Ladies of Daphne

Buffalo, New York - 1912

In the flickering candlelight, Mable Eaton’s fork shook as she shuffled food around her plate, clearly feigning eating. 

She was nervous; Virginia could tell. 

Virginia Warren could always tell when one of her girls was unsettled. 

“Will,” Robert moaned, continuing his laborious campaign. “If the strike won’t end, all of Buffalo will grind to a halt.”

William Tompkins, heir to the automotive dynasty his daddy left him, and a notorious lush, nodded along as Robert continued to lecture. 

Around the table, forks delicately plucked roast quail from their plates and ferried bites delicately to mouths that chatted amiably about the weather, the industry, and other agreed-upon topics of the day. 

All comfortable, safe topics. 

This dinner, fine as it might be, was not the main affair. 

This was the preamble, the antecedent to the real events of the evening. 

When sixteen plates were cleared, and eight glasses of whiskey served to the men, Robert looked to his wife in question. 

With a graceful nod, Virginia rose, all of the women rising with her. 

Like synchronized swimmers, they each kissed their men and departed to follow Mrs. Warren upstairs. 

She led the women to the conservatory, one level up and far enough away from the husbands so they could conduct their meeting in private. 

Every last Saturday of the month, Virginia and Robert Warren hosted this dinner. And every month, the men dismissed their wives to conduct “business” amongst themselves. 

The wives weren't stupid. They knew exactly what this was. But none of them dared, or were even allowed, to acknowledge what was really going on here. 

A meeting of Apollions. 

The Order of Apollo met monthly, or at least her husband's sect did. They’d dubbed themselves “The Lightbringers,” paying homage to both their sacred deity’s association with the light and Buffalo’s nickname as “The City of Light.” 

It was all a bit silly, if Virginia was being honest. Apollo felt like a catch-all god. He claimed himself as the ruler of poetry, music, truth, disease, healing, and on and on and on. But it made the husbands feel important, and that’s what mattered to men. 

It started at university. Robert and all his friends had joined their little cabal then. Virginia amused him at first, willing to host small dinners and stand by his side while he earned his way up the ranks; never asking, never discussing what really went on in their oh-so-secretive meetings. 

When he became Grand Master of The Order, Virginia began to feel his influence leak into her own life. But she was not one to stand idly by and let influence go to waste. 

The wives seated themselves among the ornate furniture of the conservatory, nodding deferentially to the servants who handed them flutes of champagne and waiting until they cleared the room to speak. 

“Finally,” Mary Norris sighed when the last servant left. She hiked up her elegant gown and began removing her stockings. “These things were squeezing me half to death.” 

Helen snickered. 

All around the room, wives removed uncomfortable footwear, unlaced their corsets, and a few even removed itchy wigs from their heads. 

A comfortable chatter began among them as Virginia watched. She moved to the forgotten corner where, under a planter, she hid a folder of important notes. 

But there wasn’t much time. She had to move quickly. 

Virginia raised her glass in a toast. “Ladies of Daphne, let our meeting begin.” 

Their chatter ended as quickly as it had started. 

In a matter of minutes, they’d approved the last meeting's notes, taken attendance for this evening, and laid out their ongoing topics for discussion. 

“Discussion number one,” Virginia said. “NAWSA has requested funds for signage and a separate fund for bail money, should their suffrage protests require such. Begin.” 

All the women nodded. 

Some half-hearted discussion ensued, but Virginia knew how this vote would go. They’d been quietly funding the suffragettes for years now. Anything they asked for, her friends provided. 

“And the coffers?” Frances Johnson asked, addressing Virginia directly. 

Virginia moved to the large, potted rhododendron in the corner of the conservatory. After some digging, she managed to pull out the old coffee can. Inside, various coins clinked and bills rustled as it was passed around the room. 

“We’re well prepared. Mary,” she directed. “Report.” 

As Mary Eaton rattled off the funds they had available and what the NAWSA might need, coins plinked into the can as it was passed around the room. 

Taken from hidden petticoat pockets, stockings, and even the occasional shoe, each woman contributed their ill-gotten coins to the communal fund. 

All except for Mable Eaton. 

When the can passed to her, she shook her head sharply and looked down at her feet. 

Frances and Mary gave her pointed looks, but Virginia did her best to move the meeting along. 

Through their years together, they’d developed ways to stash away small funds from their husbands. Never a large sum. Just a little, here and there. Save it up. Stash it away. Save it for a rainy day when your sisters might need it. 

And most importantly, if you are caught, lie. 

“Discussion number two. I have been asked to look into child care for Alice Charles’s niece, who works at the grainery.” 

“Thank you, Virginia,” Alice said, looking sheepish. “Clara starts next week, and her little one needs tending to while she’s at work. Charles says we can’t watch her.” 

Alice trailed off in shame. 

“Alice,” Virginia demanded sharply. The doe-eyed woman looked up obediently. “This is what we do here.”

Alice nodded. As the newest member, perhaps she felt apprehensive about asking for help so soon. 

Helen Dobson raised her age-wrinkled hand. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I already watch my grandson during the day. James never minds. He won’t even notice another little one around.” 

Alice gave Helen a grateful nod. 

“And,” Virginia said, flipping her notes back and forth. “I think that's it.” 

Another collective sigh filled the room. 

Meeting over. 

Virginia watched as the women relaxed in the various settees and chairs, sipping their drinks and propping their feet up. 

Her eyes were fixed on Mable, though, who still held her unsipped drink with the same tremble she had in her hands during dinner. 

As if sensing her attention, Mable looked up to lock eyes with Virginia. 

She nodded her head to the corner, and Mable followed. 

Once they were well enough away from spying eyes, Virginia gestured to a bench bordering a large coy pond. Mable sat, pulling her hat down as she did so. 

“Mable,” Virginia began. 

The single word seemed to unravel the slight woman. She doubled over, clutching her arms to her stomach as violent sobs wracked her body. 

Virginia sat down next to her. She was careful, as these situations often required, but firm. 

“Look at me, Mable,” she instructed. 

Mable did. Red-rimmed eyes and a tear-streaked face looked up as Virginia surveyed her long-time friend. 

She fished a hankie out of her pocket and dipped it into the pond. “May I?” 

Mable nodded, no longer crying but staring blankly into the foliage beyond. 

As Virginia wiped the makeup away from her face, she began to see the deep purple bruises below Mable’s eyes. 

“Here,” Mable said as she pointed to a spot above her eyebrow. 

Virginia wiped the makeup away there too, and sure enough, sickly greenish-purple skin began to peek out everywhere she wiped.

“Tell me,” Virginia said. Her rage locked down tightly behind her teeth, not wanting to spook the already reluctant woman.  

So Mable told Virginia what Andrew had done to her. 

When she was done, Virginia gave Mable her hankie, told her to dry her eyes, and led her to a potted plant hidden in the corner.  

“You see this?” Virginia asked. 

Mable touched the small leaves and nodded. 

“This is belladonna,” Virginia said as she began plucking the berries. “Be careful,” she said. “They are very poisonous.” 

And with trembling hands, Mable Eaton collected the berries. 

Dust drew up from the several carriages leaving the Warren estate that evening. Two automobiles lumbered behind them, wives waving all the way to the main gates as they left. 

Mable was somewhere among that procession of carriages. Virginia’s thoughts drifted to her and the pocket full of berries she now brought home. 

Her husband turned to her, whiskey strong on his breath. “Did you have a nice evening?” Robert asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“I did. And you?” 

“Oh, certainly.” 

He ran a hand down her back as he said, “I appreciate you entertaining the wives while we conduct our meetings.” 

She nodded. She wasn’t supposed to know about The Order of Apollo. But of course, she did. 

Virginia smiled. “I love entertaining.”