Hello Everybody! Today I have an excerpt of The Coming Woman by Karen J. Hicks. You can find information on the book and author as well. Enjoy!
The Coming Woman
By Karen J. Hicks
At a time when Hillary Clinton is considering another run
for the presidency, it might be helpful to consider the first woman who ran for
president—and at a time when women were prohibited from voting!
The Coming Woman, by Karen J. Hicks, is a novel based on the
life of feminist Victoria Woodhull, the first woman to run for U.S. President,
50 years before women could even vote!
Running for President wasn’t Victoria’s only first as a
woman. She was also the first to own a successful Wall Street firm, the first
to publish a successful national newspaper, and the first to head the
two-million-member Spiritualist Association.
She was the first woman to enter the Senate Judiciary
Committee chambers to petition for woman's suffrage, her argument changing the
entire focus of the suffragist movement by pointing out that the 14th and 15th
Amendments already gave women the vote.
In her campaign for the Presidency, Victoria Woodhull boldly
addressed many of the issues we still face today: equal pay for equal work;
freedom in love; corporate greed and political corruption fueled by powerful
lobbyists; and the increasing disparity between the rich and the poor, to name
only a few. Her outspoken and common-sense ideas may shed a new perspective on
the parallel conundrums of today’s world.
This bold, beautiful, and sexually progressive woman dared
to take on society and religion. To make an example of the hypocrisy in what
Mark Twain dubbed The Gilded Age, she exposed the extramarital affairs of the
most popular religious figure of the day (Henry Ward Beecher). This led to her
persecution and imprisonment and the longest, most infamous trial of the 19th
century. But it did not stop her fight for equality.
Victoria’s epic story, set in the late 1800s, comes to life in
a modern, fictional style, while staying true to the actual words and views of
the many well-known characters.
The Coming Woman was published by Sartoris Literary Group in August 2014 and is available for sale on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Praise for The Coming
Woman:
"If you have a heart, if you have a soul, Karen Hicks'
The Coming Woman will make you fall in love with Victoria Woodhull." -
Kinky Friedman, author & Governor of the Heart of Texas
"What kind of confidence would it take for a woman to
buck the old boy's club of politics in 1872? More than 140 years pre-Hillary,
there was Victoria Woodhull. This book takes you back with a breathtaking,
present-tense bird's eye view into a time when women's liberation was primarily
confined to one woman's very capable, independent mind. I couldn't put it
down." - Ruth Buzzi, Golden Globe Award winner and Television Hall of Fame
inductee
"The Coming Woman is a great read and a long overdue
biography written beautifully by Ms. Hicks. Victoria Woodhull comes alive in
each and every paragraph; a vital strength and spirit in Woodhull propels her
to run for president of the United States when women weren’t even allowed to
vote! What a woman, what a book! An inspiring must read for every woman and any
adventurous men! Thank you, Ms. Hicks for finally telling her colorful
story." - Jennifer Lee Pryor, author of Tarnished Angel: A Memoir and
President, Indigo, Inc.
About the Author:
Karen J. Hicks is retired and lives in Henderson, Nevada. She recently
published her second novel, The Coming
Woman, based on the life of the infamous feminist
Victoria C. Woodhull, who was the first woman to run for U.S. President. Her first
book was a self-help book titled The Tao of a Uncluttered Life. Karen served as
in-house editor for author Steve Allen and has written several screenplays, as
well as poetry, short stories, and essays. To learn more, go to http://www.karenjhicks.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheComingWoman
Chapter 1
The early spring drizzle on Great Jones
Street doesn’t deter newsboys from hawking the April 2, 1870 headlines up and
down the thoroughfare between the beer gardens and dance halls of the Bowery
and the opulent emporiums of Broadway.
“Petticoat Politician Victoria C. Woodhull
to run for President!”
“Indian raids in Wyoming!”
“Sergeant Patrick Gass of Lewis and Clark
expedition dies at ninety-eight!”
The heavy, mahogany front door at No. 17
flies open. Victoria Woodhull, lithe and fair at thirty, skips lightly down the
steps of the elegant four-story brownstone. Her bobbed and curled brown hair
bounces gently against her high forehead. A diamond ring glitters on her right
thumb.
“Queen of Finance takes on Government!”
yells a newsboy.
Victoria smiles as she hails him. He hands
her a New York Herald.
“So Mrs. Woodhull is to run for President,
is she?” she asks. “What do you think of that?”
“No offense or nuthin’ to you as a woman,
Ma’am, but it’s plum crazy.” The boy looks down and shuffles his feet.
Another newsboy waves and calls out,
“Mornin’, Mrs. Woodhull! You’re stirrin’ things up for sure today!” He runs on
yelling: “Bewitching Broker in dash to the White House!”
The mortified boy on the steps turns as
red as the fresh rose pinned to the black velvet band at Victoria’s throat. She
pats his cheek; her laughter is soft and melodic.
“Don’t be embarrassed, son. I’m sure you
won’t be the only one of your opinion. And I shouldn’t have tricked you. Here’s
an extra penny to apologize.”
“Thank you, Ma’am!” The boy scoots away,
calling out: “Asa Brainard pitches fifteenth straight win for Cincinnati Red
Stockings! New York Knickerbockers can’t stop ‘em!”
Victoria skips back up the steps, flipping
through the newspaper. Glancing up as she opens the door, she spies tall,
scarecrow-looking Stephen Pearl Andrews skirting puddles, hurrying toward her.
His bony nose, bushy gray hair, and grizzled beard glisten with droplets of
rain. His calf-length black coat flaps wildly in the breeze. Victoria grins and goes to meet him, blue
eyes sparkling like sunlit waves. She takes his arm and Andrews’ wildness softens
at her touch. He pats her hand.
“So did the Herald print your
announcement?” he asks.
“The entire thing! And Ashley Cole wrote the perfect headline
and introduction!”
“You are on your way to your destiny, la
mia stella.”
Inside the house, Victoria walks past tall
vases of fragrant flowers and a staircase that curls upward to the second
floor. She stops at a marble statue of
the famous Greek orator Demosthenes—classic tunic, laced sandals, laurel wreath
on his head.
“Demosthenes’ promise to me as a child—that
I would live in a mansion in a city surrounded by ships and rule my people—It’s
all coming true! How do you say thank you in Greek, Pearl?”
“Efharisto.”
“Efharisto, Demosthenes! I will
fight for freedom for our people as you did for the Greeks.” She pecks Andrews
on the cheek. “Demosthenes’ prophecy has driven my entire life, Pearl, but you
are his corporeal representation and have given me the courage to act on it. So
thank you, too.”
“Yes, yes. Let’s look at this announcement
now.”
Victoria opens the Herald to page
eight, and Andrews reads the headline aloud.
“’The Coming Woman, Victoria C. Woodhull,
to race for the White House: What she will and what she won't do . . . New
ideas on government.’” He beams proudly. “Victoria, a Golden Age is upon us,
and you are going to lead it!”
“Come, Pearl, we must tell the
family!” She takes Andrews’ arm and
hurries down the hallway, a spring in her step. Andrews reluctantly allows
himself to be dragged along. The cacophony of voices increases as they near the
kitchen, and Andrews slows his stride even more. Victoria chuckles. “Come now, you’re not going to the gallows.”
“I think I would rather,” Andrews mutters.
They enter the kitchen, where Victoria’s
mother Roxanna Claflin, a short, stern woman with tightly curled gray hair,
sits at the foot of the table, carping with a heavy German accent. She glares
at Andrews through round, wire-rimmed glasses.
Victoria’s quarrelsome father Buck, whose sharp features are made more
ominous by a black patch over his left eye, is at the table’s head. The long,
wooden benches along each side hold over a dozen sisters, husbands, and
children.
Victoria’s youngest sister Tennessee looks
up excitedly. Tennie is twenty-five, shorter than Victoria, and fashionably
plump. Her dark hair is an unruly mop of short, tousled curls, and her eyes
resemble deep wells of melted chocolate.
“Did they print it?” she asks.
“Every word!” Victoria says.
Colonel James Blood, Victoria’s dark and
dashing Civil War hero husband, walks over and kisses his wife. She kisses him
back, and then hugs her daughter Zulu Maud. The girl’s eyes light up with
adoration, looking like a sunny, summer sky.
Victoria tries to hug her son Byron as well, but he jerks away, spilling
his milk. Byron is physically large for his fifteen years, but mentally he is
still a five-year-old. He grins a toothless grin as Zulu Maud sops up the milk.
The family begins to bicker.
“My god, people!” Tennie yells, clapping
for attention. “Shut up for five minutes
and let Victoria read the paper! History is being made here.”
“Well, whoop-dee-do and hullabaloo. Who
gives a hoot.” Victoria’s sister Utica stands. Wobbles. She’s only twenty-nine
years old, but alcohol and drugs have stolen her beauty and zest. She staggers
out.
Roxanna pushes back from the table, her
face blotched with anger. She glares at the Colonel. “It’s you, Mr. Hellbound
Blood!” She turns her fury on Andrews next. “And you and your passel of
Free-lovers! You’ve led my baby onto this path that will destroy her and all of
us along with her!”
“Oh for heaven’s sakes,” sister Polly
snaps. “Victoria is not going to the White House. What party will support her?
We’re just poor people from Ohio.”
“Mr. Lincoln was a poor boy from
Illinois,” Pearl counters. “And look what a fine president he turned out to
be.”
“Yeah, he was so fine someone shot him,”
Polly says.
“That’s what I mean! You want someone to
shoot you, Victoria?” Roxanna rushes
out, wailing hysterically in German.
“My god, Sis, you better read before
somebody else has a hissy fit.”
“I can’t. Not with Mama so upset.”
She hands the paper to Tennie, who skims
the page.
“My god, look at the end! ’Victory for
Victoria in 1872!’ Whatta brick ol’
Ashley is!”
“Miss Claflin, it’s unladylike to use such
slang,” Pearl scolds. “But a fine prediction nonetheless. You must tell your
friend I applaud him. I couldn’t have written a better introduction to
Victoria’s announcement.”
“At least not in so few words,” Tennie
teases. She hands the paper to Colonel
Blood.
“Ashley probably should have left out this
part about Victoria winning if women are allowed to vote. The male zeitgeist
will bury a suffrage amendment for sure now,” Blood says.
“I agree,” Andrews says. “I’m sure he
meant it as a vote of confidence, but politicos are threatened by anyone with
an intelligent thought and the courage to voice it. Especially if that person is a woman.”
“Well, they’re just going to have to get
used to it,” Victoria says. “I’m going to pursue this to the end and with the
Spirits’ blessing I will win.”
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