Giant Steps Read online

  Most of the marchers carried a sign. Some women helped to carry large banners that almost reached from curb to curb, proclaiming slogans such as “Shoulder to Shoulder, Friend to Friend” and “Fearless Women Make a Fearless Society.” One of the banners posed the question: “How Long Must Women Wait for Their God-Given Rights?”

  Each of the women carried a small American flag. Some of them waved a toothbrush high in the air. Bernie explained to Aunt Rose that this was in honor of Dame Ethel Smyth, the English composer who had written the song, “The March of the Women.” When Smyth was jailed for breaking an anti-suffrage politician’s window, she had stood at her prison window and used her toothbrush as a baton, directing the women standing in the prison yard below singing her stirring anthem.

  Bernie was proud that her group had learned all the words to every verse of the song so they could sing it as they marched along Pennsylvania Avenue in DC. To hear and be a part of so many voices all raised in the same tune made her feel as though she were floating in a cloud of heavenly music.

  The march ended in front of the White House. Bernie noticed several women chaining themselves to the fence. As she stood taking it all in, she felt something mushy hit her forehead and run down her face. She put her hand up to find out what it was. It was a gooey blob of a half-eaten peach. As Lizzie tried to wipe it off for her, another missile came flying through the air. This was a dirt clod. It hit Bernie on the shoulder. Another hit Lizzie in the back.

  Aunt Lolly said, “Don’t worry about it, girls. These are badges of honor. Wear them proudly.”

  Suddenly Bernie saw four burly men dash from the curb. They headed toward an older woman who was with a group of marchers from another state. The men tried to snatch the sign from her hands, but she held on tightly and struggled with them. They finally got the better of her and knocked her roughly to the ground.

  Two other women marchers burst from the Indiana ranks and went to help the woman who had been attacked. Bernie gasped when she realized that the two women who hurried to assist were Aunt Lolly and Aunt Rose.

  “Are you all right?” Aunt Lolly asked the woman, who nodded as she patted her white hair back in place.

  “Shame on you!” Aunt Rose shouted at the men, who turned to run away when the police showed up.

  One of the policemen said to the three women, “You will have to move along or I’ll take the lot of you to jail.”

  Aunt Lolly put her hands on her hips and faced the law officers. “And just what were we doing that would make you arrest us?”

  Aunt Rose added, “Why aren’t you chasing after those cowards who knocked this defenseless woman to the ground?”

  A cheer went up from several marchers who had gathered round to watch the scene.

  It was then that a young man with an identification card in his hat band rushed up to snap their picture. His card read Washington Post. The newspaper reporter asked their names and jotted them down in a small notebook.

  Some women who fought for suffrage were arrested and sent to prison for voicing their opinions. In this 1917 photograph, suffragist Mary Winsor from Pennsylvania holds a sign declaring that women who had been arrested should not be treated as criminals. Winsor was jailed for sixty days after picketing in 1917. (Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Records of the National Woman’s Party, Photo by Harris & Ewing, Washington, DC)

  The next day Bernie’s aunts were startled to see a large photograph of themselves spread across the first page of the paper. The headline proclaimed, “Fearless Suffragettes Face Down Hoodlums and Police.” The photograph clearly showed Aunt Lolly standing almost nose to nose with the policeman and Aunt Rose turned and shouting at the bullies. The caption beneath the picture recounted the story of the confrontation. It also printed their names and told where they were from.

  Alice commented, “Well, our league wanted publicity, and we certainly got it.”

  Bernie mumbled under her breath, “Thank goodness this picture is in a Washington, DC, newspaper and not in the Daily Courier.” She could imagine what Papa would say if he could see this. She scanned the picture carefully to be certain that she had not been in it and offered up another prayer of relief. Then she remembered that she had accepted the responsibility of reporting on this at home.

  As she sat on the train and remembered the excitement, she thought how it was going to be tricky to submit an account of what had happened. She was not able to work a way out of her dilemma before the excitement of the past few days took its toll. She fell asleep to the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels on the track.

  When she awakened, she realized that her head was resting heavily against Aunt Rose’s shoulder. She looked across the aisle and saw Lizzie stretched out across the laps of Alice and their mother. Aunt Lolly’s head had slumped on her chest. They were all sound asleep as were most of the other travelers in their group.

  “I’m sorry,” Bernie whispered to Aunt Rose as she sat up. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  “You were no bother. I rather liked having you sleep on my shoulder,” Aunt Rose said. “It reminded me of how much I used to enjoy holding you when you were a tiny baby. I used to beg to take you out in your buggy for walks all over town to show you off to people. I was so proud of my beautiful niece.”

  “I wish I could remember.” Bernie felt wistful that she had not been aware of the experience. She hesitated for a moment before asking timidly, “Did Grandmother and Grandfather Epperson like me?”

  Aunt Rose turned to stare at her. “Of course they did. Whatever in the world made you ask a question like that?”

  “Grandmother is always so cross with me. She doesn’t ever seem to be pleased with anything I do.”

  “They thought you were perfect,” Aunt Rose assured her.

  “Were they happy with me even though my mother was a Mifflin?”

  “I don’t think that thought ever crossed their minds.”

  Bernie continued to press the issue. “How could that be? Don’t you remember that you told me how they did not want Papa to marry my mother?”

  Aunt Rose sighed audibly. “Quite frankly, your Grandfather and Grandmother Epperson did not think that someone from the Mifflin family was a suitable match for their son.”

  “Why was that?”

  Aunt Rose couldn’t suppress a smile. “You will have to admit that your Great Uncle Charley Mifflin is quite a character.”

  “But he was a war hero who rode with General Lew Wallace.”

  “He does spin quite an entertaining yarn, doesn’t he? To hear him tell it, one would think he won the Civil War single-handedly.”

  “I think they should be proud of him. I know he is Nick’s hero. Nick hopes the United States will join the war in Europe. A lot of people say we will. Nick wants a chance to be a great soldier like Uncle Charley. It is exciting to think that he fought alongside General Wallace.”

  “I suspect the closest your Great-Uncle Charley ever got to General Wallace was one day, a long time ago, when he and a bunch of loafers were hired to go down to Crawfordsville and pull the weeds from the Wallaces’ flower beds.”

  Bernie was stunned. She sat thinking this over. “How do you know this?”

  “You must remember,” Aunt Rose said, “Lafayette isn’t such a big town that people don’t know each other’s business—and they love to talk about it.”

  “But why should Uncle Charley’s war stories make the Mifflins unsuitable for marriage with the Eppersons?”

  Aunt Rose appeared hesitant and extremely uncomfortable. “It’s not just that.”

  “What else? Why didn’t Grandmother and Grandfather Epperson want Papa to marry Mother?”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” Aunt Rose replied.

  “You have to tell me. I want to know,” Bernie insisted. “Was it because the Mifflins have red hair?”

 
At that, Aunt Rose laughed so loudly she had to cover her mouth. “Good grief, Bernie. It’s your Aunt Lolly’s side of the family that has the beautiful red hair. Your mother and Uncle Leroy have hair the same color as yours. In fact, your mother was a real dark-haired beauty. Your father was head over heels in love with her.”

  Bernie struggled to even imagine her parents as two young people in love. Aunt Rose continued, “Your mother had quite a flair for the dramatic. Whenever there was a program, she was always the one called upon to recite poetry or give a dramatic reading. She had a lovely singing voice, too. She sang in the church choir.”

  “Then why wouldn’t Grandfather and Grandmother Epperson want Papa to marry her?”

  Aunt Rose had a faraway look in her eyes. “Well, you know how they are—how my father was and how my mother still is.”

  Bernie thought that over, but still was not satisfied. She felt certain that Aunt Rose was not telling her the entire story. She waited.

  “Just let me say that your father was very brave. He stood up to our parents and told them that he was determined to marry the woman he loved. I only wish I could have had that much courage. If I had, my life would be very much different than it is today.”

  With that, Aunt Rose leaned back and closed her eyes. Bernie knew that was the end of the matter—at least for now.

  Bernie could not help but think what a strange journey this had been. She turned back to the notes she was making for the article she would submit to the local paper. She started with their arrival in the nation’s capital. She described sights such as the Washington Monument, the thousands of cherry trees, and the magnificent buildings, including the capitol building. Then she attempted to describe the march and the gathering outside the White House. She wondered if it would be honest reporting if she ignored the women’s encounter with the police.

  Before long, she digressed as she considered the many interesting people she had met along the way. Each one was so different. They were young and old. Some women brought their young daughters to march side-by-side with them. There were women from many places and walks of life. She realized that each of them came from many different kinds of homes. None of their stories would be the same. Even friends and neighbors on this train, people who belonged to the same league she belonged to at home, were unique. Each had come along because of her own personal experience. For whatever reason, they had dared to stand up for women’s right to vote. They had reached this understanding by traveling along different paths just as she had. Yet, they stood shoulder to shoulder, united in a common cause.

  Bernie hoped she would be able to express all of this in a way that others would be able to feel what she felt. She wanted to speak for the Ednas and Emilys who couldn’t be there.

  11

  March 1917

  Peace and Quiet?

  Back home again, Bernie realized she had been mistaken when she first saw the photograph that was published in the Washington Post. She had been grateful that the photograph of Aunt Lolly and Aunt Rose would not be seen by readers of the Daily Courier. Somehow, she had failed to realize that local newspapers often reprinted pictures from other papers far away.

  When she came down to breakfast on her first morning back at home, she saw Papa’s copy of the Daily Courier lying beside his coffee cup. There, on the front page, was the photograph. She almost turned around and fled back upstairs, but she knew that she would have to face the consequences sooner or later. It might as well be now. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad or last too long because Papa would have to leave soon to go to work. It was a point of pride with Papa that he was never late opening his store.

  “Good morning, Papa.” She tried to make her voice as cheerful as possible while she waited for the eruption. She took her place in the chair beside Nick and across from Ben, who sat next to Mother. She was greeted with silence. Silence from Papa. Deafening silence from the boys. Neither one of them so much as glanced in her direction.

  She continued to wait until Mother asked, “Would you like milk for your cereal?”

  “I’m not very hungry,” Bernie said.

  “You need to keep up your strength,” Mother insisted.

  Bernie thought she detected a snicker from Nick, but it was stifled immediately as he asked for another biscuit and the blackberry jam.

  Bernie took this as an ominous sign. Perhaps she would need her strength for when Papa got ready to do or say whatever he had in mind. She began to think of what she could offer in her own defense.

  She might say, “Papa, I did nothing to be ashamed of. We were only there to speak up for our rights—rights that every woman deserves. We weren’t arrested. We did not have to go to jail. I did not get my picture in the paper. I did nothing wrong.”

  In her heart of hearts, however, Bernie had to admit that she had done something wrong. She had not told the entire story when she had pleaded her case to be allowed to make the trip to Washington, DC. She had deliberately let Mother and Papa think it was only a sightseeing trip. Technically, not telling the whole truth was the same as telling a lie. She remembered that their minister had once preached about sins of omission.

  She could confess that she knew she had been wrong and now she repented. She could throw herself on his mercy. What would he do? She could really only remember one occasion when he had actually spanked her. She was four years old and had hidden in the closet under the front stair. She had not answered when he called her. She had fallen asleep there. Later, when she awakened and emerged, she saw her parents standing in the front hallway. Papa’s face was ghostly white and pinched looking. Her mother was crying.

  Mother had run to her and wrapped her arms about her. “Oh Bernie! We looked everywhere and couldn’t find you. Where have you been all this time? We thought you were lost. We were so frightened.”

  The expression on Papa’s face was one that a little girl could not understand. He stepped forward and picked her up. He carried her into the parlor and put her across his knee. He gave her one swat with his open hand. It had not been much of a swat. Bernie had barely felt it because of her skirt and petticoat, but she had bawled loudly as though she were being murdered. Mother had come running to see what was happening. She screamed and pleaded with Papa to stop. Bernie had looked up at Papa and saw that tears were running down his face. Then he pulled her close to him and hugged her. She remembered thinking that parents were strange people, indeed.

  This political cartoon depicts how Bernie’s father must have felt when he saw his sister’s picture in the newspaper and realized his daughter was a strong and independent young woman who held opinions regarding women’s suffrage that she was willing to fight for. (Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, LC-USZC2-1205)

  Now, she sat at the breakfast table and wondered what would happen next. When she dared to look at her father she thought, with surprise, how weary he seemed. She pushed back her chair and stood up. She went to kneel beside his chair, putting her head on his arm. She felt his hand touch the top of her head. He patted it gently. She stayed where she was until the boys pushed back their chairs and left the room. Mother came around the table and kissed her. After that, she left the room, too.

  Bernie looked up at her father and said, “I’m glad to be home, Papa.”

  Papa picked up the newspaper, shook it, cleared his throat and said in a bewildered tone. “My own sister. I could have expected such a thing from your Aunt Lolly, but I never would have dreamed that your Aunt Rose would do something like this.”

  Papa scooted his chair back and pulled Bernie up onto his lap. She looked at him and smiled. “I’m much too big to be sitting on your lap.”

  “Don’t say that. You will always be my little girl. At least, I guess that is what I have been saying to myself. But, I need to face the fact that you are no longer a child. You are a young lady with a mind of your own. A very determined mind, it se
ems.”

  She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “I love you, Papa.”

  “I love you, too,” he said and kissed her on the forehead. “I want you to know that it is not always easy for me to know what to do, but I am proud of you. You are very much like your mother.”

  Bernie turned to look at him. She thought she saw a sprinkling of gray hairs at his temples that she had not noticed before. She wondered how many of those she was responsible for.

  “I’ll try not to be such a problem in the future,” she said.

  She felt a chuckle rumble down deep inside of Papa’s chest. He didn’t have to speak for her to know that he expected her to keep him wondering what in the world she would do next.

  “I would like to try to make this a better year for you,” she promised. Then she had an idea. “Your birthday is next month. Is there a very special present I can get for you?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t think of anything I want, except maybe some peace and quiet. Peace would be the best thing.”

  He picked up the newspaper and turned past the picture of Aunt Rose and Aunt Lolly. He sighed. “I fear there will not be much peace for anyone, however. There is such disturbing news from Europe. I voted for Woodrow Wilson because he promised to keep us out of war. He told us that American boys would not be sent to fight on European soil. I hope he can keep his promise.”