American Progress

by Veda Boyd Jones

  “I hope the trolley’s on time in this deep snow,” Mama worried as she pulled on her leather gloves. Papa walked to the flour mill every day, but he insisted they invest in the trolley for Mama.

  “Mayhap my wife must go to work,” he’d say, “but walk to work she will not.”

  “I saw them clearing the tracks over on Nicolett Street,” Thomas said as he shook snow off his coat and hung it up on the hooks by the back door. “You might cross over a street and wait there.”

  “I’ll do that, Thomas. Thank you.”

  “Your breakfast’s on,” Libby said.

  “Thanks, Libby.” Maria stepped to the sink to run water over her hands to bring feeling back to her fingers. “Mama, may I wear Thomas’s knickers to school? The snow’s terribly deep.”

  A gasp escaped Libby’s lips. “Maria! Thomas’s knickers?”

  Mama didn’t react so violently. She simply said, “Of course not, Maria. What a silly question. Eat your breakfast and get changed quickly so you won’t be late for school. Your knitted petticoat will keep you warmer even than knickers.” She kissed each one of them and stepped toward the door. “Be sure to speak to Curt before you leave.”

  Thomas stepped to the door to help her against the wind. Mama turned and said, “We all appreciate you taking Curt’s place, Maria.”

  “Pleased to help,” she answered politely. What she wanted to say was, “If I can throw his papers, why can’t I wear knickers to school?” But she bit her tongue and swallowed the words.

  She turned to the mirror above the sink where Papa shaved each morning. His leather strop hung on a nail close by. The mirror was an old one, small and sort of greenish with brown spots where the silver had worn off on the back. She glanced at her plain face and her too-big nose. A face much better suited to be a boy’s than a girl’s, she thought.

  After breakfast, Maria changed into her school dress and slipped into Curt’s room to tell him good-bye. On the wall of the boys’ bedroom hung two flyers. One was a travel advertisement that said, “See the Wild West.” The second was an advertisement for a real Wild West show that had come through town a year ago. Horses were a source of constant fascination for Curt. He would even pet the old nags in town that were hitched up to delivery drays. Curt was quiet, but when he did talk, he talked about cowboys and horses.

  Maria looked at his face as he lay beneath the covers, his cheeks pink from fever. His dark tousled hair was the color of Papa’s. He was probably dreaming about riding across the wide-open range that very moment. She knelt down by his bedside.

  “We’re about ready to leave, Curt,” she said softly. “Anything you need?”

  His dark lashes fluttered then, and his wide blue eyes looked at her. “I thought you were already gone.”

  “We wouldn’t leave without telling you good-bye.”

  “I heard you leave earlier.”

  “I helped Thomas throw your paper route.”

  “You did?”

  She nodded. “It’s very hard work, Curt. I don’t see how you do it. I’m so proud of you.”

  He smiled. “Did you meet the boys? Tony and Liver Lid and all of them?”

  “I did.”

  “They like me. I’m their friend and so is Thomas. Tony had a pet mouse one time, and he let me hold it.”

  Maria gave a little shiver at the thought. “I’m glad you’re friends with them.” She leaned over and kissed his hot forehead. “I’m going now, but I’ll come home during lunchtime to check on you.” She tapped the glass of water on the small spindle-leg table by the bed. “I’m leaving your water right here.”

  “Thanks, Maria. Tell Thomas good-bye for me.”

  “Tell him yourself,” she said, pointing to the door.

  “What about me?” Thomas entered with Libby on his heels. Both were dressed in their heavy coats and mufflers.

  “Sorry I couldn’t help this morning, Thomas,” Curt told his older brother. “Real sorry. I woulda come, but Mama said not.”

  “Mama was right,” Libby said in a motherly tone. “It’s right nasty out there.”

  Maria slipped out of the room and downstairs to get her coat and muffler on. As she pulled on her knitted hat, she figured that if Curt grew worse, she’d stay home with him that afternoon. Mama might not be able to take time off work, but it wouldn’t hurt if Maria missed a little school time.

  Thomas walked only halfway with the girls before turning off to Central High School, where he attended. Libby and Maria then had to make their own path to Washington Elementary. If Curt had been with them, he’d have thought it was his duty to break the path. Maria did it instead, walking ahead of Libby and doing a fair job of it, even though she was getting most of the snow down her overboots. How she wished she were still dressed in knickers. Boys were so lucky.

  Several eighth-grade boys were shoveling the school sidewalks when they arrived. Every once in a while, one boy would dump a shovelful of snow on another, which resulted in a wild wrestling match.

  “Boys!” Libby said in a disgusted tone.

  Maria thought the rowdiness looked to be great fun. She usually stayed out on the playground until the bell was rung, but she’d about had her fill of snow and cold today.

  Inside the seventh-grade room, the steam radiators hissed as they pumped at full pressure. Some of the girls had placed their wet woolen mufflers on the radiators to dry, and the room smelled like damp wool.

  Cathy Wyatt and Evelyn Moore and that bunch were standing close by the radiator in the farthest corner of the room, talking and giggling. They paid little attention to Maria, and she returned the favor. Just because their fathers were successful businessmen and just because they had a few nicer things to wear, they seemed to think they were something special.

  Maria went into the cloakroom to hang up her things. The wooden floor was wet with puddles from snow melting off all the overboots. Mr. Jameson had scheduled a geography test for that day, and last evening Thomas had helped her study. She was sure to make an A.

  As Maria came out of the cloakroom, Charles Briggs made a face at her. “Has your aunt Josephine been put in jail yet?” he asked. “Are you going to be the niece of a jailbird?”

  Maria walked past him as though he’d not said a word. The silly statement didn’t deserve one bit of her attention. Several kids snickered, and another boy picked up the taunt, “Jailbird. Jailbird. All them suffrage dames should be tossed in the clink.”

  Cathy and her friends in the back of the room snickered as though on cue. Only Torvald Ueland didn’t join in the laughter. The quiet Norwegian boy who sat in Maria’s row always behaved himself no matter what mischief happened in the room. Although Maria didn’t know him well, she respected him.

  Taking her seat, she opened her geography book to review her notes. Charles would probably flunk the geography test as he usually did. Why should a dummy like Charles be able to vote one day and Maria not have that same right? She was a whole lot smarter than Charles Briggs.

  It had only been a few months since Aunt Josephine joined the suffrage association in Minneapolis. Maria was proud of her aunt for joining and proud of Uncle Robert for allowing her to do so. How Charles Briggs found out about Aunt Josephine was anyone’s guess, but such gossip did spread quickly. Obviously, he’d heard about the suffragettes in Washington, DC, who were being arrested and thrown in jail.

  Just then, Mr. Jameson came breezing in the door, smiling as usual. “This is not a good day to be the owner of an automobile,” he said with a laugh. “Even after I dug her out of the snow, my old tin lizzie just stood there and refused to turn over.”

  Charles, suddenly the picture of perfect behavior, rushed up to take Mr. Jameson’s book satchel. “Here, sir. Let me help.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Mr. Jameson pulled off his hat and muffler and hung them just inside the cloakroom on the special peg that was his. “And anyway,” he continued, pulling a comb from his pocket and slicking down his curls, “as I came in on the t
rolley, I saw the folks who did get their autos started. They were stuck in drifts all along the way. Give me a horse and sleigh in winter every time.”

  The students laughed because Mr. Jameson didn’t even own a horse, let alone a sleigh. Soon their teacher was assigning the morning Scripture reading, which was followed by prayer, the flag salute, and singing the national anthem. Evelyn and Cathy took turns playing the upright piano for the morning singing. Both took lessons, of course. Evelyn was a fair pianist, but Cathy still made plenty of mistakes. Maria smiled to herself whenever it happened, but only because Cathy acted like she was better than anyone else in the class, and Maria knew for sure she wasn’t.

  When it was time for the geography test, Maria saw the scowl on Charles’s face. After Mr. Jameson asked that books be put away and the tests were handed out, she saw Charles craning to look over Anna Davis’s shoulder. Anna, bless her soul, was hunched over her paper. She’d probably noticed him looking on her work before.

  Maria flew through the test, remembering all the clever ways Thomas helped her to remember names and dates. Thomas said she had a quick mind. A quick mind, she thought as she took her paper to Mr. Jameson’s desk to hand it in. A great compliment from her smart older brother.

  As she returned to her seat, Maria took her library book from her desk and enjoyed the story while the others finished. But her mind was still on Aunt Josephine. How Maria wished she could serve in the suffrage association as well. It would be a crying shame to leave the future of the country in the hands of someone like Charles Briggs.

  CHAPTER 3

  At the Andersons’

  When Maria went home at lunch, Curt’s fever seemed worse. She decided to stay home with him. First, though, she ran next door to Mrs. Braun’s to borrow the telephone, wiping the snow from her boots carefully at the back stoop.

  Mrs. Braun’s house was scrubbed clean as a shiny nickel. Mama said Mrs. Braun followed her husband, Johann, from room to room wiping up his foot tracks. Mama said it in jest, but Maria wondered if it weren’t more truth than fiction.

  Maria called the school to say she was staying home with Curt then called the high school office to leave a message for Thomas to fetch Libby so their sister wouldn’t walk home alone.

  “Danke schön, Mrs. Braun,” Maria said as she left. “I’ll ask Thomas to shovel your sidewalk as soon as he comes home from school.”

  “Ya, Maria. I vould like dat very much. By the time Johann shuts up der leather goods shop, iss too dark to see der shovel.”

  Maria nodded. “I know. It’s very dark when Papa comes home, too.”

  The blustery weather made home seem cozier than ever to Maria. Through the afternoon, the hand-carved German clock that hung in the parlor kept her company. The little man and woman came out and danced as a lilting polka melody played, then the clock bonged the hours. The beautiful clock was one of the only things Papa had received when his parents had died. All the other things that had come from the old country went to his older brothers.

  Maria made a pot of soup for supper. When she took a bowl of the soup upstairs to Curt, he was deeply immersed in a book. Next to horses, Curt was partial to books—even when he was sick. Mama said Curt would rather read than eat, and it was true. This dime novel was called The Call of the Canyon, which sounded quite boring to Maria.

  After he’d eaten the soup, she asked, “Want to come downstairs? I can fix a bed on the divan.”

  “May I bring my book?”

  Maria smiled. “Can’t imagine you without it.”

  She’d no sooner said it than he grabbed another book from beneath his pillow, The Boss of the Lazy Y.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Maria was sure Curt was feeling better.

  At supper he was able to sit at the table with the family even though his cheeks were still flushed.

  “Did I do right to stay home with Curt?” Maria asked Mama. Now that the sparkle had returned to her little brother’s eyes, she wondered if he’d stayed home just to avoid school.

  Mama and Papa exchanged glances as they often did before one of them answered the children. Papa had washed the white powdery flour from his face and hands, but short of a full bath, he never could quite get it all out of his dark hair and mustache. With a smile he said, “To have a tasty pot of soup already cooked for supper on such a blustery day, Maria, a blessing it would be to have you home every day.”

  “Now, Franz,” Mama chided him, “don’t tempt her.” Mama then said, “Why don’t we ask Curt his opinion?”

  After tipping his bowl to get the last spoonful of soup, Curt said, “I started perking right up when Maria said she was staying with me. Being sick is worser when you’re all alone.”

  “There you have it,” Mama said.

  “Aw now, Curt, I bet your nose was so deep in a book you didn’t know if you were alone or not,” Thomas teased.

  Curt grinned and tossed his head to shake the long hair out of his eyes. “I was reading, but I was still lonely ‘til Maria came. She let me come down to the divan.”

  “Wish I coulda been here, too,” Libby said, not wanting to be left out.

  “What?” Thomas said in mock surprise. “And miss the piggyback ride through the snow?”

  Maria looked at her brother. “You carried her piggyback? Wasn’t that quite a load?” After all, Libby was quite a bit heavier than their young cousins Lloyd and Joanne, who often received piggyback rides from both Maria and Thomas.

  “I carried her only a short way,” he said. “It was fun. Or at least I thought it was.”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas,” Libby said, her eyes lighting up at his teasing. “Riding on your back truly was fun.”

  “Will I go to school tomorrow?” Curt asked.

  Mama looked at Papa again. “What do you think?”

  “A safe bet would be one more day inside,” Papa said.

  Curt groaned. “But my route.”

  “I can do it again, Curt.” Maria tried not to let the excitement bubble up through her voice. “I’m not taking your work away from you. I’m only your substitute.”

  Curt seemed satisfied with this.

  “Speaking of substitutes,” Papa said, “the secretary of our workers’ union is quitting his position. The men want me to put my name in as a candidate.”

  Mama was quiet, but Maria saw her purse her lips tight.

  “Will you do it?” Thomas asked.

  “I’m considering it.”

  Quiet followed. Each of them knew how the management of the mill hated the unions. According to them, union members were nothing but troublemakers. Papa had been a member for a time, but never an officer.

  Mama spoke with more calm than she was probably feeling. “When we say our prayers this evening, this matter will definitely be included.”

  At the newspaper office the next morning, Maria was again greeted by Tony and Liver Lid and the other boys. Liver Lid jabbed Tony playfully in the ribs. “If them headlines today is something that’ll sell fast,” he said, “then we’ll shovel a few sidewalks for an extra nickel or two.”

  “That we will,” Tony answered. “Enough to buy supper tonight. Sure can’t shine any shoes in this mess.”

  The sight of the younger boys dressed in ragged clothing filled Maria with sadness. While the Schmidts didn’t have much money, they at least had warm clothes and a mama and papa to remind them that God loved them. These boys had so little.

  Dozens of wealthy men dressed in heavy wool coats and fancy bowlers probably passed the boys every day and never saw their need. What was it about wealth, Maria wondered, that blinded people to the poor around them? If she had money, there’d be breakfast for them every morning. And warm mittens for all the stiff, red, cold fingers. And she’d never let them forget that God loved them.

  Throwing Curt’s route that morning was easier since many of the walks had been shoveled. And although it was bitter cold, at least there was no snow biting her face. As Thomas pointed where she
should throw, Maria formed a plan. If she helped her brothers every day, they could increase the routes by half again as much. What fun it’d be to wear a pair of Thomas’s knickers every day and work alongside the boys. She’d ask Mama the first chance she got.

  But Mama wouldn’t hear of it. “It’s boy’s work,” she said. “The Tribune would never give a route to a girl, so it’s out of the question.”

  Maria had found Mama alone in the kitchen just before they were to go visit Uncle Robert and Aunt Josephine that Friday evening. Maria hadn’t thought Mama would be so vehement about the matter.

  “They wouldn’t need to give me a route,” Maria protested. “If the boys asked for more territory, then I could help throw.”

  Mama was shaking her head before Maria got the last word out. “The answer is no. And I know it would be the same from your papa. The matter is closed.”

  Maria didn’t want to argue with Mama, but she couldn’t understand why she was able to throw Curt’s route when he was sick, but not every day. Why were people always thinking of rules about what girls could and couldn’t do? Same way with the vote. Maria believed everyone should be allowed to vote. Men and women alike.

  Aunt Josephine’s parlor never showed a speck of dust in spite of having three little ones dashing about. Maria breathed deeply of the sweet aromas of beeswax and turpentine, which had been used to make the oak floors glow. They’d all gathered in the parlor after dinner. For once they finished dinner without Uncle Robert being called away. His black bag was always on the front hall table, ready at a moment’s notice.

  Aunt Josephine had given Libby a past issue of Ladies’ Home Journal, and she was sitting at a small table, scissors in hand, cutting out pictures of ladies dressed in the latest fashions. Besides pinning the pictures on her bedroom wall, Libby created paper dolls from them and played for hours. On the floor nearby, Curt and six-year-old Lloyd played with Lloyd’s collection of wind-up toy automobiles.

  “So,” Uncle Robert was saying to Papa, “have you decided then? Will you be a candidate for secretary of your labor union?” Uncle Robert had a soft, gentle, doctor-kind of voice. He was used to talking kindly to sick folk.