Trudy writes remarkably well for a farmer’s daughter in the American west at that time, Daisy thought. She withdrew a notebook from her tote bag and began jotting down some notes about the diary entries. They would be good fodder for her women’s history articles. She also made a note to herself, though she was sure she would remember, to look for other diaries in the Library of Congress written by other women—surely there would be more information to mine in those.
And when she returned to the Library of Congress the next day, she did just that. In addition to looking for the sources she had already researched, she found diaries written by women who worked in New York City sweatshops at the turn of the twentieth century, women in towns where railroads were being built, and women of African descent who worked as household servants in the mid-twentieth century. The women who authored all the diaries had certain things in common--hard work, low wages, and despicable working conditions.
Daisy found an absorbing account of one woman’s days spent at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. The journal chronicled the woman’s miserable existence in the famous New York City sweatshop before it burned to the ground, trapping scores of women inside. As the writer of the journal perished in the fire along with almost one hundred fifty others, Daisy made a note to find other first-hand accounts of the fire for more information.
When her phone buzzed, it startled her. She looked around, hoping it hadn’t disturbed anyone in the reading room. Phones were supposed to be on silent or off, but the vibration of the phone still made a noise against the wooden desk. One or two patrons looked in her direction, frowning, and she answered the phone quickly.
“Hello?” she whispered. More disapproving looks. Daisy stood up quickly and walked out of the Main Reading Room into the hallway where the elevators were located.
“It’s Mark John.”
“Oh. What do you need?” Daisy was annoyed. Why is he bothering me right now? He knows I’m busy.
“Just checking in to see how you’re doing.”
Daisy sighed. “Fine. I’m getting some good background information.”
“When do you think you’ll be back in the office?”
Daisy rolled her eyes. It was common for Mark John to make these calls, which he didn’t seem to realize did nothing but waste everyone’s time. “I thought I told you I would be here all day. I was just going to go home from here tonight and then come in first thing Monday. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you Monday, then.”
Daisy turned off her phone after she hung up with Mark John. She didn’t want to give him the chance to bother her again. Then she returned to the reading room, where she quickly lost herself again in the Triangle Shirtwaist diary. It was horrifying to think that women had suffered under such treacherous conditions only to die tragically, not living to see the strides made in worker safety after the event. She took copious notes as she read, always being careful to note the source of quotes and other information. When she could identify a primary source with library catalog information, it made keeping track of her research much easier.
On the train back to Dupont Circle that evening after the library closed, her thoughts turned to the provenance of the diary Mark John had given her. She had taken to calling it “Trudy’s diary.” At the top of her to-do list when she arrived at work Monday morning would be to contact Brian to ask where the diary had come from and how it came to be in his possession.
With Grover busy with the wedding event preparations, Daisy decided to spend Friday evening with Trudy’s diary.
She fixed a cup of herbal tea and sat on the couch in her pajamas, eager to open the book and delve back into the world of early Nebraska life.