American Progress Page 3

  “She talks to her parrot,” Maureen said. “And the bird talks back!”

  “What does it say?” Sarah asked.

  Maureen glanced at Mark and hoped he wouldn’t give away how scared they had been when Ruthie had told them to put up their hands and they had thought a burglar had been in the house.

  “Mrs. Hoag’s husband taught it to talk, so it says all sorts of things.”

  “Naughty things? Like a pirate’s parrot would say?” Sarah asked.

  Maureen nodded, even though she hadn’t heard Ruthie say anything except “Put your hands up.”

  “They say Mrs. Hoag belongs in an insane asylum,” Sarah informed them. “They say she’s gone crazy since her husband died.”

  “She must have loved him very much,” Maureen said. “And who is they who says all this?” Although she’d given Sarah and her friends more information to add to the rumor mill, she felt disloyal to Mrs. Hoag and wished she could take back the remark about the parrot. She’d so wanted to fit in with the girls that she’d stretched the truth.

  “They is everybody,” Sarah said. “People all over town know about her.”

  Mark had been quiet, but now he jumped in to defend the old lady. “She’s giving us a reward for finding her stolen handbag. Somebody who should be in an insane asylum doesn’t give rewards.”

  “What kind of reward?” Sarah asked. “And what was in her handbag?”

  “We’ll find out the reward this afternoon,” Maureen said. “It’s cold out here. I’m going inside.” She wasn’t going to stand around and add more wood to the fire of public opinion against Mrs. Hoag. “Coming, Mark?”

  As they turned to walk inside, she heard Sarah telling yet another girl about Mrs. Hoag. What had Maureen started by her careless remark about that parrot?

  “I’m sorry I said anything to her,” she told Mark. Telling tales wasn’t a Christian thing to do, and in her mind she asked God’s forgiveness, just as Mother had taught her to do.

  “Why did you say it?” he asked. “She really thinks Mrs. Hoag is crazy. So do the others.”

  “I know,” Maureen said without explaining her reasons for exaggerating the story about Ruthie. “I’m sorry,” she said again as she went into her classroom.

  The night before, Mother had told Maureen that she’d be coming to school for the WCTU, and during the afternoon session, Maureen’s teacher called the class to attention.

  “In addition to our regular study of the evil of alcohol, we’re pleased to have a representative from the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. Each of the other classrooms has a WCTU member visiting today to help with a demonstration. Mrs. Stevenson is in our room because of her daughter. Maureen, would you like to introduce our guest to the class?”

  Maureen felt her face flush. She hadn’t known she’d have to speak in front of the whole class, but she couldn’t disobey her teacher. She slowly stood and walked to the front of the room where Mother waited.

  “My mother, Mrs. Stevenson, is vice president of the Minneapolis chapter of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. She works very hard for the group and wants to stop alcohol from taking over the lives of many people.” She’d heard her mother say that often enough.

  Maureen quickly walked back to her seat. Why couldn’t Mother be more like Mark’s mother? Aunt Annie stayed at home and took care of her family. She didn’t go into the schools or carry signs outside places that served alcohol. Mother had even been arrested once for demonstrating at a saloon, but she didn’t stay in jail more than an hour before she was out. Father had made sure of that.

  Mother had laughed it off and said it was part of the plan. Arrests gave reporters something to write about, and the more people knew about the movement, the stronger the temperance movement became.

  “Thank you, Maureen,” Mother said. “Today, members of the WCTU have come to your school to demonstrate what alcohol can do to your brain.” She pulled a clear glass jar from the large canvas bag she had set on the floor.

  “This is part of a cow’s brain. Notice how pink it is? That’s because this cow was healthy and never drank hard liquor.”

  Maureen glanced around as the students tittered over a cow drinking alcohol. Mother had the attention of her classmates. Maureen nervously wrung her hands in her lap as she focused on the attractive woman at the front of the room.

  “Now, in this bottle is alcohol.” Mother uncorked the bottle and poured it onto the cow’s brain. The pink color changed to a nasty gray.

  The entire class gasped, Maureen along with them. Oohs and ahs filled the air.

  “This could happen to your brain if you drink alcoholic brews. If you know someone who drinks liquor or if your parents keep alcohol in your house, why not try this simple demonstration to show them what harm it is doing to them?”

  The class applauded and Maureen took a deep breath. She couldn’t analyze the feeling she’d had while her mother was speaking, but she’d been nervous.

  “Next week, I’ll come again, and we’ll practice the poem ‘Counting Fingers.’ I’ve brought copies for each of you so that you can be memorizing it. Some of you may already know it from your Sunday school. Maureen, would you pass these out?”

  Maureen made her way to the front of the room again, took the papers, and distributed them to her classmates while Mother packed up her jar and bottle.

  “Thank you, dear. And thank you, boys and girls, for being good listeners.”

  Again the class applauded as she left the room. The teacher began the history lesson, and Maureen let her mind wander to what would happen later that afternoon.

  As soon as school was over, Maureen met Mark by the flagpole, and they walked toward Mrs. Hoag’s mansion.

  “You can’t slip up and call her ‘Crazy Old Lady Hoag’ like you almost did last time,” Maureen said. She made him say “Mrs. Hoag” over and over until it was second nature to him, and she said it under her breath so that it was natural to her, too.

  “Do you think she’ll give us money?” Mark asked.

  “I don’t know,” Maureen said. “What would you do if she did?”

  “I’d get parts to fix Calvin’s bicycle. When he left for college he said I could have it, but it’s got a bent shaft and needs a new front wheel. You could ride my sister Eva’s bicycle, and we could go all over town.”

  They quickened their pace as they neared Mrs. Hoag’s grounds. Thick clouds had moved in and covered the sun, giving the impression that it would snow. The dismal-looking gray day made the mansion look sinister.

  Was there anything to the rumors that Mrs. Hoag was crazy? Maureen shook her head to dislodge that thought from settling there.

  They climbed the front steps, and again Mark did the knocking. Mrs. Hoag immediately opened the door, as if she had been standing on the other side. She wore a maroon dress, a startling change from the black mourning dress she’d worn on Saturday. The color gave her a younger appearance and seemed to put a sparkle in her old eyes.

  “Come in,” she invited, and they stepped into the entry hall.

  They followed Mrs. Hoag into the same room that they had been in before. This time Maureen looked around so she could tell her new mother and Aunt Annie about it. An oriental rug covered the space between the couch and the fireplace. The curtains were dark green and heavy looking. Double doors led out to a side porch. Vases covered with dragons sat on several small tables. There were dozens of the urn-shaped vessels.

  Mrs. Hoag told them to sit on the couch facing the fireplace. A low table held little cookies, teacups, and a fancy silver teapot. Mrs. Hoag poured them each a cup of hot tea.

  Maureen took hers with milk to cool it, while Mark doctored his with sugar.

  “These cookies are very good,” Maureen said politely.

  “Why, thank you,” Mrs. Hoag answered.

  After they’d each had two cookies and Mrs. Hoag had refilled their teacups, Mark asked the question. “Have you thought any more about the reward?”


  “I see you like to get directly to the point,” Mrs. Hoag answered. “I have given considerable thought to the reward, as well as to other matters. I do believe your honesty should be rewarded. That is the most important trait a person can have. Mark, your parents have taught you well. Maureen, the values your mama and Nadine Stevenson have instilled in you will allow you to take your proper place in life, although right now you may be thinking you don’t know where that may be.”

  Maureen wondered if Mrs. Hoag was a mind reader. Where was Maureen’s rightful place in life?

  “I remember when I first came to this country. It was 1851. That was over fifty years ago. I was but a girl of seventeen, on my own, trying to make my way in a strange land. I remember as if it were yesterday—the ship docking and the hope and fear on the faces of the other passengers. We thought this was the land of milk and honey. And for some of us, it was. Within my first year here, I met Franklin Hoag and married him. I didn’t know at the time that he was from a wealthy family. I met him in New York, when he was returning from a grand tour of Europe. We knew each other three days before we married.”

  She took another drink of tea and stared into space.

  “It was in this very room that he introduced me to his parents as his wife. You haven’t seen such a to-do over nothing. You’d have thought he’d done something terribly wrong—marrying an Irish lass.” She chuckled. “His mother finally came to accept me, but not before she tried her best to make me over.”

  She laughed again. “She wasn’t very successful. She said I had too much of my own mind, but she taught me the proper way of society. She said that with wealth came responsibility to help others and do good things. She was a very Christian woman, and I think she respected me in spite of my background. Once she told me that if her only son loved me, then she would love me, too.”

  Maureen glanced at Mark, who was shifting on the couch. He leaned too far forward and spilt some tea on his trousers.

  Mrs. Hoag handed him a linen napkin to soak it up. “Getting fidgety, are you? Then I’ll get to the reward and save my life story for another time. Knowing how important money is to your generation, and since I have recovered my ninety-six dollars, I’ve decided to give you each ten dollars.”

  “Ten dollars!” Maureen said.

  “Wow!” Mark exclaimed. “I can fix my brother’s bike.”

  Mrs. Hoag got out her handbag, a different one than the one they had fished out of the creek. She made quite a ceremony of taking out two crisp ten-dollar bills. When she handed one to each of them, they said thank you. Then they stared at each other. Maureen thought it was time to go, but Mrs. Hoag wasn’t through talking.

  “As I said, I’ve also given some thought to some other things.” She paused for a moment, as if wondering how to phrase what she wanted to say.

  “Before you came on Saturday, I’d been thinking that I had settled into a bad routine. I’ve been living with memories instead of making new ones. Your unexpected visit was what I needed to see that life goes on. Maureen, you’ve suffered the loss of your mama lately, but you’ve not let it get you down.”

  Maureen would have argued that point. Some days she did fine, and other days were horrible, with a darkness settling over her that wouldn’t leave.

  “I’m ready to move forward now, too,” Mrs. Hoag continued. “And I’d like to hire you two to work for me.”

  “You want us to work for you?” Maureen asked in astonishment. Mrs. Hoag must be ready to hire a full housekeeping staff. “Doing what?” She had helped her mama in the kitchen doing dishes and various chores, but she didn’t know if her new mother would want her to work as a servant again.

  “As I said earlier, with wealth comes responsibility. My husband and I traveled a great deal when he was alive. We collected many souvenirs and artworks from abroad, and we decorated each room with items from a specific country or region. This is our Oriental Room.”

  Maureen had already figured that out from all the dragon vases.

  “As I get older, the house seems bigger than ever. I misplace things, and I’m getting forgetful. Yesterday I was sure I’d put some bookends in here on that table. But the next time I saw them, they were in the kitchen, and Bertha said she hadn’t moved them. Sometimes I get frightened living here. I hear odd noises and voices at night, but I hate to leave. This was my husband’s family home,” she said quietly. Her voice got stronger as she got back to the subject of the job.

  “We could start on the top floor and go room by room, cataloging the contents. I can’t remember where several items are, and I need an inventory of my belongings for insurance purposes. I need help doing that. Bertha has her hands full keeping this house up, so I need to hire extras to assist me. Some of the items are quite valuable, and I know I can trust you two because of your honesty in bringing that handbag to me.”

  “What do you pay?” Mark asked.

  “I thought I’d start with ten cents an hour and see how that goes and what kind of workers you are. I believe industry should be encouraged.”

  “Get down. Put your hands up!” Maureen knew it was Ruthie before she turned her head and saw the parrot waddle into the room. She wasn’t going to be fooled twice by that bird.

  “Hey, Ruthie, what you doing?” Mark baby-talked to the bird.

  Mrs. Hoag ignored Ruthie and got back to business. “What do you think of my job offer?”

  “I’ll do it,” Mark said immediately.

  “We must ask our mothers,” Maureen said. She couldn’t commit to this without permission from the Stevensons, nor did she think Mark should without his parents’ consent. “Could we call you?”

  “That would be fine. I’d like you to work on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school and on Saturdays. When school is out for the summer, we can plan on more days.”

  “I’ll call you this evening,” Maureen said.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Job

  Did she say she heard voices?” Maureen asked Mark as they walked down Mrs. Hoag’s drive. That sounded like a crazy person. She’d heard of lunatics obeying the voices they heard in their heads and going out and harming people.

  “She said she heard noises in the night. The voices could be people passing on the street,” Mark said.

  “Maybe.” Maureen wasn’t convinced. That Irish kinship she felt for Mrs. Hoag argued with her common sense. Mrs. Hoag had been an entirely different person than the one they had met on Saturday. Oh, she’d explained that she’d mourned long enough and it was time to get on with life, but could a person really change her ways that fast?

  “What will Aunt Nadine say about the job offer?” Mark asked.

  “I don’t know. Do you want to do it?”

  “Yes. We’ll have our own spending money, and I’ll get out of chores at home,” Mark said and laughed.

  Maureen considered the idea of having money of her own. In the old days, as she now referred to the time when her mama was alive, she’d sometimes earned a dime or two that she could spend as she liked at the candy shop or the soda fountain. Now the Stevensons gave her everything she needed. So far she hadn’t asked to go anywhere with the girls after school, but she had hoped to go roller skating soon. In the old days, she’d been allowed to skate on an occasional Saturday afternoon. Maybe her old friends would skate with her then.

  Yes, the idea of having money of her own and not having to ask Mother and Father for it was most appealing.

  They arrived at the end of Mrs. Hoag’s short drive and parted, Mark going north toward his home and Maureen turning south to walk the two blocks to the Stevenson house.

  “Mother?” Maureen called when she walked into the front hall. There was no answer. She put her schoolbook on the hall table and peeked into the parlor. “Mother?” But the room was empty. She followed the smell of baking apple pies and walked toward the back of the house. “Mother?”

  “Mrs. Stevenson’s at a meeting,” Greta answered from the kitchen. “Some days I think she�
��ll get rid of alcohol in this city single-handedly.”

  “She talked about it at school today,” Maureen said. She picked up the dish towel and began drying dishes, as she had in the old days when she’d come home to find her mama preparing the evening meal.

  “You better get on out of here. Wouldn’t do for Mrs. Stevenson to see you doing my work. She wants to raise you to take your proper place in the world, and that shouldn’t be in a kitchen. You should grow up to be a fine lady like her.”

  “Why did they adopt me?” Maureen had wanted to know Greta’s opinion for some time but had never had the opportunity to ask. Servants usually knew everything that was going on.

  Greta tilted her head in thought, then said, “Because they’re good Christian people, and they knew you needed them as much as they needed you. They must have thought God had sent you to be their daughter.”

  “Do you mean they think God had Mama die just so they could adopt me?”

  “No, just that there’s a purpose to things and all things work out.” Greta shook her head, which made her large body shake, too. “You’re too smart for your own good.” Greta grabbed the dish towel from her. “Now, scat, missy.”

  Maureen wandered back into the hall, then carried her book upstairs to her room. She had arithmetic homework to do, but she made no attempt to start it. Instead, she plopped on her bed and looked up at the lacy pink canopy.

  So, she was to become a lady and take her rightful place in the world.

  “Where would that be, Mama?” she said aloud. She remembered stories Mama had told of the old country and how poor they’d been there before coming to America to seek their fortune. It was much as Mrs. Hoag had described it. The land of milk and honey. “Is this what you want for me, Mama?” Maureen asked the canopy.

  She couldn’t remember the old country. She’d been almost three when her family had immigrated. She didn’t remember the trip over or their time in New York—just the day they had docked at Ellis Island was etched in her memory. All she had were mental pictures of Papa, as her mother had described him.