A March to Remember (11 page)

“But don't you think it's too expensive for this country not to fund it?” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Now see, that's exactly my point,” Neely said. “What costs more, the Good Roads project or allowing thousands of able-bodied men to languish in unemployment? Do you enjoy knowing their families starve because you won't fund the Good Roads project, Senator?”

“But see here, son,” Senator Smith said.

As the argument continued, each man repeating his views without deviation, I grew disenchanted and glanced about me. And there she was. The woman I'd seen Simeon Harper speaking to Saturday morning—the madam, Lottie Fox. She was speaking with Carl Browne and a few others. Fascinated, I couldn't keep from staring at her as she moved away and mingled throughout the camp, speaking with many of the men, all who were more respectful to her than I expected. Not that I had any experience with women who made their living doing what she did, but I had expected her to have a different reception. But then again she was the “veiled lady” after all, traveling with the men at times. Perhaps it was only her “girls” who interested the men in . . . that way, as she was a known follower of Carl Browne's brand of religion.

Did she too think she had part of Christ's soul? I suppressed the desire to make the sign of the cross at the very thought of it.

She slowly made her way toward the crowd surrounding the senator and Jasper Neely. I wondered what the others would do. If I hadn't known who, or more precisely what, she was, I wouldn't have doubted her respectability for a moment. Hopefully no one else would have cause to either.

She gave a nod of recognition when Simeon Harper tipped his hat at her. She walked right up behind Jasper Neely and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“And furthermore—” he shouted, his fist in the air. Madam Fox leaned close and whispered in his ear. He nodded reluctantly and lowered his arm, but he still clenched his fists. “Never mind,” he said. “We'll see you all tomorrow on the Capitol steps!”

The men from the camp cheered while the senator and Chester Smith frowned and grumbled incoherent protests.

“When Hell freezes over,” Chester declared, unconcerned at being overheard. Jasper Neely, who had turned and was walking away, jerked his head in our direction, his lip curled in disgust. Madam Fox grabbed the man's arm in an attempt to keep him by her side, but Jasper shook her off without a glance, took several large steps, and was inches from Chester Smith's face before someone stronger than the madam grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.

“We'll see, won't we?” Jasper Neely said, sneering. “You hangdog, you scapegrace.” The other women's mouths gaped open at hearing such insults. I didn't bat an eye. I'd heard my male employers, including Sir Arthur, use these and more.

“How dare you!” Chester Smith reared back his fist and punched Neely squarely in the face. Neely's head snapped back as he fell.

“Chester!” Senator and Mrs. Smith cried simultaneously. Spencer barked.

As they pulled their son back, men pushed past to gather around the fallen figure of Jasper Neely, who glared at Chester from the ground.

“I'll see you at the Capitol tomorrow, you son of a bitch, and there's nothing you can do about it,” Neely said, blood streaming down his hand as he tried to stanch the flow from his nose. Lottie Fox knelt beside him and offered her handkerchief.

“There's something I can do about it, all right, you bastard,” Chester said, shoving past his parents toward the fallen man. He raised his leg, intending to kick Neely, still prostrate on the ground. Simeon Harper leaped through the crowd, encircled Chester's throat with his arm, and yanked him backward. Off-balance, Chester stumbled back, swearing vehemently under his breath.

“You've done enough damage already, don't you think?” Simeon Harper whispered into the man's ear but loud enough for those immediately around to hear.

“Let go of me, Harper,” Chester growled.

“I'm not just referring to your assault on Jasper,” the journalist continued calmly, as if he wasn't in imminent danger of finding himself on the ground bleeding. “I've been investigating other stories that might interest you. Ever heard the name the National Bank of the Potomac?”

Chester drove the heel of his boot into Harper's foot, causing the journalist to release his grip. “Don't ever touch me again.”

“Harper, I forbid you to put this in the paper,” Senator Smith said.

“Don't worry, Senator,” Harper said, shaking his injured foot. “I wouldn't dream of it. But then again, I won't have to.” He motioned with his arm to the crowd surrounding them. “Plenty of my colleagues here will do it for me.” Several men in brown derbies were frantically scribbling in their notebooks.

Was that a chuckle? Was Simeon Harper enjoying this? As I glanced at Sir Arthur, with his arms crossed against his chest and a frown on his face, I wondered how the two men could be friends.

“It's time we leave,” Mrs. Smith said sensibly, as Jasper Neely was helped up and led away.

“Yes, this was a fiasco,” Senator Smith said.

“I can't imagine how it could've gone worse,” Claude Morris muttered in agreement.

And then we heard the rumbling of another arriving carriage. We turned to the sound as a Grand Victoria made its way through the gates and pulled beside our excursion wagon. A familiar, young, energetic man leaped out almost before the carriage had come to a stop. A collective groan escaped Chester, Claude Morris, and Daniel Clayworth. Even Mrs. Smith's smile faded briefly from her face.

“Abbott!” Senator Smith hissed.

“Well, gentlemen,” Daniel Clayworth said. “It seems you were wrong. It just got a whole lot worse.”

C
HAPTER
12

“W
ell, hello, Meriwether. Hello, Daniel,” Senator Abbott said, in his distinctly Southern drawl. “And who are these lovely ladies?” He touched the rim of his black planter hat and tipped his head slightly.

Mrs. Smith rewarded him with one of her ever-present smiles. Sarah, more reserved, acknowledged him with a slight, quickly fading grin. Daniel Clayworth nodded curtly and then, with his arm wrapped around his wife's shoulders, turned both of their backs as if something immensely more interesting were occurring on the vacant horse track. When the new arrival's gaze met mine, I simply regarded him with curiosity, glancing at his plain white ball vest buttons until he looked away. Walter, who had been attending to Mr. Neely's injuries, was suddenly at my side.

“Hello, Clarence,” Senator Smith said. “Didn't expect to see you here.”

“And why not? I voted in favor of the Good Roads initiative when it came up for a vote the first time. I've visited with General Coxey and Marshal Browne on several occasions. I'm the Populist here. It's you who surprises me by your presence.”

“Why? I'm not against labor or farmers.”

“Really? Well, they will be most pleased to hear that.”

“You know what I mean, Abbott.”

“Yes, Meriwether. Unfortunately, I do know what you mean. As long as it doesn't cost this country a cent, you'll support anything.”

“The senator is also here at the bequest of a famous historian,” Claude Morris added, attempting to salvage Senator Smith's image. Senator Smith nodded appreciatively at his clerk.

“Well, that at least is commendable,” Senator Abbott said. “History will be very interested in what happens here today and tomorrow.”

“Yes, he is my houseguest, and it was he who was keen to meet this grand army face-to-face,” Senator Smith said. “Ask Sir Arthur to join us, won't you, Morris?”

Claude Morris navigated through the marchers, lounging about eating their dinner of bread, to Sir Arthur, who was halfway across the camp in conversation with Marshal Browne. Sir Arthur excused himself and came over.

“Sir Arthur Windom-Greene, may I introduce you to Senator Clarence Abbott,” Senator Smith said.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Arthur,” Senator Abbott said, thrusting out his hand.

“And I yours,” Sir Arthur said. “I saw you at the Senate session on Saturday. Do you happen to be related to Major Maurice Abbott of the First Regiment, North Carolina Cavalry, Ninth Regiment Volunteers?”

Senator Abbott's eyes widened as he shifted his glance from Sir Arthur to Senator Smith. A smile broadened on his face. “Why yes, he was my granddaddy.”

“Did your father serve as well, Senator?” Sir Arthur asked.

“Yes, he did,” Abbott said, glancing over at Senator Smith to see his reaction. Smith was frowning. “He joined the Bethel Regiment at Camp Mangum in 'sixty-two.”

“Your family saw some heavy fighting, Senator,” Sir Arthur said. “And both were at Appomattox.” It wasn't a question. Sir Arthur had written, with me as his assistant, one of the definitive texts on the battle and surrender at Appomattox.

“Yes, that's right, sir,” Senator Abbott said, smiling at Senator Smith, who was grumbling beneath his breath.

Sir Arthur and Senator Abbott fell into an easy discussion about the War. Soon Simeon Harper joined them while Senator Smith and Claude Morris took the opportunity to distance themselves from the newly arrived senator from North Carolina. Not knowing if I was expected to take down what the men discussed, I took advantage of a momentary silence to ask.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” Sir Arthur and Senator Abbott said simultaneously. Sir Arthur glanced questioningly at the senator.

“Sorry. A Southern habit, I'm afraid.”

“Yes, Hattie?” Sir Arthur said.

“Do you need my services?” I didn't want to spell out that I'd been taking down word for word what the senator had said.

“No, not now. Go see if you can find what happened to Browne.”

“Yes, sir.”

Only Sir Arthur wouldn't hesitate to send a woman alone on a quest wandering through an encampment of unwashed, unemployed, hungry, and most likely lonely men. I was thrilled at the prospect of talking further with Marshal Browne. I had so many questions to ask him, but I had no intention of going alone. I looked about for Walter.

Leaving Sir Arthur, Simeon Harper, and Senator Abbott to themselves, I quickly spied Walter sitting around a campfire with Sarah, Mrs. Smith, and the man I'd been sent to find, Carl Browne. Daniel Clayworth, Sarah's husband, was in an earnest conversation several yards away. I smiled when I heard him mention baseball and the St. Louis Browns again. Like Daniel, my father too was a fan of the Browns, though they were called the Brown Stockings then.

As I made my way over, I passed Senator Smith and Claude Morris as Chester rejoined them. Where had Chester been? I wondered, realizing I hadn't seen him for some time.

“What's he doing here?” Chester hissed as he glared toward the group I had just left. Whom was he referring to, Senator Abbott or Simeon Harper?

“Shut up or you'll draw attention,” his father said.

“But I swear he's the one who spread the rumors about me last year. Father, he's the reason I had to leave town.”

“Yes, and you should've stayed out of town, at least until after the election.”

“But it isn't until November,” Chester said.

“Exactly.”

“Father!”

Suddenly Claude Morris noticed that I was near. “Sir, I don't think this is the time or place for such a private conversation.”

“Quite so. Thank you, Morris.”

“Yes,” Chester said sarcastically, “thank you, Morris.” Claude Morris frowned but said nothing. “There's Browne, Father. Let's get this over with, so we can go home.”

Senator Smith nodded, and the three men started toward my own destination. I stepped quickly with my skirts up, in an attempt to avoid dragging my hem through the mud, horse dung, and other unspeakable filth, and arrived at the campfire moments before they did.

“Was it more pleasant to walk or ride in a canal boat?” Sarah was asking when I sat beside her. “Hattie!” She greeted me before her brother had a chance. “May I formally introduce Marshal Carl Browne? Marshal Browne, this is Miss Hattie Davish, my brother's fiancée.” I blushed at having my engagement so blatantly announced among strangers.

Good thing Sir Arthur isn't here,
I thought, wondering when I was ever going to get a chance to tell him.

Marshal Browne stood, flourished his sombrero, and bowed. I caught a glimpse of Madam Fox over his shoulder. She was watching us, her eyes focused on Browne. Was that sadness in her face or longing? A moment later, she turned her back and walked away.

“Pleased to formally meet you, Mr. Browne,” I said. “We shook hands when you first arrived.”

“And I'd repeat that pleasure again and again, charming lady,” he said, smiling. As he sat back down, slapping his hat back on his head, he returned to the conversation I'd interrupted. “This revolutionary spirit of 'seventy-six is making the moneylenders tremble now. Congress takes two years to vote on anything, if left to itself. Twenty-millions of people are hungry and cannot wait two years to eat.”

Several men around the fire nodded in approval. Chester groaned. The rest of us, wisely, remained silent. It was dangerous talk this man spouted.

“When is Mr. Coxey going to arrive?” Senator Smith asked.

“He's not. He and his daughter, Mamie, our Goddess of Peace, are spending the night in the city.”

“What?” Senator Smith said. “The man personally invited us knowing he wasn't even going to be here?”

“The Great Unknown always camped with us,” a man behind me mumbled.

The one-time leader of the Commonweal of Christ and friend of Carl Browne, the Great Unknown had been cast out of the group for contesting Browne's authority. A grand episode of tension and betrayal, it was one among many dramas reported in the newspapers that drove the appeal of the marchers' journey. I personally had sided with Marshal Browne, he being one of the founders of the march, but I missed the entertainment and mystery the Great Unknown provided.

“Pinkerton spy,” Browne spat, referring to the Great Unknown.

“Do you think you'll gain what you seek tomorrow, Marshal Browne?” Sarah said.

“We are here like Grant before Richmond, and intend to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer and all winter,” Browne said, smiling again.

“You are no Grant,” Chester mumbled.

“Well, it's been nice to meet you, Mr. Browne, but it's time we were leaving,” Mrs. Smith said, smiling as she stood. Walter, Sarah, and I rose as well at this pronouncement. I kept my disappointment from my face. I'd read about this man and his marchers for months and this was to be my opportunity to ask him the questions I'd longed to know. I'd even jotted down a list, just in case.

 

 

“I'm disappointed but yes, my wife is right,” the senator conceded. “It's been interesting, Browne.”

“Peace on earth. Good will toward men, but death to interest on bonds,” Browne said, reaching over and rumpling Spencer's fur. The dog panted with delight. Senator Smith and Chester both scowled, turned their backs, and stomped away. Claude Morris scrambled to catch up.

The rest of us made our good-byes to Carl Browne and headed toward the waiting excursion wagon. With my arm in Walter's, we followed at a more leisurely pace, several yards behind Sarah and Mrs. Smith, clutching Spencer. Despite the sting of disappointment, I was relieved to be leaving the noise and filth of the camp. I glanced over toward Daniel Clayworth. He was no longer speaking to the man he had been a moment ago. Instead he was being addressed by a man with his back to me. The man stood too close, forcing Daniel to step back several times.

“Who is Daniel talking to?” I asked Walter. “Do you think he'll mind leaving with the rest of us?”

“I don't know who that is—one of his constituents, most likely. I'm sure he won't mind.”

Daniel was a congressman for Missouri. Most of the marchers were from Ohio and Pennsylvania. According to the newspaper accounts, several other groups or “armies” from all over the country were approaching Washington in hopes of joining Coxey and his men at the Capitol: Fry's Army from Los Angeles, Kelley's men from San Francisco reported to be held up in Iowa, two different groups marching from Boston, among others. And with the devastation of the economy leaving no part of the country unscathed, it wasn't surprising. Men from every corner wanted to answer Coxey's call. It was possible, then, that a man from Missouri could've joined somewhere along the way.

The man placed his hand on Daniel's shoulder. Daniel violently shrugged it off and turned on his heel. The man turned to watch Daniel's retreat.

I started in surprise. It was Billy, the man I'd met at the carp ponds this morning. Was that sadness or regret on his face? I watched him shake his head ruefully before walking in the opposite direction.

“Sarah, we're leaving,” Daniel said. His face was red and he was obviously flustered.

“We're all leaving anyway,” Sarah said, trying to soothe her husband, as she pointed to the Smiths already waiting at the excursion wagon. He nodded curtly.

Walter looked at me, having seen the recognition on my face. The question on his face was obvious. Who was the man who had flustered Daniel so?

“Besides Jasper Neely, he was the other man I met after the carriage accident at the carp pond,” I whispered to Walter. “He was the one who attempted to rescue the drowning woman.”

“What's he doing here?”

“Like Mr. Neely, he's a Coxeyite.” I glanced about for Jasper Neely, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“But what could he have said to upset Daniel so?” Walter whispered back. I shook my head. I had no idea. As we approached, Sir Arthur and Simeon Harper joined us.

“Abbott gone back then?” Senator Smith asked.

“No,” Sir Arthur said. “I believe he went over there.” He pointed in the general direction of the tents. We all looked and spied Senator Abbott by the painted tent, standing in a group that included Jasper Neely, who was holding a white rag to his nose.

“Senator Abbott had some interesting things to say about you, Chester,” Simeon Harper said, smirking. “I might have to follow up on some of them.”

“You misbegotten . . .” Chester said, before he lunged for the journalist.

Harper tried to dodge the blow, but Chester's fist connected with Simeon Harper's cheek. Harper's head jerked to the side, staggering the journalist back a few steps. Sir Arthur and Claude Morris each grabbed one of Chester's arms and pulled the furious man back away from Harper.

“Chester!” Mrs. Smith said, placing herself in front of her son. “Again? What is wrong with you?” Spencer, pushing against Mrs. Smith's restraining embrace, growled and barked at Chester.