Mail Order Annie
Copyright© 2025 by DFL Runner
Chapter 5
•• Trigger warning: sexual assault ••
Even though the blinds had been drawn tightly across her windows, the morning sun still drifted through them. Annie had slept very little the night before as she replayed the previous day’s events in her mind: how Mr. Wheedon had looked away rather than making eye contact, how he had wrung his hands, even the stark silence that fell across the entire schoolhouse when he announced her dismissal.
Try as she might, she could not bring herself to be as angry with him as she perhaps ought to have been. She understood, on some level, that he had simply been doing his duty and had been speaking for the town committee, not for himself.
If anything, she was angry at the town committee for sending one of its more feckless members to do its bidding. She was angry that, in trying to denounce her for teaching the Declaration of Sentiments, they had, in fact, affirmed it. They had shown that she as a woman was “less than,” and had silenced her rather than perhaps at least acknowledging the need for a redress of grievances that many women had.
There was at least one bit of comfort she could take: her words, once spoken to those impressionable children, could not be called back. Those words would still live in the minds and the hearts of those children, where they might well bear fruit that she would never learn about. For that reason, she had no regrets about having taught the lesson, and would do it again, even knowing the cost.
That evening, there was a knock at the door. Annie was a bit nonplussed when she opened the door to find Lydia Millbrook standing there.
If Annie was being shunned for teaching that women ought to be defined by more than the man they married, Lydia was an outright pariah. She ran what was politely called a boarding house on the edge of town. The reality was that it was a brothel, and Lydia was its madam. Although women plying their trade in such an establishment wasn’t forbidden, it was not something discussed in polite company, either.
“Come in, Miss Lydia,” Annie said, unsure what brought her here.
Lydia sat. “I am here to offer you a position in my boarding house.”
The color drained from Annie’s face. “I ... no. I couldn’t...”
Lydia held up her hand. “No ... not that sort of position. I have need of a teacher. Many of my girls don’t know how to read or write. I should like you to instruct them.”
Annie hesitated, and Lydia arched an eyebrow at her. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but your alternatives are limited. Even if you could find another teaching position, they would reach out to the town committee for a recommendation. What do you think Reverend Sexton will tell them?”
A large piece of the puzzle fell into place for Annie. Reverend Ezekiel Sexton was the president of the town committee. He refused to do business with the wives of the shopkeepers around town, insisting on transacting his business with their husbands. He would not even allow women to teach Sunday school classes, not even to the young children, pointedly reminding everyone of the Apostle Paul’s directive that women should remain silent in the church. He, more so than anyone else, would have been incensed once he learned that she had presented the Declaration of Sentiments to the students, and, as a man of the cloth, would have had enough influence to persuade the rest of the committee to terminate her.
Further, Lydia was correct. If anyone approached the town committee for a recommendation, Reverend Sexton would insist on writing it. And it would not be complimentary.
Annie cast her eyes downward and nodded.
“None of that,” Lydia said sharply. “I have no shame about what I do. I tell my girls there is no shame in what they do. And there assuredly is no shame in what you will be doing. You are teaching them. You are giving them the tools to be the women you wanted the girls in your class to be. Be proud of it!”
Although it was a bit awkward for her at first, Annie grew comfortable in her role in the house. The ladies who worked there would come and go, and it wasn’t long before some ladies were coming to the boarding house primarily to learn to read and write. Annie became their teacher, their counselor, their confidant. And she was often surprised by the clientele. Lydia’s one non-negotiable rule – for her and for all the others in the house – was confidentiality. They were not permitted to ever breathe a word about anyone who sought their services. Many – not all, but many – of the men in the town came to visit on a regular basis. Annie was initially scandalized when she learned that some women patronized the house as well, but Lydia thought little about it, simply observing that “everyone has their own desires.”
One afternoon, a resident named Hattie came to her, holding a magazine.
“Miss Annie? I need help writing a letter.”
Annie glanced at the page to which the magazine was opened. It appeared to be an advertisement of some kind. “What is this?”
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