A March to Remember (5 page)

 

With this, Senator Smith ceded the floor. Several senators spoke for over an hour, arguing back and forth, adding to an earlier debate on whether Coxey's March constituted a legitimate way of petitioning the government for the redress of grievances, until one rotund senator spoke, all the while rubbing his protruding belly.

“As my colleague from Virginia said, Mr. President, there should be no debate. These lawbreakers should be arrested the moment one of them utters a word on Capitol grounds.”

“Hogwash!” cried the young Southern man who had infuriated Senator Smith earlier. I looked at my map of the Senate floor. It was Clarence Abbott, the Populist junior senator from North Carolina.

Did Senator Smith dislike him because he was a Populist? Or was there something more between them?

“Mr. President?” a tall, sturdy, clean-shaven man said as he rose.

“The senator from Nebraska,” President Pro Tempore Harris said, ignoring Senator Abbott's comment and acknowledging Senator William Allen, a fellow Populist.

“I once said that this march on Washington was ‘absurd and useless,' that it was ‘the work of a man who, if not a knave, is crazy and who does not represent any of the principles of our party.' And that may still ring true. But I must object and am dismayed by the buildup of military and police forces in our fair city for the purpose of repelling the Coxeyites.”

So it was true. The rumors I had overheard at the White House weren't idle gossip after all.

“And the suggestion of the senator from Virginia to use the Capitol Grounds Act to stop them, I ask, is it American?” Allen said. “Is it right to deny to such men the privilege of not only entering the District of Columbia and the city of Washington, but to enter these galleries, if they see fit to enter them?”

Senator Allen gestured to the galleries above him with a sweep of his arm, eliciting a few sharp gasps and cries of “No!” from those seated above him.

“Are American citizens coming here for a lawful purpose to be met at the confines of the capital of their nation by hired soldiery, by a police force, and kept out of the city and beaten into submission if they persist in coming?”

This elicited both boos and shouts of approval from Allen's fellow senators. Immediately Senator Hawley, a Republican from Connecticut, rose to oppose him.

“Now, sir,” Hawley declared, “it is a matter of common sense that the behavior of multitudes around this Capitol and these squares here should be carefully regulated by laws and rules. And if there be any patriotism in the misguided company of men near here, or the others who are coming, there are men in this Senate who could address them and satisfy them, I am sure, if they are Americans and have any respect for their country. And may I add that the speech given by the gentleman from Nebraska, though roughly received here, as it should be, would have been received with tumultuous applause in a meeting of anarchists, having as it did the bacteria and bacilli of anarchy!”

A large uproar followed, both on the floor and in the galleries above, as men shouted and waved their arms in objection to Senator Hawley's words.

“That's absurd!”

“Preposterous!”

As Senator Harris hit the gavel several times trying to restore order, I stole a moment to glance at the press gallery. There the men were feverishly writing, trying to capture the words and mood for their articles. The reporter I'd seen at the bawdy house this morning was among them again. Absentmindedly he unwrapped something and popped it in his mouth. From the mastication of his jaw, I guessed he was chewing gum. He suddenly looked up and stared across the chamber toward me. I immediately looked down and engrossed myself in my own work. Could he sense I was staring at him? Could he have recognized me from this morning? What if he told Sir Arthur?

That's preposterous,
I thought, echoing the shouts from below. He was too distracted to notice me outside the bawdy house. Wasn't he?

C
HAPTER
5

“T
here's Coxey!” someone shouted.

A rush of men, clerks and journalists I recognized from the press gallery and visitors alike, pushed past Sir Arthur, Chester Smith, and me as we left the galleries at the end of the session. The man from the bawdy house wasn't among them. One man's unexpected pause to tie the loose laces on his shoe forced three others to slip and stumble on the marble floor as they attempted to navigate around the bent figure, one grabbing Sir Arthur's arm for support, another bumping into Chester Smith.

“Hey!” Chester said, shoving the man away, into the path of the stragglers.

In a chaos of flying hats, waving arms, and curses, men tumbled into a heap. But nothing deterred them. Untangling themselves and collecting their fallen hats, they gained their feet and hurried away.

“I say,” Sir Arthur said, brushing his sleeve. “What was that about?”

“General Coxey appears to be in the corridor, sir,” I said as calmly as I could, inwardly sharing the crowd's enthusiasm.

“Oh, well then, we must meet this Coxey. Care to join the spectacle, Mr. Smith?” Sir Arthur said. Chester yawned, but my heart fluttered with excitement. I couldn't wait.

“Very well.”

We three headed toward the congregation of reporters, pages, and clerks surrounding the famous man and waving scraps of paper in the air. Coxey was signing autographs. For all the descriptions of “revolutionary” and “crank” and “crazy” and “cerebrum of Christ,” the man I'd followed in the newspaper for months was slighter of build than I'd imagined, wore a tidy, light-brown mustache, wire-rimmed spectacles, and a well-tailored dark gray suit. To my relief and satisfaction, I would have more easily mistaken him for a senior government clerk than a maniacal leader of an invading army of miscreants.

“What brings you to the Capitol?” someone was asking when Sir Arthur led the way into the crowd.

“I seek permission to speak from the Capitol steps. I first attempted to gain it from the office of the police superintendent. Major Moore asked me if it was my idea to make a speech from the east front of the Capitol, and I told him yes. He told me I can't do that, that the law prohibits it. When I asked him if there is any law against making a speech on the streets, again he said the law prohibits that too.”

As autograph seekers flapped their papers as close to Coxey's face as possible, the journalists were jotting down his every word. Although I would have preferred an autograph, I too took down what he said. Sir Arthur didn't ask it of me, but I knew he'd expect a copy of the man's comments later.

“But that's what we propose to attempt,” Coxey said. “It's a constitutional right!” A few cheers rose from the crowd. To emphasize his point, he said it again. “I claim it under the Constitution.”

“But what brings you to the Capitol today?” someone asked again.

“Only Vice President Stevenson or Speaker Crisp can suspend the law.”

“And did they?” a reporter asked.

“The chief representative of the Democratic Party in Congress has refused to grant these rights to the American people,” Coxey said of Speaker Crisp's refusal to help. “I'm still trying to locate the Vice President.”

“What do you think of Congress using the 1882 Capitol Grounds Act to stop you?” someone asked. I craned my neck to see the speaker. The man from the bawdy house, pad and pencil in hand, had joined the crowd around Coxey.

“We will keep off the grass around the Capitol,” Coxey replied. “Of course, I appreciate as well as anyone else the fact that the preservation of the grass around the Capitol is of more importance than saving thousands from starvation.” Both guffaws and gasps followed Coxey's verbal jab.

“Will you resort to violence to make your point? Does the city have something to fear from you and that army of thousands suffering from starvation on the city's border? I overheard one of your zealots claiming he'd blow up the Capitol.”

Was he referring to the same man who had proclaimed his violent intentions at the White House or to someone new? I wondered.

Distant steps could be heard echoing down the corridor as everyone hushed and strained to hear Coxey's reply. The fate of the city could depend on it. Coxey straightened his shoulders and took a big breath.

“We come in peace to lay our grievances at the doors of our national legislature and ask them in the name of Him whose banners we bear, in the name of Him who pleads for the poor and the oppressed, that they should heed the voice of despair and distress, that they should consider the conditions of the starving unemployed of our land, and enact such laws as will give them employment, bring happier conditions to the people, and the smile of contentment to our citizens.”

Audible sighs of relief rose from the crowd, my own included. And then dozens of voices began at once.

“Who are these men of violence who claim to speak for the Commonweal of Christ?”

“How can you guarantee peace when your men are suffering so?”

“Amen and thanks be to Him whom we praise.”

Ignoring all questions and comments, Coxey excused himself and proceeded to push through the crowd.

“Sir Arthur Windom-Greene.” Sir Arthur introduced himself as he stepped in front of General Coxey and halted his advance. “And this is Mr. Chester Smith.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Coxey said.

“It was my secretary, Miss Davish here, who made me aware of your extraordinary trek from Ohio,” Sir Arthur said, pointing to me. “Hattie has been an avid follower, I can assure you.”

“And supporter too, I hope, Miss Davish?” General Coxey said. I smiled.

Knowing better than to voice any opinion in regard to politics, I ignored his question and said, “I'm most pleased to meet you in person, Mr. Coxey. Is Mr. Browne with you?” Marshal Carl Browne was second only to General Jacob Coxey in status in the Commonweal of Christ, the name they called themselves, and was the man who intrigued me the most.

“No, he is at the camp. But if you'd like to meet him, come visit us tomorrow or Monday. You are more than welcome. You too, Sir Windom-Greene and Mr. Smith. Bring as many friends as you like.” I looked to Sir Arthur, silently praying he would accept the invitation.

“I believe I'll take you up on that,” Sir Arthur said, always wanting to be in the thick of any historical event. “And I will bring friends. Senator Smith, for one, will relish the opportunity.”

“Good,” Coxey said, as he took his leave. “And I hope to see you again on the Capitol steps!”

“Father's not going to like this,” Chester Smith said, frowning as he watched Coxey disappear through the crowd.

“Nonsense,” Sir Arthur said. “Such a curiosity as this shouldn't be missed.”

“I hope you're right, Sir Arthur,” Chester said, shaking his head in doubt.

I hope so too,
I thought, too excited to worry about the repercussions Chester had implied.

* * *

“Hattie!”

I turned at the sound of my name. Walter was ascending the steps with a tall blond woman on his arm who had Walter's sparkling blue eyes and brilliant white teeth. She was laughing.

“Excuse me a moment, sir?” I said. Sir Arthur, deep in conversation discussing the relative strength of the British pound with Chester Smith as we waited outside for the senator to rejoin us, nodded slightly.

“I must say this city does agree with me, like a sunflower on a warm summer's day. I didn't know what to expect when we arrived, but it's been marvelous, Walter, simply marvelous. I was saying to Mildred the other . . .” She stopped mid-sentence when I skipped down the flight of stairs to meet them and she saw me for the first time.

“Oh, darling boy,” she said, without taking her eyes off me, “who is this charming creature?”

Walter pulled away gently from the woman who could only be his sister and came to my side, taking my arm. “Who we came to meet,” he said, smiling at me.

“Oh?”

“Hattie, this is my sister, Mrs. Sarah Clayworth, and this, Sister dear, is Miss Hattie Davish, my intended.”

Sarah had reached out to offer her hand but let it float in midair the minute she heard Walter's last words. Only the caw of a crow and the plodding
clomp, clomp
of the horses in the street filled the silence between us. I braced myself for the coldness that would sweep over Walter's sister now. As if I were the object of an employer's displeasure, I kept my professional composure and maintained eye contact. If I were to marry Walter, I would have to stay strong as his wife, even if his family disapproved. Instead, I felt a rush of air as Walter's sister threw her arms about me. She smelled of lilies of the valley and face powder. I stood there dumbfounded and wasn't sure if I should embrace her in return. As she didn't seem inclined to let go, I lightly set my hand on the woman's back. Her peacock blue dress was made of the softest silk.

“I'm so pleased!” she said, releasing me. She placed one hand on my shoulder and another on Walter's. “Yes, very pleased indeed. You are most welcome to the family.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Clayworth,” I said, still stunned by my reception. How could the daughter be so different from the mother? Obviously his sister was more like Walter than I'd expected.

“Do call me Sarah and I'll call you Hattie. We are soon to be sisters, are we not?”

“Yes, I suppose we are.” Walter smiled at my shyness but knew I had not been expecting such a warm reception.

“So you aren't cross with me for not telling you about the engagement, Sarah?” Walter said.

“Cross? Why would I be cross? You told me you were coming to visit and you had a surprise. I wouldn't have wanted you to spoil the surprise now, would I?”

So Walter hadn't told her about our engagement after all. Wasn't that why he'd had luncheon with her instead of accompanying me? Was he, like me in speaking with Sir Arthur, unsure how to broach the subject? Or was it simply to surprise her, as she thought? But what else hadn't he told her? Did she know I worked for a living? That I was an orphan? My hopes that Sarah was different from her mother were premature if she knew nothing about me.

“Shall we join the others?” Walter said.

“Yes, there's Daniel.” Sarah picked up her skirts slightly and proceeded up the stairs.

Walter and I followed. In the few minutes we'd been talking, Senator Smith had rejoined his son, Chester, and Sir Arthur, as had the reporter from the press gallery. Chester scowled as the reporter laughed at a joke I couldn't hear.

Who is that man?
I wondered yet again.

A tall, barrel-chested man I'd never seen before was also among the growing party. As soon as she reached the new arrival, Sarah wrapped both hands around his arm and pulled him in our direction. He rolled his wide-set brown eyes, but an indulgent smile spread across his clean-shaven face. Walter stretched out his arm toward the man who could only be Daniel Clayworth, and the two men heartily shook hands.

“Good to see you again, Walter,” Daniel said. “Sarah says you were recently in St. Louis. I trust your mother is well?”

“You know our mother. She's as sharp as a thistle and as strong as a prairie wind,” Sarah answered before Walter had the chance.

“And your journey?”

“A bit long but routine,” Walter said.

“Happen to catch a Browns' ball game while you were in St. Louis? I haven't seen them play since they moved to the New Sportsman's Park.”

“Enough small talk, boys,” Sarah said, turning herself and Daniel slightly to face me. “This, Daniel, is Miss Hattie Davish.” Daniel tipped his head slightly.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Davish,” he said. The smile on his face was refreshing among the somber Smiths.

“And this, my dear Hattie, is Congressman Daniel Clayworth,” Walter added, “my esteemed brother-in-law.”

“Nice to meet you, Congressman,” I said.

“Nonsense, Hattie, you must call him Daniel,” Sarah insisted. Her husband glanced at her in surprise. Sarah recognized his questioning gaze. Walter and I locked eyes in the instant before Sarah leaned forward and said, “Darling, Miss Davish is—”

“Daniel, have you met Sir Arthur Windom-Greene yet?” Walter said, cutting off his sister before she could reveal our secret. This was not how I would have Sir Arthur learn of our engagement. Sarah would have ample time on the ride home to Dupont Circle to inform her husband of her brother's news.

“I have,” Daniel said, as Walter led him toward the group of men.

“Nice to see you again, Dr. Grice,” Sir Arthur said, extending his hand to Walter when the two men approached. “Gentlemen, may I introduce Dr. Walter Grice, a good man to have on your side if ever you're in a tight spot.”

Sir Arthur smiled broadly as he lightheartedly referred to the Christmas we all had spent in Illinois when Walter and I helped clear Sir Arthur's name of murder.

After the round of introductions, Sarah's husband joined the men's discussion. Walter made his excuses and returned to us.

“Walter, you cut me off.” His sister pouted. “I was about to tell Daniel—”

“I know what you were about to do,” Walter said under his breath. “This is not the time nor the place to reveal such things publicly.”

“Oh,” Sarah said, looking about her guiltily. “Yes, of course, how indiscreet of me. Forgive me, Miss Davish.”

“Of course. Thank you for understanding,” I said.

“You may tell Daniel later, at home, but certain parties here need to be told formally, if you understand me,” Walter said.