Ray looked at his teacup. “I have to. It doesn’t do for me to… hypothesize.” It took him two tries to say a word Jem knew he had difficulty pronouncing.
“The Goldman rally is tonight. Benny Citrone—he’s our client—thinks the anarchist will strike again. Will you and Skip be there?”
“Skip’s going.”
“Merinda and I are… ”
“No.”
“I haven’t finished!”
“If that sentence finishes with ‘going to the Goldman rally,’ then let me stop you right there. It’s no longer just your own life you’re throwing into danger, Jem. We just talked about this. No, I have to forbid it. You let Jasper and the police handle this.”
“I don’t recall needing your permission to do anything. You can’t just say no. You… ”
“Please, Jem. We’re trying to be honest with each other.”
“And I am honestly telling you that I am… ”
They turned at the sound of the door knock. On the other side was Kat, her face smudged with dirt and a smile on her lips.
“Message for you, Jem,” she said brightly. The girl then proceeded to relay every detail of her dash across the city so as not to be late in delivering the important message, including in her tale her theories on the trolley incidents and her concerns that a newsie named Buzz was trying to steal her beat. All the while, Jem was wishing Mouse had been given the task instead. Mouse rarely spoke.
Jem motioned for Ray to hand her a coin, which she pressed in Kat’s dirty palm. She waved her off with a smile and then opened the note.
Jem—Ran into Kat on Yonge. Was at the Globe digging into their international and national news to find something about the explosions in Winnipeg and Detroit. These explosions are connected by the careful way in which they appear to be accidents. They also occur, it seems, when some noted official is in town or some major rally for change is taking place—I assume to draw more press coverage. In Winnipeg it was Nellie McClung. In Detroit it was President Taft.
I agree with Benny that Jonathan might be at the Goldman rally tonight. I’ll be by early so I can get DeLuca to tell me everything he didn’t tell you about the explosion.
Merinda rapped at Jem’s door with her walking stick.*
Ray opened the door. She beamed at him. He didn’t return the smile.
“I hope you’re ready for a solo summer stroll, Merinda, for I have forbidden Jem to go to the Goldman rally.”
“I’m still going!” Jem called from the sitting room as Merinda sidled past Ray and into the house.
“Of course you’re still going!” Merinda looked up at Ray. “It’s a client, DeLuca. It’s part of our job.”
“This isn’t Jem’s job.”
“She lost her job at Spenser’s. She has to have something to do!”
“Jemima!” Ray was pleading, and Merinda sensed a surge of something between them, but it wasn’t strong enough to keep Jem from joining Merinda on the doorstep, clad in men’s clothing and hat.
They both heard Ray bound up the stairs in the back, and Merinda sensed a slight reluctance as Jem slowly pulled the door shut behind her. Indeed, it was only with the sound of the click that she finally exhaled and forced a smile at her friend.
“Do you think that there may be some violence tonight?”
Merinda watched her friend’s face darken. “Goldman has some incendiary way about her,” Merinda said, having followed the newspapers since Jasper first told her of the anarchist’s arrival. “She inspires people to move and act. Her words cut right through them. They are so desperate to make a bold move, they don’t think beyond what they’re seeing in the moment. And every move is drastic.”
Merinda and Jem knew the location of the Goldman rally well: an abandoned warehouse in Corktown not a stone’s throw from the Hogtown Herald’s ramshackle office.
“ ‘The most violent enemy in society is ignorance.’ ” Merinda quoted Goldman on the streetcar. Jem processed it while they rumbled down King Street. Merinda leafed through a few pages and read, “I’d rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck.” Jem stared out the window. Her world was bereft of roses… and diamonds. But she doubted Goldman spoke of the limitations of a husband’s pittance of a salary.
“I can see why she’s popular,” Jem admitted several moments later as they hopped off at Trinity and moved quickly to the center of the action. Merinda swung her stick with the rhythm of the growing crowd, and Jem picked up pace to match her exhilarated stride.
The People’s Labor Movement had several canvassers passing out pamphlets as the crowd moved inside. The summer air, made thicker by the warehouse’s proximity to the distilleries churning and pumping out all manner of unpleasant smells and smoke—not to mention the cloudy humidity of nearby Lake Ontario—did little to provide comfortable breathing in the standing-room-only event.
Merinda was surprised when Jem grabbed her arm to steady herself.
“Are you all right?”