“You are not to go around wearing bloomers.” He took my hand. “Molly, I want you give up this life,” he said. “I love you. I don’t want to be weeping over your body.”
“You’d do that? You’d weep over me?”
“Of course I would,” he said. “I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you on Ellis Island. Even though I thought you were married to another man, I still loved you. I don’t want to lose you. In fact, I want you to marry me.”
Then, to my intense astonishment, he got down on one knee. “Molly, this is not the time or the place that I had planned for this to happen, but seeing what we’ve just been through, it seems appropriate. Molly Murphy, will you marry me?”
Although I had seen it coming for ages, although we’d had what people called “an understanding” for a while, I was still speechless.
“You do love me, don’t you?” he asked when I said nothing.
“Yes, yes I do. And I do want to marry you, but only . . .”
“Only what?” I felt the pressure on my hand tighten.
“Only if you’ll let me be myself and not want to keep me shut up in a cage, stuck home all day like the good little wife.”
He chuckled. “I think it would take some pretty stout chains and bars to keep you anywhere you didn’t want to be.”
I looked up as there was a sharp knock at my front door. I broke away to answer it. Sid and Gus stood there. “We’re off to a planning meeting for the next suffragist rally,” Sid said. “We wondered if you wanted to come with us. We’re planning a march on the state capitol in Albany and we’re going to chain ourselves to the railings until the state legislature gives us the right to vote.”
“Sid has written a ripping piece and she’s sending it to the Times and the Herald,” Gus said. “She wants to show it to you. And I’ve designed us a banner. You have to see it. Sid thinks it’s most eye-catching.” She broke off and eyed me. “What’s the matter, is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry.” I started to laugh. “But Daniel was just in the middle of proposing to me.”
“And have you answered him yet?” Sid demanded.
I looked back at Daniel, who was regarding me with interest.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Well, for God’s sake get back in there and do it,” Sid commanded.
I turned back to Daniel. “Daniel, I accept,” I said.
“About time,” Gus turned to nod to Sid. “We couldn’t take much more of the tension, could we, Gus? So I suppose we can’t count on your support anymore for our rallies, and you won’t be coming along tonight?”
“Not tonight.” I looked back at my kitchen. “Tonight I think we need to be alone, although I don’t see why you think you can’t count on me in future.”
I thought I heard a heavy sigh from the kitchen.
Postscript
Emily did recover, although she has residual numbness and tingling in her feet and hands that may last for years. But, as she said, she is luckier than her friends to have survived at all. And Horace Lynch did visit her in the hospital. Who knows what might come of that?
Ned Tate is in jail awaiting trial for the murder of four women. It seemed that he killed the counter assistant, Mrs. Hartmann, merely to try out his preparation on her and to see how much thallium was needed. A cold and heartless young man indeed.
As for me, I had better start getting used to the idea of being Mrs. Daniel Sullivan. I think I might even like it.