Of Dubious And Questionable Memory - Plot & Excerpts
The evening was awash with mellow light spilling from the shutters as we made the short trek to the Wright Tavern. We found our seats amid the bustling congregation of mostly male attendees. The group seemed in high spirits, likely due to the tankards of ale we saw in many hands. A stove in the corner sputtered a bit but provided little warmth. I shivered despite my tweed coat and knit scarf. “Quite appropriate for them to meet here where the revolutionaries rallied,” Merinda said, taking in the history of the place. We were greeted with smiles from a small group of women settling into the row in front of ours. They had taken the train from Amherst, we learned. Merinda said we were from Toronto visiting our cousin, and that we were interested in the workings of the anarchist movement in the States. She wanted to bring back information, she said. She was much better at keeping her voice low than I, but these Federation women took us for who we were in an instant. Finally, we whipped off our hats and let our hair trail free.
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