent and Matt had canteens.

“I have to admit, the countryside does have its own beauty,” Dr. Jakes said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bluer sky.”

That he appreciated the slate gray mountains and the clear blue sky where some other guests saw only starkness added another feather in his cap.

He added, “I also admire a woman who can drive well. Many men don’t believe your gender should drive at all.”

“Or vote,” his mother added tartly.

Portia smiled. “Do you believe women should have the vote, Mr. Jakes?”

“Call me Winston, and of course they should. Some of the most astute minds I’ve ever encountered are female.”

“As you can hear, I raised him well,” his mother said, chuckling.

To which Portia replied. “It’s a pity the men in Congress weren’t raised that way, too.”

“True.”

For the rest of the ride, she and Ada discussed the suffrage movement and the vote. Ada took issue with the way the great Sojourner Truth was being held up as ignorant and illiterate. “The manner in which her words are portrayed in some of the pamphlets irks me to no end. She speaks English and Dutch, which is one more language than any of those other women speak.”

Fascinated, Portia admitted, “I didn’t know that.”

“She began life as a Dutch slave. English is not her first language, but to hear the movement’s leaders tell it, she speaks like an unschooled Deep South slave. And why they refuse to allow Colored women in their ranks says a lot about who they are. Especially Elizabeth Cady Stanton. This phrase they’re beginning to use—intelligent suffrage—is designed to leave women of our race on the side of the road. As if they’re the only ones with enough smarts to read a ballot.”

Portia had seen the phrase bandied about in the newspapers. Stanton and some of the other leaders were advancing the notion that a test of some sort be applied to ensure that only women of sound mind be given the vote, which of course everyone knew would be applied specifically to women of color. Stanton was still smarting from Colored men having been given the access to the voting booth ahead of them with the passage of the Fifteenth Amendment. In Portia’s mind, if they were all so keen on an immediate solution they should be advocating a movement to Wyoming Territory where women were given the vote in 1869. All in all, she enjoyed her conversation with the fiery Ada Jakes and looked forward to further talks during their stay.

Arriving at the hotel, Regan escorted her charges inside and Portia was about to do the same when Winston Jakes said, “What will we be doing in the morning and at what time?”

Before Portia could reply, his mother said, “Winston, let me know what she says. I need to go inside and get out of this heat.”

She hurried in behind Regan’s group.

“We can go in, too,” Portia said.

“No. If I might be so forward, I’d like to enjoy your company alone for just a bit longer.”

Seeing no harm in granting him the small boon, she smiled. “Breakfast is at six, and we’ll head to the stables around seven-thirty.”

“So early?”

“Yes, it’s best to get started before the heat of the day.”

“I see.”

They were interrupted by Kent riding up. “Excuse me, Miss Carmichael. Sorry for the interruption. I just wanted to let you know that the guests’ trunks have been taken inside and the staff is placing them in their suites.”

“Thank you, Mr. Randolph.”

Jakes was eyeing Kent’s horse. “Randolph, what breed of horse is that? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one quite that color before.”