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Authors: Karen Schwabach
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big the house was, they were aware that an extremely heated discussion was going on downstairs in the kitchen. Violet strained her ears but couldn't catch what was being said.
“I wonder what they're arguing about?” she said.
“Me, I expect,” said Myrtle.
“Fine, don't listen to me.” Miss Dexter's voice was suddenly clear; she must have stormed out of the kitchen into the downstairs hall. “I'm only saying that this is exactly the sort of gesture that loses us sympathy in the South.”
The front door of Cameron House slammed.
Violet wondered if Myrtle could be right.
One of the many things that Violet had heard several times during her virtuous years of silence at the dinner table was that colored people were different. Yet in the last twenty-four hours of traveling with Myrtle, Violet had noticed that colored people were really not that different at all. She didn't mention this to Myrtle, who presumably already knew it, but to Violet this was something of a revelation. It was the first time that she'd ever discovered, all by herself, that Mother and Father were wrong about some things.
Chloe had discovered it a long time ago and told Violet about it, but that was Chloe. For Chloe to be right when Mother and Father were wrong wasn't that surprising. Violet had just never expected that she could be right too. Violet had always assumed that her own disagreements with Mother and Father were her fault and that Mother and Father (particularly Father) were bound to be right, just by virtue of being Mother and Father. Yet clearly they were wrong about colored people.
Myrtle was no different from most of the girls Violet knew, except for the minor detail that when they started out their journey, Myrtle's hair had been straight, but after she'd washed it under the faucet in Louse Home Alley, it had turned crinkly. And except that Myrtle had been sent to a training institute instead of a school.
Still, Myrtle was probably being too sensitive, Violet thought. Probably Miss Dexter was upset about something else.
Violet lay awake for a long time, wondering how she was ever going to find Chloe. Maybe the National Woman's Party workers would take her to Tennessee with them. She rolled over to ask Myrtle if she wanted to go too. But Myrtle had gone to sleep.
Heading to Nashville
A N ALARMING SIGHT GREETED V IOLET AND Myrtle when they came down to breakfast in the morning. Mr. Martin, whom they had left at the settlement house in New York, was quietly sipping coffee at the kitchen table with his hat in his hand. Miss Dexter was at the table too. They both turned to look at Violet and Myrtle.
“Good morning,” said Miss Dexter. She said it with a somewhat martyred air. She pushed a plate of toast toward the girls. “There's coffee on the stove.”
“Good morning,” said Mr. Martin.
“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” said Violet awkwardly. She'd thought that once they'd gotten away from Mr. Martin and his awkward questions about parents at the Henry Street Settlement House, that would be the end of him. That he would actually come after them hadn't occurred to her.
“You followed us here, sir?” said Myrtle.
“Not exactly,” said Mr. Martin. “I came here to make sure you were still in one piece, yes. But I took the train from Penn Station. I'm not really sure how you got here.”
“We hopped two freight trains and a blind,” said Myrtle matter-of-factly.
Violet looked down at her shoes, expecting to be scolded. It was her usual lot in life. But if Mr. Martin thought he was going to make her go home to Susquehanna, he could think again.
Mr. Martin raised an eyebrow. “That's very dangerous, you know. Accidents happen to people jumping freight trains. I've seen people who have lost arms and legs.”
Against her will, Violet found herself looking at Mr. Martin's hand with the missing fingers. She would have liked to have asked what had happened to them, but such a question was unthinkable.
“And what
“I wonder what they're arguing about?” she said.
“Me, I expect,” said Myrtle.
“Fine, don't listen to me.” Miss Dexter's voice was suddenly clear; she must have stormed out of the kitchen into the downstairs hall. “I'm only saying that this is exactly the sort of gesture that loses us sympathy in the South.”
The front door of Cameron House slammed.
Violet wondered if Myrtle could be right.
One of the many things that Violet had heard several times during her virtuous years of silence at the dinner table was that colored people were different. Yet in the last twenty-four hours of traveling with Myrtle, Violet had noticed that colored people were really not that different at all. She didn't mention this to Myrtle, who presumably already knew it, but to Violet this was something of a revelation. It was the first time that she'd ever discovered, all by herself, that Mother and Father were wrong about some things.
Chloe had discovered it a long time ago and told Violet about it, but that was Chloe. For Chloe to be right when Mother and Father were wrong wasn't that surprising. Violet had just never expected that she could be right too. Violet had always assumed that her own disagreements with Mother and Father were her fault and that Mother and Father (particularly Father) were bound to be right, just by virtue of being Mother and Father. Yet clearly they were wrong about colored people.
Myrtle was no different from most of the girls Violet knew, except for the minor detail that when they started out their journey, Myrtle's hair had been straight, but after she'd washed it under the faucet in Louse Home Alley, it had turned crinkly. And except that Myrtle had been sent to a training institute instead of a school.
Still, Myrtle was probably being too sensitive, Violet thought. Probably Miss Dexter was upset about something else.
Violet lay awake for a long time, wondering how she was ever going to find Chloe. Maybe the National Woman's Party workers would take her to Tennessee with them. She rolled over to ask Myrtle if she wanted to go too. But Myrtle had gone to sleep.
Heading to Nashville
A N ALARMING SIGHT GREETED V IOLET AND Myrtle when they came down to breakfast in the morning. Mr. Martin, whom they had left at the settlement house in New York, was quietly sipping coffee at the kitchen table with his hat in his hand. Miss Dexter was at the table too. They both turned to look at Violet and Myrtle.
“Good morning,” said Miss Dexter. She said it with a somewhat martyred air. She pushed a plate of toast toward the girls. “There's coffee on the stove.”
“Good morning,” said Mr. Martin.
“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” said Violet awkwardly. She'd thought that once they'd gotten away from Mr. Martin and his awkward questions about parents at the Henry Street Settlement House, that would be the end of him. That he would actually come after them hadn't occurred to her.
“You followed us here, sir?” said Myrtle.
“Not exactly,” said Mr. Martin. “I came here to make sure you were still in one piece, yes. But I took the train from Penn Station. I'm not really sure how you got here.”
“We hopped two freight trains and a blind,” said Myrtle matter-of-factly.
Violet looked down at her shoes, expecting to be scolded. It was her usual lot in life. But if Mr. Martin thought he was going to make her go home to Susquehanna, he could think again.
Mr. Martin raised an eyebrow. “That's very dangerous, you know. Accidents happen to people jumping freight trains. I've seen people who have lost arms and legs.”
Against her will, Violet found herself looking at Mr. Martin's hand with the missing fingers. She would have liked to have asked what had happened to them, but such a question was unthinkable.
“And what
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