The Cure for Dreaming by Cat Winters

Author:Cat Winters
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, pdf
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2014-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

I FOUND FRANNIE PERFORMING HER FAVORITE BOOKSHOP duty: arranging new arrivals in Harrison’s display windows. I rapped on the glass, gave her a quick wave, and hurried inside the store. The jangling bell above the shop door announced my entrance.

“Good morning, Livie.” Frannie stood up straight with a book in each hand. “Is everything all right?”

I poked my head around shelves to check for eavesdroppers. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Carl is out delivering a rare book, and the rest of the children are at Grandmother’s. My parents took a riverboat ride to celebrate their anniversary.”

“I thought they were celebrating with a fancy supper tomorrow.”

“They are, but Papa wanted to treat Mother today, since she’ll be cooking the meal tomorrow.”

I sighed. “Such a good man. Such a beautiful man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

I darted my head behind another bookshelf. “There aren’t any customers here, either?”

“No, it’s just me here at the moment. Why? What’s happening? More hallucinations?”

I approached her and lowered my voice, just in case anyone should emerge from out of nowhere. “Frannie . . .”

“Yes?” she whispered back.

I swallowed and summoned a burst of courage. “I’m ‘A Responsible Woman.’”

“Yes, of course you are, Livie.” Her tone and nod were patronizing. “Except for when it comes to your relationship with Percy Acklen.”

“No.” I scowled. “I’m talking about the pro-suffrage letter printed in today’s newspaper. I’m ‘A Responsible Woman.’”

Her brown eyes swelled as round and bulgy as my largest prized marbles. She exhaled with the sound of a deflating bicycle tire. “Egad, Livie. Really and truly?”

“Did you read the letter?”

“Of course I read it. It was the talk of the breakfast table this morning, and every woman who’s walked through the shop door has asked for publications by Abigail Scott Duniway or Susan B. Anthony.”

“They have?”

She set down the books she was holding and pulled me toward General Literature. “We’ve sold every single copy of Duniway’s women’s rights novels in the past two hours. See the gap?” She pointed to an empty space toward the end of the D section. “People think she’s the one who wrote the letter.”

“Holy mackerel.” I breathed a sigh that whistled through my teeth. “Maybe this will mean women won’t give up the fight. Maybe there’ll be another referendum.”

“Maybe.” She raised her eyebrows. “But does Percy know you’re the one publicly making his father sound like a buffoon?”

“Oh. Percy.” I growled and held my head between the tips of my fingers.

“The party didn’t go well?” she asked.

“Tell me honestly, did he touch you?” I asked in return.

Frannie turned her face away and ran a knuckle across Charles Dickens’s spines.

“Frannie?”

“Are you still in love with him?” she asked.

“Not anymore.”

“Then, yes.” She dropped her hand from the books. “I admit, he grabbed me last year when I was retying the lace of my shoe in the school stairwell. He came up the steps behind me, gave me a spank and a squeeze, and then continued up the stairs without even looking back. I hated myself the whole rest of the day.

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