American Progress

by Veda Boyd Jones

  But she’d dallied long enough. What had Carrie said about Mrs. Ueland not holding with lollygagging? Maria changed into her new cotton print, then peered at her reflection in the mirror above the washstand. A few strands of hair had blown loose due to the windy ride with Uncle Robert. She tucked them back into her braids, then washed her dusty face and hands before going back downstairs.

  Mrs. Ueland invited her to be seated as they discussed all that was to happen in the next few days. “When the frivolity begins,” she said with a wry smile, “it’s great fun. But first there is a great deal of hard work.”

  She nodded toward the back of the house. “You saw the carpenters working. Those are the booths. We’ll have a country store where we sell apples, jellies, pickles, and doughnuts. There’ll be a white elephant booth with anything and everything for sale—silly things like bears’ teeth and a nightcap belonging to someone’s grandmother.” She chuckled. “Our volunteers have wonderful imaginations.”

  Maria found herself wondering why she’d been so nervous. Mrs. Ueland was delightful.

  Looking at a list on her desk, the woman continued, “There’ll be a dishpan band, an onstage skit called ‘How the Vote Was Won,’ games, and even a few athletic events. Our guests shell out good hard cash for each event, and we raise a great deal of money to push forward with our work.”

  “Now,” she said, looking up from the list, “there’s cooking to be done, sewing, and decorating. Some of our volunteers will be on hand at various times in the next few days. You certainly won’t be working alone. The boys will help, too. They’re down at the lake now taking a quick swim. I allow them time to play and cool off during the day.”

  She looked at Maria then. “Do you swim?” she asked.

  Maria shook her head. She had never had a chance to learn to swim, but it was an exciting thought.

  “I didn’t suppose so, but at any rate, you can wade in the lake if you’d like. It’s wonderfully refreshing. I do it myself from time to time.”

  Maria studied Mrs. Ueland more closely, straining to imagine this dignified woman wading in the lake.

  “Where was I? Oh yes, ladies will be here to help out, and you just join in and do what they tell you. Can you sew?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am. I sewed most of this dress I have on.”

  “Excellent. A nice dress it is. For today, you can help the seamstress work on the buntings. She’s in the game room at the rear of the house. Lizzie Higgins is her name. She used to sew all my girls’ dresses when they were younger. Not much to do around here anymore, so I only hire her at times like this.”

  Mrs. Ueland paused then, as though to collect her thoughts. “All right then, you may go. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Maria replied.

  As she turned to leave, Mrs. Ueland added, “You’ll work only during the daytime. After supper your time belongs to you. Torvald and Rolf can show you around.”

  Then, as though she were sizing Maria up, she added, “The boys have old knickers you can wear to play in. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

  “Oh no, ma’am,” Maria said. Then realizing how enthusiastic she’d sounded, she added, “That would be fine, thank you.”

  Mrs. Ueland laughed. “I tend to agree, Maria. Dresses are terrible things for play. My girls always wore their brothers’ knickers when they played ball games and such.”

  The day flew by. Lizzie Higgins was a delightful old lady who could sew a beautiful seam on the treadle machine. She set Maria to pulling basting threads, but later Lizzie let her sew hems as well.

  At one point in the afternoon, Torvald came in and politely welcomed Maria and introduced her to Rolf. Rolf, who had the same clear blue eyes and sandy hair as his younger brother, was a year older than Thomas.

  “After supper, we’ll show you the animals in the barn,” Torvald told her. “And the lake, too, if you’d like.”

  The boys didn’t stay long. They said they were helping the carpenters with the booths and had to get back to work. Torvald’s kindness left Maria amazed. At school he was so quiet and reserved.

  When the workday was finished, Maria was surprised to find she was invited to join the family at their supper table. Attorney Andreas Ueland was a balding man who had a twinkle in his eyes, a smile on his lips, and a heavy Norwegian accent in his voice. Maria found herself listening closely to make out his words. The family laughed and talked together a great deal during the meal.

  Attorney Ueland made several jokes about the upcoming event, which would cause the grass to be trampled down and leave more trash and destruction behind than a “herd of wild African elephants,” he said. Mrs. Ueland merely laughed. Her husband’s jokes hadn’t offended her one bit.

  The boys were good to their word. Maria was given a boys’ blouse and a pair of knickers that fit her perfectly. After she’d changed, the boys showed her all around. At the barn she saw a few chickens, a cow, a driving and riding horse, and a lovely spotted pony. Maria immediately thought of Curt and how he would love this place. Especially the pony.

  “Do you ride him?” she asked. The pony was pushing up against the corral fence, and she was able to reach through the fence and pet his nose. It was softer than the velvet on Mama’s Sunday hat.

  “Sure,” Torvald answered. “All the time. Although Rolf here is almost too big for her now. His feet practically drag on the ground.”

  Maria laughed. Rolf’s legs were pretty long and lanky.

  “Want to ride?” Rolf asked. “He’s tame as a kitten.”

  “Oh, could I?”

  “If you’re willing, the pony is willing,” Torvald said.

  In no time, the pony was saddled and bridled, and Maria was astride the little horse. The boys instructed her in how to guide using the reins, and she rode round and round inside the corral.

  Once she had the hang of it, Rolf saddled the horse. The boys rode double and together with Maria rode down through the tall, dry grass in the pasture and around the lake. The sun was setting, sending golden streaks across the water. In the trees, insects were setting up an evening chorus. Maria had never been in such a peaceful place. Perhaps Curt was right about wanting to spend his life out West—out of the city.

  CHAPTER 12

  The Fund-Raiser

  That night up in the room, Maria sat on the window seat and stared out at the stillness and the glittering stars. The sight of the moon on the water made her think of the record on Uncle Robert’s Victrola about Moonlight Bay. Only this was Moonlight Lake.

  Night sounds filtered up to her window as did the breeze off the lake. It made her feel all soft and dreamy deep down inside, almost like the sweet music of Uncle Robert’s favorite song. She was sure she was much too full of exciting new things to ever be able to sleep. But as she lay in the wide, soft bed, tiredness quickly overtook her, and she was asleep in no time.

  In the next two days, she did everything from cooking, to cleaning, to decorating the booths. The boys pitched in, not seeming to care whether they were doing women’s work. They were as adept in the kitchen as the cook, yet both of them could swing a hammer and hang bunting with ease. They amazed Maria.

  The second evening, the three friends played in the shallow edges of the lake. At first, Maria tried not to soak the cuffs of the knickers she was wearing. But the boys insisted it didn’t matter. Then to prove it, they began splashing her. She was shocked, but almost by instinct she splashed them back. The war was on.

  Soon all three were breathless with hysterical laughter. By the time they went inside, they were soaked. Maria had never had such fun in her entire life. It didn’t seem to matter that she wasn’t acting like a lady.

  Not for a moment did Maria feel out of place during her three-day stay. That is, not until the guests began arriving. She’d conveniently put that out of her mind—the fact that wealthy guests would be swarming over the place.

  When she saw Rolf and Torvald in their expensive, custo
m-tailored suits with stiff, starched collars, Maria felt like disappearing. She’d brought her church dress, of course, but not even her church dress would be appropriate on such an occasion as this.

  No one had said a thing about her working during the festivities, so Maria hid up in the haymow of the barn. Since Mrs. Ueland had hired a team of servers, there was nothing for Maria to do. From the haymow she could observe all the comings and goings and yet not be seen. The guests numbered well over three hundred. Maria had never seen so many exquisitely dressed people in one place at one time.

  What a crying shame that the cause of women voters has to depend on these arrogant, well-heeled people, Maria thought. Surely there had to be a better way.

  Later, she heard noises below the ladder. Thinking it was Herb, the hired hand, she just sat very still. After a moment, Torvald’s head appeared through the opening in the floor. “Maria? Ah, I thought you might be up here.”

  Embarrassed at being caught, she gave a nervous laugh. “It’s a better view from up here. Not as likely to get trampled on.”

  He’d climbed the ladder one-handed, because his other hand was carrying a plate mounded up with goodies—sandwiches, deviled eggs, fruit, and iced cakes with candied fruit on top. “Here’s your ‘just desserts.’ For being a good sport when we splashed you in the lake.”

  She chuckled in spite of herself. Torvald was up in the haymow now, stepping over a large mound of hay as he came toward her.

  “You shouldn’t be up here,” she told him. “Your suit will get filthy.”

  He shook his head. “Dusty maybe. Not filthy.” He handed her the plate as he folded his long legs and sat down beside her.

  “Thank you.” The food did look very good. All the aromas had been drifting up from the various booths, and she’d had no supper. She ate a deviled egg, savoring its vinegary tartness.

  Torvald watched through the slatted window with her and never did ask her why she was sitting in the haymow. Instead, he told stories about his parents. His mama, he told her, had been reared by a widowed mother who took in sewing. At one time, Clara Ueland, her younger brother, and her mother were forced to live with relatives in a few rooms above a local hardware store.

  His papa, too, had lost his father when he was very young and then decided to leave his native Norway and come to America.

  “Papa laughs about learning English,” Torvald said with a smile. “He still has the little book, One Hundred Lessons in English, which cost him three dollars—three dollars he needed desperately just for food. His accent was so pronounced that when he tried some of his first cases as an attorney, people in the courtroom could barely understand him.”

  Maria finished off the last piece of cake, licking the sweet frosting from her fingers. She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket to wipe them a little cleaner and gazed down at all the people. Then she looked across at the big Ueland house. She mulled over what Torvald had shared with her. Both Mr. and Mrs. Ueland had experienced lack in their younger days, yet somehow in their wealth they’d not forgotten their past.

  “I can take you around the back way out of the barn and get you upstairs to your room without anybody seeing you,” Torvald said. “If you stay up here until all the guests leave, it’ll be nearly dawn.”

  Maria hadn’t thought about that. Uncle Robert would be out to fetch her early the next morning, and she was tired. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  Taking the plate, Torvald went down the ladder first, then just as he promised, he led her around the way where there were no guests. He tipped his cap and said good night to Maria at the bottom of the maids’ stairs. “On the second floor, it opens into the large hallway closet. You’ll get your bearings when you enter the hall.”

  Thanking him again, Maria slipped up the stairs, through the closet, into the hall, and down to her room. Torvald Ueland, she thought as she fell asleep that night, is a terribly nice boy.

  Maria’s brothers were glad to have her back home. “Here you talk us into getting extra-long routes, then leave us high and dry,” Thomas teased. But she loved the teasing. It meant they truly appreciated her work.

  All the family wanted to know every detail of her stay, but she hated to tell everything. Mama wouldn’t take too kindly to her romping in the lake with knickers on. But she did tell as much as she felt she could, and that was still plenty, because so much had happened. She told Libby about some of the beautiful gowns the ladies wore to the gala fund-raiser event.

  It wasn’t until after Maria was home again that she realized not one word about the war had been mentioned at the Uelands’. Not at any mealtime conversation nor any other time. It was as though it wasn’t happening at all. Yet now that she was home, the boys filled her in on all the details. With tears in his eyes, Curt told about the burning of a priceless old library in the city of Louvain, Belgium.

  “Ransacked and burned by the German army,” Curt said in a tight little voice. “How could anyone burn books? Any book would be bad enough. But a whole library?”

  What Curt didn’t say, and what Maria knew he meant, was not just that the library had been burned, but that it had been burned by some of their distant relatives and fellow countrymen.

  Thomas’s interest, however, was on other matters. “Did you read about the Panama Canal when you were at the Uelands’?”

  “It’s a funny thing, Thomas. I didn’t see a single newspaper the whole time I was there. Not one.”

  Thomas shook his head. “An attorney would have to keep up with the latest news. Perhaps he reads at his office.”

  Thomas was probably right. Maria wondered if living in the country had anything to do with it. Everything was so peaceful and serene out there, and the city was so noisy and crowded—and hot. Perhaps Mr. Ueland read the news but didn’t choose to bring it home with him.

  At any rate, Thomas went on to explain about the historic opening of the canal on August 15. Thomas was fascinated by the mammoth locks that moved ships through the canal. He had talked to Papa about going to school to study engineering, and Papa simply said, “Thomas, you can do anything you put your mind to. This is America.”

  After the rock and its threatening message had been thrown through the window, several incidents of vandalism had occurred at the homes of the other union officers. But nothing more had happened at the Schmidt home. Papa continued to attend union meetings. He told the family that the group was growing each time they met.

  “Other courageous mill workers are now joining us,” he said one evening at supper. “Some from the Pillsbury Mill and some from Washburn. Soon we’ll have the large numbers we need to negotiate. There’ve been rumors that our wages are to be cut soon.”

  Mama looked at him with worry in her eyes. “Again?”

  Maria knew that even with Mama’s salary from the freight company, there was barely enough money to make ends meet. It was all the fault of those rich people. They made the workers grovel, while they lived in comfort. The pay cuts were never big—just a penny here and a penny there. But for hard-working men, each and every penny counted for a great deal.

  Anger filled Maria’s heart. She wished she could do something to stop the injustice. Papa came home so weary from the long hours, especially as the summer days grew hotter and hotter. Some evenings Papa acted as though he could hardly hold his eyes open to read the Bible before prayer time. One evening Mama took the Bible from him.

  “Here, Franz,” she said gently. “What if I read the selection this evening?”

  “And I can do it tomorrow evening,” Thomas quickly added.

  “We can all take turns,” Libby added in her usual bubbly way.

  Papa looked around at them and smiled. “A blessed man I am to have such a kind, thoughtful family,” he said.

  His gentle words made tears burn in Maria’s eyes.

  CHAPTER 13

  Back to School

  In spite of the overpowering heat, Curt spent a great deal of time in his darkroom. Papa teased that th
ere was no room to store even a shovel or hammer these days. But they knew Papa was proud of all that Curt was learning.

  One afternoon when Aunt Josephine happened to stop by, Curt said, “Aunt Josephine, I caught you in one of my photographs. Want me to show you?”

  Libby took charge of Joanne and Lloyd while Aunt Josephine sat down at the kitchen table with Baby Howard in her lap. “What a question,” she said to Curt, smiling broadly. “Of course I want to see it. Will I have a copy of my own, or will I have to purchase it from this up-and-coming businessman photographer?”

  Curt looked at her for a moment. “Stay right there,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “As if I would go any place in this miserable heat.”

  Maria busied herself by fixing her aunt and cousins glasses of lemonade while Curt hurried up the stairs. He stored his finished photographs between old newspapers beneath the bed.

  When he returned, he had several photos in hand. “These are from the fair,” he told her. “Look at this one of you.” He placed it on the table out of Howard’s reach.

  Aunt Josephine leaned over to gaze at the photos. “Why, Curt Schmidt! These are splendid photos!”

  Maria was surprised at the glowing compliment. Truthfully, she’d not paid too much attention to Curt’s new hobby, feeling it was a bit too expensive for their household. But now she leaned over to look as well.

  The first photo showed Aunt Josephine standing at the edge of the tent, handing a man a cup of lemonade. The sign WOMEN SHOULD VOTE was emblazoned just above her head. The other women and various visitors to the tent were in the background. There were several other photos of the tent and all the goings-on of the suffrage association at the fair. Just looking at them made Maria remember all the heat and dust and the rude men who made unkind remarks. They were good photos, all right.