Breathless(53)

He stilled and studied her for a moment. “Takes a strong person to admit something like that.”

She nodded and thought about Kent’s support. “I plan to keep doing the books here though, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, but you may become so successful I’ll have to increase your salary to keep you on.”

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere and what you pay me now is just fine.” He’d given her her start. She’d always be grateful for his faith in her abilities, no matter what the future held. “Any advice for me?”

He thought for a moment. “Yes. Don’t listen to naysayers about what you can’t do, and get up every day and do your absolute best.”

“Thank you, Uncle Rhine.”

“You’re welcome. Proud of you, Portia.”

She was proud of herself. That she might fail still loomed inside but it wasn’t consuming her anymore. “So what’s happening with the search for Parnell? Are you going to be discussing a posse at the Ranchers Association meeting this evening?”

He looked frustrated. “No. The meeting’s been cancelled because none of the White members wanted to leave their homes because of Geronimo.”

She was frustrated by that news as well. Were Farley and Buck ever going to get the justice they deserved?

Rhine did have a bit of comforting news. “The sheriff dropped off one of the Wanted flyers earlier today.” He removed the folded bulletin from the inner pocket of his suit coat and passed it to her.

“This is a very good likeness,” Portia said, looking at Parnell’s unshaven thin face.

“The sheriff’s daughter drew it. He said she’ll be going back East to one of the art schools in the fall. He had enough of them printed to put up in town and to pass out around the territory to other lawmen.”

“Let’s hope it helps,” she said.

“I agree.”

Portia passed the paper back to him.

“I’m going to let you get back to work, but again, I’m real proud of you, Portia. If I can be of any assistance let me know.”

“I will, Uncle Rhine. Promise.”

He nodded and left her alone.

Smiling, she went back to work only to have Regan stick her head in the door a few minutes later. “Are you coming to the meeting? Everyone’s here. We’re waiting on you.”

For a moment, Portia had no idea what her sister was talking about, but then she remembered the Tucson Good Works Society was meeting that afternoon. She jumped to feet. “Oh shoot. I’m sorry. Let me get my report. I’ll be right there.”

“You really need a keeper,” her sister said with a shake of her head as she left.

Portia stuck out her tongue at the empty space and searched out the papers she needed.

The tradition of women of the race forming groups to assist and uplift their communities could be traced back as far as 1793 when the lady parishioners of Philadelphia’s Episcopal Church of St. Thomas, the first Black Episcopal church in the nation, formed the Female Benevolent Society of St. Thomas. In the years since, women of color nationwide built on that tradition by coming together to support everything from abolition to literacy to the caring of the sick, elderly, and the destitute in their neighborhoods, and since the passage of the Fifteenth Amendment, female suffrage.

The Tucson Good Works Society was founded ten years ago. It was a small group but, like others, dedicated to caring for their community. Portia was the secretary. Her aunt Eddy served as the current president and opened the meeting. The first order of business was to formally approve the plan to attend the convention in San Francisco. In spite of the ill-mannered Ada Jakes, Portia continued to look forward to the event. Regan headed up the group’s volunteering efforts and reported on the campaign to help provide supplies for the small school run by Mamie Cordell out of her home. “There was enough money left over from our last fund-raiser to purchase more readers and enough paper and pencils to last the rest of the school year.” Although there were only five children enrolled, every educated child was an asset to the race.

The meeting continued with a discussion of ways they might help alleviate the suffering caused by the appalling conditions at the San Carlos reservation. Although a hundred women and their children escaped with Geronimo, many more stayed behind.

“We’ve contributed clothing in the past—maybe we can increase our donations,” restaurant owner Sadie Welch suggested.

Portia added another idea. “What if we send letters to some of the large churches back East like Mother Bethel and St. Thomas in Philadelphia to ask for their help? I know the Apache aren’t our race but if people knew about the deplorable conditions, maybe they’d be moved enough to lend them aid.”

The women thought that to be a wonderful idea and after a lengthy discussion decided to implement both suggestions.

When the meeting ended, Eddy thanked everyone for coming. She, Portia, and Regan walked outside to see the ladies off. After their departure, Eddy left for the kitchen to supervise the food that would be going to the upcoming Lane rodeo, and because she didn’t need their help, Portia and Regan sat outside at one of the tables beneath the oaks.

“I always feel good after one of our meetings,” Portia said.

“I do, too. Helping people should make you feel good, don’t you think?”