Bread and Roses, Too

"Well, I had hopes for you, Rosa." She walked away and put the pencil down on the desk, expecting, perhaps, that Rosa would disappear.

"Please, ma'am. I want to learn. You said I should make something of myself."

The teacher came back and put her hand gently on Rosa's shoulder. "Yes, I did. I'm just—I'm just afraid for you, Rosa, dear. There are so many obstacles...."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Try to persuade your mother not to strike, won't you? It's a terrible mistake. Those outside agitators ... They can't be trusted."

"He said no violence. That's what he told everybody."

"Who said that?"

"Mr. Ettor."

Miss Finch's hand went from Rosa's shoulder to her own throat. "He's the worst. Rosa, you mustn't believe anything he says. He doesn't care for the mills or the workers here in Lawrence. He is only after power for himself. There'll be terrible violence. He'll do awful things and try to blame others. People will get killed. You'll see."

Rosa left the school. She should have run, there was so little time before the afternoon session, but the streets were too crowded for her to run properly, and, besides, she needed to think. Could Miss Finch be right? Could the man Mamma and Anna and all the workers were following be only after power for himself? A boy had been stabbed this morning. But it was the militia who had done it, not the workers. Unless ... unless Miss Finch was right. Unless Joe Ettor would try to blame the police and the militia for things his own followers had done. Rosa shook her head to try to clear it. Everything was too confusing. Whom could she believe? It was a messy, terrible business. She wanted her mother and sister out of it no matter who was right and who was wrong. It was just too dangerous. Suppose they got killed and she was left alone with only little Ricci? They'd starve for sure—if they didn't freeze first.

The Return of Rosa's Rat

Rosa went back to school on Tuesday. What else was she to do? Mamma and Anna and the Jarusalises were so involved in the strike that they were always out, meeting, picketing, or marching. She'd tried to convince them how dangerous it was until she was hoarse, but Mamma just patted her on the head and went out the door. Granny J. was busy with her grandsons, Jonas and Kestutis, and little Ricci, and Rosa couldn't talk to her anyway.

The big news at school was that Joe o'Brien had been arrested. "Arrested?" Rosa said. "Why?"

"Oh, he wanted to be a big shot. He went down to the picket line, where a bunch of strikers were throwing snowballs at the police. They took 'em all to jail." Luigi was grinning. "But Joe's got him a Irish daddy. He hauled Joe home and said he couldn't leave the house till the strike was over. He was lucky. The judge give the men a year."

"For throwing snowballs?"

Luigi nodded solemnly. "For throwing snowballs."

When Miss Finch walked into the classroom, the straggly remnant of what had once been the class stood up. They weren't always so polite, but the strike had infused a bit of pride into the children of the strikers.

Miss Finch smiled faintly at the gesture. "You may be seated, class," she said.

"You hear about Joe, miss?" Luigi asked.

"Yes," she said and hesitated, as though undecided as to how to proceed.

"He almost went to jail!" Celina said.

"Joseph was very foolish," Miss Finch said. "And, although it is a shame that he will be missing so much school, I think his father is wise to keep him off the streets. I trust this will be a lesson to you all—if you had any thought of becoming involved in this ugly business."

Rosa winced.

"I'm sure some of you think a year in jail is an unreasonable sentence for throwing snowballs. But as the judge said, 'The only way we can teach them is to deal out the severest sentences.' It should certainly make other Italian strikers think twice before they show such disrespect to authority."

"Joe ain't Italian," Luigi said.

"And he should have known better. Now, those of you who have arithmetic books..."

But Rosa couldn't put her mind on sums. What if Anna were arrested? After all, she had been right up front in the parade with her big American flag. The police were sure to notice her, and Anna wouldn't be able to stand being in jail for a day, much less a year. or Mamma, who had been singing louder than anybody? Her heart skipped a beat. If Mamma were arrested, none of them could survive. She had to persuade Mamma to go back to work. or at the very least to stop marching and picketing.

That evening she tried again. "Mamma, they put some men in jail—for a whole year. Just for throwing snowballs."

Mamma sighed. "They tell us law show no favorite, but how can you say that? Put a man in jail for throwing snowball."

"What if they put you in jail?"