When Shawn called on Tuesday, there did seem to be a change in his attitude, for he was understanding about the meeting on Saturday night. It was as if there had been no animosity between them about the suffragists. Perhaps he was being too understanding, she thought, knowing how he loved to dance. Was he seeing another girl? She dreaded the thought, but at present her work with the Women’s Party was too important to be dismissed over jealousy.
Saturday night didn’t disappoint her — it was an important meeting. Miss Paul knew all about the picket arrests targeted for May. Not that there hadn’t been arrests during March and April. But the courts were very sympathetic to the Women’s Movement ever since Alice Paul and Lucy Burns had been released from prison last month, and it looked as if all arrests would be invalidated. However, that hadn’t happened yet, and it was rumored that the police chief in the capital city wanted to make an example of pickets being photographed in front of the White House. He wanted to sweep them from Pennsylvania Avenue and give the president a rest from their constant demands and insistent presence on his front doorstep. So, despite the court’s attitude, the chief intended to step up the suffragists' arrests and teach these women "their places."
The hall at national headquarters was packed, and it was warm despite the open windows and the crisp spring breeze that blew in.
Cassie, seated beside Laura, was tight-lipped as she whispered in her ear, "If only we could picket, too."
Laura nodded glumly. "I know, but since we can’t, we’ll at least deliver black coffee and a cheery word."
"Hmmpf," Cassie retorted. "Small comfort when banners are ripped out of the pickets' hands and they’re kicked and shoved."
"It’s difficult to watch," conceded Laura.
"Shhh," Cassie said, "Miss Paul is going to speak."
A hush fell over the hall when Miss Paul stepped briskly to the podium. She wore a large black hat, which framed her indomitable face, and a plain black suit with the Votes-for-Women banner making a striking yellow splash across her chest.
Laura listened intently to her brief but fervent speech.
"… and so," concluded Alice Paul, "now is the time to show this country the mettle women are made of. Be dignified when you’re arrested… and make no mistake, you will be hauled off to jail. Be prepared to suffer indignities with a serene silence." Her alert eyes scanned the hall. "If you do not want to stand your posts this next week, I’ll understand. My seven-month sentence at Occoquan Workhouse was unpleasant. It’s possible you’ll be force-fed if you choose to go on a hunger strike, and you won’t be able to communicate with one another, which is perhaps one of the worst aspects of being imprisoned. I’d like a show of hands to see how many are willing to chance arrest and stand their vigil."
There wasn’t a woman there who didn’t raise her hand and cheer.
"We’re with you, Alice!"
"We’ll stand at the White House till we drop!"
"We’ll win the vote!"
Cheers and foot stomping followed Alice Paul as she stepped down from the platform and went down the rows shaking hands and offering words of encouragement.
Miss Logan returned to the podium, waiting for the pandemonium to recede. Finally, when all was quiet, she spoke. "It won’t be easy. Alice’s hunger strike lasted twenty-two days, and she wasn’t alone in the terrible force-feeding that followed. The prison officials even declared Alice insane and forced her to undergo a medical examination."
A deep hush fell over the audience. Miss Logan continued in a louder, firmer voice. "Through Alice’s arrest and others like her, the suffragists have become heroines. Many are now on our side, but we mustn’t falter when we’re so close to victory, for there are still a few, including our Police Chief Bentley, who are determined to break our spirit. Monday morning will be a test. Everyone is to be at the White House gates at eight o’clock for a huge rally. At nine o’clock we will disband, leaving our pickets in their usual places." She paused; then her reedy voice rose again. "Remember. Be firm."
Laura’s heartbeat accelerated. She would have to miss school, but the Women’s Party came first. Hang Mr. Blair and his vengefulness.
"Laura and Cassie." Miss Logan looked straight at them, the youngest members of the group. "Are you ready to help?"
"The coffee cups will be filled and extra banners provided if the pickets have theirs destroyed," Laura responded resolutely.
Cassie nodded her agreement vigorously.
"That’s the spirit," Miss Logan said.
When she came home from the meeting, Laura still was elated and confident. There would be an ordeal ahead for the women, but in the end they would have the vote!
Closing the door, she walked into the parlor. Why had her mother sat up again tonight? Was she waiting for her again? It wasn’t eleven o’clock yet.
Maude Mitchell and Sarah, talking and knitting, looked up when Laura entered the room. She stood surveying them. "Hello, why are you still up?" she asked suspiciously. It probably meant another lecture.
"Come here, Laura." Her mother stood, leaving the rocking chair still moving. "We received two letters today. One from Michael and one from Frank!"
Laura’s elation came, and a sense of relief washed over her. Their two military men were still alive. She ran to Sarah, hugging her. "I’m so glad you heard from him. It’s been a long time."
"Six weeks," Sarah answered.
"What did Frank have to say?" Laura knew better than to ask to read his letter. Sarah never shared Frank’s words with anyone, but she did tell them a few general things.
Sarah’s face beamed. "He shot down two German Fokkers and was awarded the Croix de Guerre." She added happily, "Frank has only two more missions to fly and he’ll be given an honorable discharge and sent home!"
Laura, thrilled, took Sarah’s hands and twirled her around the floor. "How wonderful!" When she stopped, she stood with her arm around Sarah’s waist, then her mother joined them, slipping an arm around Laura. Laura’s happiness knew no bounds. She was fortunate to have a mother and sister that were so wonderfully loving. With a stab of remembrance she wished her father could be there with his arms around them, too. Then her world would be completely happy.
"Here’s Michael’s letter. We’ve been waiting all evening for you so you could read it with us." She held out the unopened envelope.
"Sorry," Laura mumbled. "The meeting was a little long." She didn’t go into a further explanation because, if she mentioned the planned Monday rally and picketing, both her mother and Sarah would be upset. Besides, if it came to light that she was planning on staying out of school, Maude Mitchell would get Aldo Menotti or someone equally brawny to drag her, if necessary, into Jefferson High. She had no intention of divulging her secret plans.
With steady fingers she took the envelope and sat in the rocking chair by the Tiffany lamp so she could read Michael’s words without faltering. How sweet of them to wait for her.
Laura read the letter in a clear, steady voice:
165th U.S. Infantry,
42nd Division
March 22, 1918
Dear Mom, Sarah, and Laura,
I received the package. Thanks. Sarah, I’m wearing the socks you knitted, and Laura, I appreciate Booth Tarkington’s Seventeen, and even if it’s too young for me, for some of the boys it’s just the right level.
The Germans started their big offensive yesterday, and we were bombarded all day. The "Big Berthas," their largest cannon, has a range of seventy-five miles and shoots one-ton shells, but it’s not too accurate. This morning all is calm again, but Battery B, about twelve miles west of here, is being shelled.