Hattie Glover’s Millinery

speak of. My parents died when I was very young, so I don’t recall them. I was raised by an aunt and uncle.” She spoke with clipped detachment, leaving him in little doubt as to her cool feelings toward those relatives.
Best to step away from the topic of families, yet Guy found himself saying, “I sympathize with your losses. My mother, and later my sister, died when I was quite young. Mother I recall as a kindly yet distant figure, someone I met in the drawing room for a few hours a week. But Bettina was”—my rock, my comfort, my friend, playmate, confidante, the only person to offer me true love and affection—“My sister was a very special person.”
Good Christ, were those tears welling in his eyes? He blinked them away and shook off his melancholy. This was what came of speaking about a matter of any significance.
“I am sorry,” Hattie said quietly. “You still have your father?”
“No. He passed on two years ago. Heart condition.” No wave of emotion stirred Guy at that loss. Absent was the best descriptor for his father, and as Guy grew older, they had clashed whenever they met.
“Such gloomy thoughts for a spring day,” he changed the conversation. “Look over there, a flock of kites. Shall we walk toward the green?”
“After that I must return to the shop,” she warned.
They retraced their steps on the paved path which curved around a cluster of trees to an open green where boys might play cricket or musicians perform at the band shell. Alongside the path, Guy noticed a torn sign half under a bush. We Demand—he pulled the pasteboard out with the toe of his shoe—Our Rights!
He stooped to pick up the remnants and place them in a nearby trash receptacle. “Was there any trouble at that suffrage rally yesterday?”
“No. The police remained at a distance and the speakers did not encourage violence.”
“This time,” Guy said. “The suffrage movement is growing more dangerous, with its demonstrations often taking a fierce turn.”
She studied him. “You don’t approve.”
“I do agree with the cause, just not the methods that have been employed recently by the Pankhursts and other WSPU members. Breaking windows and assaulting officers is no way for the organization to accomplish its goal.”
“What is, Mr. Hardy?”
Was Hattie a secret suffragette? He didn’t want to offend her or deny her convictions, but he would speak the truth as he saw it. “You’ve heard the saying about gathering more honey with bees?”
Her lips twitched. “I believe the expression is attracting more flies with honey.”
He waved a hand. “Whichever. I believe working from the inside is more useful than creating chaos.”
“Work from the inside how precisely?”
“Get involved in politics. Grease palms. Make deals. Influence legislation. Change minds. Whatever methods work to achieve the goal.”
“How is that possible when the WSPU representatives aren’t allowed a seat at the table?”
“One doesn’t have to be in government to manipulate things. There is always a back way. My father taught me that. Perhaps the only useful words of wisdom the man ever uttered.”
“A very practical observance.” Her tone betrayed no clue as to whether she agreed or disagreed.
“But what do I know,” Guy added. “I am not a woman, so it is not my cause.”
“It should be everyone’s cause, Mr. Hardy. For at its core the contention is not about earning the right to vote as much as it is about how one gender views the other as lesser in value. However, I am not a part of the suffrage movement myself, so I suppose I have little room to debate the matter.”
“My, we are pregnant with heavy thoughts today, aren’t we?” he said.
“Look, kites.” Hattie mimicked him as she pointed. “For today, let us be as weightless and inconsequential.”
Her light humor buoyed him. “Agreed!”
They rounded the grove of trees to gain a full view of a stretch of grass, trampled from yesterday’s gathering and rather muddy from last night’s rain. Children speckled the green like bright flowers, running and laughing, escaping the schoolroom for a bit of fun. Above them danced a rainbow of kites trailing equally colorful tails. The breeze was strong enough to keep the kites aloft, but not so overbearing as to send them careening into one another. For the moment, the paper flyers occupied space with deference to each another and no tangled strings.
Hattie tilted her head and removed the veil of gauze to get a clearer view. “Aren’t they a jubilant sight?”
“Indeed. Utterly charming.” Guy watched her enchanted expression.
“I remember flying kites once as a child. I vividly recall a specific summer day, the heat, the scent of honeysuckle and newly mown grass, and the feeling that life was perfect and always would be. I was certain that feeling would remain with me forever.” Her rapt smile dimmed. “I suppose it has, but only in memory.”
Oh how he wanted to give her that feeling again, the secure hopefulness of a child to whom nothing truly terrible had yet happened. He would make it his mission to do so somehow. Guy frowned at his sudden fervent desire. The urge was far too powerful considering he hardly knew this woman. He tore his gaze away from watching Hattie to focus on a brother and sister fighting over whose turn it was to hold their kite string.
Hattie must have noticed the direction of his attention for she said, “I never had siblings. My only cousin was so much older than I that she was already married and moved away before I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Tell me more about your sister, Bettina. Did you get along well?”
“Almost always. She was two years my senior, but she was never impatient with me or too busy to play. After Mother died, Bettina was my north star, my guiding light. I would say she was an angel on earth except that evokes a saccharine sort of person and she was not that good. We got into scrapes together, went places