“Turn yourself in!” I whispered to him. By now, I could hear Pete and Officer Miller entering the house. Their voices were a confused jumble as Briggs introduced himself. Officer Miller asked for me as well, but Briggs said he wasn’t sure where I was. Adam looked frantic and retied his bundle.
“Maybe he’s upstairs,” Pete said to Miller. “He’s been sickly lately, you know.” Pete’s voice boomed up to me, “Carl! Are you up there? Get up, son!. . . He’s probably resting,” I heard him say.
“Coming!” I yelled back weakly, but I stayed where I was. “Turn yourself in, Adam,” I repeated. “They’ll go easier on you if you do.”
Adam looked frantically at the door, then back at me. “You, too, huh?” he said, as if I’d betrayed him. Downstairs, Pete was again calling my name.
“Be right there!” I yelled downstairs. Then, to Adam, I said, “Bernard and Jonesy both did desperate things to keep out of the gambling ring’s debt. What did you do, Adam?”
“Not enough,” he said. “They’re still after me. Look, I gotta go.”
“You knew it was a waste of time to go to the jewelers. You knew the jewels still hadn’t been pawned,” I said.
Adam said nothing.
“You were waiting for things to quiet down before you pawned them,” I continued.
“I’m in big trouble here,” Adam said, self-pity in his voice. “You gotta help me get away. Didn’t I always help you, Carl?”
“I’ll help you give yourself up. Do it now, Adam. There’s no time.”
He didn’t answer. Then, in a blur of motion, he brushed past me to the hallway, knocking me into the door. While he headed for the window in the back room, I scrambled to get up and follow him. Already he was at the window.
“Adam!” I called, no longer caring if they heard me downstairs.
Adam was easing his right leg out the window, his bundle dangling over the ledge.
A commotion came from downstairs as Pete and Miller rushed up.
Adam dropped to the ground as I came to the window. Just as he grabbed his bundle, something slipped from it, hitting the concrete with a dull little clink. He looked down at it and so did I.
From the light spilling out of the kitchen window, the item sparkled, like a deep-red marble surrounded by shiny stones. On the gray concrete, it looked like a drop of blood.
It was an earring.
My heart seemed to follow it there, hitting the ground with a crash and shattering, alongside my faith in Adam. As my heart broke, it cut open other truths. Here was the evidence to confirm my last theory—the only one I was right about. Adam had done it. He’d taken the jewelry. And then, I realized, Adam had shown up at the house without Lillian’s bag. She wasn’t going to meet him at the station. He was planning to run off without her. He probably took her money the way he’d taken mine.
He was a thief.
My brother was a thief and a gambler and, for all I knew, he had been the same back in Baltimore.
My mouth fell open and time stopped. Adam’s face turned up toward me, his eyes narrowing and his mouth gaping wide as he realized what I’d seen. I heard footsteps on the stairs. There was no time—no time for explanations, no time for excuses.
“Please, Carl,” Adam whispered. “Don’t tell them.”
I said nothing. The ruby earring had me hypnotized. The footsteps behind me got closer, and I stayed frozen, staring at that earring.
“You told me. . .” I started to say.
“I told you to stop investigating!” Adam said from the yard. His voice was shrill and hurt. “I loved Rose. I really did,” he continued, “but her parents wouldn’t accept me. I needed the money. I knew they had the jewelry.”
“We were going to go home to Baltimore together,” I said, more to myself than to him. By now, I knew that had never been his dream, only mine. He’d let me latch onto it while he made other plans.
“You don’t need me, kid!” Adam whispered. “You never really did!” And then he laughed, just the way he used to. “Look at all you’ve done on your own. Bollixed everything up for me, solving this case.” He smiled at me and waved.
“Carl! Who you talking to?” Officer Miller’s voice came from the hallway. “Is that him?”
Turning around, I saw Miller walking down the shadowy hall, huffing and puffing after coming up the stairs. Vincent Briggs and Pete weren’t far behind.
“Is that him?” said Miller, his voice shaking with anger. But I was frozen again, not knowing what to do or say, thinking about what Adam had just said. He’d really loved Rose, but her parents hated him, a boy from the wrong side of town. That had sounded true.
Something collapsed inside of me as I thought of how he must have felt when he realized they hated him because of who he came into the world as, not who he was or what he could do. I remembered the night of the burning cross, when the Klansmen had gathered on our yard looking for Adam. Pete had stood up to them, defying them. He’d refused to surrender Adam to them.
I remembered something Pete had said to me many days ago: “If Adam’s done something bad, it’s not because he’s a Catholic or the son of Poles.” That’s why Pete had stood up to the Klan. They’d wanted to drag Adam off because he was Catholic.
“Was that him?” Officer Miller repeated, pointing toward the window. I looked at him and then at Vincent. Vincent must have guessed. When he’d figured out Bernard Peterson probably hadn’t taken the jewels, he’d also come to the most obvious conclusion. That’s why Vincent had asked me if I was sure I wanted to know who took the jewels. He knew the truth would hurt me.
I looked at Pete, whose pale face showed worry and anger. He knew, too. They all had known—except me, until now. I’d believed in Adam. I’d thought he was innocent, a victim of hate-filled souls who wanted to brand him guilty.
He was guilty, but not because of his name or his religion.
Weakly pointing to the place where my once-beloved brother had escaped, I said softly, “He’s headed to the train station.”
Reversing course, Miller turned and ran down the stairs, through the house, and out the back door. I could hear him racing up the alley, but Adam’s footsteps were gone. He had a long stride and was fresh from resting. Miller was heavier, and always looked used up. Adam would get away, at least for now.
The three of us—Vincent, Pete, and I—stood in my bedroom listening to the footfalls die away outside. At last, Vincent spoke. “You did the right thing,” he said.
Pete stepped forward and touched me on the shoulder.
“There’s some milk in the icebox,” he said, “and it might still have the cream on top. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, hurrying to the door so they wouldn’t see my face, damp with tears.
Epilogue
They caught Adam before he left Portland.
Officer Miller called headquarters, which had another policeman intercept Adam at the train station.
Within a month, he was before a judge. I didn’t understand everything that happened, but I do know he managed to avoid jail by handing over the items he stole. Rose helped there, telling the judge she “gave” the jewels to Adam for safekeeping the night they went to the speakeasy together.
Poor Rose must have felt bad about her parents not liking Adam. Or maybe she knew from her own brother’s sad fate just how horrible that gambling ring had been, and didn’t want any more people to suffer because of it. Whatever her reasoning, I felt sorry for her and wished I could tell her so. Adam had betrayed her, just as he’d betrayed me. But talking to Rose would have meant talking about her brother’s death, something I felt my own share of guilt about. I’d write her about it someday. It was something I had to work up to.
The following week, Pete, his anger fearsome, came home and told me the people had spoken on Election Day, making it illegal for anybody to go to St. Mary’s Academy, or anything but a public school. He broke a glass in the sink and let out a string of Polish curses I’d never heard bef
ore. He took a bottle of vodka he had hidden in a cabinet and downed a quick glass before heading to the house of the Petrovich widow. He didn’t return until late that night, and told me in the morning that he and the Petrovich woman were going to get married.
As for me, I picked up other odd jobs and added to my store of savings. Within another month, I had enough to head back to Baltimore—not by much, but I would make good on my promise to Esther to be home before Christmas. Before leaving Portland, I heard from her again, and she repeated her offer of a place to stay.
East! Back to Baltimore! I’d always looked forward to making the journey with Adam, and hadn’t thought myself capable of doing it on my own. Now I planned the trip all alone, confident I could handle it.
When I went to the paper to tell Briggs, he took his cigar out of his mouth, shook his head, and, for a few moments, said nothing. Then he grabbed his hat and coat and took me downtown to Meier and Frank’s, where he bought me a brown wool muffler and gloves as a “bon voyage” present. He shook my hand real hard when he said goodbye, and told me to keep in touch. And he promised to write a letter of recommendation for me to give to any Baltimore newspaper, in case I decided to go into the business.
I got the letter in the mail a couple days later. It made me feel proud and funny at the same time. Briggs had written lots of great things about me—how smart and good I was—things I’d never heard anyone but Ma say about me before.
Pete was sad to hear I was leaving, and I was surprised when he gave me a big hug goodbye. I told him to come visit me and promised I’d do the same. But with the distance and the expense, I think we both knew those visits were dreams that would fade over time. We’d always write, though.
A week after that, as I sat in the big station waiting for my train, I fingered Vincent’s letter in my pocket, afraid I’d lose it if I didn’t keep it close. I pulled it out and read it from time to time because it cheered me when I started thinking about Adam too much. I couldn’t hold a grudge against Adam, though, even after all he’d done. His plan might have been to take me to Uncle Pete and then go off on his own, but he never really did. Maybe it was because he didn’t have the money, but maybe he just couldn’t abandon me. That’s why he’d stayed in Portland. For all his troubles, there was still some goodness buried within him.
I didn’t know where he’d gone once the judge set him free. He didn’t move back in with Pete, and probably Lillian didn’t want him, either, given the fact he’d planned on leaving town without her. Maybe with his debt left to pay and those loan enforcers after him, he just picked up his things, caught the first train out, and left for good. Maybe I’d hear from him someday. Maybe, sooner or later, he’d show up in Baltimore. Wherever he ended up, I believed Adam could put together a life for himself. I hoped he did, too.
Movement by the entrance caught my eye and I glanced up just as a lanky fellow about my brother’s age walked in with a bag in his hand and bewilderment in his eyes. Scanning the large room, he bit his lip, then squared his shoulders as if getting ready for battle, marching forward with confidence toward the ticket teller. A few seconds later, he was marching in another direction—toward a window where tickets to the California train lines were sold. He pretended to be confident, but I could tell he was scared.
There was the picture of the brother I used to know—or thought I’d known. He’d always reassured me everything would be all right, all the while not knowing what the future held.
Everything would be all right, I thought, when my train was finally called. I shifted my bag onto my shoulder.
I was going home.
Notes on This Book
Among the resources I used to write this story was The State and the Non-Public School by Lloyd Jorgenson (University of Missouri Press).
I also made use of Catholic University of America’s resources on the Oregon School law, including:
Archbishop Christie’s Pastoral Letter
Memories of the Ku Klux Klan in La Grande, Oregon
Minutes of a Ku Klux Klan meeting
The Old Cedar School
Archbishop Christie’s letter to the National Catholic Welfare Conference
The Oregon school law referendum question
The New Catholic Encyclopedia: Oregon School Case
My book’s reference to “Sister Lucretia, the escaped nun” comes from the Jorgenson book, which reports, “The Klan’s revival of the favorite nativist weapon against the Roman Church [was] the ‘escaped nun.’ Sister Lucretia was paraded about the state, sometimes appearing in public school auditoriums, to vilify Catholicism in general.” A previous “escaped nun,” who’d appeared in the mid-1800s as a weapon against Catholics, had been examined by medical doctors and declared insane.
Elsa Richter, the teacher in this book who is thrown out of teaching at a Portland public school because of pressure from the Klan, is fictional.
However, Margaret Myers of La Grande, Oregon (who was ten at the time of the Oregon School vote) has recorded memories of her aunt, Evelyn Newlin, being fired as an eighth-grade teacher in a public school because “the Newlins sent their children to the Catholic school.” After that, Newlin was given a job teaching at the parish school.
Minutes of a Ku Klux Klan meeting during the time confirm the Klan’s antipathy toward Newlin. When a petition was circulated to reinstate her, the Klan minutes reported that the petition “is thouroughly [sic] un-American, a direct insult to the School Bill; and Something that the Klan will not under any Consideration tolerate if in their power. . . This women [sic] not only sends her children to the Paroical [sic] School but her Influnce [sic] with the pupils in her charge is not born of old Glory; neither is it symbolic of the firey [sic] Cross. I have taken particular pains to find the originator of this petition and it is no other than her husband Mr. Chester Newlin; the Esteemed Gentleman who sat at the polls and told our worthy citizens how to vote the right way. I sincerely believe that this town could run very well without citizens by the Name Bearing the Title of Newlin. . .”
Newlin’s niece, Margaret Myers, later became a Sister of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary.
The Klan gatherings in this novel are fictional, but the large gathering involving an electric cross is loosely based on a real gathering that took place in the Pacific Northwest several years later.
The quoted excerpts from The Old Cedar School book are real.
The St. Mary’s Academy in the novel is real, as is the order of nuns who ran it. They were instrumental in filing the lawsuit that eventually overturned the law. In fact, the U.S. Supreme Court case bears their name: Pierce vs. Society of Sisters.
The Oregon School Law and Anti-Catholicism
After the Communist revolution in Russia and the end of World War I, some Americans began to fear that outsiders might attempt to radically change the American way of life. In particular, immigrants, especially Catholic immigrants, were viewed as potential troublemakers. Most Americans at the time were Protestants.
One way to control outside influences on American life was to control the education of children. Ever since the beginning of the public school movement in the mid-1800s, some people wanted to use public schools to neutralize or eliminate what they considered to be threatening “papist” views held by Catholic immigrant children.
Early public schools, however, were not free of religion. They were drenched in non-denominational Christian instruction in which children were taught to sing Protestant hymns, say Protestant prayers, and read the Protestant version of the Bible (the King James version rather than the Catholic Douay version). If children didn’t participate, they were punished, sometimes severely. This religious intolerance was the reason Catholics built their own schools—it was to make sure Catholic children wouldn’t be forced to participate in religious activities they didn’t embrace.
As the parochial system of education grew in America, so did tension between zealous nativists and Catholics.
In the early 1920s
, movements in Michigan, California, Texas, Oklahoma, Ohio, Wyoming, Arkansas, and Nebraska arose to pass laws making it illegal to send children to anything but a public school. Those efforts were not successful.
In the fall of 1922, Oregon voters were asked to decide whether sending children to a private school in Oregon should become illegal. The campaign for this law was led by members of the Ku Klux Klan and other groups whose members believed that Catholics and foreigners were bad influences on American society. Catholic schools in particular, and private schools in general, were a threat to democracy, they believed. In their view, Catholic children were “mongrels” who had to be “Americanized” by going through the public school system.
In fact, the King Kleagle of the Pacific Ku Klux Klan believed Americans were facing “the ultimate perpetuation or destruction of free institutions, based upon the perpetuation or destruction of the public schools.”
In other words, if you didn’t send your children to public schools and support them, you were un-American.
One of the supporters of the law was the Democratic candidate for governor in Oregon, Walter M. Pierce, who asked for and received the support of the Klan during his campaign. He won the election.
Supporters of the Oregon law circulated anti-Catholic pamphlets such as The Old Cedar School, which portrayed Catholics not just as destroyers of public schools, but as people who believed in strange rituals and bizarre religious theories. (Sections of The Old Cedar School quoted in this book are real.)
Although the Oregon School Law was anti-Catholic, no major Protestant church endorsed the law. No public school leaders supported it, either.
On November 7, 1922, by a vote of 115,506 to 103,685, Oregon voters approved the school measure that required parents to send children between the ages of eight and sixteen to public schools only. If parents disobeyed by sending their children to private schools, they would have to pay a daily fine, face imprisonment, or both.
The Case Against My Brother Page 18