“The chances of me adopting are zero, Jane, and you know it.”
“Ahhh, yes, a single woman. Another reason why your Gabby is right, and you are wrong about the suffragette movement. Do you know that any single man may adopt a child and turn him or her into his personal slave? Putting boys to work in his fields, putting girls to work in his kitchen, and all too often other rooms in the house?”
Jane Addams hung up.
Jane Francis reconsidered all that Alastair had to say on the subject; Gabby tearfully sought out her bedroom, her doll in hand, breaking down.
Jane went to Gabby with the express purpose of consoling her, but she stopped at her daughter’s door. She realized she could do nothing for her, that her young one must deal with this in her own time. Jane turned and went to find her own privacy and a bit of comfort in a hot cup of tea. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if reading tea leaves could help a mother at such a time as this. She so hoped and prayed for Gabby’s future. Séances, spiritualism, phrenology, magnetic healing but not tea leaves, not yet anyway, she thought. But if I thought it could help Gabby…
CHAPTER 12
Dr. Jane Francis had fully recovered and had even managed to help with the cooking tonight. She now looked across the dinner table at her daughter, Gabrielle, whose sullen and somber mood over Audra and the other street children had only deepened. She barely touched her meal, and the mother in Dr. Francis could not help mentally comparing her daughter’s sheltered life to that of the homeless children of the streets, unable to do otherwise.
She theorized that in many ways the homeless children wore safer shields against evil than those who’d grown up like Gabby, under constant protection. The homeless, as sad as their plight was, were, in effect, more cautious and suspicious of others than those not living on the street, and this perhaps could keep them, at some distance from such predators as Leather Apron. But for how long?
As curiously logical as this theory was, Jane Francis wondered what this might portend. Was it just that the street kids were alert, more capable of smelling danger before it got hold of them? Perhaps. Again the fleeting thought, But for how long?
Jane studied the fine, graceful lines of her daughter’s countenance, so angelic, so lovely, so perfect in its French and Irish refinement. Like one of those dolls sold at the World’s Fair. For one so young and so Americanized as Gabby, she carried herself with a haughty self-esteem and an arrogance born of confidence, born of knowing who she was and what strengths she possessed and how intelligent she was and how sure of her future she felt-and most important that she was loved. Perhaps all her strength of character, indeed all her strengths, derived from this sure knowledge of unconditional and unequivocal love, showered on her daily. And yet she could be such a little brooder, as now, and a spoiler as when she was on the picket line with those insufferable suffragettes, shouting for equality for women. Yes, Gabby had been so sure of herself before, but today, the experience with Audra, seeing how other children lived, perhaps the nobler cause was beneath her nose all along and getting the vote seemed somehow less important to doing something for the homeless children in the overcrowded shelters. Then again, if women ever got the vote, would they use it for reform or for the same reasons men did? It was nearing thirty years now since American slaves had been given the right by legislators who saw a quick, dirty, and expedient use for a “black vote” during the Carpet Bagger years after the war. Would women only succeed in getting the vote if one or other of the National Parties deemed their numbers a way to gain the White House?
Jane felt she’d given Gabby all the advantages that a caring single mother could possibly provide in this so-called democracy that repressed the “weaker” sex on all fronts dealing with decision-making in law and government and business and medicine and education. Jane believed she’d done all in her power to shield Gabby from such realities. As a result, Gabby didn’t accept being boxed in by this man’s world. Now Gabby had seen children small, frail, and innocent in hopeless plight. How could Gabrielle Tewes share their pathos and their folklore with her colleagues at Rush Medical College, at Cook County, and on the suffragette front? What could a woman in American society in 1893 do about a damn thing? Then again…if women had the vote and enough trumpeted the cause of the indigent, homeless, and illiterate, perhaps one day women could effect sweeping changes in political priorities. Perhaps 1900 would see the suffragettes win equal rights for every woman. Now, that surely would be a Second Coming, now wouldn’t it, she thought, a sad half smile gracing her features now.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Gabby, who’d smelled the rich tea and joined Jane.
“You do? Surprise me, regale me with your powers, my sweet.”
“You’re thinking that you ought to’ve kept me from going with you down into the ghetto today; that you ought to’ve sheltered me from that, but Mother, I’m doing rounds at Cook County now on Dr. Fenger’s surgical staff, and in his morgue. I’ve seen terrible human suffering there. Amputees, TB, bursting hearts, swollen bodies. Why, I’ve even seen two victims of the Vanishings.”
“My God…what is Christian exposing you to?”
“Life…well, death…reality…whatever one care’s call it, it’s there at Cook County every day, every hour.”
“As I am well aware.” Jane drew in a deep breath and pushed her empty teacup aside. “Gabby, just know that I love you so much.”
Gabby reached a hand across and squeezed her mother’s. “I never realized just how protected and in luxury we are, able to afford the rent on this place, thinking of purchasing now that Dr. Tewes is raking in so much…but I do now. I also appreciate all that you and your Dr. Tewes have done for me, Mother.”
“Children shouldn’t have to spend a single night with hunger, cold, and discomfort gnawing at them, or have to create mythological underpinnings out of fear, need, and self-preservation, both physical and mental.”
“I wish there were something we could do for the children.”
“Perhaps we can start a fund…raise awareness. You could make it an offshoot of what the suffragettes do, maybe?”
“I will certainly propose it at our next meeting.”
Jane had long ago given up any opposition to Gabby’s participation in the suffragette cause, accepting her daughter’s wishes and opinions on the matter, rethinking it altogether again after today.
“Look, dear, we can’t allow a sense of guilt at our own comfort to overtake us either.”
“As we sit here eating a sumptuous meal in the warm glow of a fire and candle-lit table with music on the phonograph?” asked Gabby. “What have we to feel guilty about? Isn’t it the Chicago way? Every man, woman, and child for himself? And money is our religion?”
“Please, Gabby, I pray you’ll not become bitter and angry over this.”
“Frankly, I’d like to see the herd get a little bitter and angry over this.”
“The herd?”
“All of us, Mother, including the big shots, the politicians and the merchants, the mayor, the city councilmen. Why are such matters considered unworthy of serious attention by the men running this city?”