American Progress Page 4

  Maureen wanted to talk to Mrs. Hoag again. She wanted to learn about Ireland, and she wanted to know more about her own past.

  Maureen pushed off the bed and crossed the large room to her dresser. She picked up the wooden picture frame and stared at her mama and herself on the back porch. Her new father had taken the picture on the day they had all moved to the new house. It had been a joyous day. Mama’s wide smile had shown how pleased she was to have a brand-new kitchen and the most modern stove the Stevensons could buy from the Sears catalog.

  “Maureen, dear,” Mother’s voice called upstairs, “I’m home.”

  Maureen gently put the frame down and walked downstairs. Mother hugged her.

  “How was the meeting with Mrs. Hoag?” she asked.

  Maureen had nearly forgotten about the reward in the excitement about the job. She explained about the tea party, the Oriental Room, the ten dollars, and the cataloging.

  “Mark really wants to do it. May I work for her, too?” she asked, doubting that the job would be what taking her place as a lady in the world meant.

  “Let’s decide over dinner.” Maureen interpreted her mother’s remark to mean that she wanted Father’s opinion.

  Mark called shortly before dinner to say that he’d gotten permission to work for Mrs. Hoag. That would be one more argument for taking the job.

  After Father arrived home from the bank and the family was seated at the dinner table, he asked the Lord’s blessing on the food. Maureen added a silent prayer for Father’s approval of the job.

  As soon as Greta had served the roast and potatoes, Maureen repeated her story about the visit with Mrs. Hoag.

  “You’re to call her tonight?” Father asked.

  “Yes. I’d like to take the job,” Maureen said.

  “She’d learn about other cultures and their art,” he said to Mother. “And Mrs. Hoag could use a push to get back into life. I think it’s a good idea, but I’d like to go over and talk to Mrs. Hoag instead of just letting Maureen call her.”

  Maureen looked at Mother expectantly.

  “Then it’s settled, but I think we should all go over together. I’d like a peek at that house,” she said with a playful smile and a gleam in her eyes.

  As soon as the meal was over, Maureen called Mark and told him the good news. She telephoned Mrs. Hoag as she’d promised and asked if they could call on her. Then the small Stevenson family climbed into the automobile and drove the two blocks to Mrs. Hoag’s home.

  “We could have walked,” Mother shouted above the roar as they turned into Mrs. Hoag’s drive.

  “I know,” Father said, “but I wanted to try the lights out. I haven’t used them much.”

  Ahead of them the dim headlights illuminated another automobile parked near the front door.

  “Sidney Orr is here,” Father said. “I didn’t know he knew Mrs. Hoag.”

  “How do you know it’s him?” Mother asked.

  “That’s his automobile. It’s the only one like it in town.” Father jumped down from the driver’s side and opened the doors for Mother and Maureen. Then he hurried ahead to admire the automobile.

  Maureen could barely make out the other automobile, so she knew Father couldn’t see much either, but he was stroking it as if it were a favorite horse.

  “Fine automobile,” he said and reluctantly left it to walk with them to the front door.

  Father knocked, and a long moment passed before the door was opened.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hoag. We’re sorry to interrupt your evening,” he said, “but we wanted to talk to you about Maureen’s new job.”

  “And to bring you a freshly baked apple pie,” Mother said. She held the pie out, and Mrs. Hoag took it and set it on a parson’s bench in the hallway.

  “Come in,” she said brusquely. She still wore the maroon dress, which looked festive, but her expression was not as warm as it had been that afternoon. “Let me take your wraps.”

  As soon as their coats were hung on the hall tree, she led the way to the Oriental Room. A man sitting on the couch rose when they walked in. He was rather stocky, and his head was balding in front. He smiled a friendly greeting.

  “Hello, Sidney,” Father said. “A pleasure to see you again.”

  “Good evening, Theodore,” Sidney Orr said. “I didn’t know you knew my dear friend.”

  “We’re new neighbors,” Father said. “Fine automobile you have. German-made, isn’t it?”

  “Please sit down,” Mrs. Hoag said. “I see you know Sidney, who surprised me with this visit. His father and my husband were lifelong friends.”

  “Ah,” Father said, as if understanding the connection. He introduced Sidney to Mother and Maureen and explained that Sidney was a lawyer and occasionally had dealings with the bank. As soon as the ladies were seated, the men sat down.

  “We’ve meant to come before now,” Mother said. “We’d like to be good neighbors.”

  Mrs. Hoag offered a tight smile. “How nice,” she said, although the words came out without expression. The change in her surprised Maureen, who studied Mrs. Hoag’s face, looking for a reason for her dourness.

  “Sidney, you were saying?” Mrs. Hoag prompted her old friend in a cold voice.

  He glanced hesitantly at Father, then spoke. “I was merely reminding you that we had talked at some length about your selling the land to me. You told me the house was much too large for you and Bertha to keep up, and you were considering moving to a smaller place. You said you’d let me be the first to know when you had decided.”

  “I don’t recall the conversation,” she said, “but I haven’t decided to sell this place. If I do, I’ll let you know. And I won’t forget the conversation this time because Maureen will remind me. Right, Maureen? You have a young mind, so you can’t be forgetful yet. The years rob us of our memories.” She shook her head.

  “I’ll remember,” Maureen assured her, but she hoped Mrs. Hoag wouldn’t sell. That would do away with her new job.

  Silence descended over the group, and Maureen wondered if she should bring up the reason for their visit, but Father looked at her and gave a brief shake of his head, so she remained quiet. Maybe he wanted to assess Mrs. Hoag’s stern behavior before he brought up the subject of the cataloging job.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be going,” Sidney Orr said finally. “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Lillian.” He stood up, and Father stood up, too.

  Mrs. Hoag remained seated. “I’ll see myself out,” Mr. Orr said, but Father walked out with him.

  “Father likes automobiles,” Maureen said to make conversation. “I imagine they are talking about them.”

  “I’m thinking I’d like one,” Mrs. Hoag said as if she’d just that moment decided to get one. “Bertha takes the trolley to run our errands, but I may want to get out myself and not be tied to the trolley schedule. Perhaps Mr. Stevenson can advise me about a horseless carriage.”

  “I’m sure he’d be pleased to,” Mother said. “Mrs. Hoag, we came about the job you’ve offered Maureen. Are you quite sure you’d like to hire her?”

  “I wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t wanting her to help me,” Mrs. Hoag said with a heavier than usual Irish brogue in her voice.

  “You certainly have some fine things,” Mother said. “I can see why you’d want to catalog them. These vases are very old, aren’t they?”

  “Some from the Ming dynasty,” Mrs. Hoag said. “But I see where your mind is going, and yours, too, Maureen. Would I like youngsters to be handling them? Might they get broken?”

  Mother nodded. “Yes, I wondered about that.”

  Maureen looked hard at Mrs. Hoag. Was she really a mind reader? That was twice today that she’d known what Maureen had been thinking.

  “I have a general insurance policy on my fine things, although there’s not a complete listing. That’s one reason I want to catalog these items. And what good are things if you can’t touch them now and again? I’ll be moving most of the items, so t
here’s no need to be fearing what may not happen.”

  Father knocked on the outside door, then let himself in. He walked quickly into the Oriental Room and sat down again.

  “That’s a fine automobile Sidney has,” he said.

  “Where can I get one?” Mrs. Hoag asked.

  Father looked taken aback. “One like his? It’s German-made, and it’s a very fast automobile.”

  “Not especially like his. Is there a kind I could be handling easier?”

  “For around town and for a woman, I’d suggest an electric. I have a Woods catalog, if you’d like me to look into it for you.”

  “Would you be so kind? I’d like one immediately.”

  “It takes awhile to order one, and then it would have to be shipped by rail. Probably take a month or two, maybe more, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stevenson. Now the other matter at hand was Maureen’s job. I’m sure she’ll be excellent help for me. The work will be fitting for a girl her age.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” he said. “Thank you for trusting—”

  “Put your hands up,” Ruthie said from the hallway, stopping Father in midsentence. “Put your hands up.”

  He didn’t stick his hands up, but he looked stunned.

  “It’s a parrot,” Maureen said.

  Mrs. Hoag chuckled, but she didn’t laugh that maniacal laugh that she had when Maureen and Mark had thrust their hands in the air.

  “My husband said Ruthie was better than a watchdog,” she explained. “Thieves would give themselves up if they heard her.”

  Maureen glanced at Ruthie. Had the parrot seen the burglars who had taken Mrs. Hoag’s handbag from the house? And if they were truly thieves, why hadn’t they taken the expensive oriental vases? That didn’t make sense.

  What if nobody took Mrs. Hoag’s handbag at all? What if she threw it into the creek herself? But only a crazy person would do that!

  CHAPTER 5

  Counting Fingers

  By noon on Tuesday, everyone in school knew that Maureen and Mark were going to help Mrs. Hoag catalog her artwork. Although Maureen had told no one, Mark had mentioned it to a couple boys, and the news spread like wildfire.

  Maureen hadn’t anticipated the reaction of her classmates. The daughters of servants were glad that she was going to be working, even if it wasn’t a regular chore-type job. The wealthy girls thought she showed great courage in facing Mrs. Hoag. Outside on the playground after the noon meal, Sarah said that Maureen was either brave or stupid, she couldn’t decide which, but the other girls shushed her, and Maureen brushed it off as envy from Sarah since Maureen was the center of attention for the day.

  Being friends with everyone was what Maureen wanted, but she wondered if the attraction would last. At least tomorrow the others would want to know how the first day working at Mrs. Hoag’s had gone.

  After school, Maureen and Mark walked quickly to the mansion, although Maureen was tempted to stroll along. It was one of those rare March days when the sun was shining brightly and the temperature said spring was in the air.

  “What do you think we’ll work on today?” Mark asked as they climbed the porch steps.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Maureen said.

  “Good afternoon, children,” Mrs. Hoag said. She’d opened the door before they could knock. “I’ve been waiting for you. I’m so anxious to get started.”

  Maureen hung her coat on the hall tree as she had the night before, and Mark did the same.

  “We’ll start at the top,” Mrs. Hoag said and led the way upstairs. She had piled her hair up on top of her head in a bun. The dress she wore was a dark shade of purple—not as bright as yesterday’s maroon dress, but it wasn’t a black mourning dress, either.

  Maureen and Mark followed her up the wide, wooden staircase that opened onto a large hallway on the second floor. Mrs. Hoag opened a set of double doors, revealing another stairwell. This wasn’t as broad as the main staircase, but still Maureen and Mark could climb side by side.

  Mrs. Hoag opened the door at the third-floor landing and led the way into a giant room. “This was the ballroom. It’s the largest room in the house.”

  It was huge. Two walls were lined with paintings. Cowboys, Indians, herds of cattle, horses and riders, anything Western hung on those walls. On the dance floor stood at least twenty tables that held statues of more horses and cowboys and Indians.

  Ruthie waddled in. “Quiet. Be quiet. Put your hands up!” she said as she walked around the room.

  The other two walls were solid windows with a pair of double doors on the front side that led to the balcony. Maureen looked out toward the backyard and saw lots of bird feeders on poles. There had been a few in the front yard, but there must have been fifteen in the back. Birds were eating out of them. A whole flock had landed out there.

  Maureen knocked hard on the window, and the sudden noise made the birds lift off in a giant wave. They flew toward the wooded area behind the house.

  At this height, Maureen could see the creek. It curved from where they had found the purse to cut right toward Mrs. Hoag’s house, then it turned back about a hundred yards away. Maureen hadn’t realized it was that close.

  “Let’s begin,” Mrs. Hoag said. “Franklin was fascinated by the West. We went out there several times to different parts. My favorite was the trip in 1885—September, it was—and we stayed three days at Elkhorn Ranch in the Dakota Badlands country. I sat in a rocking chair on the front porch of the ranch house and looked over the Little Missouri River while Franklin went hunting with our host. Guess whose front porch that was?” She had a mischievous look in her eye.

  “Whose?” Mark asked.

  “President Theodore Roosevelt’s,” she said proudly. “Oh, he wasn’t president then, but he and Franklin were great friends. He wrote me a card after Franklin died. I still have it around somewhere. I kept all the cards people sent to me.” That sad, haunted look, the one Maureen had seen the first time she’d met Mrs. Hoag, returned; then Mrs. Hoag shook her head and lifted her chin. “These artworks portray the West as Franklin saw it.”

  “You saw Indians?” Mark asked.

  “Yes, but the ones I saw were peaceful enough,” she said. “Not like in some of the artwork.” She pointed toward the first wall of pictures. “Let’s see how we’ll manage this.”

  While Mrs. Hoag pondered the situation, Maureen wondered about the truth in her statement that she knew President Roosevelt. Was this another claim of a crazy person?

  “We must describe each painting,” Mrs. Hoag said. “Move that chair over here for me, Mark, and we’ll start. You two can call off the name and the artist and give a description of the painting. I’ll write it down. Maureen, would you dust each frame as we finish with it?”

  The dust cloth, a pen, and paper were on the chair that Mark moved closer to the wall for Mrs. Hoag. Obviously she had been preparing for their work session. A fire blazed in a large fireplace, and the steam heaters clanged and clattered as if they had been recently turned on.

  They started on the south wall and worked their way around the room. Maureen admired each painting, and Mrs. Hoag wrote down approximately when she and her husband had purchased it and where, to the best of her memory.

  “I should have done this as we added each piece,” she said. “Now this one is a favorite of mine. It was the last one we purchased before Franklin died. The Old Stagecoach of the Plains. It’s a night scene and reminds me of how we traveled once long ago. See the light inside the coach? Remington is a master at capturing a moment of action.”

  Maureen studied the painting as she dusted its frame. A guard sat on the top of the stage, as if anticipating danger. There was something lonely about the painting and something of adventure in it, too.

  “He’s very good,” she commented.

  “If you like this, you’ll love his bronzes,” Mrs. Hoag said. “Look over yonder.” She pointed to one of the statues in the center
of the room. “See how he has the horse rearing?”

  Maureen and Mark walked over to the statue.

  “That horse is standing on his back legs,” Mark said. “How does he balance like that?”

  “Frederic Remington told me that he took pictures and then tried to duplicate them. See the roughness of the horse’s mane? See his ribs? Look at that one over there.” She pointed to a different statue. “The Wicked Pony. He’s bucking and has thrown his rider. Franklin was thrown once and broke his arm. But he said he didn’t regret it. Franklin lived life to its fullest, a lesson we should learn from him.”

  Before Mrs. Hoag could get maudlin again, Maureen changed the subject. “Do you know Mr. Remington?”

  “Oh yes, dear. He and Franklin were good friends. Whenever we were in the East, we’d visit his studio. It took him awhile to warm to me, since I was an immigrant, but we’ve become fairly good friends. I should look into what he’s been doing and perhaps get another of his bronzes for our collection. I’ll make a note of it, since my memory isn’t what it should be.”

  She jotted something on the edge of the paper, and then they got back to work. They finished the paintings and half the statues before Mrs. Hoag said it was time to quit for the day.

  “But you will be back on Thursday?” she asked. “You like this work?”

  “Oh yes,” Mark said. “Do we keep a record of our hours or do we get paid each day?”

  “I can be depending on you to keep sight of the important things,” Mrs. Hoag said with a laugh. “I’ll pay each Saturday after we finish for the day. Agreed?”

  Mark nodded. “If we work Saturday morning, then we can still go skating on Saturday afternoon.”

  Mrs. Hoag smiled. “That’s fine with me.”

  Maureen and Mark left her at the front door, then they separated at the end of the driveway.

  At home, Mother reminded Maureen that she was to accompany her to the WCTU meeting that evening. It was important to Mother, and it was drudgery to Maureen.

  She slipped upstairs before dinner to go over the piece Mother wanted her to recite. “Counting Fingers” was the poem her class at school was memorizing for next week, but Maureen had already learned it just for this special meeting.