April 18, 1963
Washington, D.C.
"It's such an honor to meet you, Mrs. Harriman."
Daisy Harriman roused herself from her usual afternoon bask in the sun and reluctantly turned from the window. She loved this room overlooking the garden and filled with sunlight. The sun was kind to old bones, and hers had been around for a good ninety-two years.
She smiled across at the eager young journalist who sat perched on the edge of the chintz armchair, her notepad and pencil held at the ready, part Emily Post, part Jacob Riis. So enthusiastic, so energetic and determined. And for a moment, Daisy was that young woman, with all the world before her. But that was behind her now. Daisy and other like-minded women had forced their way into their rightful place in the twentieth century. A new generation would
carry on from here.
"How does it feel to be the first-ever recipient of President Kennedy's Citation of Merit award?"
They both looked at the wall where the framed certificate hung in a place of honor. Citation of Merit for Distinguished Service to Florence Jaffray Hurst Harriman. Daisy was proud to have done her small part. Bordie would have been amused, and proud, but neither her husband nor her daughter, Ethel, had lived to see it. She was quite alone now.
And yet never quite alone: she had been one of many and they were still with her in spirit, if not in life. No, never quite alone.
"You've had such an astounding career," the journalist, whose name was Meg, continued. "Social reformer, union organizer, politician, diplomat. And to think that you began accomplishing all these things before women even had the right to vote."
She made it sound like ancient history, Daisy thought, and yet it seemed not so long ago when she and the ladies of the Colony Club first marched in support of the women garment workers, fought for the purity of food, for decent housing for the poor—for the right to vote. Her stint as Minister to Norway under Roosevelt during the war that changed the world seemed like yesterday.
"You were a young society matron living comfortably in New York City. You could so easily have been content with that life, donating to various causes from the comfort of your home. And yet you chose to lead. You took to the streets to protest the inequities of society. Risked your reputation and your physical safety to inaugurate change. You even barely escaped the German occupation of Norway with your life when you were minister there.
"You have served as an inspiration to so many. Can you tell me..."
"Yes?"
"What inspired you to step out of your secure life and throw yourself into the causes that would change the landscape of American culture forever?"
Daisy chuckled. "Oh, dear, did I do all that? Well, if you must know, it all began one summer, when I couldn't get a room at the Waldorf..."
CHAPTER ONE
August 1902
Newport, Rhode Island
Florence Jaffray Hurst Harriman swept into the drawing room, the lace under her trumpet skirt swishing ominously. "It's absolutely outrageous," she announced, coming to a stop equidistant between the two wing chairs where her husband, Borden Harriman, and their friend Charles MacDonald, who was visiting Newport for the month, were both nose deep in their respective evening papers.
Bordie was the first to look up. He smiled indulgently at his wife.
Daisy recognized that look, but at the moment she was in no mood to be indulged. "You'd think we were living in the Middle Ages and not 1902," she continued, since neither one of the men seemed inclined to ask her what she was upset about. "It's the twentieth century, for heaven's sake."
"What is it, my dear?" Bordie asked.
"I need to go down to the city for a day or two to run a few errands that I didn't have time to do before we left for Newport, and since the townhouse is being renovated, I don't have any place to stay. I just had Miss Gleason call the Waldorf to reserve a room and they refused her. Even though she told them it was for me. The concierge said they did not cater to unaccompanied ladies, no matter who they were. The very idea. I have a good mind—"
Bordie broke in before she could continue. "Well, why don't you stay with one of your friends? I'm sure Anne Morgan would be glad to have you. Maybe the both of you could travel down and have a nice afternoon of shopping and errands and such and stay at her house overnight."
"Anne is on the Continent and everyone else is in Newport."
