The Hope Chest by Karen Schwabach

to understand what ‘accessory after the fact’ means. Then get off in Roanoke and cable J. Edgar Hoover that we've spotted Arpadfi.” He stepped out through the door.
    “No!” Violet cried, horrified, as he jumped. The train was by no means moving as slowly as it had been when Mr. Martin jumped off.
    “Come on, miss,” said the other agent, grabbing her arm. “Let's see what you and the Suffs can manage to babble out.”
    “You know, I don't believe he ever told us his name,” Miss Dexter said loudly. Violet was surprised at how well she pretended to be stupid—and surprised she waswilling to do it for Mr. Martin, whom Miss Dexter clearly disliked. “He joined us at Union Station and begged a spare seat in our car. But he's a complete stranger to me.”
    The agent, who had finally admitted that his name was Mr. Christopher, had sat down in Mr. Martin's empty seat and unfolded a paper on his lap—a rough pencil sketch that could have been Mr. Martin in the same vague way that pictures of Uncle Sam could have been Violet's Grandfather Mayhew. It did have a scar on it.
    Many of the other suffragists had gotten up and crowded around, clinging to the backs of the seats for balance.
    “Miss Dexter,” Mr. Christopher said, “try to get this through that female wool you call a brain.” (The suffragists hissed.) “This man is dangerous. He poses a threat to the United States of America. By helping to conceal him, you could be guilty of treason.”
    “What's he supposed to have done?” demanded a gray-haired suffragist in a purple dress.
    “I can't tell you that,” said Mr. Christopher.
    The woman in purple snorted.
    Mr. Christopher asked a number of questions, about whether anyone had heard Sandor Arpadfi mention where he had been, or where he was going, or any names of friends or relatives or associates. Nobody offered him much help.
    “Did he say anything that sounded Bolshevist?” Mr. Christopher finally demanded. “You know, anything un-American?”
    Miss Dexter shrugged delicately. “I suppose some of the things he said were a bit
socialist
,” she said. “But there's an enormous difference between a Bolshevist and a socialist.”
    “That's what the socialists would like you to think,” said Mr. Christopher.
    “Socialists are good Americans!” said the woman in purple angrily. “They believe in cooperation instead of competition. Many of the greatest and wisest people in our country are socialists.”
    Mr. Christopher sneered. “That's why women shouldn't be allowed to vote,” he said. “The female mind isn't capable of making fine distinctions of logic.”
    The woman turned as purple as her dress. “Miss Helen Keller is a socialist!” she stormed. “Miss Lillian Wald is a socialist! Miss Jane Addams is a socialist! Miss —”
    “If they kept their addled brains out of politics, maybe someone would marry them,” Mr. Christopher said nastily. He got to his feet. The train was slowing as if approaching a station, but Violet thought that wasn't the only reason he was leaving. The crowd was closing in on him. Mr. Christopher took his pencil sketch and his notebook and retreated.
    “What a horrid man,” Miss Dexter said. The other suffragists agreed heartily. They made their way back to their seats, and Violet could hear them talking— speculating, she supposed, about Mr. Martin and what he'd done to get those dreadful government agents chasing him. Violet's stomach squirmed. She hoped theground hadn't been too far away when Mr. Martin had hit it. Where had he landed, and what would he do now?
    Violet looked over at the woman in purple. There was an empty seat next to her. Violet got up and jostled over and sat down in it. “Excuse me, Miss …”
    “Kelley,” said the woman, sticking out her hand and smiling. Fortunately, Miss Kelley didn't seem to know that children should speak only when spoken to. “Florence Kelley. Pleased to meet you.”
    Violet shook hands and introduced herself.