American Girl (Colorado)

Dillweed, Colorado—a little town that retained its old west atmosphere into the early twentieth century. A few false-fronted businesses mingled with the more imposing brick buildings on a paved Main Street lined with automobiles. Janey Frost stood on a street corner amongst her group. She shook her tambourine and sang “Onward Christian Soldiers” with gusto. Three other women and two men were part of her group. They had arrived by train the previous morning.
Janey had graduated from high school two weeks earlier and was seeking something to do. She lived in a large Victorian house in Philadelphia with her mother and father. Her father was an entrepreneur with high standards, and he expected his children to follow in his footsteps. Her older sister, Elspeth, became a missionary teacher in Africa. Janey didn’t want to go so far from home or live in another country. She remained unsure of her life's direction until she passed the local Salvation Army. She signed up and, joining her group, traveled to Colorado.
Janey wore a navy worsted jacket, a matching full skirt, and a navy bonnet trimmed with red. All the women dressed the same, and the men wore uniform double-breasted jackets with brass buttons running down the front. A crowd gathered around them as they sang. Janey extended her tambourine when they finished. People dropped coins into it. She counted four dollars.
“Four dollars,” Janey exclaimed when they stepped into their headquarters behind them. It was a good beginning. They bustled to get their business under operation. When they were in position, John Meadows propped open the door.
They served chicken noodle soup. Men and women lined up. Some looked raggedy, but others were well-dressed. Janey didn’t judge them. She handed out soup plates one by one.
“Good evening,” Janey said to each one in the soup line. She bowed her head slightly in respect. Some answered, and many didn’t. Next to her, Matthew Phipps ladled the soup. Nancy Meadows, John’s wife, poured the coffee. Their customers sat at small round tables and helped themselves to bread and butter. At the end of the night, they had served sixty-three customers.
Janey entered the kitchen after John locked the doors. She filled the sink with water and rolled up her sleeves to wash the dishes. Charlotte Marks helped her wipe them. Her sister, Florence, helped Martha clean the dining room.
“Florence saved back plenty of soup for us and bread,” Charlotte stated, shining the silverware. “She’ll make sure we get a good supper.”
“I’m famished,” Janey exclaimed, plunging her hands in soapy water. “It’s ages since lunchtime.”
“I saw how busy you were out there,” Janey’s companion remarked. “We’re going to do good here.”
“I’m glad I came. Dillweed is a nice quiet place. I would have hated it in New York or Chicago,” the new recruit stated. “it’s better to start out in an easy town.”
“Philly was all right. This place is a lot slower,” Charlotte said. She stacked soup plates and placed them in the cabinets. “I like busy places, but we can relax here. We’re in the back end of nowhere.”
Charlotte Marks was two years older than Janey. She, too, joined the Salvation Army after graduating from high school. Her sister, Florence, was ten years her senior. Flo worked as the chef, and Charlotte assisted her. They always stayed together.
“What made you join?” Charlotte asked after a while.
“Father wanted us to volunteer at something. My sister, Elspeth, went to Africa as a missionary. I couldn’t go that far,” Janey explained. “I saw the recruiting sign outside the Salvation Army and joined. It was kinda spur of the moment.”
“I joined because of Florence,” Charlotte rationalized, hanging up the dishtowel. “Our parents died in a train crash, and Flo became both my mother and father. She joined and watched over me at the same time. When I left school, I signed up too.”
They helped themselves to soup and bread and then joined the others in the dining room. The large room seemed cozy, with the shutters drawn and the gaslights glowing. They talked of this and that and nothing in particular. Afterward, they went to bed in the upper rooms.
The days went by in much the same fashion. In the afternoon, they paraded along the street. Janey shook her tambourine, John beat his huge drum, and Matthew tooted his trumpet. The others sang gospel songs. They always stopped outside their own door and sang “Onward Christian Soldiers.” At the end, coins rattled into Janey’s tambourine. They usually gathered around four to six dollars.
The evenings were filled with serving soup and bread. After completing the chores, they gathered and ate their meal in the big room. Things rarely changed. At first, Janey enjoyed her work, but the sameness began to wear her down. Perhaps, she thought, she could transfer to a busier city.
The following day, they began their sidewalk parade again. A distant noise interrupted them. At first, it seemed far away but grew steadily louder. John beat his drum louder to drown out the sound. Finally, they stopped outside their door and sang the traditional hymn. A few people gathered around them but not as many as usual. Then, the source of the new noise appeared.
Sixty to eighty women marched along the main street, shouting and carrying signs. They traipsed along in a large group. Boys ran alongside, throwing rocks and sticks. Janey’s Salvation Army volunteers huddled close together. They backed against their building to stay out of the way.
Ignoring the boys who tormented them, the women chanted louder. They raised their signs high, and Janey read them aloud as they passed. One said, ‘Votes for Women,’ while another said, ‘Equal Rights for Women.’
“’Support Women’s Suffrage,’” Matthew read, frowning. “Bah,” he spat.
Janey looked at him disdainfully. She held her tongue from making a remark. Finally, the protesters moved on. They entered their building and prepared for the evening service. A few regulars appeared, but the others stayed away.
The suffragettes continued to rally, but their protests drowned out the Salvation Army’s efforts. Still, John led them in their march, and they continued to ladle soup in the evenings. Their dinner crowd dwindled.
“Women belong in the home,” Matthew complained. They sat silently in the dining room, eating dinner until Matthew spoke up.
Stiffening her back, Florence threw him a disdainful look. Charlotte edged her chair closer to her sister. Janey stared at him, still holding her tongue.
“You don’t believe in this rubbish, do you?” Matthew questioned, his eyes going from one to the other.
“Women have as much right as men,” Flo stated gruffly. “We should have the right to decide how the country is run.”
“You have the right to run your mouth,” Matt countered, spooning up his soup.
Florence’s face turned beet red. She began to rise, but Nancy’s worried look sustained her. Janey and Charlotte watched the confrontation anxiously.
“Please,” Nancy’s voice begged, “let’s not have a fuss and ruin a peaceful evening.”
Janey looked down into her soup. She no longer felt hungry. Stirring it listlessly, she sighed. Finally, she rose and, gathering her plate, entered the kitchen. She filled the sink and washed her plate. Charlotte took it and, wiping it, placed it in the cabinet.
“Men,” Janey’s companion complained, “think they know everything.”
“Do you believe in women’s suffrage, Char?” Janey asked, cleaning another plate.
“Florence does.” Charlotte shrugged. “She wants women to have the vote. She’s a member of the temperance movement. If women vote, we’ll have prohibition. It will stop drunkenness and lewdness. That’s what Flo wants.”
“Is that what you want?”
Charlotte stared at the upper cabinet for a long time. Janey watched her, waiting for a response. She didn’t really know what she thought about the subject. She’d seen drunken men in Philadelphia. It worried her, but they didn’t bother her that much. Her father drank at his club in the evening. She’d never really seen him drunk—a little giddy maybe, but never drunk.
“I want whatever Flo wants,” Charlotte finally answered. “It’s not really all about temperance. It’s about having a say in how things are run around here. Women have rights, too. Why should we get stuck in the kitchen all the time?” She waved her arms, indicating the sink, stove, dishes, pots, and pans. “Or minding the children? Don’t we have as much right as men?”
Janey thought about it. She continued to wash dishes, but her mind was full of new thoughts. She’d always lived within a small part of the world, never seeing anything outside her own home and family. Father wanted them to volunteer, but his scope of things suddenly seemed small to Janey. She wanted more from life.
The Salvation Army group set out again the following day. The suffragettes grew in number, their march overshadowing the small musical parade. When they stopped to sing “Onward Christian Soldiers,” Florence stepped away and joined the suffrage movement. Charlotte hesitated, then grabbing Janey’s hand, followed her older sister.
Janey stumbled along behind her friend. Suddenly, she became a part of something much bigger than herself. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to participate. They passed their companions, who stared at them open-mouthed. The protesters marched to city hall, and, standing on the steps, shouted and waved their signs. Florence had acquired a sign that read: Votes for Women. The mayor appeared and spoke, urging the women to return to their homes. A tomato splatted in his face, and then a barrage of tomatoes flew through the air. Somehow, Charlotte began throwing tomatoes too. The mayor vanished into city hall.
“That was fun,” Charlotte laughed when the crowd dispersed. They walked back to Salvation Army headquarters with Flo marching ahead of them. “Want to do it again tomorrow?”
Janey nodded vigorously. She found she enjoyed the gathering. She was doing something good and right.
Florence grabbed the Salvation Army door and yanked. It refused to open. Perplexed, she yanked again, but the door wouldn’t yield. Shading her face, she peered through the window. John, Matthew, and Nancy sat at a table; their heads cast down. Flo banged on the glass with her fist. Nancy glanced at her momentarily but looked away. Flo shouted at her to let them in.
Slowly, John rose and sauntered to the door. He cracked it open enough to speak through. Flo, Charlotte, and Janey gathered around him.
“I can’t let you in,” John sadly stated. “You abandoned your duty.”
“Why! I never!” Florence sputtered. “Let us in, John. This is poppycock.”
“You made your choice, Flo,” their leader remarked, pushing the door closed.
Florence stuck out her foot, stopping him from shutting them out. She pushed her shoulder against the door and shoved. John pushed back. Charlotte added her weight to her sisters. Janey hesitated, then pushed too. Finally, they stumbled inside.
“I thought you supported the temperance movement?” Flo faced their leader with her hands on her hips. “I thought you were against drunkenness and lewdness.”
“Of course we are.” John’s face turned purple. “But that doesn’t give you the right to march off whenever it pleases you. You had a duty to us tonight.”
“My duty is to stop the evilness of overindulgence in intoxicating liquors,” Florence protested. “What’s your duty, John?”
“To feed the poverty-stricken and to help the homeless,” their leader explained. “To give new hope to those who suffer.”
“To help them out of the gutter and stand them on their feet again,” Flo continued. “That’s what we’re trying to do. We’re part of the temperance movement, same as the suffragettes. We women want the right to vote and to have a say in the way the country is run. We can help fix what is wrong and do something right for a change.”
“We’re part of this world, too,” Charlotte interjected. “You men get to decide everything while we women are pushed aside. We want our suffrage too. Don’t we, Janey?”
Janey’s mouth remained glued shut. Suddenly, she was part of the protest. Charlotte pulled her into it whether she wanted it or not. She felt confused, unable to decide although she knew the right answer.
“Janey?”
Janey cleared her head.
“We want the right to vote,” Janey finally agreed, nodding vigorously. “We want our equality.”
John finally stepped aside, allowing Florence, Charlotte, and Janey into the soup kitchen. Throughout their days in Dillweed, Colorado, they continued to join the protests with the support of their Salvation Army cohorts. Janey Frost felt satisfied about becoming a part of something much bigger than her original volunteer duties.