Read Online The Hope Chest by Karen Schwabach - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Schwabach
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about your families?” Mr. Martin went on. “Did you think to tell them where you are?”
“I don't have a family,” said Myrtle.
Mr. Martin turned his raised eyebrow on Myrtle, and Violet felt the need to back her up. “It's true, Mr. Martin, she doesn't.”
“And what about your parents, Miss Mayhew?” Mr. Martin said. “I think they must be frantic by now, don't you?”
“No,” said Violet. “They only care about my brother, Stephen. They think girls aren't good for much.”
“They are your parents,” said Mr. Martin. “It doesn't matter whether you're a boy or a girl; they'll be worried. As soon as you've eaten, we will go out and send them a telegram.”
“I'm not going back,” said Violet, starting to panic. “I want to go to Tennessee! I want to see Chloe.” She had planned on joining the ladies who were going to Tennessee, if they would let her.
“Please sit down and eat, Violet,” Miss Dexter pleaded. The way she said it made Violet realize that she might be causing a scene, and so she immediately sat down and did as she was told.
Myrtle sat down and reached for a piece of toast. She spread it with strawberry jam. “Don't you want to go to Tennessee, sir?”
Unaccountably, Mr. Martin looked embarrassed again. “Why would I want to go to Tennessee, Miss Davies?”
“Because history's going to be made,” Miss Dexter said enthusiastically. Two pink spots stood out on her cheeks. “I'm going! I wouldn't miss it for the world. If Tennessee becomes the thirty-sixth state to ratify the Susan B. Anthony Amendment, and women get the vote, won't that be something, to say you were there and saw it?”
“Yes!” said Myrtle.
“I'd like to go too,” said Violet. She wasn't a suffragist, but Chloe was in Tennessee.
“Well, so would I,” Mr. Martin admitted. He frowned at Violet. “But we're still going to wire your parents as soon as you're done eating.”
Violet stared at him, unsure what he meant. He couldn't possibly mean that he was going to let Violet and Myrtle go to Tennessee and in fact go with them.
“It's my duty, anyway, to see that you get there safely,” Mr. Martin added. He sounded like he was talking himself into something.
Miss Burns swept into the kitchen, her red hair glowing in the morning light. Miss Dexter introduced her.
“So, you're the Mr. Martin we've heard so much about!” said Miss Burns.
Mr. Martin looked down at his coffee, coloring. “Nothing too bad, I hope.”
“Very little at all bad,” said Miss Burns, amused. “I understand you taught Chloe to patch automobile tires.”
Violet looked at Mr. Martin in surprise. She remembered that from Chloe's letters.
“And now he wants to go off to Tennessee,” said Miss Dexter. “Along with …” She frowned at Myrtle again.
“Well, we have space on the train,” said Miss Burns. “Why shouldn't they go and see history being made? And see a certain suffragist,” she added, looking shrewdly at Mr. Martin.
The telegraph office was three blocks down Pennsylvania Avenue. It had a strange smell of ink, old wood, and electricity. Mr. Martin got Violet a form. Violet stared atit, nibbling on the end of the fountain pen chained to the desk. Myrtle tried to look over her shoulder, but the desk was too high for her to see. Mr. Martin wanted to make Myrtle send a telegram too, but she was adamant that she had
no one
to send it to. Violet didn't tell Mr. Martin about the Girls' Training Institute, of course. That was Myrtle's business.
You had to pay for a telegraph by the word—and a great deal, though Violet wasn't sure exactly how much. It was much cheaper than a long-distance phone call, which only very rich people could afford to make, but it was still expensive. Now, what could she write without letting her parents know where to find her?
She dipped the pen into the inkwell set in the desk.
I am fine
, she wrote, printing each word carefully on the form. Then she saw a way to save a few cents and
“I don't have a family,” said Myrtle.
Mr. Martin turned his raised eyebrow on Myrtle, and Violet felt the need to back her up. “It's true, Mr. Martin, she doesn't.”
“And what about your parents, Miss Mayhew?” Mr. Martin said. “I think they must be frantic by now, don't you?”
“No,” said Violet. “They only care about my brother, Stephen. They think girls aren't good for much.”
“They are your parents,” said Mr. Martin. “It doesn't matter whether you're a boy or a girl; they'll be worried. As soon as you've eaten, we will go out and send them a telegram.”
“I'm not going back,” said Violet, starting to panic. “I want to go to Tennessee! I want to see Chloe.” She had planned on joining the ladies who were going to Tennessee, if they would let her.
“Please sit down and eat, Violet,” Miss Dexter pleaded. The way she said it made Violet realize that she might be causing a scene, and so she immediately sat down and did as she was told.
Myrtle sat down and reached for a piece of toast. She spread it with strawberry jam. “Don't you want to go to Tennessee, sir?”
Unaccountably, Mr. Martin looked embarrassed again. “Why would I want to go to Tennessee, Miss Davies?”
“Because history's going to be made,” Miss Dexter said enthusiastically. Two pink spots stood out on her cheeks. “I'm going! I wouldn't miss it for the world. If Tennessee becomes the thirty-sixth state to ratify the Susan B. Anthony Amendment, and women get the vote, won't that be something, to say you were there and saw it?”
“Yes!” said Myrtle.
“I'd like to go too,” said Violet. She wasn't a suffragist, but Chloe was in Tennessee.
“Well, so would I,” Mr. Martin admitted. He frowned at Violet. “But we're still going to wire your parents as soon as you're done eating.”
Violet stared at him, unsure what he meant. He couldn't possibly mean that he was going to let Violet and Myrtle go to Tennessee and in fact go with them.
“It's my duty, anyway, to see that you get there safely,” Mr. Martin added. He sounded like he was talking himself into something.
Miss Burns swept into the kitchen, her red hair glowing in the morning light. Miss Dexter introduced her.
“So, you're the Mr. Martin we've heard so much about!” said Miss Burns.
Mr. Martin looked down at his coffee, coloring. “Nothing too bad, I hope.”
“Very little at all bad,” said Miss Burns, amused. “I understand you taught Chloe to patch automobile tires.”
Violet looked at Mr. Martin in surprise. She remembered that from Chloe's letters.
“And now he wants to go off to Tennessee,” said Miss Dexter. “Along with …” She frowned at Myrtle again.
“Well, we have space on the train,” said Miss Burns. “Why shouldn't they go and see history being made? And see a certain suffragist,” she added, looking shrewdly at Mr. Martin.
The telegraph office was three blocks down Pennsylvania Avenue. It had a strange smell of ink, old wood, and electricity. Mr. Martin got Violet a form. Violet stared atit, nibbling on the end of the fountain pen chained to the desk. Myrtle tried to look over her shoulder, but the desk was too high for her to see. Mr. Martin wanted to make Myrtle send a telegram too, but she was adamant that she had
no one
to send it to. Violet didn't tell Mr. Martin about the Girls' Training Institute, of course. That was Myrtle's business.
You had to pay for a telegraph by the word—and a great deal, though Violet wasn't sure exactly how much. It was much cheaper than a long-distance phone call, which only very rich people could afford to make, but it was still expensive. Now, what could she write without letting her parents know where to find her?
She dipped the pen into the inkwell set in the desk.
I am fine
, she wrote, printing each word carefully on the form. Then she saw a way to save a few cents and
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