American Progress

by Veda Boyd Jones

  Curt read the article aloud while Maria and Thomas folded the papers on that balmy May morning. The account told how the ship went down so quickly that only half the lifeboats could be deployed. Out of twelve hundred passengers, only about seven hundred were saved. Of those who died, sixty-three were children and thirty-one were infants.

  Maria wanted Curt to stop reading. She wanted to hold her ears. The very thought of such destruction made her feel sick to her stomach.

  Thomas stood to his feet and hoisted his canvas bag over his shoulder. He wasn’t smiling. Grimly, he said, “Something tells me this is going to be a very long war. And something tells me America cannot escape being a part of it.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Making a Difference

  The hallways leading into the school auditorium were full to overflowing. Maria waited with her graduating classmates. In a few moments they would form lines to make their grand entrance. Maria felt positively elegant in the white dress Elsa had allowed her to borrow.

  “This one is to be borrowed,” Elsa had told her with a smile. “All three of us girls were graduated in this dress, and Mama is quite partial to it.”

  Maria tried to talk Elsa out of it, but in the end, even Mrs. Ueland had insisted that Maria wear it. “Since I’ll be attending the graduation,” the kind lady said, “it would do me proud to see that dress being worn one more time.”

  From inside the auditorium, Maria heard the music starting to play. Just then, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to see Cathy Wyatt. Beside her was her mother, who was saying, “So you’re the one. You’re the Schmidt girl.”

  Maria looked up at this lady dressed in a gauzy silk dress and large hat smothered in ostrich plumes. Beside her, the cocky Cathy was not so cocky anymore. She was staring at the floor.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Maria said.

  “I was right there that day at the Tribune just before Christmas! Yes, I was. I was one of Clara Ueland’s newest recruits. I serve on the city kindergarten committee, you know. I saw you step right up there and go inside with those businessmen. Not a bit afraid. Just like you’d been doing that all your life. I’ve been telling Cathy all these months that I was longing to meet you.”

  She reached out and took Maria’s hand. “Such a strong young thing you are and so determined. I read how you went into the Flats to quell a riot, you brave girl you. I can see now why Elsa and her mother speak highly of you.”

  She glanced down at her own daughter. “My, how I’ve encouraged Cathy to stand up for what she believes in. ‘Cathy,’ I say, ‘you should be more like this Schmidt girl.’”

  “Excuse me,” Maria interrupted her. “I think my brother needs me.” Thomas was waving to her from down the hall. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Wyatt,” Maria said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Cathy looked up briefly, and their eyes met. Maria smiled, and Cathy smiled back.

  When Maria came up beside Thomas, he said, “What was that all about?”

  Maria glanced back to where Cathy was standing. “I’m not sure, but I think the Lord just vindicated me.”

  On cue, the 1915 graduating class of Washington Elementary School marched into the auditorium singing “America the Beautiful.”

  “O beautiful for spacious skies,” Maria sang, “for amber waves of grain …”

  In the audience, Mama and Papa were sitting right next to Mr. and Mrs. Andreas Ueland. Rolf sat beside Thomas. And on the other side of Mama and Papa sat Aunt Josephine and Uncle Robert and the three cousins, then Curt and Libby. Elsa had come as well and brought along her older sister, Anne.

  “For purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain.”

  Had it been only a year ago that Maria was wishing she were a boy and not a girl? That seemed so far away now.

  “America! America! God shed His grace on thee.”

  The class filled the stage and stood at their places. The richness of the song wrapped around Maria like a sweet perfume and drenched her in patriotic pride.

  Since the war had broken out, she’d sometimes wished she were not German. But then she had only to think of her loving papa. She would never wish that he were not her papa, no matter what. If she were German because of him, then so be it. Above all, she knew she was a proud American.

  It didn’t matter if she were a boy or girl, or if she were German or not. It didn’t even matter if she were wealthy or not so wealthy. All that really mattered was that she followed God’s will and remained true to His leading.

  Maria had no control over what the Germans were doing across the Atlantic. But she was determined to make a difference right where she was. Right here. Right now. Today.

  “And crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.”

  Carrie’s Courage

  Norma Jean Lutz

  A NOTE TO READERS

  While Carrie and Garvey and their families and friends are fictional, the events they lived through were real. After the flu epidemic in the winter of 1918–19, many children were left with only one parent or with no parents at all. They were taken in by other relatives, put in foster families, or adopted. Many times, brothers and sisters were separated from each other.

  At the same time, the Ku Klux Klan grew throughout the country—not just in the South. In 1923–24, when this story takes place, there were ten chapters of the Klan in Minneapolis alone. The Ku Klux Klan hated African-Americans, Jews, Roman Catholics, and immigrants. They burned crosses in people’s yards, vandalized their property, and in some cases beat them up or even killed them.

  The Klan and people who share their views are still active. Like Carrie and Garvey, we must stand up against their evil beliefs and show God’s love to everyone.

  CONTENTS

  1. In the Attic

  2. Sonny’s Radio

  3. Tennis Lessons

  4. Family Gathering

  5. The New Girl

  6. Modern Miss Tilden

  7. The Babushka

  8. Secret in the Closet

  9. Country Club Encounter

  10. World Series

  11. Dvora’s Story

  12. To Detroit

  13. Thanksgiving

  14. The Accident

  15. The Popsicle Jingle

  16. Nolan and Suzette

  17. Foiled Plan

  18. A Time to Part

  19. Tune In Again Tomorrow

  CHAPTER 1

  In the Attic

  Caroline Ruhle pulled a small tablecloth from the old steamer trunk and shook out the wrinkles. As she did, her friend Violet sneezed three times in a row, making Carrie laugh.

  “Sorry, Vi. That cloth must have been dustier than I thought,” she said.

  The air in the attic was heavy and still from the summer heat. The dust they were stirring up floated about their heads, going nowhere. Violet pulled a flowered handkerchief from her dress pocket and blew her nose. “I don’t mind,” she said. “An attic is supposed to be dusty. That’s what makes it so much fun.”

  Carrie stood back a moment, surveying the place they’d cleared so they could play house. Pointing to a large, flat-topped trunk, she said, “Since this is the only trunk we can’t open, and since it’s flat, we’ll use it for our table.”

  “Good idea,” Vi agreed. “And the wooden crates can be our chairs.”

  While Carrie spread out the cloth, Vi dragged the boxes over to the trunk. “This high chair will be for one of the dolls,” Vi said. She ran her fingers over the chipped paint of an old wooden high chair. “We’ll put your doll in here. She’ll be the toddler, and my doll will be the baby.” Pushing her damp copper-colored curls out of her face, she glanced about the room. “There,” she said, pointing to an old discarded cradle tucked up under the eaves. “We’ll put my doll in the cradle.”

  “Bring it over,” Carrie said. “Then we’ll dig into the other trunks and choose our dress-up clothes.”

  Of all the places in the vast Victorian home that
belonged to Vi’s great-aunt, the girls loved the attic best of all. Although Carrie and Vi had been friends all last school year, it had only been in the last few weeks that they’d discovered the attic. And what a discovery it had been!

  Up here they could play for hours, and no one bothered them. The place was full of discarded furniture, portraits, old clothes, and forgotten—but fascinating—mementos. Bare lightbulbs hung from the rafters on long cords, lights that were needed that afternoon as the skies outside darkened, promising a summer rainstorm.

  Vi half dragged, half carried the wooden cradle away from the wall to their pretend tearoom. As she did, it made a terrible scraping noise. “I hope this doesn’t disturb Aunt Oriel’s afternoon nap,” she said.

  Carrie set out their doll dishes on the cloth-covered trunk. “Vi, don’t you think it’s strange that this is the only trunk in the whole attic that’s locked?” she wondered aloud.

  Vi sat down on a crate, breathing heavily from exertion. “I never really thought about it. I’m just glad all the others are open.”

  Fiddling with the rusty clasp, Carrie tried it one more time to see if it would open—as if she hadn’t already attempted to do so a hundred times. Just as before, it wouldn’t budge. “Perhaps it’s full of old diaries and journals,” she said dreamily. “What fun it would be to read an old diary.”

  “Money would be better. Lots of money.” Vi rose from her resting spot and moved the cradle close by the trunk and put the doll in it.

  “Money’s not very sentimental.”

  “No,” Vi said, “but it could buy some nice school clothes. And speaking of clothes …” She opened one of the big trunks and started pulling out fancy dresses and hats and shoes. “Let’s choose which we’ll wear today.”

  Carrie joined her friend in selecting the most beautiful gowns, but she was still thinking about what Vi had said about money. Money was never talked about at the Ruhle household. Her father, Glendon Ruhle, had a great job with the Minneapolis Tribune, and there was always more than enough money. But for Vi and her brother, Nathaniel, orphans living with an aged aunt who was practically a recluse, perhaps money was a problem. She felt sorry that she’d not thought of it before.

  “Pin me here,” Vi said. She turned about in a long, rust-colored dress and handed Carrie a safety pin. Carrie pinned it at the waist, making the gown fit better.

  “I’m so glad your aunt Oriel doesn’t mind our playing with her old things.” On her head, Carrie set a plum-colored, wide-brimmed hat that was adorned with three large ostrich plumes. The plumes were dyed to match the hat perfectly. Looking in the dingy mirror of an old bureau, she tucked her dark pigtails up under the hat.

  “Actually, we don’t really know if she approves or not,” Vi said. “We haven’t seen her for weeks.”

  “Weeks?”

  “Weeks. She just shuts herself up in the east wing of the house where her bedroom, library, and drawing room all adjoin. You’d think if she really wanted Nate and me to live here, she’d come out once in a while.”

  “Don’t forget,” Carrie reminded her, “she is awfully old. Old people act strangely sometimes.” Turning from the mirror, she asked, “Doesn’t she ever talk to anyone? How lonely that must be.”

  “I suppose she talks to Opal when she takes Aunt Oriel’s meals in and out.”

  “What would your aunt do without Opal?” Carrie asked.

  “What would we do without Opal?” Vi said as she wrapped a long pink feather boa around her neck, giving it a little extra fling for emphasis. “Opal’s the one who said we could play up here.”

  Opal Howerton had been in the employ of the Simmonses’ household for decades—ever since the days when there was a full staff. Now filling the roles of cook, housekeeper, and nanny, Opal was as warm and caring to the Bickerson children as Mrs. Simmons was distant and aloof.

  Vi leaned into an open trunk and pulled out a pair of dainty dancing slippers. Slipping her feet into them, she said, “Carrie, if I tell you something, promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  “You know I’d never tell, Vi.”

  She came closer and lowered her voice, even though there wasn’t another soul within hearing distance. “Sometimes I think that after Mother and Father died of the influenza, Aunt Oriel never really wanted us to come and live with her.”

  “Oh, Vi. That couldn’t be true. You and Nate are no trouble—”

  “We’re not really related to her, you know.” Vi lifted the skirts of her dress and stepped over to their pretend table. Sitting on a crate, she acted as though she were pouring tea from the teapot of their toy china tea set.

  “But you call her aunt.”

  “She’s only our aunt by marriage. She was married to my grandfather’s brother, James Simmons.”

  Carrie picked up her doll from the high chair, sat opposite Vi, and pretended to feed the baby. “Marriage or no, she’s still your aunt.”

  Vi sighed. “I suppose. But I can’t help but wonder….”

  Carrie had never heard Vi talk like this before. Her heart ached for her friend. She’d always known it must be dreadful to have both parents die. But to think her aunt didn’t want her must be almost more than a person could bear.

  A tapping on the second-floor door at the foot of the stairs interrupted her thoughts. “Girls,” came Opal’s voice. “Come open the door. I have a tray.”

  Vi’s eyes lit up. “Ooo-eee. She’s brought us a snack.” Vi jumped up so fast that she nearly stumbled over her long skirts.

  Carrie giggled. “Careful on the stairs,” she warned.

  In a matter of minutes, a winded Opal was setting the tray on the trunk. There were cookies and little cakes, along with a pitcher of juice and two tumblers.

  “Looks as though you girls are having tons of fun,” the hefty lady quipped, giving her broad smile that made dimples appear in her round face.

  “We are, Opal,” Vi assured her. “But we’ll have even more fun now with all this food.”

  Opal nodded, wiping sweaty hands on her soiled apron. “I thought you might.” Taking the corner of her apron, she touched it to her forehead and reddened cheeks.

  “Opal,” Carrie said, “is there a key to this trunk?” She patted the giant trunk that served as their makeshift table.

  Opal shook her head. “Don’t think so. I’ve been around here almost thirty years, and there’s never been a key that I remember.”

  “What do you suppose is in it?” Carrie asked.

  “More stuff,” she said with a chuckle, waving her hand at the expanse of the attic. “Just like all this here stuff!” The housekeeper reached out and gave Violet a loving pat and then turned to go. “Now you girls have a nice time playing. I’m getting me down out of this stifling oven.”

  “Thanks for the snack, Opal,” Vi said.

  “Yes. Thanks so much,” Carrie echoed.

  Opal stopped at the head of the attic stairway, fanning her face with the tail of her apron. “Think nothing of it. My pleasure. Be sure you girls put everything back in its proper place when you’re finished.”

  “We will,” Vi promised.

  When Opal was partway down the stairs, she hollered back up, “If the boys come back, just send them to the kitchen for their snack.” She was talking about Vi’s brother, Nathaniel, and Carrie’s cousin, Garvey Constable—an ornery pair if there ever was one. Garvey was ten, the same age as Vi and Carrie. Nate was a year older.

  “We’ll tell them,” Vi answered, then turned to Carrie and said with a grin, “If they don’t have sense enough to go to the kitchen for themselves, should I have to tell them?”

  Carrie laughed.

  After several cookies had been devoured, Carrie said, “Now, let’s take the babies and go up to the turret.” The turret was the highest part of the big old house, and Carrie loved the small cozy room that looked out over the neighborhood in all directions.

  Vi didn’t feel the same about the turret. “It’ll be hotter up there than down here
,” she said. “And going up those narrow stairs in our dresses and shoes will be a real chore.” Vi paused. “Tell you what. You take your baby and go to the turret if you want. We’ll pretend you’re traveling to a far country.”

  Carrie smiled. “I’ll get the baby ready right away,” she said and headed toward the stairs. It was difficult to maneuver the stairs in her long dress. And it was hot, just as Vi said, but Carrie loved the octagonal room.

  From its vantage point, she could see past the row of stately homes on the block clear to the sandlot on Franklin Avenue where the neighborhood boys had a rousing baseball game going. If she squinted, she could make out which one was Garvey and which was Nate.

  Summer flowers were in full bloom, and the formal gardens located in back of the Carrutherses’ house next door were a picture of orderly beauty. Jonathan Carruthers, a banker, was the wealthiest man in the neighborhood.

  Oriel Simmons’s back lot was a different story. While it was kept mowed, that was about the extent of the upkeep. There were no flowers and probably had been none for several years.

  Carrie leaned against one of the windows and watched the thickening storm clouds slowly move over the city. If she lived in this house, she’d spend all her waking hours in this special room, writing her poems. That wasn’t to say that she couldn’t write poetry in her own room at home. After all, she had no brothers or sisters to bother her. But the turret … The turret, perched high atop the Simmonses’ house was special somehow—so secluded, so old- fashioned, and so loaded with character. She whispered softly to herself:

  Rain, rain, rain, rain,

  Splashing down my windowpane.

  Just then, Vi called up the stairs, “Isn’t your trip about over? It’s getting lonely down here.”

  “Coming,” Carrie answered. As she turned to go, the patter of rain sounded against the windows. She’d have to finish her rain poem later.