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Authors: M. Louisa Locke
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mother’s health has never been good. There wasn’t much chance of employment for me in Benicia.” She sighed, shaking her head slightly.
“And you got a job working for Mrs. Pitts Stevens at the Women’s Co-operative and Printers Union?” This much he had learned from Mrs. Pitts Stevens, herself. And it sounded like Mrs. Sullivan’s mother was still alive. He wondered if the husband had told his mother-in-law about her daughter’s incarceration. Had the police been to interview them? He assumed that the Sullivan’s address was in the papers that Jackson had handed him.
Taking her silence as an affirmative to his last question, he went on saying, “Actually my sister, Laura, is working as a typesetter for them now.”
Mrs. Sullivan looked up at that, and Nate said, “How long did you work there?”
“Four years...I left with Mrs. Pitts when she set up the Women’s Pacific Coast Publishing Company in 1872. I left that company three years later when she sold it to Mrs. Slocum.”
Encouraged by the length of that answer, Nate said, “And is that when you went to work for Rashers and Company? I believe that Mrs. Pitts Stevens said you are a compositor?”
Nate watched as she knit her hands together, while giving a tiny nod. Feeling very much like he was handling a nervy horse, he backed away from the subject of Rashers again and said, “Could you tell me the difference between being a typesetter and a compositor? My sister says if she masters the skill of compositing, she will make more money. But she’s never explained the difference.”
Giving him a swift smile that completely transformed her face, she said, “It is confusing. If all you do is assemble lines of type, you are a typesetter and get paid a piece rate. A compositor has the additional ability to proof the work of a typesetter and lay out the different sections of composed type to form pages that are ready to be printed. Skilled compositors are usually paid an hourly or weekly wage.”
“Well, that makes it clearer.” Nate congratulated himself on his diversion and thought he would take a chance on bringing the topic back to Rashers. “I can imagine that putting together a newspaper or a magazine, with all of their various parts, would take enormous skill. Does Rashers and Company handle those sorts of jobs?”
“Yes.” This came out in a whisper, her face again pointing down and her hands tightly clenched.
“Could you tell me a little about your responsibilities for Rashers? Was it usual for you to work in the evening? Was there a specific job you were working on?”
Abruptly his client stood up, saying forcefully, “Mr. Dawson. These questions are useless. Go back and tell Emily Pitts that if she really wants to help me––she should spend her money taking care of my mother. She is the one who needs her help––not me.”
Nate, who had risen as well, said quickly, “What about your husband, Mr. Sullivan? Do you have a message for him?”
Mrs. Sullivan shook her head and pushed past Nate to pound on the door, shouting, “Guard, Guard. Mr. Dawson is leaving now.” Then she moved away and once more turned her back on him.
Chapter Six
Tuesday, evening, July 6, 1880
––––––––
“Learning that Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony, in company with Mrs. Pitts-Stevens, had paid a visit yesterday to Mrs. Laura D. Fair in the County Jail, a reporter called at the Grand Hotel in the evening to ascertain the views of eminent women who represent the Woman Suffrage party...” San Francisco Chronicle, July 14, 1871
––––––––
“T his morning, the grand jury indicted Mrs. Sullivan on the charge of murder in the second degree,” Nate said, sitting down next to Annie on the settee.
“She’s confessed to killing Rashers?”
Annie furrowed her brow in the way she did when she was concerned, and Nate took his thumb and lightly smoothed the lines on her forehead and then ran his fingers down the soft skin of her
“And you got a job working for Mrs. Pitts Stevens at the Women’s Co-operative and Printers Union?” This much he had learned from Mrs. Pitts Stevens, herself. And it sounded like Mrs. Sullivan’s mother was still alive. He wondered if the husband had told his mother-in-law about her daughter’s incarceration. Had the police been to interview them? He assumed that the Sullivan’s address was in the papers that Jackson had handed him.
Taking her silence as an affirmative to his last question, he went on saying, “Actually my sister, Laura, is working as a typesetter for them now.”
Mrs. Sullivan looked up at that, and Nate said, “How long did you work there?”
“Four years...I left with Mrs. Pitts when she set up the Women’s Pacific Coast Publishing Company in 1872. I left that company three years later when she sold it to Mrs. Slocum.”
Encouraged by the length of that answer, Nate said, “And is that when you went to work for Rashers and Company? I believe that Mrs. Pitts Stevens said you are a compositor?”
Nate watched as she knit her hands together, while giving a tiny nod. Feeling very much like he was handling a nervy horse, he backed away from the subject of Rashers again and said, “Could you tell me the difference between being a typesetter and a compositor? My sister says if she masters the skill of compositing, she will make more money. But she’s never explained the difference.”
Giving him a swift smile that completely transformed her face, she said, “It is confusing. If all you do is assemble lines of type, you are a typesetter and get paid a piece rate. A compositor has the additional ability to proof the work of a typesetter and lay out the different sections of composed type to form pages that are ready to be printed. Skilled compositors are usually paid an hourly or weekly wage.”
“Well, that makes it clearer.” Nate congratulated himself on his diversion and thought he would take a chance on bringing the topic back to Rashers. “I can imagine that putting together a newspaper or a magazine, with all of their various parts, would take enormous skill. Does Rashers and Company handle those sorts of jobs?”
“Yes.” This came out in a whisper, her face again pointing down and her hands tightly clenched.
“Could you tell me a little about your responsibilities for Rashers? Was it usual for you to work in the evening? Was there a specific job you were working on?”
Abruptly his client stood up, saying forcefully, “Mr. Dawson. These questions are useless. Go back and tell Emily Pitts that if she really wants to help me––she should spend her money taking care of my mother. She is the one who needs her help––not me.”
Nate, who had risen as well, said quickly, “What about your husband, Mr. Sullivan? Do you have a message for him?”
Mrs. Sullivan shook her head and pushed past Nate to pound on the door, shouting, “Guard, Guard. Mr. Dawson is leaving now.” Then she moved away and once more turned her back on him.
Chapter Six
Tuesday, evening, July 6, 1880
––––––––
“Learning that Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony, in company with Mrs. Pitts-Stevens, had paid a visit yesterday to Mrs. Laura D. Fair in the County Jail, a reporter called at the Grand Hotel in the evening to ascertain the views of eminent women who represent the Woman Suffrage party...” San Francisco Chronicle, July 14, 1871
––––––––
“T his morning, the grand jury indicted Mrs. Sullivan on the charge of murder in the second degree,” Nate said, sitting down next to Annie on the settee.
“She’s confessed to killing Rashers?”
Annie furrowed her brow in the way she did when she was concerned, and Nate took his thumb and lightly smoothed the lines on her forehead and then ran his fingers down the soft skin of her
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