Divided lives, p.1
Divided Lives, page 1
Divided Lives
Copyright © JKJ books, LLC 2022
First edition: September 2022
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Mailing address for JKJ books, LLC; 17350 State Highway 249, STE 220 #3515 Houston, Texas 77064
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022914858
ISBN 979-8-9859930-8-0 (hardback)
ISBN 979-8-9859930-7-3 (paperback)
ISBN 979-8-9859930-9-7 (ebook)
This is a work of fiction. It is based on historical events in 1912 New York City.
Edited by Kaitlyn Katsoupis, Strictly Textual
Cover Art by More Visual, ltd
To Claudia who reads all of my work.
To Jonathan and Joshua, my best boys.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Becker Trial Conspirators and Gunmen
Author’s take
About the Author
Chapter One
Flash!
“What was that?” Lottie asked as she tried to sit up in her bed. “Why is it so bright, is it morning?” She shook her head, trying to clear her vision. “Rose, did you hear. . .” she trailed off, looking toward her lover. Frowning, she saw something wasn’t right. Rose’s eyes were wide open, and there was blood on her face and chest.
“Rose!”
She grabbed her shoulders. There was no reaction from her. Lottie started to scream, but the sound didn’t make it past her lips as her world tilted and went black.
The second time she woke, her vision was clear. A sudden memory made her look quickly to where Rose should have been. She was alone. “Rose,” she called. Where was she? Sitting up, she struggled to remember the night before, holding her pounding head in her hands.
I didn’t think I had that much to drink.
Blood, she thought suddenly, remembering. She jerked the sheets to her, and uncovered Rose’s side of the bed. There was none. A dream, she thought, falling backward onto her pillows. Thank goodness. Rose must have already gone. Breakfast wasn’t something she normally stayed around for.
What happened last night? Where did the evening start? she thought, trying to remember. With Patrick. Her brother had arrived a few days ago. His home was in Chicago and he was in town to accompany their aunt and uncle to the steamship for their trip to France. Lottie and Patrick has met with them for dinner and the send-off.
The night before after their dinner with their aunt and uncle
Their motorcar, a green Scout with the top folded down, bounced along on their ride back to the village. Patrick glanced over at her and asked, “Lottie, where shall I drop you?” When he was in town, they had dinner together but separated after to spend time with friends.
“The tearoom, please,” she requested. She looked over at him and asked, “Will I see you tomorrow?” The next day was Friday; she knew he would be going home on Saturday.
“I have some meetings in Manhattan that will take up most of the day. How about Saturday morning for breakfast and a ride to the train station?” he suggested.
She thought of her calendar and said, “That would be lovely. Call me if your plans change.”
“I will,” he said as he pulled the car to a stop, narrowly missing a young man and woman who appeared inebriated. The couple hadn’t noticed their near accident and continued across the road.
Patrick laughed at their antics as he jumped out and went around to help Lottie out of the car. “See you tomorrow, sis,” he said as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek.
She stayed where she was and watched him jog back around to the driver’s side. The car bounced and rumbled as he pulled into the busy street. The evening was pleasant, a cool breeze moving through the area, and even the sidewalks teeming with people didn’t bother her. She took a moment to look around before going in. Like most retail spaces in Greenwich Village, the Tearoom, where she would spend part of her evening, was located in a storefront on the bottom part of a redbrick building. The buildings on either side of it were different shades of red brick, rising to five stories. Each of them had a personality of its own. Different brick patterns, and awnings, some with large windows and some with none. This type of building stretched down the blocks in the village.
She maneuvered through the crowd to reach the entrance to the tearoom. The location had moved a few times but seemed to find a more permanent home here. The owner didn’t have a second job, and sometimes the income from the business wasn’t enough to keep it open. Most of the individuals living in the village chose to live in the area for the cheap prices and atmosphere of free speech; the tearoom provided both.
As she entered, she noticed the furniture. It could be called an eclectic mix. The tables were pieced together out of planks of wood and found chairs. Nothing matched in shape or design, but it was tied together with white paint. The walls were painted the same bright white; the difference was that the owner had asked a local artist to paint what they liked on the walls. It made for a colorful and sometimes garish look. It also fit the women of the tearoom perfectly.
The women at those tables wore unique clothes, some in pants, long flowing gowns or skirts, and shirtwaists. No one questioned what the others chose to wear; it was their outward expression of who they were on the inside. I love that, she thought. She looked down at her outfit and smiled. Her dress was conservative that evening with a high-neck shirtwaist, a long skirt with a petticoat, and dark stockings. Definitely not an outward expression of me. At least, not tonight, she thought wryly. She reached up to unpin her short hair and let it fall to her shoulders.
Drinks were being served throughout the space. It was called a tearoom, but few people drank tea; most preferred the harder options, usually whisky or vodka. The owner was not licensed to sell alcohol and those who drank were at risk of arrest by the local police. The owner seemed to have some sort of deal with them to limit the raids for a fee—a well-known system of graft.
Conversations drifted by as she passed the different tables. The first: suffragettes sat around their table loudly demanding more movement and more marches. They’d had a very successful one in May of that year. She waved at them when she saw Henrietta at their table. Though Hen had other interests, the vote for women was her current passion. She was involved with the parades, a new development in the fight for women’s suffrage in the United States.
At another table, the ladies were discussing the village kids. They were being told they couldn’t play at Washington Square Park. As she passed, she heard Phillipa talking about being approached by a man while she was playing with the kids. Phillipa worked as a teacher at the local village school and had limited space where the kids could play safely.
“What happened exactly?” Lottie asked, hesitating briefly at their table.
Phillipa looked over at her and commented seriously, “A man came up to me in the park and told me our kids were not allowed to be there.” She had to take a deep breath before continuing. “He thinks we’re somehow degrading the park. He also said loudly that he’s on the Washington Square Association and demanded we leave and stay away until we settle the dispute.” Her face crumbled with despair, and she asked, “Lottie, how can we destroy the character of the park?”
“You can’t. The park is there for everyone. Phillipa, get me the information and I’ll write a letter to the committee,” Lottie said firmly.
“Could you do that for us? I can bring it over to your apartment.”
“Just slide it under my door. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow. Will that be enough time?”
“Yes, of course. Do you think that will work?” she asked hopefully.
“We might be able to delay any relocation of the children and propose a park here in the village. I don’t have time tonight, but get me that letter as soon as you can.”
The ladies liked that response and started volunteering to help put a letter together.
As Lottie walked off, Phillipa called, “Thanks for helping.”
“Just get me the letter,” she reiterated over her shoulder.
“We will,”
Lottie walked past another group involved in a discussion about the newspapers spread out on their table. The heated tone caused her to pause. The subject being discussed shouldn’t have surprised her: Charles Becker. She had kept up with the case; it involved gamblers, police corruption, and the murder of an informant. Since she started working for Justice Goff, she knew to stay away from conversations involving cases going to trial. She might inadvertently say something that could put her in an uncomfortable position later. Though she didn’t expect to have it assigned to her court; that type of case was normally assigned to the General Session.
She passed other groups talking about politics and the policies they wanted to have changed. Normally, she would have enjoyed some drinks and a lively talk with the various groups, but tonight, she hadn’t come to drink or discuss liberal politics. There was a specific reason she was there and that reason was Rose. She spotted her toward the back. As she got closer, she saw that she was already occupied with another woman. Lottie recognized her. Lily, she thought. She watched the hand Rose had down Lily’s shirt, caressing her breast.
Rose was looking around and spotted Lottie. She called her over. “Sit down, join me.” She slowly pulled her hand out of Lily’s dress, squeezing her nipple on the way. Lily moaned, trying to keep Rose’s hand where it was. But Rose had other interests and, instead of putting her hand back where Lily wanted it, she used it to wave at her. It was her dismissal; she shot a glare at Lottie as she pulled her top together over her exposed breast and moved to another table.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Lottie said in a low voice, not meaning it.
“No, not at all,” Rose murmured back. She reached over and brushed Lottie’s hair off of her face, a caress she used to show her interest. They had an on-again, off-again relationship. Casual sex had become something she looked forward to with Rose. Lottie leaned forward and kissed her softly, seeing how receptive she was. Rose returned the kiss warmly and murmured, “I was hoping to see you tonight.”
“Were you?” Lottie asked coyly.
“Yes, would you like me to spend the night?” she asked.
Rose had always been forthright. When Lottie first moved to the village, she had never been with a woman. In a move very similar to the one she used tonight, Rose had walked up to her in the tearoom, pushed her hair aside, and kissed her softly.
“I would,” said Lottie, leaning into her.
Rose returned the embrace and glanced over Lottie’s shoulder, toward the door. She pulled back slightly and said, “I need to make a quick phone call first. Help me finish my ‘tea’ and we can head to your apartment.”
Lottie nodded and watched as she stepped into the back where the phone was located. She drank quickly, gathered her things, and moved to the door to wait. Rose stepped out, took Lottie’s elbow, and headed to her apartment.
Present Day
Pulling herself into the present, she thought, Dream, only a dream. Rose is fine. I know she is. She must have left. She might sleep over, but she would often leave before Lottie was awake.
Chapter Two
Lottie got up to begin her day and made her way to the washroom to take a bath. After, she went to the closet to select her clothes. The outfit she normally wore to work was a long-sleeved shirtwaist, fashioned like a man’s shirt with buttons down the front, and was worn with tailored pants. Her aunt Emma favored pants when she was working and had made Lottie several pairs before she moved to New York City. They were perfect for running around the village, but not for her day job working as a clerk for Justice Goff. The office required women to wear skirts at all times, with no exceptions.
The dream stayed with her, even as she was dressing. I’ll find Rose this evening and we’ll laugh about this, she promised herself. Rose didn’t have to work, so she was probably at her apartment. Though with her sexual appetite, she thought ruefully, that girl she was caressing last night might be what she needed to get to this morning.
As she continued to get ready, she reflected on Rose's opinion of her job. Lottie, like many of the other women in the village, had a college degree. They lived divided lives. During the day, using their degrees, they worked as teachers, lawyers, and other jobs; during the night, they put the day’s worries aside and enjoyed themselves to the fullest. Lottie’s degree was in law, from Chicago Tech. She had practiced for several years before moving to New York City.
She sat on the bed, pulling on her boots, thinking about the many fights she and Rose had about this topic. Rose never understood balance and appropriate behavior for working outside the village. Lottie had accepted that who she was outside of the village must be different than the person she was inside. That boundary was a necessary protection for them. And so far, no one had breached the trust on either side.
Chapter Three
She grabbed her bag that was sitting on the chair by her bedroom door. Folding her skirt, she added her work shoes to it as she moved into the living room. The boots she wore would be changed out at the office for more appropriate shoes.
Her quick breakfast consisted of fruit and bread with butter, she thought longingly of her mama’s breakfasts. Her family owned a bakery and all of the children were expected to put in time working there. Lottie had worked there when she was a teenager so she could bake, but she preferred her mama’s cooking to her own. It would be a while before she went home for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Walking to the bedroom, she slipped her blue bow tie around her collar on the high neck of her shirtwaist and tied it. Turning to pick up her bag, she swung it onto her shoulder and walked quickly over to the dresser to glance in the mirror.
Oh my, she thought. Her short reddish-blond hair was a mess; she picked up the brush and pulled it through. Retrieving her hat, she dusted it off before putting it on her head. It was a burgundy French military, turned up in the front, showing off her bangs, with a large dark burgundy ribbon wrapped around it. She inserted colorful feathers into the band.
A knock sounded on her door as she was leaving. Frowning, she glanced down at her watch, and a feeling of dread washed over her. She forced herself to open it and was not surprised to see Danny standing there.
“What’s she done now?” asked Lottie in exasperation, glaring at him.
Danny took off his hat and started to worry the brim. “She’s in jail.”
“Again?” She didn’t have to ask who he was talking about; this was about his wife Henrietta, who was also her best friend.
“She got picked up at the rally last night,” he explained.
“What rally?” she asked, confused. “The last time I saw her, she was at the tearoom.”
“Well, the ladies got into their cups and decided to have an impromptu one. They had the signs from the May rally stored at the tearoom and went off on their own. She thought there should be another one as a reminder.”
“Last night?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes,” he responded quietly.
“Who else was arrested?” she asked, wondering how expensive this was going to be.
“Just her,” he admitted. “The others ran off and left her with the signs. She continued to demonstrate; the local police picked her up.”
“You didn’t go?” she pressed, surprised. Danny supported Henrietta in all things.
“No, I had to do inventory at the store. Even if I had gone, I couldn’t have stopped her. You know how she is; she is so passionate about her belief in change.”
