The Renegade Queen (Rebellious Times Book 1) by Eva Flynn

Author:Eva Flynn [Flynn, Eva]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Omega Press
Published: 2015-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

Lobbying is an activity that ladies do not engage in, for a lobbyist is the most loathsome individual, worse than a whore and the moral equivalent to the filth on the streets. But if I act like a lady, then I will have nothing except the kindnesses afforded a lady. I’ll gladly forego kind words and soft gestures from strangers in exchange for my rights.

Tennessee and I trudge through the manure-laden snow. Even with thick boots on, we get smelly black water trickling down our ankles, freezing our toes. We walk up the steps of the Capitol, slowly. The men walking down the steps look at us and whisper, no doubt wondering if we are a new crop of prostitutes from the downtrodden Southern states or if we are the voluble charmers that the newspapers mention. Tennessee winks and giggles at each man, no doubt cementing the impression that we could be either.

Our first target is Ulysses Mercur. In his early 50s, Representative Mercur hails from Pennsylvania, where he was the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania. As a young judge, he was known to beat unethical lawyers right in his courtroom, squeezing their throats until they turned purple. His votes in Congress have labeled him as a radical plunderer, a thief. Not only did he vote for the present policies of Reconstruction for the South, but he also voted for the continuance of the Freedman’s Bureau to feed, clothe, and educate the negroes of the South. His opponents see this as stealing money from the hard working Northerner and giving it to the lazy, dumb negroes. His enemies call him a socialist, a believer in the redistribution of wealth. Mercur’s response to his critics is the rather cryptic and pugilistic, “If you do not respect the stars, then I will make you feel the stripes.”

We walk in Mercur’s bare and neat office, and I’m ready for anything. Representative Mercur immediately stands as we walk in and looks at us with curiosity as I stare back. He is tall, pale, and thin, with his facial hair styled after dead President Lincoln. Tennessee smiles, giggles, and flirts. I immediately regret bringing Tennessee to meet such a serious man.

“Representative Mercur,” I say without introduction, for he knows who we are. “I am being taxed without representation.”

“You have a representative, Mrs. Woodhull,” Mercur replies. “You have one from New York and I even hear you have the able Mr. Butler in your pocket. I’d say you have two representatives.”

“I do have a representative,” I say, ignoring the insinuation about Butler, “One that I cannot vote for or against. Women constitute a majority of the people—they hold vast portions of the nation’s wealth and pay a proportionate share of the taxes. Why not give us equality at the ballot box?”

“That is for the states to decide,” Mercur says, shrugging his shoulders.

“If States did not have the right to decide the slavery question, how can they decide my fate? Am I worth less than a negro?” I ask.

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