American Rebirth

by Norma Jean Lutz

  Rachel was careful not to laugh. “Almost. Try again. Bread.” She spoke as distinctly as she could.

  “Bruad,” Annalina croaked.

  “That’s better,” Rachel said. “You just have to practice. Bread.”

  “Bruad. Bruad. Brrread.”

  “There you go!” Now Rachel pointed at the fruit in Annalina’s lap. “Apple.”

  Annalina picked up the sausage and said, “Uppa.” “No, that one,” Rachel said, pointing again. This time she had her finger nearly on the fruit. “Apple.” Annalina picked up the apple. “Appo?” “Apple.”

  Rachel repeated the word as many times as Annalina needed to hear it before she could say it correctly.

  “Eat,” Rachel said, and she took a bite of her bread. “Eat,” Annalina echoed perfectly.

  “That’s an easy word, isn’t it?” Rachel said. “There are lots of easy words. Maybe we should learn those first.”

  Annalina smiled and bit her apple. Rachel thought it was a true smile.

  In between bites of her own lunch, Rachel continued talking. “Is our teacher helping you at all?” she asked. “I suppose Miss Whittlesey knows that you don’t speak English. But she has so many other students that she won’t have time to teach you any words. That’s all right, because I can do it. I’ll have to find out where you live, though. We won’t see each other enough at school.”

  Annalina smiled again. Rachel could see the anxiety in her blue eyes.

  “You have no idea what I’m saying,” Rachel said, “but I hope you know that I’m trying to be your friend.” She reached out and touched Annalina’s blond braid hanging over one shoulder. “I’ve always wondered what I might look like with braided hair. My mother says I have such beautiful hair that I shouldn’t tie it up in knots. But I think you look very pretty.”

  Rachel twisted the ends of her own hair between her fingers. She and Annalina both had blond hair and blue eyes. “Hair,” Rachel said. “Eeaare,” Annalina croaked.

  “Hair.” Again Rachel repeated the word as many times as Annalina needed. She glanced across the school yard at Sam. “I wonder if you have any brothers.”

  Sam had settled under a tree by himself with his lunch. He could feel tension between his friends Jim Harrison and Simon Jones. They had acted kind of strange at baseball practice, as though they suddenly didn’t like each other. Sam could see Jim coming toward him. He glanced around. Simon was off to one side, gently tossing a baseball between his hands.

  “Hi, Sam,” Jim said. “Are you finished eating?”

  “Almost.”

  “We still have a few minutes before the bell rings. How about playing catch?”

  Sam hesitated. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Simon looking in his direction. What would Simon think if he tossed a ball with Jim? Sam was beginning to feel pulled between his two friends.

  “I think I need to let my lunch settle,” Sam finally said.

  “Come on, Sam, just a few throws?”

  “Maybe later.” Sam stuffed a piece of cheese in his mouth and tried to look busy eating.

  Jim shuffled off. But as soon as he was gone, Simon made a beeline for Sam.

  “What did Jim want?” Simon demanded.

  “He just wanted to play catch,” Sam answered.

  “But you didn’t want to play with him, did you?”

  Sam shrugged. “I said I wasn’t finished eating.”

  Simon bent over and looked in Sam’s lunch bucket. “It looks like you’re finished now. Let’s find a bat and hit a few balls.”

  Sam’s stomach sank. He’d been afraid Simon was going to say that.

  “Like I told Jim,” Sam said, “I want to let my lunch settle.”

  “You never wanted your lunch to settle before,” countered Simon. “You don’t even like to eat lunch.”

  “Well, today I ate lunch, and I want it to settle.”

  “You’re ignoring me, just like Jim. Are you on his side?”

  “What are you talking about? What is going on between you two? I noticed it at practice. Simon, you almost hit Jim in the head with a baseball!”

  Simon looked at Sam in disbelief. “How can you not know what is going on? Jim thinks the streetcar drivers should go on strike. That’s just stupid. Why, Mr. Lowry will go out of business if he has to pay the drivers more. They get paid. If they don’t like it, they can go get another job. They can work for Mr. Pillsbury.”

  Sam shrugged. This was the same thing that had caused the problems between Rachel’s friends Colleen and Janie. And between Uncle Ernest and Uncle Stanley. It seemed as though everyone was taking sides.

  “So, whose side are you on—mine or Jim’s?” Simon prodded. “I’m not on anybody’s side,” Sam said. “I just want to eat my lunch.”

  Across the school yard, Rachel saw the frustration rising in her brother’s face. She wondered what Jim and Simon had said to Sam. She could see his tension in the way he held his head. Jim and Simon and Sam had been friends for a long time—just like she and Colleen and Janie.

  “Don’t worry,” she said aloud to Annalina. “We’ll be friends because we want to be. None of this other business will matter.”

  Annalina nodded seriously as if she understood. Knowing she did not, Rachel smiled.

  As usual, Rachel was one of the last students out of the building when school was over. Sam hurried to catch up with his sister.

  “Sam, what was going on with you, Jim, and Simon at lunch? I saw them talking to you.”

  Sam looked at Rachel and sighed. “It’s the same thing as what’s going on between Colleen and Janie—the unions. Jim thinks the streetcar drivers should go on strike, and Simon thinks they shouldn’t. I guess it started at baseball practice, but I ignored it and just practiced. Now they want me to choose between them. I just want to be friends—with both of them.”

  Rachel smiled and nodded at Sam. She knew exactly how he felt. When did being friends and having things in common stop being enough? When did it start to matter whether their fathers were in unions or not?

  CHAPTER 4

  On Strike

  Why didn’t you call me when you were ready to start cooking?” Rachel lifted the lid on one pot to see what Mama was fixing. “I would have come to help you.”

  “You were doing homework,” Mama answered. “I don’t like to interrupt you when you’re studying.” “I would rather cook.”

  “Studying is important. You can slice some cheese to have with the soup.”

  Rachel opened the icebox and removed a chunk of cheddar cheese. Picking up a knife, she asked, “Mama, do you know any Swedish words?”

  “Swedish?” Mama was puzzled.

  “Don’t you have any Swedish friends?”

  “Well, yes, I know a couple of Swedish women at church, but they’ve been in Minneapolis for several years. They speak English.”

  “Don’t you ever hear them speaking Swedish to each other?”

  “Sometimes they do. I never paid much attention to what they were saying. Why are you suddenly so interested in Swedish?”

  “There’s a new girl at school. She’s in my class, and she doesn’t speak any English.”

  Mama smiled. “Are you going to try to teach her English?”

  Rachel nodded. “She seems like a very nice girl. I sit with her at lunch some days. But I wish I knew a few words that she could understand.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you teach her the English word for something, find out the Swedish word.”

  Rachel thought about her mother’s suggestion. “I should have thought of that. I’ve been too busy teaching her to pronounce ‘sandwich.’”

  Sam appeared at the back door off the kitchen.

  “Oh, good,” he said, pulling the door open and dropping his book bag to the floor. “You haven’t served supper yet. I was afraid I was late.”

  Mama glanced at the clock. “As a matter of fact, you are late—ve
ry late. But so is your father. I’ve been waiting for him.” She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the bean soup.

  “Is it sticking to the bottom?” Rachel asked.

  “It’s starting to. If he doesn’t come home soon, we’ll have to start without him.”

  “Oh, no, let’s wait,” Rachel pleaded. “I like it when we all eat together.”

  “I don’t want to eat burned food,” Sam said. “You won’t.” Rachel stirred the soup some more. Carrie came in from the dining room. “I’m hungry,” she grumbled. “When will supper be ready?” “It’s ready now,” Sam said. “Good.” Carrie climbed into a chair. “Let’s eat.” “We’re waiting for Papa,” Rachel said. “Do we have to?” Carrie whined. “I’m sooo hungry.”

  Mama glanced at the clock again. “I don’t understand why he didn’t telephone if he was going to be this late.” “That is strange,” Sam agreed. “Maybe there was an emergency,” Rachel suggested. “Yes, I suppose so,” Mama murmured.

  For another ten minutes, they stirred the pot of soup and speculated about why Papa was so late.

  “I’m starving to death!” Carrie declared dramatically. “We can save some food for Papa. Please, let’s eat.”

  Mama sighed and glanced at the clock once more.

  “I suppose we might as well,” she said. She reached for a stack of bowls and started dishing up the soup.

  Carrie carried hers to the table and picked up her spoon.

  “Wait until we give thanks,” Mama said.

  Carrie sighed and put down her spoon.

  A few minutes later, Mama, Rachel, Sam, and Carrie sat before their steaming bowls of navy bean soup with bread, meat, and cheese on the platter in the middle of the table. Mama gave thanks to God for the food. Rachel prayed silently that Papa would be safe.

  “Finally!” Carrie said, as she plunged her spoon into her soup and slurped up the first mouthful.

  Just then the back door opened.

  “Papa!” Rachel cried.

  “Donald, are you all right?” Mama asked. She rose to her feet to greet him.

  Papa kissed Mama’s cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he said. “By the time I realized I should call, I wasn’t anywhere near a phone.” “You look exhausted,” Rachel said. “What happened, Papa?” Sam asked.

  Papa took off his coat and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair.

  “Just let me get settled, and I’ll tell you all the whole story,” Papa said.

  Mama dished up Papa’s soup, and they all sat down again.

  Papa took a bite of bread and then began his story.

  “I was so busy today that I hardly noticed what was going on downtown,” he said. “I saw nearly two dozen patients at the clinic this morning. Then, after lunch, I went over to the hospital to make my rounds. I thought it was odd that there were no streetcars around. But I didn’t have far to go, so I paid no attention. Later, another doctor told me that Thomas Lowry had announced a cut in the wages of the streetcar drivers—two cents an hour!”

  “But the drivers already make so little money,” Sam said. He thought of Jim Harrison and wondered how his friend would take the news. Rachel worried about how Janie Lawrence’s family would get along with a cut in her father’s wages. Rachel and Sam glanced at each other, their concern evident in their eyes.

  Papa nodded. “I know. I knew Mr. Lowry would not want to give the drivers the raise they wanted. But I did not think he would cut their wages even lower.”

  “What will the drivers do now?” Rachel passed the platter of meat and cheese to her father.

  “They won’t drive the streetcars, that’s for sure,” Papa said. “They went on strike.” He took a bite of the cheese Rachel had sliced.

  “Strike?” Carrie asked.

  “Yes, a strike. The drivers refuse to drive until Mr. Lowry gives back their wages.”

  “So that’s why there were no streetcars when you went out,” Mama said.

  Papa nodded. “As word spread around the city, the drivers turned back to the car barns. They stabled the horses and hung up their reins. By the middle of the afternoon, no streetcars were running anywhere in the city.”

  “None at all?” Sam asked.

  Papa shook his head. “None.”

  “But there are over two hundred streetcars.”

  “Not today. Not even one.”

  “It’s hard to imagine Minneapolis without streetcars,” Rachel said.

  “We’ll all have to get used to it,” Papa said. “I don’t think this will be settled easily.” He chewed on his cheese. “Of course, I didn’t realize when I left the hospital that the streetcars weren’t running. When I set out for home, I thought I would pick one up along the way. As I said, by the time I realized there were no streetcars, I was far from a telephone. I had no choice but to walk the rest of the way home.”

  “It’s a long way,” Mama said. “No wonder it took you so long.”

  “At least I wasn’t alone.” He folded a piece of bread around a chunk of cheese. “Everyone who works downtown was in the same situation. We all had to walk.”

  “What about Uncle Ernest?” Rachel asked. “He has a lame leg. It’s hard for him to walk that far.”

  “I thought of him,” Papa said.

  “Did you see him leaving the bank?”

  “No, I didn’t see him. And there was nothing I could do for him anyway. We don’t own a carriage.”

  “No,” Mama said. “We’ve always depended on the streetcars.”

  “Uncle Ernest doesn’t have a carriage, either,” Rachel said. “How will he get to work every day without the streetcars?”

  Papa shrugged. “I’m not sure what Ernest will do. But I know he thinks Mr. Lowry did the right thing.”

  “Perhaps we should think about getting a carriage and a horse of our own,” Mama said.

  “Surely the strike will be settled soon,” Sam said.

  Papa shook his head again. “I wouldn’t count on that. As I walked home, I listened to what people were saying in the streets. Mr. Lowry is a very stubborn man. No one believes he will negotiate with the drivers. Either they do things his way, or they don’t work.”

  “But that’s not fair,” Sam said. “He should at least talk to the drivers. Maybe if they understood each other better, they would figure something out that would make both sides happy.”

  “That’s not likely.”

  Rachel and Sam had stopped eating. Only Carrie continued to happily slurp her way through the meal. “What will happen now?” Sam asked.

  Papa sighed. “I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone can say. Mr. Lowry might hire other men to drive the streetcars.” “Can he do that?”

  “Yes, he can. It’s his company. He doesn’t have to do what the union tells him to do.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair to the drivers,” Sam said.

  “Mr. Lowry is not concerned about the drivers. His concern is for his company.”

  “But the drivers are his company,” Rachel said emphatically.

  “He doesn’t see it that way,” Papa said. “His income comes from the passengers. He has to keep the cars running, or he won’t make any money at all.”

  “If he gave the drivers their wages back, he wouldn’t have any trouble keeping the cars running,” Mama reasoned.

  Papa shook his head. “I don’t think he will do that.”

  Sam twirled his spoon in his soup and stared absently at the bread platter.

  “Sam, Rachel, you must eat,” Mama prodded.

  “I’ve lost my appetite.” Sam put his spoon down.

  “You must eat anyway,” Mama said. “I know this strike will upset a lot of people, but that’s no reason to starve yourself.”

  “Papa,” Sam said, “did you happen to see Mr. Harrison downtown? You know, Jim’s father.”

  “No, Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t see him. He must have gone home earlier in the day.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’ll see Jim tomorrow at
school, won’t you?” Sam nodded.

  “You can ask him how his father is.”

  Sam did not answer. Rachel wondered if he was thinking about what Simon would say to Jim.

  “And Janie’s father. The Lawrences really need the money.” Rachel’s father nodded at her.

  “Papa, I wonder what Uncle Stanley thinks about all this,” Rachel said. “I know he likes the unions. He belongs to one.”

  “I’m sure he supports the strike,” Papa said. “He knows how businesses can take advantage of employees.”

  “It’s not fair,” Sam said.

  “No, it’s not,” their father agreed.

  “It’s not fair of the company to cut the wages of the drivers. But it’s not fair for the drivers to go on strike, either.”

  “What good will the strike do?” Rachel asked. “If Mr. Lowry finds other men to drive the streetcars for less money, how does that help people like the Harrisons or the Lawrences?”

  “It doesn’t,” Sam said. “That’s why it’s not fair. Nobody is helped. Everybody is hurt.”

  “It sure seems that way to us,” Mama said.

  “I can’t understand why Mr. Harrison would go on strike,” Sam said. “He needs his job. And I think he even likes his job. He’s always telling stories and joking with the passengers.”

  “Oh, I know he likes his job,” Papa said. “I’ve heard him say so. But he’s a member of the union. If the union votes to go on strike, then all the members go on strike.”

  “Even if they don’t want to?”

  “The strength of the union comes from everyone banding together,” Papa explained. “If some of the drivers cooperate with Mr. Lowry, then the rest of the drivers will suffer even more. They have to act together, as if they were one person. That’s the only way the union can have any power against the company.”

  Sam nodded. “I know. I’ve heard Uncle Stanley explain about unions. But it still doesn’t make sense to me. Even if all the union members join together as one big person, they are still not as powerful as Mr. Lowry. He owns the company.”

  “Yes, but he cannot operate the company without drivers,” Papa said.

  “So they need each other,” Rachel said.

  “It just might take awhile before both sides realize how much they need each other.”