As Laura watched this woman take a chair in back of the rostrum, her pulse picked up a beat, and she waited eagerly for Miss Paul’s first words. Laura marveled at this woman, a veteran of the English suffrage campaign, who had sailed to the United States to help her fellow sisters in their vote crusade and who had climbed to be the head of the National Women’s Party. She was amazed that Miss Paul was such a fighter. She was not only an activist, but a militant one as well. Laura wondered how many parades and cross-country motor cavalcades she had organized since 1913, and how many White House pickets since 1917.
Everyone quieted as a stout lady stood behind the speaker’s podium and waited for a few stragglers to find their places. Laura’s eyes returned to Alice Paul, the diminutive woman seated calmly with her hands folded on her lap. Her square chin was just as determined as the eyes that snapped with intelligence and fire. She wore a simple blue serge suit that was a good background for the brilliant yellow "Votes for Women" sash across her chest.
The first speaker, her round face aglow with fervor, began to speak. Immediately a hush came over the hall. "As most of you know, I’m Miss Logan, and it’s my great pleasure to introduce Miss Paul. It is so good to have Alice back in our midst again, for this is her first appearance since her release from prison. While in the workhouse, Alice demanded to be treated as a political prisoner and was able to win this privilege for all suffragists."
Applause burst upon the room, but Miss Logan held up her hand. "Alice went on a twenty-two-day hunger strike, and at one point was force-fed, but the antisuffragists still couldn’t elicit a promise from her that she wouldn’t come back to us and organize more picket lines in front of the White House. Our work will continue!" Miss Logan turned slightly and bowed her head at Alice. "She came out of prison a heroine. Even the House Rules Committee, which for years has bottled up the suffrage amendment, has brought it to the floor for debate."
A cheer broke out, and although Miss Paul inclined her head and gazed around the room, she didn’t smile. Her cool demeanor was to be admired. Laura wondered how she could remain so serene in this warm room with the exhilaration rising from each word.
"I leave you with a statement of the prison doctor," Miss Logan said in a louder voice, "who said of our leader, Miss Paul, This is a spirit like Joan of Arc, and it is useless to try to change it. She will die, but she will never give up!"
Briefly the words from a pamphlet she had read about Alice Paul’s imprisonment flickered through Laura’s head: "… the meal of soup, rye bread, and water was not palatable. We all tried to be sensible and eat enough to keep up our strength. One of the worst problems was the enforced silence…." A slight shiver vibrated up Laura’s spine when she recalled the description of the force-feeding, but just then, Miss Logan resumed speaking.
"As you can see," the rotund woman said, "Alice is very much alive and back with us to carry on our struggle." Her voice rose to a shrill tone. "I present to you, Miss Alice Paul!"
The applause and cheers were deafening, and Laura’s blood surged with each wave of applause.
Miss Paul stepped to the podium, shook Miss Logan’s hand, and looked out over the audience. It was surprising that such a slightly built woman could command this militant organization. Her belted long jacket, with a gray squirrel collar and cuffs, reached almost to her skirt hem, which came just above her buckled shoes. Her hand touched her hair in a quick, nervous gesture, and she showed the ravages of her seven-month stint at Occoquan, a workhouse for women prisoners in Virginia. Laura’s heart twisted in an agony of sympathy for Miss Paul’s ordeal. It was difficult to fathom how she could return to the cause with such indomitable courage.
Miss Paul cleared her throat and drew herself up to her full height. "Our picketing has resumed and will continue until women have the right to vote! For the first time last month, President Wilson has acknowledged that he will support our amendment, but until it has passed both houses of Congress, we mustn’t relax for a moment. The twelve suffragists who stand their hourly vigils before 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue are the backbone of the women’s cause. They don’t falter… they stand through rain, snow, and sleet. You are the ones that should be cheered. I salute you. Don’t give up until we win!" She held up her clenched fist.
Laura listened with every fiber of her being as Miss Paul’s clear, ardent tones rang throughout the hall. There was no faltering in her speech or in her plan. The plan was simple. To picket. To go to jail if necessary and not to stop until the goal was achieved. Laura felt a resolve growing within her that was close to bursting. She wanted to be part of this wonderful organization, and she made up her mind to become a member. She realized that she could make a difference. On impulse she reached over and grabbed Cassie’s hand.
Cassie turned to Laura. "Isn’t she marvelous?"
"Oh, yes," Laura whispered. "I’d follow her anywhere."
Cassie laughed. "I knew you couldn’t resist our cause. I only had to get you here in order for you to realize what we stood for."
Miss Paul finished her short speech, and while the women clapped and cheered, she hoisted a sign above her head, which read: EQUALITY FOR ALL.
Soon engulfed by women who wanted to shake her hand and say a few words to her, Miss Paul could no longer be seen.
"Come on," Cassie said, pulling Laura to her feet. "I want you to meet her."
They waited for their turn to speak to Miss Paul, and when they did, she was gracious and quite perceptive. "We need young women in the Movement, Laura. I’m glad you want to be part of the National Women’s Party."
A thrill of pride swept over her as she pumped Miss Paul’s hand. "I’m ready to take my turn on the picket line," she offered enthusiastically, hoping Miss Paul wouldn’t find her too forward.
A slight smile crossed Miss Paul’s features as she shook her head. "I’m sorry, my dear, but you must be twenty-one to stand in the line, for there’s a strong chance you’ll be arrested." She inclined her head. "How old are you, Laura?"
"I’ll be sixteen next month," she said defensively, and almost told her of her deception in the motorcade but thought better of it.
"You can help, though," Miss Paul explained quietly. "Cassie is an aide in the organization. We can use more. How would you like to start tomorrow after school, Laura?"
Her heart jumped. "I’d like to help in any way I can."
Miss Paul nodded slowly, appraising Laura. "The women on the line need encouragement and such things as coffee, umbrellas, and shawls. Whatever the women need, it will be your job to bring them. Would you like to do your bit in this way?"
"Oh, yes," Laura breathed, already under the spell of this powerful, charismatic leader. "I’d love it!" Laura silently thought that it would only be a short time from running errands to actually taking her place in the line.
However, in the next two weeks Laura found Miss Paul exceedingly strict, and she was not allowed to picket. She didn’t mind, however, as she loved just being around these dedicated women, some of whom had spent the last fifty years fighting for equality. She and Cassie had become even closer, sharing the meetings and discussions later. Mr. Blair had noticed their closeness and made several remarks about studying instead of engaging in silly gossip. Little did he know!
She had become so immersed in the movement that she turned down Joe twice and Shawn once, when they had asked her out. Her meetings with Miss Paul came before all else. She remembered her reluctance to become involved in the Women’s Movement for fear it would become an all-consuming passion. She had been right. Several times she had tried to explain to her mother and Sarah the importance of her job in running errands, but it was useless, for they always gave her the old argument of using her time and energy for Frank and Mike and the boys overseas.