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  “Will we ever have pretty dresses like they wear?” Libby asked Maria as they approached the school grounds.

  “If the mill would pay Papa a decent wage you might,” Curt put in.

  Maria knew that Curt was partly right. Papa put in such long hours and worked very hard. But instead of getting more pay, sometimes his wages were actually cut back. “Pretty dresses aren’t all that important,” Maria told her younger sister. “Some of those girls in the nicest dresses wouldn’t make very good friends.”

  Libby adjusted her lunch bucket on her arm to a more comfortable position. “I suppose that’s true,” she agreed with a nod. “But I’d still be a nice person even if I had a million pretty dresses.”

  Maria looked down at her little sister’s cute face with the turned-up nose and tight clusters of chestnut curls beneath the straw hat. She didn’t doubt that Libby could do exactly as she said.

  Papa’s union meetings were held at night. They moved from place to place so the meetings would not be detected by the mill’s management. Two days after the Ludlow incident was reported, Papa arrived home late from one of the meetings.

  “I am hereby the secretary of the Mill Workers’ Union of Minneapolis,” he announced.

  No one could miss the note of pride in his voice. Mama put her arms around him and congratulated him. Maria and Libby did likewise, and Thomas shook Papa’s hand. But Curt just sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly ahead.

  “Papa, will this be like Ludlow?” he asked. “Will the army men come and kill us?”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Suffrage Squad

  Papa’s not going on strike,” Maria told her little brother. “The men are organizing, not striking.”

  “But once they’re organized, they might strike,” Curt said.

  Maria knew Curt was only saying what they were all thinking. Even Mama’s eyes reflected concern.

  “Is that right?” Libby wanted to know. “Will you go on strike, Papa?”

  “Curt is partly right.” Papa gave Libby a pat.

  “The scripture says not to be afraid of evil tidings,” Mama told them. “Sit down, Franz. I’ll get the coffee. Your supper’s in the warming oven.”

  Papa hung his hat by the door and went to the sink to wash. He’d gone straight to the meeting from work, and the flour was still sprinkled through his dark curls.

  After Papa had blessed his food and was eating, he said, “Your question is not forgotten, Curt, but this is not like Ludlow. The mine at Ludlow is owned by the Rockefeller family, who are much more influential in government than the flour mill owners in our city. The other difference is that the strikers there live in company houses, and we do not.

  “However,” he added, as he took another potato pancake from the platter Mama set before him, “I won’t try to tell you there is no danger. No matter where in the country it is, no matter what kind of company, it seems that management constantly fears organized labor unions.”

  “Why is that, Papa?” Curt wanted to know.

  “Great profits there are to be raked in when workers are paid meager wages,” Papa explained. He poured a little of his hot coffee into his saucer and blew on it, then drank it from the saucer in the manner of all his German relatives. “More and greater factories they build, yet pay workers less, and thereby they become millionaires.”

  Curt shook his head. “All because of money.” He paused a minute. “That’s why when I grow up, I’m going out West and work on a ranch. I’ll spend every day in the saddle out where no one can bother me. I’ll never come back to a city full of factories.”

  Thomas grinned. “You’ll miss your books, Curt.”

  “That’s what you think,” Curt said. “I’ll have two books in my saddlebags at all times. It’s easy to ride and read at the same time. At night I’ll read by the light of my campfire.”

  “Franz,” Mama said quietly, “how soon will the mill owners learn about the labor union election?”

  Papa gave a shrug. “Word spreads quickly. Even when we try to be as secretive as possible.”

  “‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High—’” Libby began reciting the Ninety-first Psalm.

  “‘Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty,’” Thomas completed the line.

  “Bring the Bible, Libby,” Papa told her. “Let’s read the entire psalm together.”

  As Papa read about not being afraid of the terror by night nor the arrow by day, the entire family seemed comforted.

  “God is our protector,” Papa said as he closed the Bible. “As we do what we know to be right, we trust Him to deliver us from trouble, just as the psalm promises.”

  “There’s a new organization at the high school,” Thomas said to Maria the next day after school. “They call it the Junior Mobile Suffrage Squad.”

  Maria was in the kitchen cutting up cabbage to cook for supper. She almost dropped the knife at his words. “A suffrage group right there at Central High School?”

  “Right there at Central. The president of the squad is a girl named SueEllen Jones. I thought perhaps you could talk to her about organizing a group at Washington Elementary.”

  “Will the squad take part in the suffrage parade on May 2?”

  “That’s the whole purpose,” he replied, flashing his grin.

  Aunt Josephine had told them about the upcoming parade to take place in the city, and Maria had already told her aunt that she wanted to take part. But to help organize girls from her own school—that would be even better.

  Maria turned back to the cutting block and finished cutting the cabbage. “How well do you know SueEllen Jones? How can I meet her?”

  “I don’t know her personally, but I’d imagine Aunt Josephine does.”

  “Oh, Thomas, you’re so smart.”

  “That’s what I keep trying to tell you,” he said with a chuckle.

  “What do you keep telling Maria?” Curt asked as he came in from playing.

  “How smart I am,” Thomas replied, making Curt groan. Turning back to Maria, Thomas said, “Why don’t you go to Mrs. Braun’s and telephone Aunt Josephine? Ask her to set up a meeting. She’ll probably be glad you thought of it.”

  Maria scooped up the cut cabbage and dropped it into the boiling beef broth. “But I didn’t think of it.”

  “What difference does that make? Go call.”

  Maria put a lid on the kettle, pulled off her apron, and hung it on the hook by the stove. “Watch the broth and don’t let it boil over. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  As she started to go out the back door, she noticed that Curt was holding a wooden box. He was turning it over and studying it closely.

  “What do you have there?” she asked. “That looks like a camera.” She stepped closer and watched as Curt opened the front and a bellows and square lens folded out. “It is a camera. Where’d you get it?”

  Curt set it on the kitchen table so they could get a better look. “Tony found it at the dump. I traded him my slingshot, my Jew’s harp, and three of my best shooters for it. He said he didn’t have any use for it.”

  Thomas came now and touched the wooden frame. “That’s a Speed Graphic,” he said. “Curt, this is a real press camera. The kind the newsmen use.”

  “Honest?” Curt’s eyes grew wide.

  “Honest. It may have been stolen. Or lost.”

  Curt shook his head. “I don’t think Tony would lie to me.”

  “I don’t, either,” Thomas agreed. “It’s true he may have found it at the dump, but it still may have been stolen.”

  All the air went out of Curt. He sat down at the table. “You think I can’t keep it then?”

  “Let’s let Papa decide,” Maria suggested. Just then the broth started to boil over, making the flame on the gas stove spit and sizzle. “Oh no!” She lifted the lid and stirred the cabbage then turned the flame a little lower.

  “Maria,” Thomas said, “hurry and make your call. I won’t know what to do if it boils
over again.”

  “Just stir it,” she said as she hurried out the back door.

  Thomas was right. Aunt Josephine did know SueEllen Jones, as well as SueEllen’s mother. Aunt Josephine thought it was a great idea for Maria and SueEllen to meet. A time was set for Friday after school. Maria would take the trolley to the Andersons’ home.

  “Remember,” Maria told her aunt, “I haven’t asked Mama yet. Thomas just now told me about SueEllen and the suffrage squad.”

  “Your Mama won’t mind. Just leave her to me,” Aunt Josephine said with a smile in her voice.

  When Maria hooked the receiver back in its place, Mrs. Braun waggled her finger and said, “Now, Maria Schmidt, you should have nutting to do with der vimmen what vant to vote. Nonsense it is about the vimmen and voting. My Johann says so.”

  “Well, my papa believes that women should vote,” Maria said as she went out Mrs. Braun’s back door.

  As she ran back across the yard to her own house, she wished more than ever that they had their very own telephone. Mrs. Braun was such a busybody.

  CHAPTER 6

  Marching for the Vote

  Papa said they would place an advertisement in the classified section of the newspaper to see if anyone had had a camera lost or stolen. “We’ll run it twice,” he told Curt. “If no one claims the camera within two weeks, then by all rights it is yours.”

  Curt was quiet, but the whole family could read his face. He was hoping and praying no one would respond. And no one did.

  The next step was to see if the camera really worked. Thomas took it to a friend of his who worked in the darkroom at the Tribune. The young man, Coleman Wright, said it needed repairs but that it could be fixed. Coleman took Curt to a camera shop downtown, and together they found what was needed and how to fix it.

  The next thing the family knew, Curt was spending time at Carnegie Library, checking out books on photography and asking Papa if he could turn the backyard shed into a darkroom to develop photos.

  The meeting at Aunt Josephine’s house was a pleasant surprise for Maria. She’d feared SueEllen Jones might be like Cathy and Evelyn, who walked through life with their noses in the air. But SueEllen, a senior at Central, was a practical, straightforward girl who was bent on a mission. That mission was to do as much as she could for the suffrage movement.

  When Maria met her, SueEllen was dressed in a fitted blue serge jacket that matched her skirt perfectly. Her hat was not at all fussy. Her mother wore a few more tucks and ruffles, and her hat was banded in cute little ostrich tips, but she was equally given to the same mission.

  SueEllen seemed pleased that Maria wanted to be involved, but she did give a warning. “Remember that elementary students are still under the influence of their parents—more so than high schoolers.” Although SueEllen was sitting on the softest chair in Aunt Josephine’s immaculate parlor, she sat on the edge of the seat with her back ramrod straight.

  “My suggestion,” she went on, “is for you to approach seventh-and eighth-graders only.”

  Aunt Josephine and Mrs. Jones nodded their agreement. Then Aunt Josephine explained to Maria how the parade idea had come about because of the successful suffrage parade held in Washington, DC, on the eve of President Woodrow Wilson’s inauguration.

  “It was so effective that the women wanted to pattern other demonstrations after it.” Aunt Josephine paused to take a sip of tea from her china cup. “On May 2 parades will be held in more than a thousand towns and cities in at least thirty-five states.”

  Maria tried to imagine parades going on all over the nation, rather like the Fourth of July.

  “Some people try to tell us that to march is unladylike,” SueEllen said, “but that’s what they used to say about women attending college. It simply isn’t true anymore.”

  An excited tingle traveled up Maria’s back and made her shiver. This is exactly what she’d been trying to say—that she could do anything any boy could do. And that certainly included marching, and demonstrating, and voting.

  SueEllen armed Maria with a ledger book where she could log the names of those who agreed to take part in the parade. Flyers told details of where the marchers would gather, what time to report, and of course the purpose of the demonstration.

  On Monday morning, Maria began her work out on the playground before the first bell. She was able to speak to several eighth-grade girls before anyone knew what she was up to.

  There’d already been newspaper articles on the upcoming event, so many students were aware of the parade. But few of the girls had considered that they could take a stand along with the adults. Maria helped change that.

  Just when Maria was becoming comfortable talking with the girls about the parade, Charles came up and started yelling so that everyone around him could hear.

  “Women ain’t supposed to vote,” he railed. “They don’t know nothing about politics and don’t need to know nothing about politics. Next thing you know, women’ll be wanting to take up a gun and go to war.”

  Several students bunched up, curious as to what was going on. Maria felt her face flushing.

  “What’s up?” one boy asked.

  “Aw, Miss Schmidt here is trying to round up more females for that silly march. Women marching!” Charles spat out the words. “It just ain’t natural.”

  “Real ladies don’t need to vote. That’s what my mother and father both say.” Cathy had moved to the front of the crowd. She was dressed in a pale-pink dress with pure white stockings and a large pink hair bow holding her curls back from her face. “A lady serves her country in homemaking and in bearing and rearing children,” she said. “No man can do that.”

  Maria turned about to face Cathy. “It’s not enough to prepare children for the world.” She remembered something Aunt Josephine had once said. “We must have a hand in preparing the world for our children. The best community is where men and women work together for solutions to the problems.”

  Some of the girls in the crowd clapped their hands. “Good speech, Maria,” said an eighth-grader named Abigail Pittman. “Put my name down.”

  “Me, too,” said another.

  “I don’t know if my papa’ll let me come, but put my name down anyway,” came another voice. “My heart will be with the parade even if I can’t march.”

  “This is silly,” Cathy stated coolly. “Come on,” she said to anyone who’d listen. “There are better things to do than stand around here.”

  The girls who set great store by what Cathy said followed her. Maria was glad to see them go. By the time the bell rang, she had nine names in her ledger book. As they lined up to go into their respective classrooms, she happened to look over and see Torvald Ueland watching her. He smiled. The quiet boy who seldom said much of anything had smiled at her. She smiled back, and then it was time to go in.

  At supper that evening, Maria told of the events of the morning. “I’m proud of you, Maria,” Thomas said. “There’ll always be those who oppose new ideas. Just ignore them.”

  As they talked about the day, Mama was quieter than usual. At last, she said, “I’m proud of you, too, Maria. Listening to you has made me rethink what Josephine said about needing women in the workplace to join the ranks. Perhaps I’ll hand out those flyers for her after all.”

  Maria jumped up from her place and ran to Mama’s side. Throwing her arms about Mama’s neck, she said, “You mean it, Mama? You’ll help, too? That’s wonderful!”

  “Gracious me,” Mama said, taken aback by Maria’s response. “I’m pleased you approve. Now sit down and finish your dinner.”

  Turning to Papa, Maria said, “Papa, will you join in the parade, as well?”

  Papa thought a minute. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Mmm. I’m not sure. Is this a conspiracy against me? What with my wife and daughter and my sister-in-law all in cahoots …”

  “Both daughters,” Libby said. “If Maria’s in the parade, so am I.”

  “And I’ve agreed to he
lp with one of the floats,” Thomas said.

  Papa laughed. Spreading his big, strong hands, he said, “What chance does a man have? A marcher I will be on the second day of May.”

  Just then, Curt spoke up. “I don’t have to march, do I?”

  Curt never liked to be the center of attention. He was a hard worker and absolutely dependable, but he preferred to stay in the shadows.

  “Of course you don’t have to,” Mama replied. “Only if you want to. After all, that’s what this is about—giving people choices.”

  Curt thought for a moment. “I’ll be along the sidewalk with my new camera.”

  Papa reached over to give Curt’s shoulder an affectionate pat. “A very good idea, son. A good idea indeed.”

  On the morning of May 2, when the Schmidts arrived at the parade starting point near Second Avenue, Maria stared in awe at the vast crowd. Hundreds and hundreds of women—all nationalities, all ages, and from all economic backgrounds—filled the area. A group of Scandinavian women were dressed in their native costumes with stiffly starched white aprons and red vests embroidered in bright colors. All were gathered for the same purpose, to speak out in favor of giving women the vote.

  Maria was terribly proud that both her mama and papa were involved in this famous parade. Mama was able to quickly locate Aunt Josephine. That was when they learned Mama was to lead the group of working women. Papa beamed when he heard it. Aunt Josephine directed Papa to the men’s section, which was larger than Maria had expected it to be.

  After that, Maria and Libby were taken to the student section, and Thomas went off to help with one of the high school floats. In spite of the mass of people, there was perfect order.

  Maria had read the instructions in the flyer of what they were to do. Now SueEllen Jones stood up on a soapbox to repeat the instructions one more time.