Free The Hope Chest by Karen Schwabach Page B

stood.
We troubled Woody Wood as we stood!
We troubled Woody Wood,
and we troubled him right good.
We troubled Woody Wood as we stood!
    “Don't sing that song!” a woman protested. “It was Woodrow Wilson who asked Governor Roberts to call this special session in Tennessee.”
    “Only because we troubled him till he did!” another woman called out, laughing.
    The train rumbled to a stop, and the suffragists found their car and climbed aboard.
    The conductor came along checking tickets and stopped when he got to their party. He stood over Myrtle, looking down at her disapprovingly.
    “This won't do,” he said.
    Myrtle looked up at him, her face expressionless. The skirt of her blue dress was spread out on the red mohair seat, and her feet in their high-topped black shoes swung a few inches above the floor. He towered over her.
    “What won't do?” Mr. Martin demanded sharply. Heand Miss Dexter were sitting on the seat opposite Violet and Myrtle.
    “The colored girl. She's going to have to ride in the colored car.”
    “That's not the law in Washington,” Mr. Martin said.
    “Mr. Martin, please,” Miss Dexter murmured.
    “Well, it's not!” said Mr. Martin.
    “Maybe not, but once we get moving, we'll only be in Washington for a few minutes,” said the conductor. “As soon as we cross the District border, the girl needs to go in the colored car and stay there.”
    “But she can't ride by herself. She's just a child,” Mr. Martin said.
    The conductor shrugged. “She'll be among her own people. I'm sure they'll look after her.”
    Mr. Martin got to his feet, his face twisting into an ugly scowl that made his scar look more menacing. He no longer looked like polite Mr. Martin—he looked like some dangerous thug in a moving-picture show. Violet felt a lurch in her stomach. She had never seen adults fight before, and she didn't want to.
    Violet looked at Myrtle and then at Miss Dexter. Miss Dexter was determinedly looking out the window. Violet looked back at Myrtle, who looked away.
    Violet was sure there was nothing Mr. Martin—let alone Violet herself—could do; rules were rules. But it seemed really unfair to Myrtle. She reached out and took Myrtle's hand and glared at the conductor.
    The conductor ignored her. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said to Mr. Martin, not sounding sorry at all. “You can keep her in here for a few minutes if you want, but once we cross the District line, we'll be under Virginia law. It's my responsibility to enforce the law.” He smiled thinly. “And to have anyone who doesn't comply arrested.”
    This last sentence seemed to deflate Mr. Martin, like an inner tube with a pin stuck in it. His face went from red to pink to pale, and his fists unmade themselves.
    The conductor pressed his advantage. “The ticket discount is only on this tourist car, sir. It'll be two dollars extra for the child's ticket in the colored car. Or one dollar if she's under eight.”
    “I'm seven,” said Myrtle. She held Violet's hand tightly but still didn't look at her—her eyes had been going from Mr. Martin to the conductor and back to Mr. Martin like someone watching a tennis match.
    Mr. Martin reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. He counted out four silver quarters. All the fight had gone out of him, Violet thought. The conductor pocketed the dollar and made out a ticket, looking victorious. He slapped the ticket down on the seat beside Myrtle.
    “Hurry up, girl,” he said. “This train's about to start moving.”
    Myrtle walked off down the corridor, her head held high. She did not look back. The conductor stalked close behind her.
    Mr. Martin hadn't sat down yet and was trying to getMiss Dexter to look at him. “Miss Dexter, I'd have thought, since the suffragists have taken the whole car, it would have been possible to argue that—”
    Miss Dexter turned suddenly from the window and glared at him. “Mr. Martin, I'll thank you to refrain from making any more scenes