Old Joe back at Rubyhill had suggested they try black-member churches and societies that helped people in need. He remembered those places from being in Chicago before the war, but he had no names or addresses for the couple.
It was of no consequence. George and Anna had worked hard to get north, and they would work hard now to find their daughter.
They started with the churches.
Rachel and the Riot
Susan Martins Miller
A NOTE TO READERS
While the Borlands and their friends are fictional, the Easter riots actually took place. After the Civil War, there was increasing tension between people who owned companies and the people who worked for them. Some owners did not care if their employees were working in dangerous places. They refused to pay their workers enough money to live on.
Because of these problems, workers formed unions. They thought if they worked together against company owners, they would have a better chance of getting more pay and safer working conditions. Sometimes they were successful. Many times they were not. And too often, violence erupted.
In most places, unions weren’t legal. Sometimes company owners paid people to break up the unions. Many union members were killed, and some union members killed company supporters in return. This conflict went on for decades. It wasn’t until 1935 that the federal government passed a law guaranteeing workers the right to form unions.
CONTENTS
1. Papa’s News
2. Who’s Right?
3. A Friendship Ends
4. On Strike
5. The Union Prepares
6. Annalina’s Problem
7. A Fight in the Family
8. Lost!
9. The Easter Riot
10. At the Hospital
11. Where’s Mama?
12. A Birthday and a Baseball Plan
13. A Special Supper
14. Annalina’s Gift
15. A Birthday Blessing and a Tense Practice
16. A Disappointing Party
17. Friends at Last
18. Peace in the Family
CHAPTER 22
A Wedding Day
Blue and Aleta’s wedding fell on a sunny day in late September. One full year had passed since the day the five youths left Rubyhill. Whenever Janie thought about how much had happened that year, it made her head spin.
The week before the wedding, a handsome travel trunk arrived by train from the Hull farm. Inside were gifts for everyone, and there were exceptionally generous gifts for the happy couple.
A letter enclosed from Mrs. Hull explained that she and Betsy had seen this engagement coming a long time ago. Many weeks before they received Janie’s letter with the actual news, the two Indiana women had begun to stitch a coverlet for the couple. That was finished and folded in the trunk alongside a new family Bible.
The wedding took place in the sanctuary of the AME church on a Sunday morning. True to his word, Reverend Silas conducted a beautiful worship service complete with lots of soul-stirring music, and he worked wedding vows into it all.
Janie, sitting with Nathan and Lucy in the front pew, was so happy she thought she’d burst. Aleta had never looked more beautiful, and Blue had never looked more handsome. Aleta wore a lovely deep blue dress she had sewn, and she carried a bouquet of colorful gladiolus from Mrs. Babbs’s backyard. Janie wished the other former slaves from Rubyhill could be here to see this.
Janie’s front pew seat was closest to the wall. She casually craned her neck to see who was in attendance behind her. There sat the choir ladies. Mrs. Babbs and some of the boarders were there. The Italian tailor who employed Aleta had come with his wife. Mr. Solomon attended, too.
The service started early and lasted a long time. When the wedding vows were finished, Reverend Silas raised his hand to pronounce Blue and Aleta as husband and wife. Janie heard a creak in the back of the sanctuary as the double doors to the entrance opened. She turned to see who had arrived so late.
A well-dressed man and woman stepped inside and looked around for a seat. Janie had never seen them in church before, and it didn’t look like they realized a wedding was in process. Reverend Silas nodded at them and continued with his pronouncement, followed by a blessing. “Let us pray,” he said then, and heads bowed.
But not Janie’s. She couldn’t take her eyes off the new couple who remained standing for the prayer. The woman’s hand lay on the man’s arm, and she kept it there as he removed his hat and bowed his head.
Janie took in their cinnamon skin and fine clothing. The way the woman cocked her head looked oddly familiar. Then for some reason, the woman raised her head and looked straight at Janie, showing her deep brown eyes.
When Reverend Silas said, “Amen,” the congregation repeated the word and raised their heads. The pastor started to invite people to the wedding feast in the back room, but he stopped.
Little Janie Georgeanna Bird in the yellow head scarf was literally running down the church aisle to the back of the sanctuary. And
Janie didn’t care who was looking or even where she was. She knew who those people in the back were.
Momma had found her. And Poppa, too.
It took some time for everyone to calm down after the initial excitement of the reunion of George, Anna, and Janie. Once Reverend Silas understood what was going on, he announced to everyone that today the lost had been found. Good preacher that he was, he also took this opportunity to remind them that Christ had performed His first miracle at a wedding.
But Janie wasn’t really listening to Reverend Silas. Momma was holding her so tightly, Janie didn’t think she’d ever breathe again. But she stayed put. Momma’s arms around her felt so good, just like that dream on Christmas morning.
Janie peeked up at her tall father. She could see that she looked a lot like him. After standing in shock for a moment, he wrapped his arms around both his wife and daughter and openly sobbed.
At that point, the church people wept, too. Even formal Mrs. Babbs pressed her starched handkerchief to her eyes.
Emotion traveled over the room like a wave for the next several minutes. When it finally had settled down, Momma released her tight hold on Janie but continued to hold her hand. Janie pulled her parents around the room and introduced them to all her friends, old and new.
After introductions were made and eyes wiped, the newlywed Blue raised his hand for attention. “I want to say something to all of you. Aleta and I appreciate this wedding day so much. We are husband and wife now in a way we never could have been back in Georgia.”
Blue turned to Janie’s father. “I am a happy bridegroom today, sir,” he said, “and I have an idea. If you and your wife only jumped the broom to get married way back when, why don’t you make this your true wedding day, too?”
Reverend Silas’s eyes brightened. “What a spectacular idea, Blue.” He faced George and Anna. “May I offer to conduct the ceremony that makes you married in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the law?”
George and Anna looked at Janie, then at each other. “Yes,” they each said at the very same time. And they both laughed.
Another wedding was held at the AME church that day. Janie’s family was together at last.
CHAPTER 1
Papa’s News
Pass me that knife, please.” Ten-year-old Rachel Borland wiped her hands on the white apron that covered her blue-and-white-checked dress and pushed her blond hair away from her blue eyes. Then she arranged six carrots on the thick butcher block next to the sink. Potatoes, onions, and shelled peas were already lined up along the counter.
Sam, her twelve-year-old brother, handed her the knife. “What are you making?”
“Stew.” Chunks of beef simmered in a big black pot on the stove. Rachel was ready to add the vegetables. She checked the flame on the new gas stove.
“Do you have to put in onions?” Sam asked, making a sour face. “Papa likes onions. You can pick them out.” “You sound just like Mama.”
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Sam lifted the lid on the pot and bent his dark head over it to inspect the meat. Sam took after their French grandmother. His hair and eyes were as dark as Rachel’s were fair.
“Why don’t you stir that, as long as you have the lid off?” Rachel handed her brother a spoon.
“Do you think Papa will be home on time?” Sam asked. “I don’t like burned stew.”
“He hasn’t telephoned,” Rachel answered. “He tries to call if he knows he has to stay late at the hospital.”
Sam slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. “When your father is a doctor, you have to get used to unpredictable hours.”
“That’s what Mama always says.” Rachel attacked the carrots and whacked them into bite-sized pieces. “But Uncle Ernest is a banker, and he works long hours, too,” she added, using the title her parents insisted the children use as a sign of respect toward their older cousins.
“Downtown Minneapolis is a busy place to do business.” “Uncle Ernest says it’s busier every year. He can hardly believe it’s 1889 already.”
“And Uncle Stanley works for the railroad,” Sam added. “And his shifts change all the time.” He glanced at the pot. “Just don’t burn the stew.”
Rachel rolled her eyes.
Mama came through the door from the dining room. “How are you doing with supper?”
Rachel scooped up a handful of carrots and threw them in the pot. “Everything is on schedule. We just need Papa to come home.” She added the potatoes to the pot and stirred the mixture vigorously.
“Put the peas in last,” Mama said. “They don’t take long to cook.”
“I remember.” Rachel added the onions and left the peas on the counter.
“I’m sure Papa will be here soon.” Mama opened a cupboard and removed a stack of large bowls. “Sam, can you get the spoons, please?”
Sam stood up and crossed the kitchen. Just as he pulled open a drawer, they heard the front door open.
“There’s Papa,” Rachel said. She wiped her hands on her apron again and went to greet her father. “Right on time,” Mama said.
Mama and Sam followed Rachel to the front door. Eight-year-old Carrie was already there with her arms around her father’s neck. He scooped up his youngest child and turned to greet his family.
“Something smells wonderful,” Papa said.
“Rachel’s making stew,” Mama informed him.
Papa looked at Rachel. “You’re becoming quite a cook, young lady.”
“I made baking powder biscuits, too,” Rachel said proudly. “I can see that.” Papa reached out and wiped a smudge of flour from Rachel’s cheek.
“Will you sit next to me at supper, Papa?” Carrie asked. Papa smiled. “Don’t I always?” “I was just making sure.”
“We weren’t certain that you would be home on time tonight,” Mama said.
Papa put Carrie down and sighed. “I wasn’t either. The streetcar drivers are threatening to strike.” “A strike?”
“Why?”
“What’s a strike?”
“How would we get downtown?”
“One question at a time,” Papa said, holding up one hand. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Rachel glanced back toward the kitchen and sat on the edge of a chair.
“You already know,” Papa said, “that the streetcar drivers have formed a union. They think that if they bind themselves together as one voice, then they will have more power. They want a raise in their wages.”
“They haven’t had a raise in a long time,” Mama said. “Your cousin Stanley reminds us of that all the time.”
“But Thomas Lowry, the owner of the Minneapolis Street Railway, says the company is losing money,” Papa said. “He can’t even afford to pay them the wage they earn now.”
Rachel pressed her eyebrows together. “Do you think that’s true?”
Papa shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Some people think he is planning to electrify the streetcars, and that will cost a lot of money.”
“Electric streetcars?” Sam asked excitedly. “No horses?”
Papa nodded. “It will happen before much longer, I’m sure.” He sat down on a sofa.
“I remember when we all went downtown to see the first electric lights on Washington Avenue,” Sam said.
Mama chuckled. “You were only five years old. Cousin Seth was sure he had explained everything so that you could understand.”
“So if Thomas Lowry pays a higher wage now,” Sam said, thinking aloud, “then he won’t be able to afford to electrify the streetcar system.”
Papa nodded. “I think that’s right.”
“Electric streetcars will be good for Minneapolis,” Rachel said.
“But what about the drivers?” Sam protested. “Is it fair to make their families suffer so we can ride electric cars?”
“What’s a strike?” Carrie asked, snuggling next to her father on the sofa.
Papa looked down at Carrie. “A strike would mean that the drivers would tell Mr. Lowry that they won’t drive the streetcars.” “Would they get paid if they did that?”
Papa shook his head. “No, if they don’t work, they don’t get paid.” Carrie was puzzled. “Then they won’t get any money. Isn’t that worse than not getting a raise?”
Papa laughed. “Now you sound like Uncle Ernest.”
“I do?”
“Yes, he says that Mr. Lowry is just making a good business decision. He doesn’t force anyone to work for his company. If they don’t like the wages, they can look for jobs somewhere else.”
“They could work at the flour mills,” Rachel suggested.
“A lot of people want to work at the mills,” Sam said. “It would be hard to get a job there.”
“That’s exactly what Mr. Lowry thinks,” Papa said. “He believes the drivers need their jobs. Not many of them can afford to go without being paid, and he says they won’t find better jobs somewhere else.”
“Even if they get other jobs,” Mama said, “they might have the same problems.”
“You’re right,” Papa added. “Already there have been two hundred strikes in Minnesota in the last ten years.”
“But a streetcar strike will hurt a lot of people besides Mr. Lowry,” Sam said. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
Carrie sat up straight and sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
“My stew!” Rachel leaped up and flew to the kitchen. She snatched a spoon off the counter and stirred the contents of the pot quickly. The stew was just beginning to stick to the bottom of the pot, but it was not ruined. Thanks to Carrie’s sensitive nose, supper was saved. Rachel sighed in relief. She would have to concentrate better than this, or Mama would not let her cook anymore. She stuck a fork in a potato and decided that the vegetables were tender. The peas, which she added now, would take only a few minutes to cook. It was time to bake the biscuits. Rachel was just putting the pan of biscuits in the oven when the rest of her family trailed into the kitchen.
“I told you I don’t like burned stew,” Sam said.
“It’s not burned,” Rachel assured him.
“You’re not going to burn the biscuits, too, are you?” Sam asked.
Rachel made a face at him. But she glanced at the oven. She had never made biscuits all by herself before. She wanted them to be perfect.
“Can I have butter on my biscuits?” Carrie asked.
“Of course,” Mama said. “Why don’t you get the butter out and put it on the table?”
Mama had left the stack of bowls on the table. She resumed getting the table ready for the meal.
“Sam, we still need spoons for the stew,” Mama said.
Papa sat down in his usual chair.
“I had lunch with Stanley today,” he remarked.
“How are the Browns?” Mama asked brightly.
“They are doing well. Miranda is applying for a job at the Boston Clothing Store on Washington Avenue.”
Mama chuckled. “She has
loved that store from the time she was two. She would do a wonderful job working there.”
“That’s what Stanley thinks. Freddy is having a hard time settling down in school. His teacher has been sending notes home quite frequently.”
Mama smiled. “Well, he is only seven years old. Even Carrie still has a hard time sitting still all day.”
“The Browns are fine,” Papa said. “But all this business about the streetcars is taking its toll.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
Rachel checked the biscuits and stirred the stew. All the while, she listened to what her father had to say.
“Stanley is barely talking to Ernest,” Papa said.
“But Ernest is his sister’s husband,” Mama said. “How can he not talk to them?”
“Oh, he’ll talk to Linda. I don’t think anything can come between
Stanley and Linda. And of course Seth and Miranda are still the best of friends.”
“Those two cousins have always been inseparable,” Mama said.
Papa frowned. “It’s just that Stanley finds it difficult to be around Ernest.”
“Stanley and Ernest have always been able to see past their differences before,” Mama said.
Papa shook his head. “This is different. Stanley didn’t even want to hear me say Ernest’s name.”
“Is Uncle Stanley mad at Uncle Ernest?” Carrie asked.
“Let’s just say they have a difference of opinion,” Papa said. “They’re having trouble understanding each other.”
“What do the streetcars have to do with them?” Rachel asked. Carefully, she lifted the pot of stew from the stove and set it on the table.
“Stanley thinks that the streetcar drivers have a right to form a union and go on strike,” Papa answered Rachel. “It’s not only the question of higher wages. They also complain that the cars are too open to the elements. They have no protection against the rain, the wind, or the cold.”
“And what does Uncle Ernest think?” Sam asked.
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