“We don’t know that for sure.”
“You’re the one who thought it was him!”
“I was probably wrong,” Sam insisted. He pushed Rachel in front of him and pointed through an opening in the crowd. “Look, see for yourself what is happening.”
The crowd had parted just enough for Rachel to spot the streetcar. Men, women, and children of all ages were scrambling up the sides of the car and hoisting themselves to the top. Those on top offered their hands to pull more people to the top of the car. Rachel could not imagine how there was room for one more person up there. Still they climbed.
“I don’t see any horses to pull the car,” Rachel observed.
Sam stood on his tiptoes and craned his neck. “I don’t either. They must have unhitched them.”
A man with a bullhorn leaned out the side of the car.
“Thomas Lowry, if you are out there,” he shouted, “take note. You cannot ignore us. You cannot simply hire more drivers. What will happen when you have no more streetcars?”
“What does he mean, Sam?” Rachel asked.
“Rachel, I think we have to get out of here. Now!” Sam pulled Rachel forcefully along. She stumbled as she tried to keep her balance. “We have to get to the hospital.”
But to get to the hospital, they had to pass the streetcar. Sam wound his way steadily through the crowd.
“People are getting out now,” Rachel said as they got closer to the streetcar.
“Don’t pay any attention,” Sam said. “Concentrate on the hospital.”
“But why are they getting out? Are they finished?” “How would I know?” Sam snapped. “I just want to get out of here.”
“But, Sam—”
Sam spun around. His mouth opened to speak, but then he saw what Rachel was looking at. A row of men had lined themselves up along one side of the streetcar. Bracing their feet solidly, they leaned into the car. It rocked from side to side. Whooping, more men joined the effort. Dozens were pushing on the side of the streetcar. The car rocked some more. They pushed again. Now the car was tipping.
Sam jerked Rachel back. The car tumbled over on one side. With a mighty groan, the joints on one end gave way, and the top of the car splintered off. A wheel broke loose and skidded through the crowd. Once again, the mob scrambled to stand on top of the wreckage. In only a few seconds, it was impossible to see what they were standing on. A mountain of people had arisen in the middle of Minneapolis. The horses had been unhitched. Now they thundered down the street, whinnying and thrashing their hooves. The crowd parted to let them pass. No one tried to catch the frightened animals.
“You are destroying private property!” The shout came from the middle of the street. Four men, their fists raised in the air, charged toward the buried streetcar.
The man with the bullhorn laughed. “If you are Mr. Lowry’s men, you are too late.”
“Have you no respect for something that doesn’t belong to you?”
“Just like Mr. Lowry respects us, eh? He thinks he owns us. Well, he doesn’t. He won’t even come to the arbitration table. When will he show us the respect we deserve?”
Lowry’s men hurled themselves toward the man with the bullhorn. He toppled over backward. Rachel could hear fists smacking flesh. Blood spattered faces and clothing. The mob on the top of the streetcar moved like an avalanche down to the street. It was too late for words. Fists were swinging in every direction.
“Rachel, we have to get out of here now!” Sam shouted. He took a firm hold of her arm and pulled her along.
Suddenly a man in a brown coat fell backward right into Sam. Sam lost his balance—and his grip on Rachel—and was swallowed up into the mob. His sack of potatoes hit the ground and split open. Seizing the opportunity, some teenagers scrambled to pick up the potatoes and began heaving them into the crowd.
Still clutching her crumbling pie, Rachel searched for Sam. Everything was happening so fast! The crowd swirled around her. Rachel was getting dizzy. She was afraid she would fall down, too.
“Sam!”
“Rachel!” came the muffled response. “Sam, where are you?”
Then she spotted his boots. Sam was sprawled across the middle of the street. In their rush to join the fracas, people were stepping on him or stepping over him. No one stopped to help him. Rachel forced her way into the flow of traffic and jerked to a stop in front of Sam. A woman hurtling past knocked the pie out of Rachel’s arms. The pie landed upside down. Cherries oozed through the towel. Then someone stepped on the pie tin, smashing it beyond repair.
“My pie!” Rachel moaned.
Sam was on his feet. “Forget the pie.”
“Sam, are you all right?” Rachel examined her brother. She saw footmarks on his jacket, and his face was bruised. Blood trickled from a cut on his left cheek.
“I don’t think it’s anything serious,” Sam said, “but I’m glad we’re headed to the hospital.”
“I wish Mama was here,” Rachel moaned.
“I just hope Mama and Carrie are all right.”
With their elbows linked, they started off again. Inch by inch, they edged their way to the outskirts of the crowd. Finally the hospital was in sight. But Rachel knew it would take them a long time to go even a few blocks.
Whoever had been driving the streetcar had long ago abandoned it. Rachel found herself scanning the faces in the crowd, looking to see if Mr. Borg was there.
Tripping and jostling their way through the crowd, Sam and Rachel made slow but steady progress. When they reached the hospital door, Sam pushed it open and they tumbled in.
CHAPTER 10
At the Hospital
Inside the main hospital door, Sam and Rachel stopped for a moment to catch their breath. They dropped into a pair of empty wooden chairs away from the door.
“Are you all right, Sam?” Rachel asked. “You look pale.” Sam raised one hand to the side of his head. “I have an awful headache. I think I got kicked.”
“I couldn’t even see what happened to you,” Rachel said. “I got knocked over, that’s all. I should have been paying better attention to what was happening.”
“Don’t be silly,” Rachel said. “You couldn’t help what happened.” Sam leaned his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes.
“Maybe you need a doctor,” Rachel said. “The cut on your cheek is still bleeding.” She reached into the pocket of her pastel plaid skirt for a handkerchief and dabbed at the cut.
“I’ll be all right,” Sam responded, wincing a little bit. “But we should try to find out if Papa is still here.”
Rachel surveyed the lobby. It was crowded. Sam and Rachel were not the only ones who had come to the hospital to escape the chaos of the streets. They had gotten the last two empty chairs.
“You stay here,” Rachel said, “and I’ll try to find out if Papa is still here.”
Across the congested room was a large wooden desk painted green, and behind the desk was a flustered nurse. Nearly two dozen people swarmed around her trying to ask their questions. Some of them were scraped and bruised and probably wanted a doctor. Others were just asking a lot of questions. The nurse kept looking down the hall as if she wanted to escape.
Rachel went and stood at the desk. She knew that the nurse at that desk would have a big black book that would show whether her father had signed out and left the hospital. Ordinarily it was a simple thing to approach the desk and ask about Papa. But Rachel could not get anywhere near the desk that day. The nurse would not pay attention to a small ten-year-old when twenty adults were pressing in on her. Rachel tried to figure out if there was a line so she could get in it. Three times she was pushed away by someone much bigger than she.
Finally she turned back to Sam. He had not moved the whole time she was gone.
“The nurse is too busy,” Rachel reported. “I think I’ll go up to the ward on the third floor. That’s where Papa usually sees his patients. You can stay here.”
“No,” Sam
said, “we should stay together.”
Inwardly, Rachel was relieved Sam wanted to stay with her.
Sam pulled himself to his feet, and they started down the hall to find the dark stairs that would take them to the third floor. At the top of the stairs they turned left and continued on to the ward. Sam cautiously pushed open the door to the large room. Sixteen beds were arranged in neat rows down both sides of the ward. Several nurses made their way swiftly from one bed to the next to make sure the patients were comfortable. “I don’t see Papa.”
“I don’t, either,” Sam said. “Where else should we look?” “We can check the other wards,” Rachel suggested. “You’ll do no such thing!” barked a voice behind them. Sam and Rachel spun around to find the ward’s head nurse scowling down at them. “This is a hospital, not a playground,” she said. “We’re looking for Dr. Borland,” Sam said. “He’s our father.” “I’m aware of that, but children do not belong in a hospital ward.” “We have to find him,” Rachel said.
“There!” The nurse pointed to a small, dark room across the hall. “You may wait there. When I see Dr. Borland, I will tell him where to find you.”
“My brother is hurt,” Rachel said. “He needs to see a doctor.”
The nurse narrowed her eyes and studied Sam’s face. In the same harsh tone, she said, “That’s a nasty cut. I’ll send in a cold pack. But you must wait in there!” She pointed emphatically to the small room. Sam and Rachel shuffled across the hall reluctantly.
The room was furnished with four wooden chairs and a small table. A round window high in the wall provided the only light.
“Do you think she will really tell Papa we’re here?”
“I hope so,” Sam answered. “And I hope she sends that cold pack.”
“Does your head hurt very much?” Rachel asked softly. Sam nodded.
They waited in that room for what seemed like hours. Sam laid his head down on the table. Rachel went to the doorway and looked out. The third floor seemed much busier than it usually was. Nurses moved down the hall with quick, purposeful steps. Their crisp uniforms swished and rustled with every step. Doctors in white jackets hung their stethoscopes around their necks and looked worried.
Suddenly Rachel jumped out into the hall. “Papa!”
“Rachel! What are you doing here?”
Rachel took her father’s hand and pulled him into the small room.
“Sam! Are you all right?” Papa put his hand on Sam’s flushed cheek.
“He got kicked in the head,” Rachel explained.
Then she told Papa the whole story of how the family had started out for the Stockards’ for Easter dinner and Mama and Carrie had disappeared.
Papa made Sam sit up so he could look in his eyes. “I don’t see any sign of serious injury.”
“I just have a headache,” Sam said. “I’ll be all right. But what about Mama and Carrie?”
“There’s a telephone down at the end of the hall,” Papa said. “We’ll go call the Stockards and see if Mama and Carrie made it over there.”
But Mama and Carrie were not at the Stockards’. No one but the Stockard family was there. Aunt Linda had heard about the tipped-over streetcar and the riot. In fact, she told Papa that two streetcars had been tipped over, not just one. But she had not heard from Mama.
“That means they are still out there somewhere,” Rachel said. “They could have gone in another building,” Sam said. Papa looked worried—very worried. “I want to look for them.” “But Papa, the riot!” Rachel protested.
“I’ll settle the two of you in a safe, quiet place. Sam, maybe we can find you a bed to rest on until your head stops hurting. Then I’m going to go out to look for your mother and sister.”
“Dr. Borland, come quick!” It was the head nurse. “They need you down on the first floor.” “What happened?”
“Several more men have just come in, and they are hurt quite badly.”
Papa sighed. “All right, I’ll be right there.”
“Papa, don’t leave us here,” Rachel pleaded.
“Come with me,” Papa responded, “but stay out of the way. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Papa thundered down the stairs. Rachel and Sam did their best to keep up with him. Sam groaned with every step. The lobby was even more crowded than it had been earlier. Papa made his way to a corner of the room and ducked through a door into a room behind the main lobby.
Rachel gasped when she saw the first patient. “It’s the man with the bullhorn!” she said to Sam.
“I don’t think he thought anyone could hurt him,” Sam said.
The man’s left arm did not look right. The skin was scraped off one side of his face, and his right eye was bruised and swollen.
“What do you think happened to him?” Rachel asked.
“It was probably those management men,” Sam answered. “Remember? The three men who ran up right after the streetcar fell over?”
Rachel nodded. “But there were only three of them—three against the whole crowd.”
“They must have had other friends with them. Besides, with a baseball bat or a heavy stick, all it would take is a couple of swings.”
Careful to stay out of the way, they watched their father at work. He set the broken arm and gave the nurses instructions about the other injuries.
“When can I get out of here, Doc?” the man asked.
“I’d like you to stay a couple days,” Papa told the man.
“I can’t do that. I have no money to pay you. I’m a streetcar driver.”
“We’ll worry about that later,” Papa said. “I think you have two broken ribs. You must be taken care of.” He turned to the nurse. “Make sure he gets a bed in one of the wards.”
“Here comes the next one,” the nurse responded, as an orderly wheeled in another patient.
“I know this man,” Papa said.
Rachel’s heart leaped. Mr. Borg? She lurched forward for a better look. No, it was not Mr. Borg.
“I’ve treated him before,” Papa continued. “He’s one of Thomas Lowry’s managers.”
“Then he’s a dog!” growled the first patient.
“Orderly,” Papa said, nodding his head at his first patient. “I think you can take him upstairs now.”
“Dog, he’s a dog!” shouted the man as the orderly wheeled him away.
Papa turned his attention to his new patient, who was unconscious. With a thumb, Papa pushed one of the man’s eyelids open. “I don’t like the way his pupils look,” he told the nurse.
The nurse from the front desk stuck her head in the room.
“Doctor, there are two more coming in now.”
“Aren’t there any other doctors around?” Papa asked.
“Dr. James is upstairs with a critical patient. Dr. Michaels is delivering a baby.”
“Is there no one else?”
“It’s Easter Sunday, Doctor,” the nurse responded. “Most of the doctors did their rounds hours ago and went home to Easter dinner.”
“We need help,” Papa insisted. “Get on the telephone and call Dr. Lee and Dr. Sheridan. Now!”
“Yes, Doctor.”
The man on the gurney in front of Papa began gasping for air. Papa held the man’s mouth open and pushed down on his tongue with a flat wooden stick.
“His airway is blocked! We’ll have to intubate!”
Nurse Howard flew into action and produced a narrow tube.
“Hold his mouth open,” Papa ordered as he started forcing the tube down the man’s mouth. The patient thrashed. Two more nurses came in to help hold him down. In another moment, Papa had the tube down the man’s throat, and he was breathing steadily.
Rachel could hardly bear to watch. She scrunched up against the wall as tightly as she could. Sam had found a spot in the corner where he could sit down and lean his head against the wall.
Papa stepped back from his patient just as the orderlies brought in two more men.
“What do we have?�
�� Papa asked.
The nurses gave the best report they could on the injuries they had observed. Blood and broken bones filled the small room.
Sam and Rachel pressed themselves up against the wall, hardly able to take in what they were seeing.
“Doctor, perhaps your children would be more comfortable somewhere else,” Nurse Howard suggested.
“No, they’re fine,” Papa said without looking up.
“It’s okay, Papa,” Rachel said. “We can go wait in the lobby.”
Papa glanced up for just a second. “Don’t go anywhere else, do you understand? And if any fighting breaks out, you come right back in here.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Miss Howard, please make sure that my son has a place to sit down.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Nurse Howard ushered Sam and Rachel back out to the main lobby.
When they were alone in the crowded lobby, Sam said quietly, “They are all the same.”
Rachel turned to him, puzzled.
“When they are hurt,” Sam said, “they are all the same. They need a doctor. They all have the same broken bones and bloody faces. And Papa helps them all. He doesn’t care if they are union or management.”
Rachel scanned the lobby. Sam was right. Everyone was the same. She could not tell just by looking whether the woman in the green coat was waiting for a union husband or a management husband. She could not tell if the children playing in the corner belonged to a union father or a management father.
She found herself looking for Mr. Borg once again and praying that he was safe.
CHAPTER 11
Where’s Mama?
In the lobby, Rachel picked up a newspaper someone had abandoned. The headlines for Easter Sunday 1889 cried out: “STRIKE CONTINUES. LOWRY SAYS No NEGOTIATIONS.” “RESTLESS DRIVERS THREATEN ACTION.” “UNION DEMANDS HEIGHTEN.”
Rachel scanned the beginning of one article: “Thomas Lowry, owner of the Minneapolis Streetcar Company, insists that he will not submit to arbitration to settle the streetcar strike. ‘In the future,’ said Lowry, ‘the Minneapolis Street Railway will run its own business instead of having it run by a union.’ Although the business has suffered greatly during the strike, Lowry continues to hire replacement drivers. He has brought in a hundred men from Kansas City to drive the routes abandoned by union drivers. If Lowry continues to refuse arbitration, drivers are threatening further action to force his cooperation.”
American Rebirth Page 29