She snorted in derision. "I wish they would arrest me. I’d welcome prison, but I’m not allowed on the picket line. Only the women over twenty-one can stand hourly shifts, and they are the only ones arrested. I can bring them coffee, but that’s all a sixteen-year-old dare do! I’d like to be able to make a statement by going to prison, too!" Her chin jutted forward. "Why do you think the public’s jeers have changed to cheers? It’s because of the suffragists' courage in the face of vicious treatment and their willingness to serve out their jail terms."
"You’re right, Laura," Joe agreed. "I admire them — and you, too. I always knew you had grit, ever since you were five years old. Remember Christmas Day? I gave you a ride on our old buckboard, and the horse shied at a barking dog."
"Remember!" she exclaimed. "I’ll never forget. That was the wildest ride down New York Avenue I’ve ever taken and I hope I ever will again! A runaway horse on an icy street…."
"You didn’t scream once; you just clung to my hand, and the faster we flew and slid down the avenue, the tighter you squeezed. By the time we came to Blair House I had gained control. You were scared, but you never uttered a sound." He looked at her fondly. "Your face was as white as ashes, and your freckles stood out like measle spots!"
She chuckled softly at the memory of how she had tagged after him. "Joe, we’ve been through some good times and bad times together."
"And knowing you, Laura, we’ll go through a lot more," he assured her.
She gave him a quick glance and a smile. Indeed we will, she pledged silently.
Joe continued, a nagging anxiety in his voice. "The suffragists are going through some bad times right now, and I don’t want to see you hauled off in the police wagon." His tone changed, and he said dryly, "Even though I admire what you’re doing, I hardly relish visiting you in jail."
She was pleased by Joe’s praise and concern as they approached the red Victorian-style museum with all its turrets and spires. "I’ll be careful," she vowed solemnly, but her spirits were high and she believed too much in the cause to be swayed by Joe’s caution. Why, she’d volunteer tomorrow to go to prison if they’d let her.
"Come on," Joe said with a short laugh, and ushered her into a large, domed room. "For once, Laura, forget the Party. Remember, I’m on your side, and your defense of what you’re doing or what Miss Paul is doing is unnecessary."
He paused, staring straight ahead at a huge double-winged plane. "There it is!" he exclaimed. "That plane of the Wright Brothers is a slice of history, Laura."
"I know," she agreed, observing the Winton aircraft that seemed poised and ready for takeoff. "Fifteen years ago Orville flew that plane and launched an industry. Now the sky is filled with German Fokkers, English Sopwith Camels, and French Spads."
Joe looked at her in wonder. "You always amaze me — now it’s planes you know about."
She shrugged. "I could tell you about Manfred von Richthofen, the German ace and his Flying Circus, but I don’t feel like giving a lecture right now." She smiled mischievously.
Joe grinned and circled the fragile aircraft. "Look how delicate those struts are supporting the wings."
She peered at the space where Orville had lain full-length and wobbily flown low over the ground while Wilbur ran alongside. "I don’t think I’d fly into the clouds in this machine," said Laura. "It looks like it would burst apart in the least gust of wind."
Chuckling, Joe said, "You wouldn’t have to worry about soaring too high. Listen to this," and he read from a plaque. "On December 17, 1903, at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, the longest flight by the Wright Brothers was undertaken. The plane flew 852 feet and stayed aloft for 59 seconds."
Laughing, they wandered off, spending some time viewing First Ladies' dresses.
After three hours they went outside on the mall, past the Library of Congress and the National Archives, then stopped briefly to observe the White House. By the gates they could see several of the faithful suffragists in the distance. They’re always there, no matter what the weather, Laura thought.
As they walked down Pennsylvania Avenue Joe reached for her hand. They hadn’t gone a block, however, when a long, black Ford pulled up by the curb and her happiness vanished.
"Laura," Shawn called. "What are you doing on the mall?"
"Hi, Shawn," she called, trying to be casual. She should have realized they might bump into Shawn, for this was his post, squiring the general between the Capitol and the White House. "We’ve been visiting the Smithsonian." She darted a glance at Joe. She hadn’t intended for her two boyfriends to meet like this.
Tentatively she took Joe’s arm and pulled him forward. Why was she so fearful? She had told Joe about Shawn and Shawn about Joe. Now they were going to meet, that was all. "Joe, I’d like to introduce you to Shawn O’Brien. If you recall, I told you he was a friend of Michael’s."
Joe stepped forward, extending his hand.
"Shawn," she said, "this is Joe Menotti."
She watched apprehensively as the two shook hands.
"So this is the grocery boy," Shawn said insultingly.
She drew in a quick breath. How dare Shawn say such a thing! She glanced at Joe and recognized the sparks of anger in his black eyes.
Shawn grinned. "Glad to meet you, Joe. I’m on my way to meet the general at the Capitol," Shawn explained, placing his hands on his hips and appraising Joe’s appearance. "But I’m in no rush. You know how long these committee reports can last. Besides, if I’m a few minutes late, it won’t matter."
Laura shook her head in amazement. "Shawn, only you would dare risk your elite post here in Washington by being late."
Shawn shrugged. "General Long likes me. My post is safe. I’ll admit it’s a good army job to have. The only thing better would be not to wear a uniform and to be back in civvies again." He stared pointedly at Joe’s plaid jacket.
Puzzled, Laura stared round-eyed at Shawn. It wasn’t like him to be snide. She had told him about Joe being deferred because of medical school. However, it was obvious he chose to ignore that by calling him a grocery boy.
Shawn continued smoothly. "I understand you’ve been Laura’s guide. You’ve squired her around since she’s been a little girl. I must say, Joe, you’ve done a good job" — he winked broadly — "all except in the area of dance. I’ve had to teach her the latest steps, but it’s been fun teaching her a few things." He paused, and Laura’s heart leaped in her throat.
"Things like the fox-trot, right, Laura?" He gave Joe a sidelong glance; then his eyes swept back to Laura. "We had fun, didn’t we, sweetness?" He flashed her a smile.
The faint pink that spread across her face announced her embarrassment. Why did Shawn have to flaunt their dancing and call her "sweetness" in front of Joe? Glancing at Joe, she noticed he was calm and even wore a small smile, although there was fire flickering in his eyes and his jaw was rigid.
"I’m glad to have met you, Shawn. Perhaps we’ll meet again." Joe stepped back. It was plain he wanted to end the conversation.
"I’m certain we will," Shawn said with confidence as he hopped back in the open car. "See you next Saturday night, Laura," and his Ford jerked forward, heading in the direction of the Capitol.
For a moment they stood in silence until the shiny black car was out of sight, then Joe turned to her and said deliberately, "Well, Laura, you have yourself a good-looking boyfriend there. Be careful," he warned. "Shawn looks like he’s broken a few hearts."
Her temperature rose ten degrees. How quickly Joe reverted to his role of tutor, giving cautionary advice where it wasn’t needed or wanted.