Haymarket (24 page)

In a sudden wave of revulsion, Lucy decided to end the conversation then and there. She liked Nina, admired the spunky way she could take issue with her own class values. But her pie-in-the-sky optimism sometimes irritated Lucy beyond bearing.

She stood back and looked at the tea gown. “Yes,” she said, “it’s perfect. We’re finished. You’re free to go.”

“Didn’t you think it strange that Adolph Fischer showed up?” Albert asked, after the small gathering of the American Group at Greif’s Hall had adjourned and he and Lucy were back home in their flat. “The others I expected—Neebe, Fielden, and of course Lizzie and Spies. But Fischer—?”

“It surprised me, too,” Lucy said, as she brought over some biscuits and toys for the children. “After all, he and Engel dominate the North-West Side Group, a much bigger pond. The American Group’s probably the smallest section in the
IWPA.”

“Small, but needed. It’s important to have at least one English-speaking club in this city.”

“Why?”

“Oh, Lucy. You know perfectly well why. English-speaking workers feel confused and out-of-place when they go to an
IWPA
meeting and it’s all in German and they can’t follow what’s going on.”

“I suppose so,” Lucy said vaguely. “I like Fischer. He’s an affable man.”

“He and Engel don’t fully approve of us,” Albert said, his face creased with annoyance at Lucy’s sometimes baffling contentiousness. “They mock the notion that trade unions can help create a cooperative society.”

“Well, Fischer probably just wanted to see what we were up to. He won’t come back.”

Albert decided to let it go at that. He reached into his pocket and took out a clipping. “Have you seen today’s
Tribune?
It has the report of the Citizens Association.”

“Why would I waste time on anything those jackass businessmen have to say? Besides, there’s an account in the
Arbeiter.”

Albert unfolded the clipping. “They start by explaining that rumors
of widespread suffering among the poor have led them to undertake an investigation.”

“Undoubtedly expecting the rumors would prove false.”

“Perhaps. But give them some credit. They did decide to investigate.”

Lucy, determined on indifference, sat down in the armchair and began stitching some white lace edging she was making for Lulu’s party dress.

“And what’s more, they concluded that conditions in the tenements are wretched. These are prominent citizens who could exert a powerful influence on Mayor Harrison.”

“Yes, but in what direction? Will they tell Carter Harrison that we must promptly abandon capitalism? Not likely. They’ll recommend more health inspectors and will piously exhort the poor to mend their slovenly ways.” Lucy shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re still looking for help from people with a prime stake in maintaining this wretched system. Haven’t we learned anything in ten years?”

Albert mumbled something about being “willing to accept help from anyone to relieve the current suffering.”

Deciding to be merciful, Lucy made no answer. After a moment or two, she went and got the
Arbeiter
from the table. “This has a different version of the Citizens Association’s little tour. It’s by Michael Schwab. He accompanied the conscientious citizens day after day. Care to hear a bit of it?” Albert nodded a distracted yes.

Lucy began reading. “ ‘There are hovels where two, three, and four families live in one room, where the only light comes in through rents of wall, where human beings sleep on rotten straw or rags, where broken chairs and tables are luxuries, where no fire is in the stove although it is bitter cold and three or four members of the family are sick. And how do these people live? From the ash barrels they gather half-rotten vegetables; in the butcher shops they beg for offal and make sausages out of that. Diseases of all kinds kill them wholesale, especially the children.”

Lucy looked up from the paper. “A little more pointed than the Association’s report, eh? Here’s how Schwab concludes: ‘This is a
murderous
system—yet it dares to lecture workers against the immorality of violence!’ ” She slapped the paper back down on the table. “Now there’s a voice I can respect!”

“I admire Schwab, too. What I don’t admire is your holier-than-thou tone.”

Startled at Albert’s bluntness, Lucy was momentarily silent. Finally, Albert said quietly, “Why are we taking out our anger on each other?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said simply. “We have nobody else to yell at.”

Albert went over and embraced her. “My only point, dear, hardly an inspiring one, is that the Citizens Association is in a position to do something. At least a few members of the elite have declared themselves appalled.”

“But they don’t represent their class—any more than Nina Van Zandt and her parents do.” Lucy’s temper was heating up again.

“I didn’t say they did.”

“And it’s absurd to think the Citizens Association will argue for
real
changes in a system that keeps them on top of the heap.”

“But they could demand that conditions be improved.”

“Oh, Albert! The Association wants everyone to believe that the current misery is due solely to a ‘transient’ depression, and not to capitalism itself. But the lives of working people were wretched long before.”

“You make it sound as if I disagree with you.” Albert said, trying to avoid another escalation. “I am
not
Jay Gould.”

“You’re right. He’s handsomer.”

“Oh, I see!” Albert caught her around the waist. “Now I know why you’re so angry: Jay Gould has refused you a private tour of his grand new yacht.”

Lucy freed herself from Albert’s grip and did a coquettish turn around the room, her skirt billowing out. “It just so happens I disembarked from the
Atalanta
after a single day. Jay was so angry. But I found the decor in such bad taste that I simply couldn’t abide it any longer. Imagine! Strawberry curtains on the portholes and wood paneling in the dining saloon featuring carved groupings of—fruit!” Lucy danced giddily around the room. “My sensibilities were horribly offended by such nouveau trash.”

She collapsed on the floor in a heap of laughter, and Albert was instantly down by her side, caressing her, kissing her face and neck. They’d never lost their passion for each other, not even after the arrival of the children, commonly viewed as the time when women were freed to pursue their real interest, domesticity, and men were freed to search for real sex outside the home. Lucy liked to joke about her being
unnatural
, since she liked sex and no “normal” woman was supposed to. “I
guess it’s because of my African blood—you know, we’re all sex-crazed animals. Perhaps when we get rich you can send me to the mountains for a rest cure. But of course when I’m rich, my passion will shift to jewels and gowns.”

As economic depression and social unrest deepened in the early months of 1884, the American Group’s regular Wednesday night meetings at Greif Hall became so crowded that it was decided to add Sunday afternoon gatherings at the grassy lakefront area. Before long, thousands were flocking to the open-air meetings to hear Parsons, Spies, Fielden, Neebe, and others address the great questions of the day: What accounts for the poverty of the masses? What is the origin and purpose of government? Is socialism or anarchism the best remedy for alleviating the sufferings of the poor? At some of the meetings, a woman presided—and often it was Lucy or Lizzie.

Having heard all the American Group orators many times over, Lucy announced one evening to Albert that he was the best of the lot.

Charmed at the serious way she pronounced her verdict, as if having deliberated on the matter for some time, Albert asked if a prize accompanied the designation—“a gold cup, perhaps, or maybe a chain link to adorn my vest.”

“Selfless revolutionaries don’t get prizes, or covet them.”

“See—I’m a fake. Unworthy of your praise,” Albert said, his eyes twinkling.

“You don’t fool me. You want me to defend my compliment, and itemize your particular virtues as a speaker, one by one.”

“Oh,
do!”
Albert said, exuberantly.

“Well, they’re very specific. You have—how shall I put it?—a certain boyish charm, an unflagging geniality.”

“You forgot my much-commented-on lyrical, lilting voice, especially when reciting poetry.”

“If only I
could
forget. If I have to listen to one more of your renditions of McIntosh’s ‘The Tramp’—that wretched bit of sentimental claptrap—or your beloved ‘Annie Laurie,’ I might be seriously tempted to leave the movement.”

“I’ll never give up my ‘Annie,’ ” Albert laughed. “That’s my favorite poem in all the world.”

“And thanks to you, all the world has now heard it.”

“I’m sticking with ‘Annie,’ like it or not. After all, I’ve only got a few arrows in my quiver. I can’t lay claim to anything like Fielden’s bellowing power, or to Spies’s learning.”

“To say nothing of Spies’s ardent blue eyes and gymnast’s body, both of which the ladies discuss with some frequency.”

“Really? How shocking! They can’t be proper ladies at all.”

“Oh, they’re much too refined to understand the real source of Spies’s appeal.”

“His intellect?”

“His controlled sarcasm—an infallible indicator of a darker, more sexual energy.” Lucy looked utterly delighted with her own boldness.

“Am I supposed to fall over in a faint?” Albert said blithely. “Remember, I live with a sarcastic person.”

“Count your blessings.”

“Oh, I do, my dear, I do.” They smiled giddily at each other.

“Now, Lucy,” Albert said, after a pause, “If you hadn’t started all this banter the moment I arrived home, we’d already be celebrating my big news.”

“You sound serious.”

“I am.”

“Well what is it, for heaven’s sake? Tell me.”

“The
IWPA
has decided to start a new paper. The
Alarm
. And you are looking into the face of its new editor.”

“Oh, Albert—no!” Lucy squealed with delight. She threw her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses.

“Stop!” Albert said, holding her out at arm’s length. “That’s only part of my news.”

“I don’t think I can bear any more,” Lucy said, sitting down to catch her breath. “Your first full-time newspaper job since the
Times
blacklisted you. And the coincidence of it! Spies just appointed editor of the
Arbeiter-Zeitung
, and now you. It’s too good to be true!”

“Now, now, let’s keep things in proportion. The
Alarm’s
never going to achieve the numbers or influence of the
Arbeiter
. Their circulation is twenty thousand. We’ll be lucky if we can come out once a week rather
than fortnightly. We’re the only radical English-language paper in the city, but how many English-speaking radicals are there?”

“You can play it down if you want, but I say your appointment is a miracle.”

“There’s yet another miracle,” Albert said mischievously. “The
IWPA
has also named two assistant editors. Can you guess who?”

“Do I know them?”

Albert burst out laughing. “I’d say you know them rather well. The new editors are Lizzie Swank and—Lucy Parsons.”

Lucy let out such a shriek that little Lulu, who all this time had been playing quietly with her brother in the corner of the room, burst into terrified tears. Lucy rushed over to comfort her, but was so excited she tripped on the scatter rug and very nearly fell on top of the frightened child. That set Lulu to more screaming, but eventually, with much patting and hugging, she quieted down and everyone caught their breath.

“Oh, Albert,” Lucy said, sitting down beside him and taking his hand. “I’m so happy. It’s a dream come true for me: I will have some influence on the world in my own right, not just through my husband.”

“You deserve it; you’ve earned it.” He kissed her sweetly on the forehead and put his arms around her. “There
was
some opposition to your appointment. I’d rather be the one to tell you, since you’re bound to hear about it eventually.”

Lucy didn’t seem the least bit surprised, or deflated. She knew she wasn’t, unlike Albert, everyone’s cup of tea.
“Some
opposition to me?”

“Only a few people on the board objected. It was more an objection to us. You know, ‘As husband and wife, they of course hold the same views, and as a result the
Alarm
will fail to represent the wide range of opinion that actually characterizes the
IWPA
membership.’ ”

Lucy laughed. “They can’t know us very well. Anyone who’s spent two hours in our company would have heard one of us shouting disagreement at the other.”

“
You
shout.
I
reason.” Lucy swatted him gently on the top of his head. “Besides, we do agree on a lot, if not everything. We do need to make sure that the
Alarm
prints the whole spectrum of views within the International. Yes, even views as extreme as yours.”

She gave him another swat, and this time a big kiss as well. “I can’t wait to begin.”