“Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world. It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance. I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel…the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood.”
Susan B. Anthony
Minky Daniels' bright gray eyes sparkled as she watched herself in the curved wall of mirrors and swished her new skirts around her legs. Giving her reflection a quick nod of satisfaction she thought to herself, finally! Saying adieu to the hideous, now passe stiff multiple layers of crinolines was absolutely no hardship for her. She'd hated the things from the moment her mother had first forced her into them. For a confirmed tomboy, it had been the most hellish of hells and it had only grown worse in the years since. Now the new fashion requiring just one crinoline rather than several was infinitely freer and easier to move about in. Her smile faltered a bit when she attempted to take a deep breath in satisfaction.
If they would just get rid of the barbarous corset as well.
“One thing at a time, Minky,” she murmured to herself, “Progress always takes time.”
“What's that, dear?” the middle-aged seamstress asked as she critically eyed her sunny yellow and white striped creation.
Minky's radiant smile returned.
“Nothing, Mrs. Standish. Just talking to myself.”
“Yes, dear, but mind that no one thinks you mad for doing so.”
The younger woman's smile grew incorrigibly cheeky.
“As long as I don't have a knock down, drag out with myself while doing it I don't think anyone need worry about my being so!”
The seamstress chuckled.
“That would be true enough, dear. True enough. Now!” She stood back, looking upon her young client with approval. “There's your third day dress. Shall we try the silk gown next? I think you'll agree it will be perfect for the Wainwright's ball next month.”
Nearly two hours later, Minky exited the dress shop a very happy woman. Once again wearing the yellow and white striped dress that complimented her peaches and cream complexion and bright red hair so well, with white crocheted gloves, a dainty yellow purse hanging from her wrist, and carrying a white parasol trimmed in yellow to match the dress, her steps were just short of jaunty as she made her way down the sidewalk. Life was certainly looking up from where it had been just three short years ago. For the first time in her life, she was truly independent. A woman of her own means. The modest trust established by her father would continue to keep her safe from destitution, of course, but it was her own income that was making life worth living. Income she was receiving from a talent she had harbored from youngest girlhood but which no one had taken seriously. No one, that is, until Terrence Wainwright had happened upon one of her verses.
She would never forget that day.
As she did most Wednesdays, Minky had spent the afternoon at the town's free library reading to the young children who accompanied their immigrant mothers attending classes to learn English. It hadn't taken her long to learn how much more quickly the children picked up their new language than their mothers, and so she had begun using the opportunity to use reading to the children as a means of teaching them English, and in so doing help to teach their mothers. Along the way she found herself learning a smattering of different languages as well, including Italian, German, and even some Polish, which endeared her to the families when she would use what she knew in her conversations with them. It wasn't a practice condoned by the many who believed immigrants must be forced to abandon their native languages, but Minky had always been of an independent mind. She also knew how to pick her battles. So when confronted with a critic, she would coolly smile and politely thank them for their opinion before moving on, all the while mentally thumbing her nose at them and thinking less than charitable thoughts about their narrow mindedness.
That afternoon she had spent some time with a young man of sixteen or seventeen from Tuscany named Amadeo who had approached her several weeks prior to help him improve his English, hoping he could then write his poetry in both his native and adopted languages. A warm friendship had quickly grown between them as they shared their favorite poems, as well as the verses they had written themselves. He had just left for home, eager to perfect his newest creation as a gift to his sweetheart, when Terrence Wainwright had opened the door, allowing inside a gust of winter wind that blew the sheets of paper Minky hadn't yet returned to her folder onto the floor. Before she could retrieve them, he had picked them up and was handing them to her.
“My apologies, miss.”
Minky, who had seldom found any male representative of the species particularly appealing, had been struck dumb as she stared into the sinfully warm depths of extraordinarily brown eyes, and for a long moment it seemed he was as arrested by her as well.
“Mr. Wainwright! What a pleasure to see you, sir!”
The moment was broken by the strident greeting of the octogenarian librarian and the two sprung apart as if they'd been caught doing something scandalous. Minky had stepped away to resume her preparations for departure as the librarian approached, leaving Terrence holding the sheets. She then had to wait for him to finish with the librarian before she could retrieve them.
“Good afternoon to you, Mrs. Tipton,” he had greeted the old woman, as if the strange moment with Minky hadn't happened, “How are you today?”
“Well enough, well enough. I certainly can't complain.” She turned slightly. “Allow me to introduce Miss Matilda Daniels. She comes in during the week to work with the children. Minky, this is Terrence Wainwright, one of our benefactors.”
Once again Minky felt the impact of his gaze but managed an almost natural smile.
“Hello, Mr. Wainwright.”
“Miss Daniels. It's a pleasure.”
The attraction between them was almost palpable and the old librarian's welcoming smile turned shrewd.
“Minky is wonderful with the children,” she remarked gushingly, “She's quite generous with her time and talents. Why, Mr. Wainwright, you might like to know that she is quite an accomplished poet, and she does a wonderful job using her verses to teach them our language.”
Minky's cheeks warmed becomingly.
“Mrs. Tipton...” she began but was interrupted by Terrence.
“A poet, Miss Daniels?”
“Why yes,” Mrs. Tipton motioned at the papers in his hand before Minky could reply. “I believe you are holding some of her work. Minky, you will share them with Mr. Wainwright, won't you? I'm sure he will enjoy them as much as I do.”
What else could she do? Minky nodded at him, albeit reluctantly.
“Please do, Mr. Wainwright. But I hardly think they are as good as Mrs. Tipton would have you believe.”
“I trust her opinion,” he assured her before looking down at the papers in his hand and began to read. After reading the first page, he glanced at her before going to the next. After the third page, he paused before looking at her with a serious, considering expression.
“Miss Daniels, I don't believe Mrs. Tipton has done your work justice. In fact, it's my opinion that perhaps she didn't speak highly enough of it.”
Minky's cheeks warmed again as the librarian clapped her hands in delight.
“Oh, Mr. Wainwright, it's marvelous to hear you say that!” She turned her attention to Minky. “See, Minky, what have I been telling you? Your verses are extraordinary!”
Feeling overwhelmed, the younger woman could only blush and murmur a gracious thank you as she smiled shyly at Terrence, but her gray eyes were bright with pleasure and once again Terrence was taken aback by the power of his attraction to her. After a moment he gave himself a mental head shake and offered the papers back to her.
“I would like to discuss your work with you, Miss Daniels. I believe I might be able to help you find an audience for it, if you are interested.”
Before Minky could respond, the old librarian was once again clapping her hands.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Wainwright! Of course she is!” Then she glanced meaningfully at Minky. “Isn't that right, dear?”
Still feeling overwhelmed, she helplessly nodded as she accepted the papers.
“Thank you, Mr. Wainwright. I-I don't know what to say.”
“I should like to call on you tomorrow afternoon, say about two o'clock, if that is agreeable with you.”
“Yes-Yes, that will be fine. I live on Sutton Street...”
“House number 405,” Mrs. Tipton jumped in, “It's a lovely house, Mr. Wainwright. You can't miss it.”
The next day, not having missed the lovely house at that address, he arrived promptly at two o'clock and, over tea and under the watchful eye of her suspicious mother, he had explained his association with a certain music publisher whom he believed would be very interested in her poetry. The publisher was always looking for good material from talented writers, but at the moment he was developing a certain kind of music that was unlike the more popular songs being performed right now. It would be more serious, complex, elegant. A melding of styles ranging from traditional ballads to grand opera that required a different kind of lyric and Terrence was certain her poetry would find a welcome there. Hardly believing what was happening, Minky had agreed to allow him to take copies of her work to show the publisher, and with that her life began to change.
Over the coming years, the popularity of the new style of music, and the romantic lyrics that went with it, grew steadily. It began to seem as if her words were being sang everywhere she went and it was becoming a national fad to seek out the true identity of the author of such wonderful lyrics. Her anonymity remained intact because Mr. Reasoner, the publisher, had insisted that her gender not be made known. It wouldn't be seemly, he said, for it to be disclosed that a woman could write with such passion about secular love, so the credit was given to one M. L. Danielson of St. Charles, Missouri.
On one hand, Minky was thrilled with her success and there was no doubt the royalties she was receiving were generous indeed. She was being able to provide her mother an easier living so that it was no longer necessary for her to clean the homes of the well-to-do to make ends meet. Instead, she was rapidly becoming one of them, thanks to her daughter.
On the other hand, however, it was chafing both of them to keep the reason for Minky's success a secret. Their improved finances were explained away as coming from a small inheritance from some distant relative. But both wanted proper due to be given, her mother out of pride in her daughter's accomplishments and Minky simply for the point of the matter, that being M. L. Danielson was, in fact, a 24-year-old female poet named Matilda Louise Daniels of Joplin. Not even the man writing the accompanying music knew her true identity.
Always of an independent mind, Minky's growing confidence was also breeding a latent rebelliousness against the status quo between the sexes. As a little girl she had resented the limitations placed upon her simply because she was female. She had wanted to run in the sun and play games like the boys. Instead she'd been limited to ladylike mannerisms, and had to learn “useful” skills, like needlework and how to set a table for a formal dinner. And how to manage the voluminous crinolines she was forced to wear when she grew old enough. Not to mention the detested corsets!
Her relationship with Terence Wainwright had also changed. She now considered him one of her closest friends and confidants. He continued to encourage her writing and often provided a gentle critique when she was uncertain about a certain poem. He'd also taken it upon himself to teach her about business so that she wouldn't be taken advantage of by unscrupulous men who made the mistake of believing she was a “mere” woman with no sense of her own. More than one had fled her presence with his figurative tail between his legs, something which Terence found highly amusing.
But the attraction between them continued unabated. Sometimes Minky would surprise a look of such passion and longing in his eyes that it took her breath away, and she feared he often saw the same in hers. The problem was his family's insistence on the separation of the social classes. Or more specifically, his mother's insistence. While his parents had grown to accept Minky over the years, there would be no crossing of those lines. After all, there were no outstanding names in her family tree while his lineage could be traced back to European aristocracy. As a consequence, he was expected to either make an acceptable match with a certain young lady from one of Philadelphia's leading families or be no less than disowned and disinherited.
Terrence was not a man of weak character who could be so easily manipulated, however. Nor was he a fool. So he pretended to adhere to their dictates while strengthening his personal autonomy and social presence by amassing his own fortune independent of that of his family's. What he planned to do with it Minky wasn't certain, but she hoped those plans included her at some point. Many times, during those rare moments when emotions ran high between them, he would touch her hand and begin to say something then decide against it. She suspected he, like she, was struggling not to give in to temptation for fear they would be unable afterward to keep up the secretive pretense that kept their friendship intact and acceptable.
But oh, how she wanted to feel his arms around her and know what it was like to be kissed, for the first time in her life! She suspected even her most detailed imaginings would fall short of the reality, though she couldn't see how because those imaginings were very detailed indeed!
This afternoon as she made her way down the sidewalk, she stopped and watched enviously as a woman rode by on a bicycle. Unlike others who watched, she was neither shocked nor repulsed by the sight.
“Of all the nerve,” Minky was sure they were thinking as the woman rode decorously by in her bonnie blue bloomers, “to be seen in such scandalous clothes while riding a bicycle! And without a male escort even! What was the world coming to?”
It wasn't the first time she'd seen a woman riding a bicycle, but something about this woman lit the fire of Minky's determination. Turning about, she returned to the dress shop and ordered two sets of outfits designed for riding a bicycle. One in bright blue and the other in emerald green. From there she made her way down to the mercantile where she nearly shocked the owner speechless when she insisted on ordering herself a bicycle. The man wasn't successful because he was stupid, however. He knew that Minky had money and that she was good friends with Terence Wainwright, so with a crafty smile he pulled out his mail order catalog and showed her the most expensive model available. It would arrive in about ten days.
Over the next week, Minky went about her business well aware that whispers were circulating about her bicycle purchase. Along with them were conjectures as to whether she would actually be wearing bloomers when she rode it. All of it amused her even as it strengthened her determination to do it. She'd been wanting to ride a bicycle for a long time and she was darn well going to do it!
While maintaining their formal acquaintanceship in public, in private Terrence was much less so. When he learned what she was doing he chuckled and shook his head.
“That, my dear Minky, is why I lo-,” he paused, “like you so much. You're independent and unconventional, and very, very brave.”
“I'm just being myself, Terrence.”
His smile softened.
“Exactly. You're simply being you.”
Her bloomers were ready the day before the bicycle was delivered, but she wore her oldest dress as she taught herself how to ride the bicycle in the privacy of their backyard. It took nearly a week before she was confident enough to don the bright blue bloomers, in honor of the woman who'd inspired her, and set off down the street on her first public bicycle ride.
For an hour she toured the town with a wide smile on her face, waving jauntily at passersby who stopped to stare at her and calling out hello to those with the most judgmental expressions. Terrence stepped out of the headquarters for Wainwright and Sons Enterprises and grinned as he held up his hand when he saw her coming. She saw him mouth the words “good girl” as she passed and beamed happily at him in triumph.
After that, it became almost commonplace to see Minky ride by on her bicycle. After having a basket installed on the handlebars she would use it to carry her purchases from the market as well as books from the library. When it wasn't being used for that purpose, she would place bouquets of flowers in it, along with a lunch if she was going to be gone for a while. Each day had her feeling freer and freer. She ordered two more sets of bloomers, one of apple green and the other in apricot. Terrence confided that he really liked the apricot on her so of course she always made a point of wearing it if she thought she would be seeing him that day.
In the meanwhile, the censorious talk continued and was eventually intercepted by Mrs. Wainwright, who publicly denounced Minky's appalling behavior and demanded that her son have nothing further to do with “that wretched girl.” Terrence merely rolled his eyes, kissed his mother's cheek, and went about his business.
Then the night of the Wainwright ball arrived.
Though Terrence was escorting her she nonetheless slipped her invitation into the hidden pocket of the silk and lace wrap she'd ordered especially to wear over her gown. Rather than the fashionable white, she'd elected to wear a shade of just off white which was much more becoming to her natural coloring. The silk fabric of the exquisite dress warmed in the gaslight rather than glared in competition with it, and not for the first time Terrence felt his breath catch when he saw her. She was, to him, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and he'd seen his share of beautiful women thanks to his mother's incessant matchmaking. But from the moment they first met he'd known there would be no other woman for him. It was time he made that clear to his mother.
On the way to the opulent hotel where the ball was being held, he asked the driver to take a more circuitous route through the city's well-groomed parkland. It was a tranquil night with air that was fresh but not too cool. The midnight black Friesian's feathered hooves clip-clopped rhythmically with each high step, its elegant head bobbing on an equally elegant neck from which draped a flowing black mane. The Wainwrights were well known for their excellent equines and the horse pulling their carriage was a fine example of their breeding program.
Inside the carriage, Terrence and Minky sat close enough together to have garnered critical stares had there been anyone about. But as it was after dark and the park was deserted they were able to relax into their more comfortable closeness. They chatted quietly as the carriage moved deeper into the groomed woods, chuckling over shared humorous stories of her adventures and misadventures in the past few weeks. When they reached a cobbled roundabout encircling a small fountain, Terrence directed the driver to stop. Minky looked questioningly at him as he stood and exited the carriage, then turned to help her down. Suddenly nervous, she accepted his hand and alighted. He then tucked her gloved hand beneath his elbow and began to lead her away from the carriage to a bench on the other side of the fountain. There he sat her down on a bench and stepped away, clearing his throat nervously.
“Terrence?”
Her voice was soft and uncharacteristically hesitant as she watched him move about.
“Minky,” he began then cleared his throat, “Minky...”
“Yes, Terrence?”
“Minky, you and I have been friends for a long time now.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“We've become well acquainted with one another in that time.”
Again she nodded and once again he cleared his throat.
“Thing is, Minky. I-I don't want to be friends any longer.”
She gasped as pain lanced through her. Not be friends? Any longer? Tears sparkled in the moonlight as she watched him continue to pace. When he glanced at her and saw her tears, he immediately sat down beside her and took her hands.
“No, Minky, don't cry! You misunderstand. God but I'm making a mess of this!” He looked down at their joined hands and gave hers a light squeeze. “Of course we'll still be friends. Only, I want to be more than friends. I want...” He looked up to see her watching him intently. “I want us to be more than friends,” he repeated, “I want us to marry. Will you be my wife?”
She went perfectly still. She didn't stiffen but simply became motionless as she stared at him. The tears returned only this time they accompanied a tremulous smile. Yet Terrence waited in some suspense to hear in words what her face was already telling him.
“Minky?” he urged and was rewarded with her laugh as she threw her arms around his neck.
“Yes, Terrence. Oh, yes!”
His arms went around her and held her close against him before he drew away to cup her face with his hands. He brushed her lips with a tender kiss then returned for another, much deeper one. When he finally broke away, their breathing and heartbeats were noticeably quicker.
“It won't be easy for us, you know that. But I love you so much and I've wanted to say it for so long. It's time you and I stood together, side by side, as we were meant to.” He rested his forehead against hers. “My mother and the rest of her society will do everything they can to drive us apart.”
“But we won't let them,” she assured him. “I think I've loved you from the first and it's only grown stronger with time.” She nodded before brushing his cheek then his lips with soft kisses. “We've grown stronger with time.”
He smiled down into her gray eyes that now sparkled with happiness.
“Yes, we have.” He paused. “There's one other thing.”
She tilted her head inquiringly.
“What's that?”
“I want the world to know who M. L. Danielson really is. I want to be able to announce with pride that M. L. Danielson is actually my betrothed, Miss Matilda Daniels.” He touched her cheek with a loving hand. “I want the world to know what an extraordinary woman I'll be marrying.”
Once again her eyes moistened and her smile wavered with the depth of her love.
“Josiah Reasoner isn't going to like that one iota, you know.”
Terrence shrugged.
“I think by now nothing you or I do is going to surprise him.” He grinned. “He might even find he likes the free publicity.”
Minky laughed and threw her arms around his neck once again.
“I had so hoped you would propose,” she admitted as she rested her head against his shoulder.
“Then shall we go give my mother the shock of her life?'
She giggled and nodded, and he raised both of her hands to his lips, kissing them before drawing her to her feet and leading her back to the awaiting carriage.
The ball was well underway when they finally arrived and were announced upon their entrance. Mrs. Wainwright almost immediately appeared at his side and, with a disapproving glare at Minky, tried to draw him away. But Terrence resisted.
“No, Mother. I am Minky's escort for the evening and I will not abandon her.”
He winked conspiratorially at Minky and she grinned mischievously in response.
“And I will have an announcement that is long in coming.”
His mother's face sagged in shocked dread.
“No, Terrence!”
“Yes, Mother. There have been too many secrets held. It's time you and everyone else knew who Minky really is, and who she will soon become.”
“No! I forbid it!”
“I'm sorry, Mother. We are both over the age of consent and can make our own decisions. We hope for your blessing but, frankly, we don't need it.”
Completely ignoring the silence that was spreading through the ballroom, his mother drew herself up to her considerable height of nearly six feet.
“You wouldn't dare defy me!”
“In this, I will,” he promised her, his expression implacable, and for the first time Mrs. Wainwright saw the truth of what her son was at heart. A man who knew his own mind and his own power. A man who no longer needed nor appreciated her self-serving counsel. For the first time she realized what little influence she actually had over him.
“You will receive nothing from me when I die.”
Terrence shrugged.
“That's a pity but, Mother, I haven't needed it for a long, long time. I'm sure you can find someone else to bequeath it to.”
Before she could say anything else, he drew Minky forward to stand beside him and face their fascinated audience.
“My friends, tonight I asked Minky to marry me and she has agreed.”
The silence lasted a few moments before voices and glasses were raised in a loud round of congratulations. Terrence lifted her gloved hand and kissed her fingers before turning back to those watching. Slowly, the room quieted as everyone realized he wasn't finished.
“There is one other announcement I have to make.”
Complete silence fell as he pulled Minky closer to his side.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the true M. L. Danielson.”
Stunned silence again filled the room before people began babbling incredulously. M. L. Danielson, the man who wrote all those beautiful love songs, was in fact Minky Daniels? A woman?
Mrs. Wainwright promptly fell into a faint, landing on a hapless passing server and sending hors d'ourves on an ornate silver platter crashing to the ground. Terrence, knowing his mother very well, did not rush forward with the rest of the crowd, but instead led Minky from the hot, stuffy ballroom out into the fresh fragrant air of the hotel's moonlit rose garden. There he wrapped his arm about her shoulders as they strolled along the pebbled path.
“Leave it to Mother to steal the show,” he commented sarcastically and Minky gently elbowed him.
“Don't talk about your mother like that, you shameless man!” The she giggled. “But it was quite a show, wasn't it!”
Stepping up into a gazebo covered with a riot of climbing roses, he pulled her close to whisper into her ear.
Another beautifully written story with a message about empowering women back around the turn of the 20th century when typewriters and bicycles began to give women a good excuse to leave the house and get out into the larger worker world.
Love the part about the bloomers. It was so risqué! And, of course, you always have a Prince Charming, and Terrance Wainwright fits the part beautifully, defying his mother's wishes.
You made me think of the time one day at my West Virginia cottage when a neighbor nurse who was rooming nearby came by on a bicycle in a yellow bikini about 5 months pregnant. She hadn't seen much sun in that bathing suit, so was rather pale and blonde.
Two things: Her gray eyes made Minky seem a bit old, and your bicycle in the image is a man's bike. During my senior year in college in the summer I rode around campus with my sister's medium-sized girl's bike. Parked it outside classrooms with no worry that anyone would steal it.
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Minky Daniels' bright gray eyes sparkled as she watched herself in the curved wall of mirrors and swished her new skirts around her legs. Giving her reflection a quick nod of satisfaction she thought to herself, finally! Saying adieu to the hideous, now passe stiff multiple layers of crinolines was absolutely no hardship for her. She'd hated the things from the moment her mother had first forced her into them. For a confirmed tomboy, it had been the most hellish of hells and it had only grown worse in the years since. Now the new fashion requiring just one crinoline rather than several was infinitely freer and easier to move about in. Her smile faltered a bit when she attempted to take a deep breath in satisfaction.
