Dreamers of the Day Read Free Page A

Next, be discreetly disconcerted by my crossed eyes blinking behind round spectacles.
    Ah,
you think now.
Ah, I have the picture. Poor Agnes…
             
    In 1899, our little household changed forever. Ernest shocked us all by running away to join the army, taking with him Papa’s mechanical talent and a firm desire for the male companionship our high-pitched feminine household did not afford him. I knew Ernest was unhappy at the factory, but he was barely seventeen and I’d never imagined he would simply up and leave home. Poor Mumma was beside herself when she discovered his note.
    A few weeks later, she summoned me to her office to make her own announcement. After careful consultation with her brother, she told me, she had sold our Papa’s patents and the factory itself to White Sewing Machines, a Cleveland concern with a reputation for plain dealing and decent labor policies. This decision realized sufficient profit to provide an income. There would be enough, Mumma informed me, to send both of her daughters to Oberlin College, one of the first coeducational academic institutions in America. Lillian’s fine mind had already taken in all that our small school had to offer; she would be a good deal younger than most of our classmates, but we would matriculate at Oberlin together so that I could look after her. At Oberlin, Mumma expected, Lillian would find an educated young man worthy of her.
    “And you, Agnes, will need a profession.” Mumma looked toward my left eye, ignoring the right, which turned in when I was feeling tired or upset. “I have decided that you shall earn your teaching certificate. Well? Speak up. I should have thought you’d be grateful. Your nose is always in a book.”
    Well, yes. I loved to read, histories especially, but I had never imagined having enough money to go to college. I had begun, instead, to dream of going to the city, of making myself useful to society.
    “Mumma, don’t you remember? I—I told you I was thinking I might like to do settlement work.”
    She hardly moved. “Are you telling me that you do not wish to attend Oberlin with your sister?”
    “Well, you see, Mumma, Miss Jane Addams thinks that those who serve the poor do better by going directly to work with the people who need us. She thinks we should avoid the snare of endless preparation—”
    Mumma folded her thin hands in her lap and looked out the window, blinking rapidly. “Agnes, I am all alone,” she whispered. “I thought when Ernest left me that I could count on you to behave.” She shrugged helplessly. “It appears that you have become more self-willed than ever. And to think that I sold the business for you!”
    To this moment, I can remember the wave of shame that washed over me. “Mumma, I didn’t know you planned to sell the business! Settlement work wouldn’t require any tuition money, so I just thought—”
    “You thought.
You
thought! Without asking anyone’s opinion, let alone approval. Oh, Agnes,” Mumma said with a gentle melancholy that froze my heart, “you are as bad as your brother. I expected more from you. What will become of Lillian if you won’t go to Oberlin with her? Is your happiness worth your sister’s misery?”
    If she had shouted, it might have been different, but Mumma was so small, so fragile. I always felt that if I used my strength, I might break her. Now I, who had only ever wanted to please, had hurt her so cruelly! Settlement work suddenly seemed like a pastime for silly rich girls who had nothing at all in common with me. I swore that teaching would suit me perfectly, that it was a marvelous opportunity, that I was wicked not to be grateful right away. Nothing I said made any difference. Before I knew it, I was weeping at her knees, begging for forgiveness.
    Mumma’s face remained the same: gallantly, if imperfectly, concealing her suffering as she recalled every sin, every promise broken by a tiresome, dishonest child. “Go to bed,” she said