"Leave school?" Bertina echoed, dumbfounded. "But this is free country… education for everyone."
"Yes, but if you do something bad…." Laura couldn’t finish and wept bitterly against Bertina’s shoulder.
"There, there," Bertina comforted, patting Laura’s back. "Here." She stepped back, fumbled in her apron pocket, and pulled out a clean handkerchief. "You dry eyes. Bertina give you a cannoli, which I baked one hour ago." Winking, she grabbed Laura’s hand and pulled the young girl from behind her to the pastry counter. Laura smiled in spite of herself. She had come to the right place. But, unlike Bertina, she didn’t believe food would solve all problems.
As she ate the Italian pastry with the delicious ricotta cheese filling, Joe and Aldo entered, each carrying two huge bunches of bananas.
When Aldo spied Laura, his booming laughter resounded throughout the store, and he lifted the bananas off his broad back, setting them on the counter. "Ha! There is Laura, my tressora!"
My treasure. She liked the sound of it and she smiled, wiping a crumb from her mouth.
"Laura in trouble," Bertina said with a clicking tongue. She puckered up her mouth and shook her head, offering Laura a second cannoli.
Laura declined, holding up her hand.
"Trouble?" Aldo pulled up a crate and sank his hefty frame on top. "What trouble?" He indicated with a huge hand that Joe should sit, too.
Joe, leaning against the counter, looked at Laura with a bemused expression, knowing she probably wanted to be alone with him.
Laura once more told her story, glad to be with people who loved her and wanted to help. At one point she faltered when she realized with a pang that she’d have to repeat her story to her mother and Sarah. How upset they’d be! If only they wouldn’t be ashamed of her. She knew her father would have been proud of her activities with the suffragists and would fight to keep her in school. With her mother, however, she had her doubts. Maude Mitchell would probably survey her with a steely eye and say the punishment was well deserved. Laura dragged her attention back to the warm circle of the Menottis.
"Joe!" Aldo exclaimed, pointing at Laura. "I know nothing about this school business. You take our girl for a walk, eh? You work enough today." He shooed them out the door. "Vai! Vai!"
Grinning, Joe took Laura’s hand as they sauntered down the walk, past the home of the von Hindens, a German family who had a large American flag flying at all times by their front door.
"That flag means different things to different groups," she said acidly. "I’m just finding out what it takes to be an American these days. You mustn’t deviate from the path our president has set for us. If you do you’re suspect of betraying this great republic!"
Joe shrugged. "That’s wartime for you. Times are not the same, and everyone had better be a patriot or else."
"How true that is," she said, following his lead as they cut through a back lane and headed for H Street. "The conflict with Mr. Blair and me erupted after my theme. Up until then we’d had sort of a sparring feud, but the essay really angered him, and he’s been after me ever since!" Viciously she kicked at a pebble before her. "Now it looks like he’s trapped me and can get rid of me for good!"
Joe’s hand tightened around hers, but he said nothing as Laura poured out the whole story. "I feel so awful, Joe. Everything I do is wrong. I’m too young to be a picket or go overseas with the motorcade, yet I’m old enough to be condemned because I associate with the suffragists, and I can be kicked out of school for it. Why is life so unfair?"
"Don’t worry, Laura," Joe reassured her in his strong, level voice. "The first thing you should do is have your mother go to school with you."
Her heart plummeted. "She won’t go with me, Joe," she said raggedly. "Mother disapproves of Miss Paul’s tactics, and I know she won’t help me."
"You might be surprised," Joe said. "Next you need to see Mr. Cole and Miss Emerson. Gather your forces. You, yourself, can plead a good case and head Mr. Blair off before he can take this hearing to the Board."
She looked into his black eyes, sparkling with understanding, and felt her confidence resurfacing. "Good advice, Joe. I’ll see Miss Emerson first."
As they walked past show windows Laura noticed a crowd in front of a butcher shop. A large flag hung outside. "Must be another German-American displaying his loyalty for everyone to see," she said. Craning her neck for a better view, she wondered what everyone was looking at. "What do you think is going on, Joe?"
"Looks like more vandalism," Joe said grimly. "If you’re a German it’s hard to stay in business these days."
When they joined the crowd, she could see the smashed window and the angry, sullen people milling about.
"Go back to Germany!" one man yelled, and heaved a brick at the remaining pane of glass. "We don’t need traitors in this neighborhood."
"Get out, get out," chanted the crowd.
Inside was an old man, stoically sweeping the glass and debris that littered the floor.
"Most of these German-Americans are loyal to the United States government, but that doesn’t make any difference to this mob." With his hand on her elbow Joe ushered her through the crowd. "Americans are trying to stamp out anything or anyone that’s from Germany."
"I know," she responded, remembering all the name changes that had been made. "Sauerkraut is called Liberty cabbage, and I heard an Iowa town, Berlin, was renamed Lincoln, and German measles are now Liberty measles!"
Joe nodded as they left the crowd behind. "Some of these renamings are pretty ridiculous. The other day I untied tin cans that some boys had tied to a dachshund’s tail or Liberty pup, as they call these German dogs now." He shook his head. "Poor little pooch. He didn’t know what was happening. He was so low-slung, anyway, and when I came near, he slunk so low that his belly touched the sidewalk!"
"Well," Laura said, "they do say there are German spies lurking everywhere."
Joe snorted. "Yes, and if you believe that, I’m Kaiser Wilhelm."
"I don’t know," she said doubtfully. "You know Otto Detler is German."
"Yes, and a better handyman and a better person couldn’t be found. You’ve caught war jitters, just like everyone in Washington," Joe said. "Let’s hope this war ends, so America can get back on an even keel. You can bet your shoe tops that the Germans here hope so, too."
She felt better after her walk with Joe, and although her problem still remained a big one, it didn’t seem quite so insurmountable anymore. When he brought her home, she gazed into his eyes. "Thanks for being a good listener," she said, tweaking his ear. "Ah," she said laughing, "your ear is still there. I thought I might have talked it off."
He reached up and pulled her hand to his lips. "Any time you want to talk, you know where you can find me." He shuffled his feet and smoothed back the unruly shock of hair on his forehead. Finally he said, "Our Friday nights have sort of come to a standstill, haven’t they?"
"Yes, between Mr. Blair and the suffragists, I’m kept hopping."
"How about Saturday?" he asked, never taking his dark, questioning eyes from hers.
"Saturday?" she asked lamely. "Saturday I’m busy."
"Is busy another word for Shawn O’Brien?"
"Yes, I — I promised to go out with him."
"I see," Joe said evenly.
"Joe," she said, "he’s my brother’s best friend. He’s in the army, and this is his home away from home." Her words fairly tripped over one another. "Shawn is lonely and—"
Holding up his hand, Joe cut in, "Spare me. There will be other Friday nights." For a moment he studied her oval face. "Go slow, Laura. You’re a sixteen-year-old beauty, and Shawn is an attractive soldier, but he’s not the type to go with only one girl."