The crowd was considerably larger than they had expected. It took the trio a surprisingly long time to get anywhere near the action and they might not have managed it had Anne not led the way, elbows first and something to prove.
They stopped a few times in the pursuit of the demonstration's organizers to interview onlookers. They couldn't get anyone on the record but were able to gleam that the action was not, in fact, organized. It was an organic, grassroots response to the termination of a woman employed as a teaching assistant to the Dean of Medicine. According to rumours, the woman and the Dean had been engaged in a romantic relationship which the University frowned upon seeing as the man was married and the woman in his employ. This morning, the University had signaled that the Dean had learned his lesson and would retain his position and full pension, etc.
Rumours were helpful but verified sources are what they needed if they were going to publish anything and Anne was as determined as ever to get to the heart of the story. She all but pushed people out of her way as she slogged closer and closer to the steps of the Medical Department building in King's College Circle. Davies, the paper's photographer, was a portly gentleman and was very overwhelmed by the heat the day and the friction of the crowd. When he stopped a fourth time to recover his handkerchief from his pocket and wipe the sweat from his brown, Anne blew a fuse.
"We're going to miss it! Come along, now, we're so close! Soldier on, Sir, Soldier on!" She picked up his camera, grabbed his bag right out of his hands, and carried on towards the front.
In spite of her focus and resolve, Anne could not help but imagine finding herself face to face with Christine. She imagined Christine might be among the protest leaders but, even if not, Christine was her best (and only) source and she'd have to chase that lead either way.
"Who was that?" asked Kathleen, who lived just across the hall, as soon as Christine stepped out of Anne's room.
"That's Gilbert's girl. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert."
"Gilbert Blythe? Really? Honest to God, I thought you and he were at item, Christine."
"No, no, we're just good friends," protested Christine, lightly. There was something in the way Christine said this, something about the way she shaped the words, that convinced Anne she'd been smiling while she said it.
"I assumed Gilbert's girl would be, I don't know, better looking somehow?"
Anne bit her lip, trying to push the memory back into the pit of her stomach where it lived rent-free. She had spent many hours reflecting on and wrestling with Gilbert's relationship with Christine and whether the writing had been on the wall all along; it had, of course it had. Why would Gilbert want to be with a poor, ugly orphan when such a woman as Christine existed in this world? The taste of blood in her mouth pulled her out of her head and into the moment: they were a ten or so feet from the front of the crowd, aka 'go time.' Anne closed her eyes, shook her head, and took a deep breath. She was a journalist and broken-hearted or not she had a job to do and that job was to interview Christine and the other women leaders on the record. To tell their story. To fight for what's right. She slowly opened her eyes and lifted her head:
"Anne?"
Time stopped.
"Winnifred?"
The two women stood absolutely still, chins on the floor for all intents and purposes. Winni was so rattled she dropped her megaphone which the woman to her right promptly picked up and continued:
"Enough is enough. Women have been sacrificed on the altar of men for too long. Men's egos. Men's prosperity. Men, men, men. We are women and we demand more. We demand better. Equal rights for women! Votes for women!" The crowd erupted in applause for the most part. There were dissenters of course, but fewer than one might think. They stood off to the side booing and spitting but were so few in number that the masses simply ignored them and drowned them out.
"We'll need to get some opposing views for the article. I'll pop over and see if I can get one of them on the record," stated Davies, matter-of-factly. This was enough to pull Anne out of the state of shock seeing Gilbert's old girlfriend had put her in.
"What? Are you joking? We need not concern ourselves with the opinions of the few before we've properly captured the views of the many," said Anne, hotly gesturing to the hundred (thousands?) of people gathered. "Mr. McCoy, may I present Miss Rose."
"Nice to meet you," said Mr. McCoy, somewhat dazzled by Winni's dazzling blue eyes.
"Likewise," responded Winni slowly, still very confused and disoriented by Anne's presence.
"Miss Rose, we are covering the protest for The Globe and we'd love to get a statement from one of the leaders of today's action. Can you comment?"
"Uh … I'm …. Hold on." Winni signaled to the woman to her left who handed the megaphone off to another leader. The two had a private conference before returning with a third older woman.
"Anne, may I present Dr. Augusta Stowe-Gullen and Dr. Emily Stowe?"
"Pleased to meet you. My colleagues and I are covering this action for The Globe and we'd like to interview you for the story."
"A woman reporter?" asked Dr. Stowe-Gullen curiously.
"Indeed. Well, an intern if I'm being honest," responded Anne.
"Very well" said Dr. Stowe. "Mom, it ought to be you. This is your life's work. There is no one better to speak to it than you." Dr. Stowe was stoic, her face bearing her thoughts and feelings in no way that Anne could discern.
"I am prepared to entertain an interview," said Dr. Stowe after a moment, "on the condition that the young woman's identity be withheld in any and all tellings of this story. She has been through enough and I will not let the papers drag her name through the mud."
"Absolutely," stated Anne enthusiastically.
"Now, I don't know," said McCoy.
"What don't you know?" Anne retorted with stifled rage.
"If we've going to tell this story, we're going to need the facts, all the facts. Not just the convenient ones."
"This is my condition, and that of all of my co-facilitators. Leave the woman's name out of it, or we don't talk."
All eyes turned to McCoy. As much as the women didn't like it, this was his call. They waited, apprehensively. McCoy pulled the pencil from behind his ear and chewed on the eraser a little. He returned it to his ear, and then pulled it again, licking his lips.
"Alright, you have a deal. Is there a quiet place where we can talk?"
"Yes," said Dr. Stowe-Gullen. "Follow me." She led their party of six to the back door of the building next door. Once inside, Anne felt someone tug at her sleeve.
"Anne, can we chat a moment?" asked Winni.
"Yes, certainly, but after, yes? This is my first scoop and if I want to share the byline I need to be right in there for this. Front row. You understand?"
"I understand. Please, just tell me this. Am I likely to run into … him … in all of this? I'd like to prepare myself."
Anne, rushing down the corridor to catch up with the others, turned her head to Winni and said in haste, "Him who?"
"Gilbert of course," Winni shouted.
"How should I know?!"