Page 7 of Heart of Mystic Valley
“What’s this about, Miss Goodell?” she asked, suspicion coloring her words.
Faith smiled. “We’re starting a group for the women of Mystic to discuss town issues. We want to have a say in how the town is run. You should come to the first meeting. It will be held at my house after church on Sunday.”
Mrs. Graham harrumphed, but Faith noticed she lingered to read the poster more closely as she walked away.
At the livery, she handed a poster to young Jeremiah Jarvis, who promised to give it to his father, Josiah. She posted another at the train depot, then made her way to the schoolhouse. The building was empty, the children having gone home for the day.
She opened the front door and peeked inside, finding a large chalkboard split into sections. One part listed arithmetic problems. Another had a cursive writing lesson. The final, smaller section held various announcements, and Faith was pleased to see one of her posters already up.
Closing the door quietly, she thought about Evelyn Graham. The teacher had been a steadfast friend, even during the difficult times when Faith’s father died. Knowing she had friends like Evelyn, like the Beckett clan, gave her the strength to push forward.
Every conversation, every curious glance, built her resolve higher.
Faith paused at the end of the block. From here, she could see most of Mystic, including the church steeple, the schoolhouse, and the small cemetery on the hill. This was her home, and every building, every street, held memories for her.
She thought about the progress she’d made. The mayor would mention the meeting, the pastor had given his blessing, and even Casper Jennings had come around. It wasn’t a groundswell of support, but it was a start.
The women of Mystic were strong, she knew. Many were like her, balancing work and family, trying to carve out a small piece of happiness. They didn’t need saving. They needed their voices heard. Her group would provide a platform for their views, if only they were brave enough to seize it.
The bell on the Gazette’s front door jingled, and Faith looked up from her desk. Maisy Cox walked in, followed closely by Evelyn Graham. Faith’s face lit with genuine joy. These two women were more than allies. They were friends.
“Don’t tell me you’re here to dissuade me,” Faith teased as they approached her desk.
“Quite the opposite,” Evelyn said, shrugging off her coat. “We’re here to help. Isn’t that right, Maisy?”
Maisy nodded, though her eyes held a hint of reservation. “We want this to succeed as much as you do.”
Faith stood and hugged them both in turn. “Thank you. I can use all the help I can get.”
The three women set to work, cutting out handbills from larger sheets of newsprint and stacking them neatly. Faith had already made and passed out thirty, but she knew having extras wouldn’t hurt. As they worked, they talked about the upcoming meeting and what they hoped to achieve.
“Do you really think the men will let us do this?” Evelyn asked, her tone more curious than doubtful.
“They don’t have to let us,” Faith said, her conviction unshakable. “We’re not asking for permission. We’re just doing what needs to be done.”
“Still,” Maisy said, “it helps that some of them are supportive. Like Casper Jennings.”
“And Joshua Beckett,” Evelyn added.
At the mention of Joshua Beckett, Faith’s heart did a little flip. The Beckett family was large and influential, and having them on her side was crucial. It was Joshua’s personal support she cherished most.
“Yes,” she said, perhaps a bit too softly. “Joshua understands.”
Finished with cutting the posters, they prepared an agenda for the first meeting and sat back, reviewing their work. Each woman held different thoughts and different anxieties. For now, they were united in purpose.
“This is going to be something special,” Evelyn said, breaking the silence. “I can feel it.”
Their excitement was contagious, and for a brief, shining moment, Faith believed everything would go exactly as planned.
With the handbills ready, Faith set out once more. This time, she planned to talk to one of the wealthiest men in Mystic.
She stopped in front of the Starlight Saloon. The large, two-story building was from Mystic’s rougher days, its façade a mix of well-maintained weathered wood and white paint. Pushing through the swinging doors, Faith was greeted by the smell of beer, cigar smoke, and the low hum of afternoon patrons.
Doyle Shaw, the saloon’s boisterous owner, spotted her immediately. “Faith Goodell! What brings the town’s finest journalist to my humble establishment?” He waved her over. His dark hair and broad shoulders gave him an imposing presence, though his eyes always held a spark of mischievous friendliness.
“Doyle,” Faith said, walking to the bar where he stood. “I’m here on official business.” She handed him a poster, and Doyle set down his whiskey before taking it. He whistled low as he read.
“A women’s alliance. Well, isn’t that something? Planning to overthrow us menfolk, are you?” His tone was jesting, but Faith recognized the underlying tension.
