Barbara Crenshaw

Seating herself in the comfortable chair, Barbara adjusted her trousers to remove the inconvenient twist that always seemed to restrain her movements. Wearing pants added a lot of ease to her life, but sometimes she recognized the benefits of wearing woman's garb. Skirts felt cooler and didn't constrict, but pants made moving around so much easier.

Barbara pulled open the file drawer and retrieved her work for the day, then grabbed her to-do list from the shelf where she always stashed it. According to her father, Barbara wasted too much time with the professor. She only volunteered a couple of hours three days per week, but "Marshall Crenshaw's daughter needed to focus on developing marketable skills, not wasting her time with useless mental pursuits." Irritated, Barbara sighed at the thought.

Though she stared at the to-do list for several minutes, she couldn't focus on it to any practical extent. Her mind wandered compulsively back to the events of the last several weeks. Marshall Crenshaw held the coveted political position of having both a content electorate and an uncontested political race in which to run. The imminent election did not compel Barbara's dad to any great anxiety.

Just because he didn't feel nervous about winning the election, however, did not mean that he would allow his daughter to behave in any way that might besmirch his pristine character. Marshall Crenshaw toed the line of convention, and Barbara's tendency to buck the system often sent him into paroxysms of apprehension.

"I am not an unfamiliar name in this town," he would chastise his daughter on her more vocal days. "You cannot parade around campus offering your outlandish opinions like every other university student."

Barbara appeased him to his face, but away from his presence, she relentlessly pursued every opportunity to express her thoughts. Too many ills blighted the society of her little world in northwest St. Louis; too many people still suffered injustice at the hands of corrupt men. From her perspective, the mere presence of the gangs that manipulated every aspect of business in their town required decisive action, and though Barbara knew she held little power in any true sense, did that fact preclude her taking every opportunity to change things?

For instance, she mused, the current city council election that involved two men of vastly different character. One received all the accolades, one deserved them. Barbara knew she couldn't actively campaign for either, but why, she wondered, did she have to stay entirely out of the political race since it didn't involve her father? Couldn't she involve herself in causes that didn't affect him?

It all affected him, he would counter.

So, Barbara should just sit idly by while dishonest and corrupt politicians got in bed with gangsters, offering protection to the criminals so they could victimize honest men? Barbara couldn't stomach the thought.

The professor's office provided her with a respite, a place where she could encounter all of the latest information, offer her opinions, and not have to defend herself against her father.

Still, Barbara loved her father, a kind man with good intentions. She would not, however, concede to curb her candid expression of thought, and if she ever found it within her power to stem the tide of evil that had arisen over her lifetime in St. Louis, Barbara would do it.

Staring at the phone, Barbara wrestled for the hundredth time with her desire to stir the political embers of the city. Her father would never approve, but Barbara had one ace that she would love to play before the coming election. Anna Cosgrove.

Since Barbara could remember, Anna had lived next door to the Crenshaw house. Ten years Barbara's senior, Anna had doted over the curly-headed little blond from next door. Barbara had never taken advantage of her older friend's affection, but desperate times called for more intense methods. Zealousness for a just cause, Barbara reasoned.

Now, Anna Cosgrove held a byline in the major St. Louis paper, quite a feat for a woman, Barbara knew. Despite the tenuousness of Anna's position, Barbara couldn't help but think that the position also offered manifold opportunities.

Suppose, Barbara reasoned, I could convince Anna to publish some of my suspicions about Regis McReynolds? Of course, Anna would protest if Barbara requested the publication sans proof, but Barbara held out hope that she would eventually find some acceptable form of evidence. If she did find it, she wondered, would she actually go through with her ambitious plans? Barbara felt certain that she would, even if her father protested. Someone needed to interfere with the status quo in St. Louis, and no one seemed particularly willing to do the job.