© Copyright Connie Gotsch

Prologue
Spring Water, Kansas 1974

Phew. Breathing through her mouth to deflect the stench of tobacco and sweaty coveralls, Betsy Craig gave a deliberately hard shake to a bell on the old reception desk at the Spring Water Legal Aid Society. Her stomach burned as if a witch’s brew boiled in it. Parker, you bastard, you’ll rue the day you did this.

A slight woman in corduroys and sweater came out of an office, one of several made of shoulder-high partitions placed around the room. “Hello.” She crossed her arms against a draft. Then her pale brows arched. “Oh, you’re the reporter.”

“Was,” Betsy growled, recognizing Karen Kingsley, a lawyer she’d once interviewed about farm foreclosures. “I need advice. Can I make an appointment?”

“You don’t need one.” Karen looked up to meet Betsy’s gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been the victim of discrimination.” The thought made her spitting furious.

With a frown, Karen beckoned toward her cubicle. “Come this way. Would you like some water?”

“No, thanks.” I want my just desserts.” Betsy entered the cramped space and settled her solid frame in a folding chair. “I’ve been fired from the radio station because at the football game last week, a stupid engineer said the F-word into an open mic.”

“I was listening.” The other rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Mercy! Who was that?”

“Rudy Jameson.” She realized that her thick yellow braid had slipped forward over her shoulder, and she flung the hair across her back.

The attorney gave her a disgusted look. “I knew him in high school. You should have seen the French post cards in his locker. How did you get mixed up with his shenanigans?”

“I was in charge of the broadcast.” Betsy shivered, both from the dampness in the building and the thought that Karen might consider her as bad as Rudy. “I opened the circuit to the stadium, expecting he’d cue the announcer to start the show.”

“That’s Ben Gray, right,” Karen interjected, picking up a legal pad and pencil. “Was Rudy cussing him out?”

“He was getting even with me, I think. He knew the mic was hot.”

“What did you do?” Karen’s brows arched.

“Pushed him away that morning when he pinched my behind.”

The lawyer gave Betsy an appraising look. “And Parker fired you?”

She nodded, too angry to speak.

"Bob’s got a reputation of being fair, Miss Craig," Karen said slowly. "Are you sure he didn’t let you go for another reason? You and Rudy weren’t—"

Betsy’s back stiffened. “I beg your pardon, Miss Kingsley.”

“Okay, okay.” Karen lifted her hand. “Just wanted be sure from a legal standpoint.”

“We are in the clear.” An edge crept into Betsy’s reply. “Parker said sponsors blamed me for what Rudy did since I was running the station. They were threatening to pull ads if I wasn’t let go.”

A man in another cubicle rose and stared. Someone else snickered, then coughed.

Karen pushed her platinum bangs out of her face and put her finger to her lips. “Parker would have dismissed a man under the same conditions.”

Betsy answered softly, though her ribs felt like they were cracking under an iron corset. "He said it wouldn’t happen to a guy. After hiring me, he realized women couldn’t handle men like Rudy, and radio wasn’t a profession for—’gals.’ Can you imagine?" Her voice cracked. "Then you had to suggest we were—"

“That’s what an opposing lawyer would do, unfortunately. But I shouldn’t have without hearing the whole story.” Karen’s delicate features softened. “I apologize.”

Betsy relaxed. “Maybe Bob was caught between ethics and income. But even so, firing me was discrimination.”

“You’re certainly right about that.” Karen sighed. “Do you have a contract with KDES, or a witness who heard what Bob said?”

“Neither. We were alone in his closed office.”

The other woman laid her hands on her desk, palms down. “Then I’m sorry to say, you haven’t got a case.”

“What?” Betsy felt her jaw drop. Karen couldn’t mean it.

“Breech of contract’s the only way we could nail him. We’d never prove discrimination. It would be your word against his, on his turf.”

Betsy’s cheeks felt hot. "You mean— There’s nothing I can do?"

“No.” Karen put her pad away. “The Federal Communications Commission is starting to look into cases like yours, so maybe someday you’ll have a grievance process, but not now. I’m sorry.”

“But he refused me a reference. How am I going to get another job?” Her words squeezed out of a tight throat. “This was my first one out of school. I’ve been on it a year.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” Karen set down her pencil.

Betsy felt like she’d been flung off a cliff, and lay stunned at its foot. "Then—why did I work for equal rights in college? What good is Affirmative Action?"

“Affirmative Action is not a magic bullet.” With a shake of her head, Karen folded her arms. “The double-standard is very strong in Spring Water, laws or no laws.”

“That is not fair.” Betsy shouted, rage bringing back her strength.

“Life’s rotten sometimes.” The lawyer put her legal pad into a drawer. “Often, you can’t even make it equitable. I wish I could help, but it’s impossible.”

“Then, there’s no way to fight half the discrimination that occurs.”

Karen let her hands fall into her lap. “Unfortunately, no.”

“So now what?” Betsy slumped in her chair. “Back to manipulating under the table like our mothers did?” Frustration brought tears to her eyes.

“Sometimes that’s still the best, awful as it sounds.”

With sadness, Betsy wiped her hand across her face. No use crying. That would take the energy she needed to make plans. “There’s always graduate school for a new start, I guess.”

“You’ll have to leave Spring Water.” With a small smile, the lawyer rose and walked to the door of her office. “There are no universities for a hundred miles.”

Of course not. Otherwise, people would have to think in this place. Betsy stood, too. “I moved out here to take this job. I certainly won’t die of finding a better opportunity.” If there is one. Reporting’s a tough field. Fresh tears threatened.

“Try the Columbia School of Journalism,” Karen nodded. “It’s a good one.”

"I’ll find the place that’ll get my career back on track. I don’t care where it is. Thanks for your help." Lifting her chin, she turned toward the reception area.