Mary McLeod Bethune rides from Harlem to an Upper East Side townhouse marked 47 and 49 yet sharing a single entrance. A startled maid admits her to an opulent drawing room where fashionable clubwomen mingle. Noting the contrast with her own attire, Mary surveys the book-lined walls and thinks of her students at Bethune-Cookman College.

As Mary circulates, conversations hush and familiar faces from the national club world offer cool acknowledgments. Despite being president of the National Association of Colored Women’s Clubs, she receives social snubs and retreats to the bookshelves rather than press unwelcome introductions.

Sara Delano Roosevelt approaches, greeting her as “Dr. Bethune.” Mary deliberately corrects her to “Mrs.,” explaining her doctorate is honorary. The women discuss Mary’s recent European travels, including an audience with Pope Pius XI and a tour arranged with Dr. Wilberforce Williams. They trade impressions of gardens—Kew in London and black roses in Switzerland—before a butler summons Sara for luncheon matters.

Left alone again, Mary observes the room’s reserve and steels herself. She notes she is not there because of Franklin Roosevelt’s career, but to meet her host, Eleanor Roosevelt, whose advocacy for the underrepresented intrigues her. Mary looks forward to that introduction, sensing the possibility of a meaningful alliance.