Jacob and I had dinner together that night. Afterward, I told him I was going to attend to some family matters. But that wasn’t true. I left him so I could go home, change into Vee’s clothes, and then attend a meeting at the Woman’s Press Club. Even though our previous march had resulted in a lot of coverage, Betty’s editor hadn’t dropped his suit. We were there to organize the next protest, to be held three days hence, on a Saturday. The hope was that if we kept up our marches and made more noise and reached more women each time, we could bring about change.
“We need to alert the rest of the press corps in advance for this one and get coverage before, during, and after the march,” Martha insisted, “and not just from female journalists from our own ranks. As much as I hate to say it, we need the gravitas of newsmen writing about this.”
Despite knowing that was true, it irked us, and we sat for the next half hour discussing the pros and cons of giving up some of our exclusives to get broader coverage.
In the end, we decided to alert our male counterparts. If we were heckled again, all the papers would be there with both a participating reporter and one watching from the sidelines. It ensured that our story would be told in full this time, with no one able to dismiss the articles as “sob sister” laments.
We also decided that this time, we’d march through a residential neighborhood instead of a business district. A vote was taken, and Greenwich Village won as the destination. We’d start at Grace Church on Broadway and work our way south and west, culminating with a rally in Washington Square Park. I was nervous at the idea of our march ending so near Jacob’s apartment, but I had no good reason to talk the group out of it.
Besides, I reassured myself, I’d be in my Vee Swann disguise, and Jacob wouldn’t even be home. He worked at Cartier’s on Saturdays.
Fanny and Martha and I made plans to meet an hour before the one p.m. call time, have lunch in a tea shop near the church, then join our sisters with our placards and pamphlets.
That morning dawned chilly and gray, with clouds that threatened rain. By noon, the weather was no better. I dressed in Vee’s modest clothes, donned my wig and glasses, and added a heavy coat, sturdy boots, and a warm scarf.
The march had been well publicized, which had its pluses but also created a problem we hadn’t anticipated. We had even more hecklers marching alongside us.
By the time we reached the arch in Washington Square Park, at least a hundred more women had joined us. Unfortunately, an equal number of men were marching against us. Their shouts drowned out ours, making it impossible for our message to be heard.
Inside the park, reporters were waiting for us. And so were more hecklers. As we reached the fountain, where we planned to stage the last part of the protest, the agitators started throwing pebbles and sticks at us, trying to get us to disperse.
As planned, we encircled the round fountain and linked arms, determined not to give in to the hecklers. But the men were just as determined, and a melee broke out when they physically approached us and pushed first one and then another and then another of us backward and toward the freezing-cold water in the fountain.
The police who’d been stationed in the park in advance of the rally ran forward, waving their billy clubs, breaking apart the skirmishes one by one. But there were more protesters and hecklers than police, and so the clashes continued. Some of the male reporters and gentlemen bystanders came to our rescue and tried to contain the troublemakers.
We all tried to fight back. Not everyone was strong enough. Fanny and Martha, working together, managed to punch one contentious bastard hard enough to send him sprawling.
I didn’t fare as well. A man gave me a shove, and while I struggled to twist away from the water, I lost my balance and fell.
I was sitting on the ground, dazed, in terrible pain, aware that I was in danger of being trampled. I tried to stand, but my back wasn’t cooperating. How was I going to get up? I tried to push forward onto my knees. But before I could make the effort, a woman near me fell right beside me, pushing me and upsetting my balance yet again.
And then two gloved hands reached down.
“Let me help you up,” the man said as he grabbed my hands.
I didn’t need to look. I recognized his voice instantly. But wasn’t Jacob supposed to be at the store? Hadn’t he told me that? Or had he? Perhaps I had just assumed that because the shop was open on Saturdays, he worked then.
I could tell that he didn’t know who I was and kept my face angled down. Even though I didn’t want to, I had no choice but to allow him to hoist me into a standing position.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Let’s get you to a bench.”
Just then, the wintry sun broke through the clouds and shone down on us. I put my hand up to my eyes to shield my vision, but the action strained my back, and it spasmed. I moaned in terrible pain and saw him start. Had he recognized my voice?
Before another moment passed, Fanny and Martha were there.
“We can take care of her, thank you very much!” Fanny shouted.
“I just wanted to help you with Miss—”
“Miss Vee Swann,” Martha answered sharply before I could stop her. “But we don’t actually need help from your kind.”
“I wasn’t one of the men who—”
But the two of them whisked me away, each with an arm around my waist, helping me walk with them toward the park exit.
“We’ll get a carriage,” Fanny said.
I turned back and searched the crowd looking for Jacob, but he had disappeared.