Page 6 of Heart of Mystic Valley
Carl considered her for a long moment, his bird-like eyes unblinking. “What do you need from me?”
“Just your support. If you could mention the meeting during the town hall meeting tomorrow, it would mean a lot.”
The mayor removed his glasses and rubbed his temples. “All right, Faith. I’ll mention it. But remember, balance is key.”
“I will. Thank you. We appreciate it.”
As she stepped out into the crisp air, she allowed herself a small, hopeful smile.
The white steeple of the Mystic Church stood in stark contrast to the gray sky, a beacon of faith in the small community. Faith pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside, where warmth wrapped around her like a quilt. The church was empty, save for Pastor Owen Ward, who was arranging hymnals near the altar.
“Pastor Ward,” Faith called softly, not wanting to disturb the serene atmosphere. Owen looked up, his ruddy face breaking into a warm smile.
“Faith, it’s good to see you. How are you?” He walked to meet her in the center aisle.
“I’m well, thank you. I wanted to talk to you about something we’re starting up,” she said, handing him a poster. “It’s a groupfor the women of Mystic. We’ll be discussing issues that affect all of us, including ways to support the church’s children’s fund.”
Owen read the poster, nodding slowly. “Sunday after church, huh?”
“Yes, Pastor.”
“Well, I think this is a fine idea. The women of this town do so much already. The church women are always busy helping out parishioners and distributing Bibles. Giving them a platform to organize and speak out on other issues is only right.”
Relief washed over Faith. “So, you’ll support us? Maybe mention it to the congregation?”
“You have my support,” Owen said. “And I’ll make sure Catherine spreads the word as well. The charitable aspects alone make it well worth the effort.”
“Thank you, Pastor. This means a lot.”
Owen placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Your father would be proud, Faith. Remember, every great change starts with a small, courageous step.”
Faith left the church with a renewed sense of purpose. She envisioned a room full of women, all eager to make a difference.
Back at the Gazette, Faith hung up her coat and sat at her rolltop desk. The wood had worn smooth from years of use, and she liked to trace the grain with her fingers when she needed to think. Today, her thoughts came quickly, fueled by the tentative support she’d garnered from the mayor and the pastor.
She pulled a sheet of letterhead from a drawer and loaded it into her typewriter. For a moment, she stared at the contraption her father had purchased on a trip back east, not long after they became available. The Remington typewriter had a few flaws, but she loved the black machine. The clack of the keys filled the small office as she pounded out the headline.
“New Mystic Women’s Alliance Seeks to Address Important Community Issues.”
The article flowed from her fingertips, each sentence crafted with care. She explained the purpose of the group, the issues they planned to address, and the importance of women having a voice in the community. She detailed the first meeting, inviting all women of Mystic to come and share their thoughts.
Writing was where Faith felt most at home, where she could pour out her passion and reason in equal measure. As she neared the end of the article, she chose her words with extra caution, wanting to leave a lasting impression:
“We believe a stronger voice for women will lead to a stronger Mystic. Join us as we take the first steps toward a more unified community.”
She imagined women reading the article over their husband’s shoulders, feeling a spark of hope. Faith leaned back, wishing Joshua was here to give his opinion.
Chapter Three
Faith read the article through once more, making minor adjustments and savoring each word. Satisfied, she set it aside for the next edition of the Gazette. A wave of accomplishment washed over her, mingling with the anticipation of what was to come.
She stood and stretched, looking out the window. The town had changed so much since she was a girl, yet some things remained the same. Change was a slow beast, she knew, but it was not immovable.
Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door, posters in hand. With each step, she felt the weight of history pressing down while a lift of possibility pulled her forward.
Determined to talk to someone at every business, Faith continued along the boardwalk, stopping at key locations to tack up posters. The board outside the post office was a tangle of notices and advertisements. She found a space near the center and pinned up one of her posters as if it were a piece of art.
As she turned to leave, she nearly collided with Mrs. Gloria Graham, a stern woman with a face carved from granite. Tall and slender, she had a regal bearing and had a tendency to look down on most of the townsfolk. Her husband was president of the Bank of Mystic, which Mrs. Graham believed put her above everyone else. She glanced at the poster and then at Faith.
