A Witness to Life (Ashland, 2) by Terence M. Green Read Free Book Online Page A

full-time one. I've been there for almost nine years."
    "Then how do you know if it's a good job or not?"
    I sip my tea, consider. "What do you mean?"
    "To know if it's a good job or not, it seems to me that you'd need to have something to compare it to."
    I listen to her, but I am mostly staring at her mouth. "I see what you mean."
    "Do you?" The odd smile again.
    "I think so," I say. Even her voice, its cadence, has my attention.
    She sips her tea. I watch how her lips, lightly flushed, glisten as she sets her cup back into the saucer. "Did you know," she says, "that the National Council of Women called for equal pay for equal work at its assembly earlier this year?"
    This catches me off guard. I am uncertain what she is talking about. "No," I say. "I didn't know that."
    She smiles. "Have you heard of the National Council of Women?"
    I watch her. "I confess. I haven't." I feel suddenly foolish. How could I not have heard of it? What have I been doing?
    "Most men haven't," she says.
    I do not want to be most men. I am not sure if we have made a strong start together. I still see the unshaped girl in my mind. This is unsettling, in complete opposition to what I would have hoped, even dreamed of. I ask: "And how long have you worked at Simpson's?" And then, boldly, I add, "Is it a good job?"
    "Those are two questions, Martin Radey—"
    My name. From her lips.
    "—and I'll have to give you two answers."
    "I'm in no hurry." It is true. I will listen to her for hours, if she will let me.
    "I have worked for Robert Simpson's since the end of the Boer War. Since nineteen oh two. Five years now. Just shortly before Emmeline Pankhurst founded the National Women's Social and Political Union." She watches me. "You do not know of Mrs. Pankhurst, do you?"
    Her skin is truly soft, and she is really quite tiny. "No," I admit. "I don't."
    "She's determined to have the women's right to vote."
    "A suffragette."
    Her face lights. "Yes. I'm glad to know that you are familiar with the term."
    Finally, I think. Finally. I have pleased her.
    "Bills on women's suffrage have passed second readings in the Commons five times since eighteen eighty-six but have never proceeded beyond that stage. Someday, it will happen. Already, there are five states in America that have achieved suffrage for women. Wyoming has had it since eighteen sixty-nine. In eighteen ninety-three Colorado followed suit. And now Utah, Idaho, and Washington have fallen in line. Our day will come, even here."
    I am speechless. I stare at her in wonder. Slowly, I raise my cup to my lips, savor its abundant warmth.
    "I've scared you, haven't I, Martin Radey?"
    "Not at all." I hold the cup aloft. "You fascinate me. You don't scare me."
    "You're sure?"
    "Quite."
    "I have a habit," she says, "of mounting an occasional soapbox. It scares men off."
    "I must be tougher than most."
    "Glad," she says, "to hear it." The smile, still tinged with the hint of irony, relents, seems to accept. We have apparently crossed a bridge.
     
    She pours herself a second cup of tea. "To answer your other question: yes, it is a good job. I know this because I have had much with which to compare it. Before I was at Simpson's, I worked at Townsend Steam Laundry and at the Princess Laundry. I also worked briefly at Reedow Caterers, out in the west end. We catered weddings, dances, banquets, conventions, and the like. I even worked for the Davidson & Hay, Limited, importers and packers of Kurma Tea. We sold it to grocers in pounds and half pounds, black or mixed. Do you know Kurma Tea?"
    "No."
    "British. Very nice. This," she says, indicating what is on the table, "is not Kurma."
    "Mm."
    "And then, just before joining Simpson's, I worked for Creelman Brothers Typewriter Company."
    "Really? I've seen it. It's on Adelaide, right near where I work."
    "You're absolutely right. It is." She smiles. "You should've come in to see my typewriter demonstration."
    "I should've."
    "Men cannot handle them. Perhaps it is their