Free Rachel's Hope by Shelly Sanders

over the past few weeks, I can tell you are not easily defeated,” said Anna. “I have no doubt you’ll finish these books in two weeks and be back for more.”
    A gust of wind pushed them along.
    â€œFog’s rolling in,” said Anna, eyeing the soupy, opaque sky. “I should go.”
    A raindrop fell on Rachel’s cheek. She tightened her grasp on her books and smiled slyly at Anna. “Are you meeting your boyfriend?”
    Anna’s cheery expression froze. Rachel regretted asking such a personal question and chided herself for being so impulsive.
    â€œWe’re not seeing each other anymore,” said Anna in a sorrowful voice. “He wanted me to give up my trip to Russia to be with him, and I refused.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Rachel. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
    â€œIt’s for the best,” said Anna, putting on a show of relief that seemed artificial. “I’m covering a meeting tonight. It’s the National Council of Jewish Women. They want to have a discussion about women’s rights and women’s suffrage. Do you want to come?”
    â€œVery much,” said Rachel, grateful to be asked. She had an English class. But the chance to attend such a meeting and see Anna in action as a reporter was too tempting to pass up.
    â€œCome to Temple Emanu-El at seven o’clock.”
    â€œI’ll be there.”
    âš“ ⚓ ⚓
    Rachel tilted her head back to look at the twin Gothic towers of Temple Emanu-El that rose higher than any other building she’d seen in San Francisco. Wealthy Jews who had emigrated from Bavaria, had founded it. With its intricate columns and two onion-shaped domes, the building resembled a Torah scroll. Rachel heard animated voices and turned to see a parade of women approaching the arched Sutter Street entrance. Some came in pairs, others in groups, and a few were alone. Rachel could not keep her eyes from the women who marched into the synagogue with their backs held upright, their chins thrust forward. Most were well dressed in stylish skirts that draped elegantly to their feet. Many wore hats with feathers jutting high above their heads.
    What struck Rachel most, was that this meeting had been organized, and would be attended exclusively, by women. In Russia, this would not be possible. Buoyed by her newfound sense of freedom as a woman, Rachel strutted into the synagogue, head held high.
    Inside, about four hundred women filled a third of the seats facing the altar. The high ceiling was constructed of arches, and arched stained glass windows flanked the sides of the building. Three organizers of the Council of Jewish Women sat facing the congregation. Rachel scanned the group to find Anna. As she moved closer to the front, she spotted Anna in the first row of seats at the far right, animatedly talking to another elegantly dressed woman.
    â€œLadies, take your seats please,” said one of the organizers, a woman in her mid-forties.
    Rachel slipped into a seat, glanced over at Anna and saw that she was now sitting alone, pen poised above her paper, eyes fixed on the woman speaking.
    â€œWelcome to the San Francisco Chapter of the National Council of Jewish Women,” the organizer began. “I am Selena Solomons. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m the chapter president this year.”
    Selena went on to explain that she would update the committee on local activities, before getting to the purpose of the meeting—a vote to determine whether or not members were interested in making the case for women’s suffrage in the coming months. Only members were eligible to vote.
    Rachel, her eyes moving from Selena to Anna, sat mesmerized as Selena spoke about the success of their clean milk program for underprivileged children and the opening of a new school playground south of the trolley tracks on Market Street.
    Selena then proposed a new program: teaching sewing