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  Mother was involved in getting the evils of alcohol out of the United States, and Maureen respected her for that, but she didn’t like getting dragged into the fight. Standing in front of a group and talking bothered her so much. She’d had to do it yesterday at school, and again tonight she’d be on display as Nadine Stevenson’s new daughter.

  At dinner, Maureen explained about the job. She mentioned the wonderful statues of the horses standing on two legs, but she didn’t mention that Mrs. Hoag had said she knew both the artist and the president. Although she harbored thoughts that Mrs. Hoag was exaggerating, she kept quiet out of loyalty to her new employer.

  “I’ll call on Mrs. Hoag this evening,” Father said. “I have the Woods catalog, so she can look at the electrics, but I mentioned at the bank that I was looking into automobiles for her, and Mark’s father said he knew of one here in town for sale. The estate of Mr. Thomas Swain is being settled, and he had just acquired a Road-Wagon before he died. I think it would be perfect for Mrs. Hoag, and she could get it now instead of waiting a few months.”

  The telephone rang, two longs and a short, the Stevensons’ ring. Greta appeared at the door of the dining room and announced that the call was from Mark for Maureen.

  “May I take it?” she asked. “I’m finished eating.”

  “Yes, this time, but tell Mark that normally you can’t take calls during the dinner hour,” Mother said.

  Mark quickly announced that since his father was handling the estate of a man, he’d discovered the perfect automobile for Mrs. Hoag. Mark seemed disappointed that Maureen already knew his news and that her father was going to speak to Mrs. Hoag that evening.

  “Call me after he gets back,” Mark said.

  “I may have to wait and tell you at school,” Maureen said. “I must hurry to a WCTU meeting with Mother.” And hurry she did. She changed dresses and scurried down the stairs where Mother waited.

  Father drove them in the automobile to the meeting held at the president’s home.

  “Are you ready?” Mother asked, as they walked up to the house.

  “Yes, Mother. I’ll do my best to remember.”

  “That’s all I want from you, Maureen. You doing your best.”

  There was already a roomful of women, and Maureen acknowledged introductions by a slight bow of her head and a “very pleased to meet you,” as Mother had taught her.

  After the president called the meeting to order, Maureen listened to reports of the various committees. Women had sat outside a barroom and recorded the names of the men who went inside for a drink. That usually made men uncomfortable, so they would avoid that place in the future. Because of lost business from the WCTU’s activities, five establishments so far had closed down.

  When it was time for the committee report on the teaching at school, Mother stood and introduced Maureen.

  Maureen walked to the front of the room and swallowed hard. Staring at a portrait on the back wall of the sitting room, she held up her hand and pointed to each finger as she recited,

  “One, two, three, four, five fingers on every little hand.

  Listen while they speak to us; be sure we understand.

  1. THERE IS A DRINK THAT NEVER HARMS. It will make us strong.

  2. THERE IS A DRINK THAT NEVER ALARMS. Some drinks make people wicked.

  3. A DRINK THAT KEEPS OUR SENSES RIGHT. There are drinks that will take away our senses.

  4. A DRINK THAT MAKES OUR FACES BRIGHT. We should never touch the drinks that will put evil into our hearts and spoil our faces.

  5. GOD GIVES US THE ONLY DRINK—’TIS PURE, COLD WATER.”

  The ladies applauded, and Maureen took her seat with a sigh of relief. Her mother patted her on the knee. “That was very nice, Maureen.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  For the rest of the meeting, Maureen let her mind drift to Mrs. Hoag and the job and the automobile.

  “She is out of hand,” Mother said, and Maureen’s attention came back to the meeting. “We aren’t out to destroy property, merely to shut down the establishments and get rid of evil alcohol.”

  “She’s getting her name known around the country. It may help our cause,” the president said.

  “But she is getting more violent,” another member said. “I don’t like her being associated with the WCTU.”

  “Who?” Maureen whispered.

  “Carrie Nation,” her mother whispered back. “I’ll explain later.”

  The members didn’t decide anything about Carrie Nation, but after they concluded their business and were drinking tea and socializing, Mother described the crusader’s actions.

  “At first she went to a saloon in Kansas and smashed a keg of whiskey. Then she used any weapon available, even rocks thrown at mirrors and windows. Now she’s carrying a hatchet, and she splinters furniture and breaks bottles and shatters kegs everywhere she goes. People will think all of us WCTU members are as mad as she is.”

  “You think she’s crazy?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve heard she flies into rages, and her family has a history of insanity.”

  “Oh,” Maureen said and drank another sip of her tea. If insanity ran in families, then she should ask Mrs. Hoag to tell her more about her family in Ireland. And if Mrs. Hoag’s family were normal, Maureen could tell the others at school that Mrs. Hoag wasn’t crazy after all, even if she did think she knew President Roosevelt.

  CHAPTER 6

  Maureen’s Secret

  Mrs. Hoag’s buying the automobile,” Maureen told Mark the next day at school. “Father said she didn’t even need to see it. She’s taking his word about it.”

  “Now I know two people who have automobiles,” Mark said. “I wish my family had one.”

  “Uncle Albert will buy one someday,” Maureen said in an effort to make him feel better. “Besides, your family is so big, all of you couldn’t fit into one. You’d need one with three backseats, and who would ever think of making an automobile that big?”

  Mark laughed. “That would be funny looking.”

  Maureen was glad that wistful note was out of his voice, for she didn’t think it likely that his family would get an automobile any time soon. She’d overheard Father say to Mother that Uncle Albert had a lot of mouths to feed. Five children took a lot of clothing and shoes, too.

  Since the Stevensons had adopted her, they had showered her with new clothes. Maureen lacked no essential item. She had protested to Mother that she didn’t need so many dresses. Although she didn’t say so, she didn’t want to be a burden to them. But Mother had insisted that Maureen have several dresses and three pairs of shoes.

  Three pairs of shoes. Mama would have thought that was unnecessary since Maureen would outgrow them before they wore out.

  She looked down at the toe of the brown shoe peeking out from under her skirt and was thankful she had been adopted instead of sent to an orphanage like some of the schoolgirls had whispered might happen to her.

  Today the girls were still friendly and full of curious questions about Mrs. Hoag. As before, they gathered around Maureen and Mark outside the school before the afternoon session began.

  “She’s not crazy,” Maureen told them. “Mother calls her eccentric, but that just means she has odd ways. She’s been all over the West to Dakota and in the East to New York, and China and Africa and Europe.”

  “You’ve been in Europe, too,” Mark said. “Ireland’s in Europe. And you lived in New York.”

  “Does that make you eccentric, too?” Sarah asked and laughed.

  Mark looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t meant to put Maureen in that kind of light.

  “It means she’s been places and done things we haven’t,” Mark said. “Have you ever been out of Minnesota?”

  Sarah smirked. “I’ve taken the train to Iowa to visit my aunt.”

  “Well, Maureen’s crossed the ocean on a big ship and ridden the train across the country to here.”

  “So what? That makes her
an immigrant,” Sarah said.

  Maureen stepped back as if she’d been struck. The way Sarah said the word was the same as saying she was beneath them. Oh, she had known that feeling before, when she’d first started school and seen the division between the servant class and the wealthy class. But at that moment it was a slap to her mama and papa, and Maureen wanted to reach out and strike Sarah. She closed her eyes a moment and remembered the Sunday school lesson from the week before on turning the other cheek. She swallowed hard and didn’t say a word.

  “Mrs. Hoag says traveling lets you see places you never dreamed of and lets you see people doing things you would never see except in magazine drawings and pictures,” Mark said.

  “But Mrs. Hoag is eccentric,” Sarah said.

  A teacher rang the bell, and the students lined up to go back inside the school.

  “Sorry,” Mark said to Maureen before he took his place in line with his class.

  The rest of the afternoon, Maureen kept her head lowered, with her eyes on her desk or her papers. She didn’t raise her hand to answer any questions, even though history was her favorite subject, and she didn’t talk to anyone when the students worked in small groups on a science experiment.

  After school, Maureen walked home alone. She wished it was a workday and she could talk to Mrs. Hoag more about the time when she came to America. As Maureen neared Mrs. Hoag’s mansion, she made a sudden decision and turned down the drive.

  “Why, Maureen, it’s only Wednesday,” Mrs. Hoag said when she answered the door. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

  “I know. I just wanted to ask you something.” Maureen didn’t know where she found the courage to face Mrs. Hoag alone. One moment she thought the old woman was crazy saying she heard voices and knew President Roosevelt, and the next moment she found Mrs. Hoag as a link to her own country and in a strange way as a link to her mama.

  “Come in,” Mrs. Hoag said. She wore a dark-blue dress and had her hair pinned up. She led the way to the Oriental Room. “Please sit down. Now what is troubling you, Maureen?”

  Mrs. Hoag seemed different today, concerned, no odd glint in her eye or cackling laughter—just normal. She could have been like any of the ladies at the WCTU meeting.

  Maureen didn’t know how to start. She couldn’t ask how Mrs. Hoag had stood people looking down on her because she wasn’t born in America. She couldn’t ask her if people made fun of her accent or her ways. She took a deep breath and just began. “You’ve been an immigrant for a long time.”

  “No,” Mrs. Hoag said. “I’m not an immigrant. I’m a citizen.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course. Franklin’s mother insisted upon it, and I’m glad she did.” As if talking to herself, Mrs. Hoag said in a quieter voice, “I’m surprised Nadine Stevenson hasn’t talked to you about it. Maybe she thought it was too early and would take away your identity.”

  Hope rose in Maureen. Could she become a citizen, too?

  “How old do you have to be?”

  Mrs. Hoag smiled. “No age limit, but there’s a time limit. Tell me again when you came to this country.”

  “When I was almost three, and I’ll be eleven in July.”

  “That’s plenty long. I think the requirement is five years, but the law may have changed since I took the oath. You need to swear to uphold the government and obey its laws. And you can’t be a criminal or insane,” she said with a laugh, “but I can vouch for you there. If you’d like, I’ll ask Sidney Orr to look up the laws and see what steps you need to be taking to become a citizen.” Her voice softened. “Why is this important to you?” she asked.

  Maureen explained about the girls at school.

  “I’m thinking some of them are not long off the boat themselves. Maybe second-generation Americans. They shouldn’t be so high and mighty. Not that I haven’t seen it before. Franklin’s father’s family had been here since before the Revolution, but his mother’s family was another thing. Her family came over from Italy a few months before she was born, so you might say she crossed the ocean, too, in her mother’s womb. She was proud to be American-born, and she never confided the story of her birth to me, but Franklin’s father told him. I never held it against her or for her. We all have different things that make us proud. Maybe her family was looked down on, so she held her head up because she was a native.”

  Mrs. Hoag reached over and lifted Maureen’s chin with her finger. “And you, child, are going to lift your head up high, too.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Maureen said with a much lighter heart than when she’d knocked on Mrs. Hoag’s door. “I’d best be going. Mother will wonder why I’m late from school.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mrs. Hoag said and waved good-bye from the doorway.

  Maureen hurried home and found Mother in the parlor with another lady from the WCTU. Although she wanted to talk to her then, Maureen went to her room.

  She picked up the picture of her mama from the dresser and stared at it. “Should I become a citizen, Mama? Did you ever think of doing it?”

  Instead of starting her homework, Maureen stared out the window, waiting to see the guest leave. When the front door finally closed with a thump, she ran downstairs and burst into the parlor.

  “Mother,” she said as she stood in front of her mother’s chair. “I want to be a citizen.”

  Her mother looked surprised, but she nodded her head. “Good.”

  “Why didn’t my mama become a citizen? Mrs. Hoag says it takes being in this country only five years.”

  “You’ve talked to Mrs. Hoag?”

  “She’ll be having Sidney Orr see what the laws are about it. But my mama?”

  “I’m not sure, Maureen. I think she felt it was disloyal to your papa or maybe giving up too much of her heritage, but I’m glad you’ve decided to do it. But why now?”

  Maureen explained about Sarah’s comments. When she was through, Mother reached out and hugged her.

  “Sometimes people are mean-spirited, but you did the right thing in turning the other cheek and not saying anything hateful back to Sarah. I’ll talk to Mrs. Hoag and see what she finds out so that we can file the necessary forms.”

  “Thank you, Mother. I’m not going to tell the girls at school until I’m a citizen, but I might tell Mark.”

  “Fine. For now it will be our family secret,” Mother said.

  The next day after school as Maureen and Mark were walking to Mrs. Hoag’s, Maureen shared her secret of becoming a citizen. “But you can’t tell anyone. Promise?”

  “Promise,” Mark said.

  As before, Mrs. Hoag opened the door as they climbed the porch steps.

  “Are you ready to work?” she asked.

  “Western Room, here we come,” Mark said.

  They cataloged the rest of the statues that day and then moved into the French Room, which was also on the third floor. The artwork was different here. The paintings weren’t as real-life looking as those in the Western Room.

  “This looks like scribbles,” Mark said.

  “Stand over here to look at it,” Mrs. Hoag said. “Then you’ll see what the artist saw.”

  “It’s a horse race,” Maureen said from across the room.

  “Exactly. Manet painted The Races at Longchamp. It’s supposed to be seen like you would see it. Your eye couldn’t focus on the horses and the people watching it, so he gave the impression of the people without drawing faces.”

  “I like faces,” Mark said.

  “That’s a different style of art,” Mrs. Hoag said. “Look at this one.”

  Maureen squinted her eyes to make out the name of the artist. “Is this the same man? Manet?”

  “No, this is Monet. That’s an o instead of an a, but the two artists were friends. When I met Monet, he was on a boat that he had fixed up into an artist’s studio. He said an artist should only paint nature from nature itself. And he had to paint fast, because clouds could cover the sun and make the lighting differ
ent or wind could break the reflection of the water. He was an odd fellow, but quite likable.”

  So Mrs. Hoag knew this man, too. Or at least she says she does, Maureen thought. Could she possibly know President Roosevelt and Frederic Remington and Monet?

  “These men called themselves Impressionists. Franklin was like you, Mark. He liked the faces to have eyes and noses and hair.”

  “I like Remington’s statues the best,” Maureen said. “When we finish today, could I come back with Father’s camera and take a picture of The Wicked Pony? I told Father about it, and he’d like to see it.”

  “He should have mentioned it when he came by today with the automobile,” Mrs. Hoag said. “I would have shown it to him.”

  “You got the electric?” Mark asked, excitement in his voice.

  “Shall I take you two for a ride to Maureen’s house to get the camera?” Mrs. Hoag asked.

  “Oh yes,” Mark said.

  “Then let’s finish our work for today and we shall try out the Road-Wagon.”

  They worked well together for the rest of the time. Mark read off the name of the artist, and Maureen stood across the room and described the work. Mrs. Hoag gave more fascinating history about each one as she wrote long notes, but Maureen didn’t know if it was all true or not.

  “The time’s up,” Mrs. Hoag finally said. “Shall we go get that camera?”

  With elaborate care, Mrs. Hoag donned a driving hat with a billowing veil and a long coat. “I went to George Dayton’s department store this morning,” she said, “and purchased the proper attire for my electric.”

  She led them out the back door to the carriage house, where the electric had been recharging. Mark claimed the spot next to Mrs. Hoag, which left Maureen on the outside.

  “It doesn’t have to be cranked,” Mark said.

  “No. It works off a battery,” Mrs. Hoag said. She started the Road-Wagon, then pulled the steering tiller to the left. The car moved to the right.

  “You have to move it the opposite way,” Mark said.