Page 23 of Taming Lady Temperance

Noreen lifted a hand to touch the bow.

“Most people in town likely have no idea what that ribbon symbolizes. However, should a member of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union see it, she would immediately recognize the significance. Not only that, but a bond of sisterhood would spring up between the two of them even if they were strangers to each other. That ribbon is a symbol of shared values and of belonging. Miss Lockwood and I wish to give the members of our society the same blessing.”

Martha reached inside the box and pulled out a white linen square edged with a thin border of white lace. Noreen leaned forward. Aha! The mysterious handkerchiefs that Martha had alluded to a couple of days ago.

“Each member will receive a handkerchief that has been embroidered with forget-me-nots.” She folded the handkerchief into a triangle to show where a cluster of blue flowers had been stitched on one corner. “When you receive your handkerchief today, we encourage you to embroider your initials near the flowers and to make a habit of carrying this hankie with you in a pocket or purse. We chose forget-me-nots because we wanted an emblem signifying that you are not forgotten. Not overlooked. Not unappreciated. Each of us was created for a specific purpose, one not tied to marriage and the production of children. Our Lord has not forgotten us, and we will not forget each other. We will use the talents we have been given to serve a calling higher than ourselves and to minister to one another. Therefore, if any of you is ever in need of assistance, you have only to send your handkerchief to another member, and your society sisters will come to your aid.”

Noreen’s eyes misted slightly as the significance of the handkerchief soaked into her heart, dissolving her impatience as an agenda greater than her own flowed through her. An agenda of sisterhood. She looked around the room with new eyes as Martha handed each lady a handkerchief. No one hurriedly stuffed the linen into her pocket. Each lady examined the handkerchief with care, tracing the embroidered flowers with a fingertip or smoothing out the entire square upon her lap. A thread seemed to weave throughout the room, stretching from handkerchief to handkerchief and bonding each spinster to the others as the gifts were distributed.

Martha smiled at Noreen and Jane as she reached the back of the room and handed each of them a handkerchief. Noreen accepted hers with near reverence. She’d spent so much energy over the years convincing herself that the opinions of others didn’t matter. If she angered half the town in her temperance crusade, so be it. The work was more important than conforming to societal expectations. If her family turned their backs on her, she’d soldier on. If no man ever desired her companionship, she’d find fulfillment in her reform work.

Yet as strong as she tried to be, her feet often felt as if they were made of clay. If she hadn’t had Jane and Martha to lean on, she would have crumpled long ago. God had fortified her spirit through their friendship, and it seemed he was fortifying her again by widening her circle of support.

“Thank you.” She murmured the words to Martha, but her soul sent even more gratitude heavenward.

Looking at the ladies around her, Noreen no longer saw faceless numbers she could rally to her cause. She saw women who carried their own hopes and dreams. Women who deserved to be seen as more than mere pawns in Noreen’s battle against the saloon.

Shoe heels clicked softly as Miss Lockwood stepped up to the podium once again. “We will now open the floor to solicit suggestions for our monthly service projects. Have you noticed needs in our community that we can meet?”

Noreen hesitated as her priorities shifted. She still wished to recruit aid for her cause, but perhaps she should wait to see what projects other people suggested. Only, the room remained silent. No one wanted to be the first to speak.

“Miss Cowan.”

Jane stiffened in her seat next to Noreen when Miss Lockwood called her name from the front of the room.

“As the daughter of one of our local ministers, perhaps you are aware of some needs that the rest of us are not yet privy to?” Miss Lockwood smiled in an encouraging fashion toward Jane, but Noreen knew her friend would need more than a smile for her to find her footing. Especially since all the other ladies had turned in their seats to stare in her direction.

“I . . .” Something—likely terror—strangled Jane’s voice, keeping any words from escaping into the room.

Noreen shot to her feet. “Just yesterday, Miss Cowan and I worked on mending a few of the items donated to the church poor box.” Jane’s mother had suggested they bring a sack of mending items to the jail to help pass the time in a productive manner while visiting with Edna. “The Cowans have collected about two trunks’ worth of items. Many are in need of patches, buttons, and repaired seams. Jane and her mother work on mending the items here and there as they are able, but if we gathered as a group, each lady bringing her own sewing kit, I imagine we could get through the entire supply in a single meeting.” Noreen looked to Jane. “Do you think your father would let us meet in the church?”

Jane nodded.

Noreen turned back to the group. “Those who aren’t skilled with a needle could bring snacks or perhaps help organize the clothing as the mending is completed.”

Miss Lockwood nodded. “An excellent suggestion, Miss O’Sullivan. That is precisely the type of activity that would be well-suited to this group.”

Her mouth suddenly dry, Noreen kept her feet. “I have another suggestion to make, if I may?”

“Go on.”

“I would like to organize a temperance march. It need not be only our group that participates, since that might reveal our society. We could invite other women—and men—who recognize the role liquor plays in the moral decay of our society. It would be a peaceful event. Perhaps just a march around the square, then up to the Salt Fork Saloon. We could distribute temperance pledge forms and end with a prayer meeting in front of the saloon. Many temperance crusaders have found success with such events. The more the community stands together against the distribution of alcohol, the more likely we are to convince the mayor to declare Albany a dry town. If that happens, crime rates will drop, home lives will improve, and our community will be a safer place for everyone.”

Miss Lockwood’s enthusiasm dimmed considerably as Noreen spoke. “I will make a note of that suggestion, Miss O’Sullivan. Perhaps the society might consider it for a future project. I think it might be best to focus on something a little less . . . ambitious for our first endeavor, however.” She swung her gaze away from Noreen and focused on the rest of the group. “Does anyone else have a suggestion?”

Feeling as if she’d just been chastised, Noreen sat back down, her shoulders slouching.

“Don’t worry,” Martha whispered from behind her. “I’ll see that your temperance march gets on the ballot for our next meeting. You might have more supporters than you realize.”

“You should give her a chance to share her heart with the group, Martha,” Jane said before turning her gaze back to Noreen. “If you tell your story, you’re sure to sway the group to your side. People can overlook facts and figures when they wish to avoid something uncomfortable, but a compelling story will grab their hearts and win their sympathies.”

Tell her story? Could she do that? The only people she’d ever told were Martha and Jane, and only after they’d been friends for several years. She couldn’t tell a room of mere acquaintances. She glanced down at the handkerchief she’d laid upon the school desk in front of her. These ladies weren’t just mere acquaintances any longer, though. They were sisters now. And if a story would win them to her cause, she’d have to find the courage to tell it.

Chapter

12

James nearly nodded off twice during the sermon on Sunday. Thank heaven he was sitting in his usual spot at the back of the church when his head nearly fell into his lap the second time. That meant his only witnesses were Brother Cowan in the pulpit and three-year-old Mary Green, who’d woken him from his unintentional nap by banging her rag doll against his knee.