Addressing the Gossip

The knock at the door was unexpected to say the least. A visitor after supper time was rare. Although when Mrs. Amelia Taylor opened the door, she understood almost immediately what it was about.

“Good evening madam. May we speak to the head of the house?” The two men at the door were dressed in blue coats, each with a black hat tucked under their arms. Mrs. Taylor recognized them as policemen.

She gave a polite smile and replied, “Yes, I am the head of the house.” Both men’s eyebrows furrowed and they exchanged a quick glance between each other. Before one could open their mouth to question, Mrs. Taylor quickly answered, “My husband is currently away on business. I am Mrs. Taylor, and I am handling everything for Mr. Taylor until he returns.” Although still looking a bit tense, this answer seemed to satisfy the policemen enough.

“Ah, of course. Will Mr. Taylor be returning soon? The gentlemen are wanting to hold a meeting—a fairly urgent meeting that is.” The man who stood closest to her appeared older with his visible wrinkles and flecks of gray through his combed hair and mustache. He held himself straighter than the other, who stood a few paces back and who’s eyes seemed to dart from place to place.

Mrs. Taylor wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. Her posture remained straight and her expression neutral. “He isn’t quite sure when he’ll be returning. What is this meeting about? I’m sure if I let him know about its urgency, he would be persuaded to return much sooner.” There was a moment of silence, as the older man studied Mrs. Taylor’s face and the other man shifted his weight to his other foot. Although he studied hard, Mrs. Taylor seemed sincere, if not a bit naive, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Nothing you must worry about Mrs. Taylor. Just some recent gossip that must be addressed. If you wouldn’t mind, could you make sure this gets to Mr. Taylor as soon as you can?”

She took the letter from his outstretched hand and replied warmly, “Of course officer. I’m sure he will be on his way as soon as he hears he has been summoned. If that is all, I wish you two a good night.” The older man gave her a kind smile and said, “You as well Mrs. Taylor.” The younger one remained almost cautious but gave a small polite smile before they both turned and walked back the way they came down the street. As soon as Mrs. Taylor shut the door, she hurried to shut all the curtains throughout the house and exchanged her shawl for her dark coat. She pulled her basket out of her closet and hid the letter addressed to Mr. Taylor among the miscellaneous sewing materials and supplies. Hastily, she piled her loose curls atop her head and allowed a few strands to fall around her face.

Grabbing her basket, Mrs. Taylor pulled her boots on before slipping out the front door. By this time it was rather dark out, with only the light of the moon and faint glow of candles in the windows to guide her. She didn’t need much guidance though as she had walked this same path many times. Her heels clicked down the cobble street as she walked quickly, although not in too much of a hurry as to not arouse suspicion.

Before knocking on the familiar door in front of her, Mrs. Taylor took a quick look around, confirming she was alone. She then gently tapped rhythmically against the door, waiting for the footsteps she knew would follow. Moments later, the expected footsteps approached and the door was cautiously cracked open.

“Good evening Mrs. Baker.” Mrs. Taylor smiled warmly, and Mrs. Baker, who stood behind the door, relaxed at seeing who it was. She returned the smile and said, “Ah, Amelia! You know you can just call me Clara. Come in, come in! We were starting to wonder where you were.” Amelia—Mrs. Taylor—stepped into the dimly lit house as Clara ushered her in before shutting the door behind her. Clara helped Amelia out of her coat and laid it across the back of the armchair while Amelia slipped her boots off.

The two women walked down the hall toward the back of the house, and into the large sitting room that was occupied by four other women who were busy sewing, writing, snacking, and talking amongst themselves. When Clara and Amelia entered, all four paused and looked up at them, immediately bursting into smiles and welcoming them into the group.

“Amelia! You’ve arrived!”

“What caused your delay?”

“We’re glad you could make it!”

Amelia sat in the empty armchair while Clara took the empty spot on the couch. “I apologize, I’m afraid I had some unexpected visitors,” Amelia prefaced, using a certain emphasis on the last part. The rest of the women exchanged glances and gave questioning looks. “Well…what happened,” they urged, practically sitting at the edge of their seats. Amelia pulled out her current embroidery and picked up where she left off before answering, “Two policemen at my doorstep. They asked for Mr. Taylor. Apparently the men are looking to hold an ‘urgent meeting’, to ‘address the gossip’ they said.”

The women glanced around, and Clara, with her eyebrows raised, asked, “Well, you don’t think they know…do you?” Suddenly, fear painted all the women’s faces. Amelia was quiet for a moment before reaching down and pulling out the letter addressed to Mr. Taylor. Everyone stayed quiet as they watched her open the envelope and watched her read the letter. The tension was strong in the room, and when Amelia looked up from reading, her face was unreadable.

“I believe we’re still unknown,” everyone let out a breath before Amelia continued, “although apparently word has gotten out that some sort of protest will occur soon—something the heads of the town wish to stop from happening.” Chatter grew among the room, with questions of how they could have found out, if people were growing suspicious of them, and even if they were safe to continue to meet—and hold the protest.

As they spoke, Amelia looked down at her project in her hands, running her fingers over the threads that were hand stitched by her. She was deep in thought, thinking of the way she was able to craft this, to bring the materials together to create this beautiful and meaningful piece. She suddenly looked up, finding the words to calm the other women.

“We mustn’t be afraid,” she began as the chatter died down, “Although it is risky, we must continue to meet, as carefully as we can. These men believe us to be beneath them, to not be worthy of the same opportunities as them. But how different are we really? We all must eat, sleep, socialize, love. So I believe we must continue to stand strong together.”

All the other women of the room clapped, and a few even teared up at the passionate words Amelia spoke. They slowly fell back into sewing, writing, and talking about the protest and certain precautions they might have to take. After a bit, all the women packed their things and slipped on their shoes and coats before one by one, slipping out the door into the dark streets. Amelia was the last to leave, giving Clara a reassuring hug before carefully making her way down the street, ready to head to bed and wake up tomorrow as if their little meeting never happened.