The meeting commenced when a man named David Ross was introduced and took the center floor.
“You’re here for our common goal!” His voice was a bellow. “To put Goldman’s words into action. We submit to no man. We will, however, submit to our common cause. Toronto is held under the power of men who would feast and remain fat while we starve in the gutter at their feet—hungry, tired, and weak. Our friends in America, like us, are joined by the conviction of Mrs. Goldman’s booming voice, and friends, they need us if they are to ripple a sound that will be heard across our great nations.
“Like my own, yours is a fledgling nation, just beginning to find her identity, and she cannot afford to wallow under the power of men who see a vision that would keep anyone—immigrants, children, the sick, or the poor—from their fair chance at survival. Equality! A common social goal is our collective aspiration! And we are not alone. Friends, I beseech you to follow our cause. Right now, droves of our brothers are inspired by former President Theodore Roosevelt. At an upcoming convention in Chicago, he will attempt to win followers with his new Progressive Party. Roosevelt stands for resilience. Not two months ago, in the same big city he tasted defeat and President Taft won the day.”
Ross expounded on the failed attempts at an uprising of any sort during the American Democratic and Republican conventions of the early summer. Supporters of each candidate had pressed for change, but the time had not been right for the upheaval that was coming. “The time is coming to shake the future,” Ross said passionately.
At that, Merinda interrupted.? “Why should we care so much about what change is happening in America when clearly our own city is sinking under the weight of Montague’s corruption?”
Ross picked up his theme more loudly. “Because you look to their freedom. You are colonials in service of our Queen. When the British sparked a fight over in South Africa, you blindly went. America is its own country now. They had no need to join a fight that wasn’t their own. You can learn a few lessons from your friends.” He stopped for water, and when he picked up again, it was about Roosevelt.
“Our American brothers are using Roosevelt’s platform as a means to elevate our voice and our cause. When history records this season of change, Roosevelt’s name will be on every page. The men who will rally to him are the men we need for our cause. Roosevelt is a man of battle and precision—of pomp and circumstance. But he is also a man who is rough around the edges, without the smooth finesse of his former friend and now rival. He is the perfect man for the moment.”
Merinda thought Ross a man at odds—a man who was so aligned with Goldman but so amused by Roosevelt? What kind of anarchist was he? She confronted him again and again while the other members of the audience snickered at her boldness and he entertained her with a skeptical eye and his head cocked to the side. Jem covered her mouth with her handkerchief so as not to blurt a laugh as Merinda surmised, “So because we’re a fledgling country without our own agenda, we are throwing our support to the People’s Labor Movement in Chicago to blast the convention with this Roosevelt?”
Ross raised an eyebrow. “You certainly have us all figured out already.”
“I am playing devil’s advocate,” Merinda said smoothly. “A cause with innocent blood on its hands?”
“None of the great change in the world is ever purchased without blood,” Ross said smoothly. “Not unless completely necessary. We will barge in”—he used his outstretched hands to measure an imaginary canvas—“with words and precision. If we need to make a blast, we will, but only in pursuit of our cause falling on ears that will listen and take heed to our growing movement.”
Minutes ticked on and Ross’s voice ebbed and flowed. He spared a moment in Merinda’s direction now and then, but she remained silent. Finally, he finished. Merinda and Jem waited for an opportunity to speak privately with him.
“I must confess to being impressed by you.” He took Merinda’s hand and shook it with strength. His grip on Jem’s own hand was gentler.
“We’re here because we are interested. And because our association can be far more than merely symbolic.”
“How do you mean?”
“You need your best people in Chicago, and we”—she waved between Jem and herself—“are your best people.”
“You’re women.” He focused on Jem appreciatively.
“That we are,” Jem said.