Not by Sight by Kate Breslin Read Free Book Online Page A

Lucy’s words, she felt their insidious meaning—horrible imaginings that didn’t bear contemplation. She must help her new friend. “Lucy, have you ever heard of the suffrage movement?”
    “Only on the streets . . . and the pictures of marching women I saw on the front page of the Times. I heard men say t-terrible things about them. Why?”
    “Because being a suffragette is wonderful.”
    “You’re a suffragette?” Lucy gaped at her. “Do you know Emmaline Pankhurst?”
    “I am,” Grace said, smiling. “And I do know her. I’ve attended rallies she and her daughter, Christabel, have held.” She added earnestly, “Men don’t like suffragettes because they want to keep us under their thumbs.”
    Grace recalled for an instant Da’s desire to marry her off to Clarence Fowler. “They’re afraid we’ll change the world as they know it—and they’re right.” She rocked the treadle at her feet and sewed another straight seam, warming to her subject. “Many women work outside the home for a living, but only as domestics or factory workers. Yet we consume goods and make purchases and read newspapers. Why shouldn’t we be allowed to vote? The laws of this land affect us as well as men. Once women get the vote, we’ll be able to enter colleges, obtain anyprofession—doctor, lawyer, scientist, veterinarian—even Parliament! One day it will happen, and sooner than you think. We’ll wear them down and then we will change the world—Ow!”
    Grace glanced down and saw she’d nearly sewn her finger with the needle.
    “You really believe it will happen?” Lucy asked, blinking. “We’ll change the world?”
    “And everything in it.” Grace nursed her finger, then resumed her sewing.
    “At the slaughterhouse I had to butcher animals every day, when all I wanted was to love them.” Lucy made another stitch. “When I was a child, we had a cat come around our flat. She was gray and white and had a long ringed tail.” Lucy tossed her a wistful smile. “She was also starving, so one day I hid her inside my coat and brought her into our kitchen. I fed her scraps my mum had tossed into the waste bin. Every day the cat came back and I fed her. I even named her Misty, because I’d first found her on a foggy November day.”
    Grace continued working the treadle. “What happened to her?”
    “My father came home early one afternoon and caught me with Misty. I begged him to let me keep her.” She raised listless eyes to Grace. “But he’d been drinking.”
    Lucy tugged hard at the heavy thread to tighten the slack in her stitch. “After he knocked me around a bit, he took the cat outside. I ran after him, but he tossed her into the street, right under the wheels of a passing greengrocer’s delivery truck.”
    “That’s terrible,” Grace said, frowning. How could anyone have such a cruel father?
    “I had other animals.” Lucy kept to her sewing. “A dog, a pigeon, even had the old draft horse at the livery on the end of our street. They were pets my father never knew about.” She made another stitch. “After Misty, I never brought one home.” She glanced up. “When you spoke about women being vet . . . vet . . .”
    “Veterinarians?”
    Lucy nodded, and her gaze took on a faraway look. “I’ve always felt more comfortable with animals.” She refocused on Grace. “I want to heal them, not hurt them.”
    “You can.” Grace reached for more burlap from the stack. “Don’t ever give up on your dream, Lucy. One day you will have the freedom to be whatever you want to be.”
    “I hope so, Grace.”
    “I know so.” And for Lucy’s sake, Grace fervently prayed she was right.

    Grace awakened the next morning without the aid of Agnes. Because sewing sacks was much easier than digging ditches, she’d had the energy to wash and press both uniforms and have a bath in the delightful cast-iron tub the night before. Afterward she’d taken up her place by the window, hoping for another