Vivian Schurfranz - Laura

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.

One night she came in from a meeting later than usual and quietly opened the front door, carefully closing it behind her. She unclasped her cape and tossed it over the coat tree, shivering a little from the March chill. Creeping toward the stairs, she winced as one of the wide planks in the oak floor creaked.

"Laura? Is that you?"

Laura’s heart sank. Her sister’s hearing was as acute as a forest deer’s.

Sarah entered from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her long apron. A lock of her blonde, waved hair fell forward, and she brushed it back with long, slender fingers. She arched her brows. "Have you been helping the pickets again?"

Defiantly Laura lifted her chin. "Yes. Haven’t you heard? They’re plotting to blow up the White House."

Sarah’s lips thinned. "Don’t even joke about such a thing. Picketing the White House is bad enough! Calling yourselves the Sentinels of Liberty, indeed!" She snorted. "The suffragists go too far!" Sarah untied her apron and wearily slipped it over her head. Her clear blue eyes softened as she looked wistfully at Laura. "Why do you insist on joining these women? Do you think you’ll save the world at fifteen?"

"Sixteen!" Laura snapped. "I had my sixteenth birthday last week, remember?"

"Then you should know better," Sarah answered sharply. A brief frown creased her forehead, and she shook her head in disbelief.

"You don’t understaad, Sarah," Laura said in measured tones. "You never will. You and Mother are always against me. The women’s platform is so simple. Why can’t you comprehend it? We want the vote and equal pay for equal work!" She glared at Sarah, whose eyes seemed tired. She shouldn’t argue with her, but it was difficult to hold her tongue when she yearned to have Sarah understand the Movement and be on her side. If only she could convince her earthbound sister to sprout wings — at least small ones — in order to soar above her everyday existence.

Attempting to clarify her position, she explained, "Sarah, if you’d go with me to one of the meetings you’d realize what we’re fighting for. I wish you could hear Miss Paul just once."

"I have no desire to be associated with a group of subversives!"

"It’s women like you who hold back anything the suffragists try to do!" She angrily shook a finger beneath Sarah’s nose. "We’re fighting for you, and you don’t appreciate it!" Her cheeks were hot, partly from trying to show Sarah what the suffragists believed and partly from the exhilaration of the speech she’d heard at tonight’s meeting. She had made a circle to the White House gates and could still see the women pickets standing in the rain. How she longed to take her place with them, but in the meantime she would fulfill her assignment cheerfully and bring coffee for the pickets.

"Did you hear me?" Sarah questioned.

"What?" Laura pulled her thoughts back to Sarah.

"I said, try not to wake Mother. She went to bed early. She had to do an extra run. She didn’t return her trolley car to the barn until after nine-thirty."

Laura lowered her voice. "All right. Sorry." She shifted the stack of pamphlets she was carrying from one hip to the other and prepared to go upstairs.

"What do you have there?" Sarah asked uneasily.

Laura gave a little shrug. "Pamphlets. Want one?" She handed the top one to her sister. "Read it, you might learn something." She smiled, anticipating Sarah’s reaction.

Sarah glanced quickly at the writing. "Democracy Begins at Home, Kaiser Wilson!" she shouted. "How can you call our president by that German title?"

Laura impishly put her finger across her lips. "Shh. You’ll wake Mother."

Sarah waved the pamphlet under Laura’s chin and said in a low voice, "This is traitorous in wartime!"

"Woodrow Wilson must recognize women as first-class citizens." Laura planted her fists on her hips, daring her sister to argue further.

For a moment they stared stonily at one another, then Laura flounced up the stairs, muttering, "What’s the use."

As she raced into her room she hated herself for becoming angry, but she wanted to shake people when they refused to understand.

Flinging herself across the bed, tears came to her eyes. Not a person in this house believed in her and her cause. If only her father were alive. With him she had felt like a small sailboat skimming over the waves, and he acted as the breeze that scooted her along. Now she felt more like a lumbering rowboat with her mother and Sarah acting as the mooring post that kept her tied.