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prove herself. She’d make primary op and become the first female manager in the district. People would know she was more than a pretty little blonde. They’d see she was a woman to be reckoned with. They’d look at her achievements and know she was worthy.
    But she knew better. She kicked at a rock and watched it roll away into the darkness. Jim’s expression had said it all, that and his lack of argument. Bates had paraded out of the depot like a banty rooster, and Jim had confirmed that Frank’s uncle, Walter Bates, owned a controlling interest in the KP, shaking his head all the while.
    At the corner of Sherman Street, Sarah stopped in her tracks, remembering Frank’s words. He’d told the main office that there were problems, that Jim couldn’t handle them. Whatever he’d said, it was enough to get himself promoted as well as casting doubt on Jim’s management abilities. No wonder Jim had remained silent. Lord, did Bates have enough pull to put Jim’s position in danger?
    The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize her friend’s job. She wouldn’t ask Jim to defend her. If her only choice was being an errand girl, she’d ask Jim to transfer her to the graveyard shift. That way, Bates would think he won, and she’d still get her practice time. It wasn’t the way she’d planned to get there, but she’d make primary op status any way she had to.
    Mounting the front steps of Elizabeth Byers’s stately brick mansion, Sarah noted the dimmed lights. Drat it all, she was too late. Before she could decide whether or not to knock, the door opened.
    An attractive woman in her mid-forties stood inside the lavish foyer. Her brown hair was styled in the latest fashion, and her elegant dress was a clear indication that this was not the downstairs maid.
    “Mrs. Byers?” Sarah queried.
    The woman nodded. “Call me Elizabeth,” she offered, abandoning propriety in the manner of a true suffragist. “I’ll wager you are Sarah Donovan?”
    Sarah nodded.
    “We missed you. Everyone was looking forward to meeting Denver’s only female telegrapher.” She stepped back and gestured for Sarah to enter. “They’ve gone but come on in, anyway. I’m dying to hear about your adventures and pick your brain about suffrage movements back East.”
    “Goodness, how did you—”
    “Nothing’s a secret in this town, my dear, nothing at all. Especially not in this household.” She smiled and closed the door, then led the way into the front parlor. A host of empty chairs indicated the meeting had been well attended.
    “It looks like I missed a good meeting.”
    “We’re gathering steam all the time. Tea?” She indicated a fragile china pot. “Or perhaps sherry?”
    Sarah’s glance followed Elizabeth’s gesture. Two crystal decanters sat on a polished table. “No thank you, I’m not much of a sherry drinker.” Her gaze drifted to the second bottle, half full of amber liquid.
    Elizabeth noted the motion. “Brandy, it is,” she announced. “My preference anyway.” She gathered two snifters, filled them, and passed one to Sarah. “Sit”
    Sarah gathered her plain brown skirt and perched on a red velvet settee.
    Elizabeth sat across from her in a floral side chair. “We’re organizing rallies on a monthly basis for now, weather permitting. The Colorado Suffrage Organization will meet again in January. Our goal is to persuade the legislature to call for a referendum on suffrage. From there, if we succeed, there will be a host of rallies and, hopefully, an appearance from Miss Anthony herself. For now, my husband has agreed to run a weekly column in the Rocky Mountain News .”
    Sarah sipped at her brandy. At last, a group of women who took things seriously. She was so tired of undirected action. You couldn’t get noticed if you didn’t produce results. She leaned forward. “You sound so organized, so full of purpose. In Saint Louis, all we did was listen to speeches. A group appeared in local parades, but the