“You’re joking.” He looked frightened. “The army! They kill people, you know. That’s what soldiers are for, to keep people down. At least in my father’s country, that’s what —”
“Well, what on earth did you think was going to happen?” burst out Mary. Freddy’s eyes widened as he took her in. “You’re here supporting the bosses while workers are starving to fight for your rights! Yes, your rights. For the rights of all workers, even the ones betraying us. I couldn’t believe it when Cassie told me about you, you little traitor. And standing aside while she was attacked yesterday. I hope the army does come, and take care of treacherous —”
She was interrupted by the sound of bagpipes and drums and feet marching. A huge parade was coming down Main Street, the Union Jack waving brightly at the front.
“Soldiers!” gasped Freddy. “Already, they’re taking over the city!” He was poised to run. The thunder of marching feet moved nearer and nearer. Cassie could see the paraders clearly now. They weren’t carrying guns. They weren’t even in uniform.
She reached her hand over and stilled the quivering Freddy. Mary looked disdainfully at their contact. “Don’t worry, Freddy,” Cassie said. “I think these are the returned soldiers who support us. Support the strikers,” she corrected herself quickly.
“Yes,” said Mary. “Not us, hey, Freddy?” She walked away to the new Labour Café location without a glance behind her.
“Who on earth is that?” said Freddy.
“My best friend in the world,” said Cassie. “She and her mother are all alone, and she wants this strike to work. I can’t believe how little they have.”
Freddy looked wryly at her. “Just she and her mother in the family to take care of? Oh, how difficult their lives sound.”
Of course. It was so hard to talk to Freddy about anything; his family was destitute. Few had it worse than them. But he was so resolutely on — well, the wrong side.
The soldiers kept streaming by, marching along silently behind the flag. There must have been ten thousand of them.
“Where’re you going?!” called Cassie to one of them as they passed.
“To the Legislature to see Premier Norris,” he answered. “We’re trying to help!”
She watched the soldiers march away, the wail of the bagpipes trailing a few blocks behind them.
* * *
With the café so close to her corner now, Cassie popped in for her midday dinner.
“You sure you don’t want to switch sides and come eat some hot food?” Cassie had asked Freddy as she gathered her diminished stack of bulletins and left her spot.
Freddy looked wistful, but his words were resolute. “Yes. I’m sure. Have a good dinner.”
When Cassie walked into the café, she was greeted by familiar scents of stew and, she was sure, her mother’s tea biscuits. There were dozens of women there, eating around tables together, and a few men as well.
She smiled at the women greeting her and went over to the line to get her own bowl of food. Though her mother had been stretching their supplies as far as they could reach, Cassie had been feeling hungry all the time lately (“Get used to it,” Billy had said. “I got hungry the day I turned ten and I didn’t feel full till I was eighteen”) and was looking forward to a hot meal in the middle of the day instead of her usual sandwich.
As she waited she learned that the soldiers had passed the headquarters of the Citizens’ Committee of One Thousand, torn down their sign, and carried it along with them. There was an energy to everyone in the café — having the soldiers’ solidarity meant so much.
When she got to the front of the line, she was delighted to see Mary serving up.
“Hello, ma’am,” Cassie said playfully. “Might I have a bowl of stew?”
Mary smiled. “Why, yes, little miss,” she said in a posh voice.
They couldn’t chat; other hungry people were multiplying behind Cassie in line. But she winked at her friend and sat down nearby to watch her working.
There was a new confidence to Mary’s movements. She looked so self-assured here, amongst all these workers united by a common cause. Cassie could remember being little with Mary, studying ants for hours in the summertime, having roaring snowball fights in the winter. She could still see the five-year-old in Mary, but today for the first time she thought she could see the future twenty-five-year-old, too.
At one point, a short, brown-haired woman with twinkling eyes walked out of the back kitchen and said a few words to Mary, patting her shoulder kindly. Cassie couldn’t hear what she said, but she saw Mary’s face light up. Once the woman had moved on, Mary looked over at Cassie and mouthed, “Mrs. Armstrong!”
Of course! This was the famous agitator who’d convinced so many women to unionize and who’d whipped this very kitchen into existence. She had a growing reputation in the city as a labour leader and an activist. She was one of only two women on the strike committee. Cassie’s mother had a great deal of respect for her, even though she was so different from how women were supposed to behave.
Cassie watched Mrs. Armstrong make her way through the crowds of girls and women eating their food. She kept pausing to make sure people were all right, listening to them, and even hugging some who were tearful. Cassie felt more and more intrigued, especially once she could see Mrs. Armstrong was coming her way. Was she really going to speak to her?
“Ah, the papergirl!” said Mrs. Armstrong when she reached Cassie. “I saw you working out on the corner this morning. How brave of you to be standing with us when you’re so young, especially after your spot of trouble yesterday. And your mother made these wonderful biscuits, didn’t she?”
Cassie could only nod. Mrs. Armstrong seemed to sense her shyness. “No need to worry, dear. We’re all sisters in this fight. You eat up and get back out there to spread the good word!” She tapped Cassie’s stack of bulletins as she moved away.
Cassie felt flushed and excited and looked over at Mary to see if she’d caught the exchange. She had and beamed back at Cassie. Cassie finally understood what Mary had been going on about. Both Mrs. Hopkins and Mrs. Smith were strong, hardworking, and loving. But there was something different about Mrs. Armstrong. She was in charge, not just of her own house, but of so many other people.
She spotted Mrs. Smith in the kitchen when she was returning her plate. She had more colour and her cheeks were plumping up. She was talking with Mrs. Armstrong while she stirred a big pot of fragrant soup, and at one point she laughed aloud. Cassie realized she hadn’t seen Mary’s mother laugh for years, not since they’d gotten word about Mary’s father. As hard as this strike was on everyone, it was clearly doing some good for Anna Smith. Cassie saw her own mother bustling past as well, holding a tray of her biscuits high over her head.
She left the café feeling even more resolute that the strikers knew the way of the future better than anyone else.
“What’s got you so happy?” Freddy barked. “You Reds’ll never win!”
Cassie just rolled her eyes and set to selling the bulletin as best as she could, chatting with her customers about the soldiers’ march.
At the end of the day, walking home together, Mary was bubbling over.
“She told me I was doing a wonderful job and thanked me for missing school so I can help,” Mary said. “She said she could see I have a bright future no matter what I do!”
Cassie smiled and took her friend’s hand. “I don’t doubt it in the least.”
* * *
On Friday, June 6, Cassie read the strike bulletin aloud to Mary on their way to Portage and Main. “Strikers, hold your horses. This is the hour when you can win. Steady boys, steady. Keep quiet. Do nothing. Keep out of trouble. Don’t carry weapons. Leave this to your enemies. Continue to prove you are the friends of law and order.” Cassie said, “I wonder why everybody is supposed to be so creepy quiet.”
&n
bsp; “Think about it,” said Mary. “All the Citizens’ Committee wants is trouble. They’re looking for an excuse to call in the army, and that would be the end of the strike.”
Cassie eyed her friend. She and Mary were certainly getting an education, even if they were missing school to do it.
Mary raised her voice as she walked past Freddy. “The only way we’ll have a fair shake is to work together, Cassie. And to overcome the bosses. And the traitors.” She narrowed her eyes at Freddy and walked over to the café.
“Your friend sure has a problem with me,” said Freddy.
“She just cares a lot. You should try it sometime,” Cassie replied. But she wasn’t grouchy about it. She’d come to appreciate Freddy’s companionship on the street corner, even if she knew she couldn’t rely on him for protection.
Without Billy standing nearby, she felt more exposed, and she worried that Nick and the other rich boys would realize she was alone and come back to bother her. Thank goodness the café was close enough to run to. She couldn’t imagine Mrs. Armstrong letting any hooligans in there.
She didn’t have long to stand imagining; she was still run off her feet with customers. She barely even had to yell to advertise the bulletin anymore. Everyone knew who the papergirl was and what she was selling.
* * *
That Sunday, as they had on every recent Sunday, Billy, Cassie, and Mary went to Victoria Park to the Labour Church. J.S. Woodsworth, who was helping with the strike and had written some of Billy’s favourite essays about the workers, spoke. There were over ten thousand people there to listen — more than any other service yet — and they raised more than fifteen hundred dollars to help strikers’ families eat and pay rent. Cassie knew from her family’s own struggle and especially Mary’s that every single penny would be put to work. Even the strikers who ate at the café were getting a hungry look about them. Cassie was sure that some of them didn’t eat except for the noontime meals there.
When Labour Church finished, Cassie asked Mary if she’d like to come over. “You’re welcome to, though my mum is tired out from working at the café so much.”
Mary looked at her a bit funny. “Well, now you know what it’s like,” she said. “Or a little, anyway. You know, my mother has more energy now that she’s only working at the café and not locked away in the factory six days a week. I’m going to spend the rest of the day with her.”
The friends hugged, and as Mary walked away, Cassie entered her house to find her father and Billy talking quietly in the parlour while her mother worked in the kitchen. Billy’s hands were clenched, and he seemed like he was trying to stop himself from shouting. They stopped whispering once they noticed Cassie.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“It’s nothing,” said her father at the same time as Billy said, “The Slave Pact, we’re calling it. It’s coming. They want to stop police from ever unionizing. The city will go to the army.”
Cassie hesitated. She wanted to stay and find out more, but at the same time, she was beginning to be quite overwhelmed with all the details of the strike. She decided to go into the kitchen to help her mother. Everything had been so new for weeks; a little routine felt safe.
“I’ll peel the potatoes, Mum.”
Mrs. Hopkins looked up, startled. “Oh, you’re home. Don’t worry, dear. I’ll do these.”
“No, I want to,” said Cassie. Her mother tried to stop her from pulling the potatoes over to herself, and when she saw them, she knew why. These were the dregs of the dregs, some with especially long pinkish white roots coming out of their eyes, some wrinkled, and some even slimy.
Cassie looked up at her mother, shocked. Could her family really be running out of food? Not just the butter and the meat, but plain old potatoes too?
“They’re all that’s left. Just … try to cut off the bad parts.”
Cassie hadn’t realized it was this bad in their pantry. She tried to do as her mother said, but the sight and smell of those old potatoes almost made her sick to her stomach.
* * *
The next day, Cassie and Mary passed a few police officers who looked less at ease than usual. They knew them a bit because of Cassie’s brother and father, and normally the police would wave or say hello, but the men they passed looked preoccupied. Even Billy, walking with the girls to his intersection, was subdued, though his convictions hadn’t changed.
“None of it is our fault, you see. We’ve done our best to work with the Citizens’ Committee, but they’ve just ignored and threatened us. We’ve no choice. They’re backing us into a corner with this Slave Pact. I don’t know, girls. I feel as though everyone’s starting to run out of fight as they run out of food.”
“Not me,” said Mary. “But then, I might be better fed now than I was when my mother was working. That’s not likely true for most people.”
“Definitely not us,” said Cassie, thinking about the potatoes last night.
Both Billy and Cassie were beginning to worry about things at home. Mr. Hopkins’s spirits were sagging; the weather was turning even hotter and muggier, the lilacs had browned, and he suffered in the heat. And the Hopkinses were running out of food. Cassie could hardly believe it, but it was true. Her mother was worried, she knew. The potatoes, disgusting as they’d been, were now gone for good. They had finished the last of Mrs. Hopkins’s preserves about a week ago. There was oatmeal, still — oatmeal for breakfast, oatmeal for supper, and oatmeal for Billy and Mr. Hopkins’s midday meals, unless they ended up coming to the Labour Café too. Oatmeal without milk and sugar wasn’t much to taste, but it was filling, at least. For now.
Something would have to change soon for this city to survive the strike.
Cassie and Mary left Billy at his intersection, and Mary walked into the Oxford Hotel to the café while Cassie set up in her spot with the bulletin. She waved to Freddy, who was already at his corner, smoking a cigarette.
“Why such a long face?” he called. “You look so serious.”
“No reason,” she said. He wouldn’t understand. Well, that wasn’t quite right — he’d understand all too well. She sighed, baffled once more at why his loyalty lay with the people who had left this hunger in her belly and his.
* * *
Back at the corner on Tuesday afternoon, Billy was even more tense. He’d heard that as constables were going off their beats, they were being taken into the chief’s office and asked to sign the Slave Pact.
When his shift was wrapping up, he walked over to Cassie. “I’m off, then,” he said. “Have you sold enough to leave? Want to walk to the station with me?”
Cassie only had a few bulletins left, so she quickly went to the café to let Mary know she wouldn’t be walking home with her today, then went with Billy. Billy’s pace was slow; he didn’t want to go through with this.
“It’s no good,” he kept saying. “They’re up to no good. They need us to keep the peace. It’s like they don’t even want peace.”
Cassie wasn’t sure what to say, so kept quiet. At the station, she waited outside while Billy went in.
He emerged a few minutes later, downcast and tense.
“Come on,” said Cassie. “Let’s get you home and I’ll make you … well, a bowl of oatmeal.”
Mr. Hopkins was already home as well. “Take it you didn’t sign, then?” he said to Billy.
“Of course not. No one will.”
“Aye, I know. I didn’t either, of course. By ten tonight the whole police force will be locked out. Think of it — none of us allowed to work, and this hungry city left without protection.”
* * *
Billy offered to walk Mary and Cassie to work the next day, as he had nothing else to do. When Cassie picked up her strike bulletins to sell, the office was abuzz. She stopped a young man hurrying past and asked for the news.
“The police,” he sai
d. “They’re out.”
She nodded and gestured to Billy; she knew that much.
“Well, the returning soldiers offered to work for the city for free. Two thousand men, they offered. But they hired Specials instead, for six dollars a day — more than the regular police get paid! They’re throwing away money while the people starve. It’s outrageous. You be careful out there today with the paper. We don’t know who these Specials are, or what they’ve been told to do.”
Billy’s face had been turning redder throughout this exchange, and as they emerged onto the street again, he said to Cassie, “Let me sell for you today. Look, it’s a lovely day, and I have nothing else to do.”
Cassie narrowed her eyes.
“All right. I want to get the measure of these Specials before you’re on the street alone all day.”
Cassie began to protest, but Mary cut in.
“Cassie, take the day. I’m going to tell Mama I’m taking the day too.”
“But you’ve been more fired up than any of us!” Cassie said.
“It’s not about the work,” said Mary. “I have an idea.”
“It’s settled, then,” Billy said.
Though she balked at being treated like a child, Cassie had to admit that the Specials looked intimidating. She spotted two as they approached Portage and Main. They were armed with what Billy wryly called “emblems of democracy” — horse’s neck yokes sawn in two, about the size of baseball bats. They wore white armbands, a far cry from the smart uniforms the regular police officers wore.
Cassie urged Billy not to bother Freddy, and Billy reluctantly agreed to set up where Cassie did, at a respectful distance. As Billy set up his papers and rock, Mary ran into the café and emerged again after a few minutes.
“Good morning, Red Mary,” called Freddy when he saw her.
Mary stalked over to him and Cassie followed worriedly behind. “Do you see what’s happened?” Mary hissed in Freddy’s face. “The police, who once worked for the people, are gone. Now these Specials have come in, with no code of conduct, and we don’t know who they are. Do you know what Mrs. Armstrong just told me? Eaton’s has supplied these fake officers with horses. Eaton’s! Every single person with money in this city is trying to starve us out. And you’re helping them. You fool.”
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