As the meeting was dismissed, all in a moment the earnest truth-seekers
were transformed into a social assemblage. Hearty handshaking abounded
and equally hearty laughter was heard upon all sides. For several
minutes it seemed to Imelda that she had been forgotten by her friend
who had been joined by the chairman of the afternoon, but she had more
than enough to occupy her mind in observing the scene before her, and
reviewing the two hours she had just passed through. Many and
conflicting were her emotions. Every word, almost, that had been spoken
had sunk deep into her heart and she again experienced all the
sensations of surprise and indignation she had felt, the mere memory of
which almost caused her heart to stand still and chill the blood in her
veins. Never in all the years of her young life had she dreamed of such
dark depths of hopeless woe.
Just then a hand lightly touched her arm and she heard Margaret’s sweet
voice:
“Imelda, my dear friend, permit me to introduce to you another friend,
Mr. Wallace.”
Imelda suddenly found herself confronted by the chairman of the meeting.
The interruption was opportune, as it recalled her to herself. Wilbur
Wallace’s darkly bronzed face was all aglow. A happy light shone from
the dark eyes and the clear strong voice had a ring in it that could
have been caused only by something very pleasant. The next moment
Imelda’s hand was folded in his strong clasp while the words: “I
consider myself fortunate in meeting Miss Ellwood here this afternoon,”
most pleasantly struck her ear, and he continued: “I very much hope that
the pleasure may be often renewed.” Imelda felt the icy clutch slowly
being removed that had been holding her enthralled; a more life-like
smile lit up her face as she replied:
“The pleasure will be mutual, I assure you.”
“Then we may hope to see you here again?”
“Why not?” she asked. “I have heard much this afternoon which, although
not pleasant in itself, was both new and interesting, and I have no
doubt I shall be able to learn much here which would be impossible for
me to learn elsewhere. While the facts, as they have been shown here
today, are almost impossible to believe, yet if true, it is time I knew
something about them. But I cannot see the remedy; how do you propose to
alleviate, or rather to banish such evils?”
Imelda’s dark eyes looked questioningly into the now serious face of
Wilbur Wallace, whose answer promptly came.
“The solution of that problem will, no doubt, be the work of future
years, albeit much can at the present time, and also in the near future,
be done to make the way clear. ‘Making the way clear’ is what we trying
to do. This is a meeting place for thinkers—free thinkers, all of them,
and no matter what their ideas of God, of the church, may be, they all
have come to the conclusion that there is something wrong somewhere, and
that church and state bear a large share of the blame, is plainly to be
seen. The so-greatly despised ‘anarchist’ is, I think, more largely
represented than others.” There was a quick uplifting of the brow of the
young girl at the mention of the word ‘anarchist.’
“I do not understand,” she said. “The colors wherewith I have seen the
name painted are not very attractive. If I have had a mistaken
impression I would like to have my error corrected.” At this moment the
old gentleman, Mr. Roland, accompanied by Miss Wood, stepped up to the
little group.
“What matter of importance is being discussed here with so much
interest?” broke in his pleasant voice. “I must confess to a desire to
join with you, but first permit me.” Here followed the necessary
introductions, then Wilbur Wallace spoke.
“Miss Ellwood being a stranger to our circle, is also a stranger to the
ideas usually discussed here. Consequently she finds them not unmixed
with a certain amount of gruesomeness.”
“And what particular idea, or object, or fact, is it that fills you thus
with unpleasant feelings?” asked Mr. Roland of Imelda.
“I think almost everything that I have heard spoken of here today. If
all I have heard here today be true, every young girl would be justified
in shrinking from marriage as she would from the brink of a dark abyss.”
“That is well expressed,” said Miss Wood; “and if we could but impress
that idea upon the mind of every woman there would soon be a new state
of affairs. When woman learns the true worth of herself she will insist
on the right to dispose of herself as she will see fit, and not as she
is commanded to do by the arbitrary laws of a society that is man-made.”
For a few moments Imelda was lost in thought, then her dark eyes flashed
upward.
“I understand that if woman could be successful she would be able to
enjoy a glorious freedom. But would not this very freedom have some very
undesirable results? Undesirable as a large family of children may be to
the majority of women, as it most inevitably dooms them to a life of
drudgery, yet under circumstances of unlimited freedom, such as you
advocate, how long would it be until the race would begin to dwindle
away? For many women, as I know them, would prefer not to be mothers at
all, and very few of them would wish for a large family. We all know
that the life of the infant is but a tender plant that sometimes does
not long survive the hour of its birth. Do you think such a state of
things would be desirable?”
“My dear Miss Ellwood,” Mr. Roland replied, “the idea of the extinction
of the race would indeed not be pleasant to contemplate, but the perfect
freedom of woman would naturally overcome the very dangers you fear. The
desired and gladly welcomed child will of necessity be superior to that
which is undesired and unwelcome. When a prospective mother is filled
with thoughts of that coming event she lives during that period only for
the well being of that mite of humanity. She will seek to observe, to
study, the laws of nature to their fullest extent, and being in the
possession of sexual freedom will soon learn to understand these
glorious laws. So children will be born into the world in a more normal
and healthy state than is now the case, and the result will be fewer
little graves. Then again woman will develop mentally and she will
bestow upon her unborn babe a legacy of brain power that at present,
under our corrupt social system, is an utter impossibility. So even
though there would not be so many undesired unfortunate beings called
into life the quality would be so vastly superior that the loss in
quantity would be anything but loss,—rather gain.”
“I agree with you,” Imelda said, “but here the question arises, How will
woman be enabled to gain this freedom that is to bring about so many
desirable results?”
Young Wallace made answer:
“Woman’s awakening to the consciousness that it is needful will be the
cornerstone upon which her freedom will be built, but she will need the
help and support of outward influence. So long as man is the slave of
‘the almighty dollar,’ so long will woman be the slave of man, because
in the present state of society she is dependent on man for her
maintenance. The economic battle goes hand in hand with that for woman’s
rights. Man needs woman’s aid in this battle for the rights of humanity,
and the blow that shatters the shackles of wage-slavery will also break
the chains that hold her sex in bondage. When the race becomes free her
battle will have been won, and she can begin to build up a new and
glorious race.”
Wallace’s eyes glowed as the enthusiasm wherewith he had spoken sent the
blood bounding through his veins. Imelda saw that Margaret’s eyes rested
with something more than mere admiration on his darkly handsome face.
All in an instant she understood—“Margaret’s love.” It shone in the
depths of her deep blue eyes, it trembled upon the sweet, dewy lips, it
burned in the glow of her cheek.
Imelda’s eyes reverted again to the face of the young man with renewed
interest; but her searching glance could detect nothing to his
discredit. It was a frank, open, manly countenance wherein she gazed, a
face women would involuntarily trust and little children love.
“At the same time,” now spoke Miss Wood, “you will permit us to begin to
exercise just a little of that freedom now. We will begin at home with
our individual selves and proclaim that no man shall ever say to us,
‘Thou shalt,’ or ‘Thou shalt not.’ How is it Miss Ellwood and Miss
Leland?”
The question was put rather laughingly and banteringly, as she turned
first to one, then the other of the two girls. Imelda had no answer but
a heightened color, but Margaret held out her hand which Miss Wood
readily clasped.
“I am with you,” she said. “I intend to win my lover’s love and hold it
too, but I will never buy it at the price of my freedom.”
“Bravo!” came simultaneously from the lips of the gentlemen, while the
hand of the elder gently patted her shoulder.
“That is what I call making remarkably free with my daughter. She
belongs to me and I object,” and the pleasant face of Mrs. Leland became
visible in close proximity to her daughter and Mr. Roland. Margaret’s
laugh rang out in sweetest music.
“Now! now! Mamma, you know better than that. If I am your daughter, I am
not your property. Don’t you know if I find pleasure in feeling Mr.
Roland’s hand on my shoulder—why—you have nothing to say.” This last was
said in so saucy a manner that it caused a general laugh, which having
subsided, she with sudden recollection added:
“Pardon me. I almost forgot, mamma,—this is the very dear friend I have
so often told you about,—Imelda Ellwood.” Mrs. Leland’s eyes rested for
a moment searchingly upon the face of the young girl; then, satisfied
with what she saw there, clasped both hands in hers and in a few words
caused her to feel quite at her ease. Then seating herself, she said:
“Proceed now. I know that I have broken into the midst of something very
interesting.”
“Only a continuation of our discussion,” replied Mr. Roland. “We have
been considering the rights of women in particular, and those of
humanity in general. The reason in this case is, to convince a beautiful
woman and win her as a convert,” bowing to Imelda, “which I hope is
justification in this case for becoming eloquent. I can assure you that
you have missed something, Mrs. Leland.”
“Well, if such is the case, I am sorry, but who is the convert that is
to be? You, Miss Ellwood?” looking inquiringly into Imelda’s face.
“Just so,” she answered, “and if I can gain a clearer insight into
things, the efforts of my friends may prove successful. But I must
remark that I seem to have gotten into a very pronounced set of
radicals.”
“Are you frightened?” asked Wilbur Wallace with a laugh, in which the
rest joined.
“Not in the least,” she retorted, “although the term ‘radical’ always
left the impression on my mind of something of a rather wild character.
But really, if what I have seen of them this afternoon are fair
specimens, they are a very well behaved species.”
A general laugh followed. Mr. Roland pronounced it almost six o’clock
and time to disperse. As a parting admonition Miss Wood turned to
Imelda.
“You seem to be a young woman of more than ordinary intelligence. It is
such as you whom we wish to win, to take an interest in the fate of
womankind,—in the fate of humanity. Permit your friend, Miss Leland, to
induce you again to join this circle, and I hope when next I see you
that I will find you one of us, heart and soul. Good bye, now, friends,
may your every effort be blessed with success.” With these words they
parted, she clinging to the arm of Mr. Roland, leaving our little group
of four alone. Arriving at the outside they found that it had already
grown quite dusk. For a moment there seemed to be an indecision on the
part of Margaret and Wilbur as to which direction they should take, when
Mrs. Leland decided the matter for them.
“Come with me to the nearest car, Margaret. It will take me almost to
our door, so I can very well go alone, while you and Wilbur can
accompany Miss Ellwood to her home.” Imelda protested, saying she was as
well able to go alone as Mrs. Leland, but the elder lady insisted,
supported by her young friends, and as a matter of course carried the
day.
“By the time you return,” she said, “I will have luncheon ready. Good
night, now, Miss Ellwood, I will not say good bye, as I hope to see you
often.” Waving her hand in adieu, she mounted the car and was gone.
Five minutes walk in another direction brought them to the car that it
was needful to take to reach Imelda’s home, and soon they were being
whirled along to their destination. The car was almost deserted, which
gave them an opportunity to continue their conversation. Margaret did
not say much, but seemed rather to enjoy listening to her friend and
lover as they traversed the same ground that she had passed over not so
very long since, for although the daughter of a radical mother, that
mother had not always been radical. The time was not very far gone by
when the old prejudices still held her in bondage, and the fear of what
the world might say, restrained her in all she would say and do.
Margaret long felt the influence of those earlier teachings. It had been
harder for her to break away from the old beliefs and superstitions than
for her mother; but—“Love works wonders” was true in this case. Wilbur
Wallace was of that type of men who are sure to win conviction where
once they gain a foothold. Gifted with a bright intellect and a manner
of speech both positive and fluent, he carried conviction to the minds
of his hearers. It had been at an entertainment, to which she had
accompanied her mother, that Margaret had first met Wilbur. The young
couple had from the first been attracted, which attraction soon ripened
into more than mere friendship.
But young Wallace was not without bitter experience; as he had observed
home and family life he had found it anything but perfect. He had seen a
sweet and gentle mother suffer from the arbitrary monogamy of her
married life to such extent that it had laid her in an early grave. The
lesson of the ending of that life had entered like a corroding iron into
the soul of her first born, a boy then but eighteen years of age. From
the hour his idolized mother was laid beneath the green sod he had never
entered his father’s home. Life was a problem he had set himself to
study, and the more he studied the greater the problem became. But he
was not easily daunted. He kept his eyes open, thus soon discovering
that the world was full of wrongs that needed righting.
Soon Wilbur Wallace’s name was classed among those who were laboring in
the cause of the poor and lowly. But woman’s cause seemed ever to lie
nearest his heart. The memory of one sweet woman lay enshrined within
the depths of his heart; for her sake he sought for truths that should
be the means of saving other women from a like heart-break. The faces of
two weeping girls, as he had seen them last, would arise before his
mind’s eye, and more firmly than ever did the resolve become rooted to
save them from a like fate. The years had rolled by; he was twenty-seven
and his sisters young women of twenty and twenty-three. He had never
seen them again, for many miles separated him from the place that had
known his childhood days.