"Thanks for listening," Laura said. "I can deal with a low grade on my paper, knowing what you think of it." She smiled as she tucked her essay in her notebook. "I should have guessed that you’d be a suffragist."

Miss Emerson grinned. "You’d be an asset to the cause yourself!" She closed her classroom door behind them.

"Thanks, Miss Emerson, I’ll see you tomorrow." She waved. "Cassie’s waiting for me, and she probably thinks I’ve deserted her." She raced down the hall to her locker, hoping Cassie hadn’t grown tired of waiting. She was relieved when she rounded the corner and saw her.

"What kept you?" Cassie asked, but she wasn’t angry.

"I saw Miss Emerson. She read my paper and gave me her opinion." Laura opened her locker and put in her math book, taking out her history book.

"Ah, Mr. Blair’s grade. No wonder you’re so glum." Cassie shook her head. "He’s so awful."

"Did you get a bad grade, too?" Laura said.

Cassie laughed. "No, my topic was safer than yours. I wrote about the wave of German immigrants in 1848. I managed a B."

Laura closed her locker, and they walked down the corridor. "It’s one thing to write a bad paper and get a D, but to write a good one, that’s what hurts." She opened the front door. "Even Miss Emerson agrees it was good. I know what made Mr. Blair angry. It was the part about women and voting that set his teeth on edge."

Cassie’s carefully plucked eyebrows shot skyward. "I didn’t know you wrote about women’s rights."

"Well, sort of," Laura admitted. "The other night, when I was coming home from my motorcade training, I saw a group of women being arrested. I couldn’t believe my eyes." She glanced at Cassie and was surprised at how absorbed she looked. "What’s wrong, Cassie? Is it a crime to sympathize with the suffragists?"

"Not at all," Cassie responded quietly.

As they walked past the linden and elm trees, Cassie looked elegant in her beaver hat, matching muff, and leather boots. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath, facing her friend. "Laura, I think you’re ready to hear my secret."

Surprised, Laura stopped walking. "I won’t tell a soul," she promised, waiting patiently for Cassie’s next words.

"I’m a suffragist," Cassie said clearly, the words ringing in the cold afternoon air.

Amazed, Laura sank back against the trunk of a tall elm. "You?" She gasped, staring at her sophisticated classmate. "A suffragist?" Not Cassandra Whiting, she thought. All at once she reached out and grasped Cassie’s gloved hand. "Oh, Cassie, that’s so exciting. So daring!" Her thoughts returned to that day in class. "No wonder you wouldn’t tell Mr. Blair why your homework wasn’t completed."

"Yes," Cassie said dryly. "I didn’t feel like being yelled at that day."

Laura laughed. "Cassie, you astonish me! I can’t believe someone as rich and glamorous as you is involved in the women’s movement."

Cassie smiled. "You’d be surprised how many prominent women are at our meetings."

"Miss Emerson is a suffragist, too," Laura said in wonder.

"I know," Cassie said. She paused, then asked, "Would you like to go with me to a meeting?"

"I don’t know," Laura said slowly. "My mother doesn’t exactly approve of the suffragists, and I’m involved in a lot of things now."

"Few people do approve of our activities," Cassie countered. "Anyway, on Sunday night there’s a meeting at the Women’s National Headquarters. Miss Paul, the leader, is speaking." Cassie’s eyes were bright. "I wish you’d come."

"Maybe…" Laura still wasn’t convinced. She didn’t know why. Perhaps she knew that if she became involved with this organization it could become an all-consuming passion.

"Don’t you see, Laura?" Cassie persisted. "We can make a difference. You and I. President Wilson has just issued a statement in support of our cause. Now is the time to push for our rights. If we don’t, time will pass us by."

Suddenly Laura wanted to know more about what made these women such fervent believers. What made them stand up in the face of arrest and vilification? What made Cassie’s eyes shine? She made a decision. "I’ll go, Cassie!" She squeezed her friend’s hand, knowing it was the right decision.

 

Chapter Eight

Saturday night the dance at the armory was every bit as exciting as her wonderful hopes had been all week. The glittering lights and the garlands of flowers made the large hall an enchantment. Here she was swirling around in Shawn’s arms wishing the evening would never end.

Shawn drew her closer as they danced the fox trot. "You know you’re a natural-born dancer, Laura." He held her at arm’s length, gazing into her eyes. "You’re agile and light as a butterfly. Ah, Laura, I love to hold you in my arms." The music soared. Laughing, he swept her around in a giant arc and they glided over the shiny floor swiftly and gracefully. She felt like a fairy princess in her prince’s arms.

"That lavender dress does something for you, sweetness. In these twinkling lights your hair looks beautiful." He touched her hair and she felt a wave of delight. He did make her feel so feminine, as if she were the only girl on the floor. She did feel pretty in her soft chiffon dress, which reached to mid-calf. The bodice had a rounded neckline and cap sleeves, and the dress was encircled with a taffeta sash with tiny rosebuds around her small waist. She nestled in Shawn’s arms, enjoying the texture of his rough wool uniform beneath her hand.

After the latest jazz steps, the band played her favorite music to the "Castle Gavotte," which was initiated by Vernon and Irene Castle, the best dance team in America, and the dance she loved above all others. With arms outstretched and hands touching, they rocked forward two beats, back two beats, then facing one another, she took Shawn’s hand, and, to the heavy drum beat, danced completely around him to his sheer delight.

Dum-de-de-dum-de-de-dum-dum.

Shawn clapped out the rhythm as she swayed back and forth. She felt heady with the throbbing music and Shawn’s admiring glances.

"Laura, you’re gorgeous," Shawn said, eyes twinkling. "If I had my camera I’d capture that sparkle in those green eyes. I swear they’re brighter than two emeralds."

As they wended their way back to their table, she glowed at his compliment and for a moment thought of Joe, who had never been quite so eloquent or appreciative of her.

Sitting down, she looked up to thank Shawn, but before she could say anything, he leaned over and kissed her.

Blushing, she glanced around, but the other couples were oblivious of her happiness.

"Will you be my girl, Laura?" he whispered in her ear.

"I-I…" She didn’t know what to reply. Was he serious?

Shawn chuckled. "You will. You just need a little time to get to know me."

Secretly she wondered if he was right. Despite her wish, the special evening did come to an end, and although they said very little on the ride home, nonetheless the silence between them radiated a warm rapport.

The next evening, as Laura walked down the brick sidewalk, past the small clapboard houses on the way to Cassie’s house, her mind wasn’t on the suffragist meeting they would attend but on last night’s dance. She looked up between the elm branches at the star-filled sky and saw herself dancing with Shawn. It had been a marvelously romantic evening, and what was even better was that they were going dancing next Saturday, too. But the most thrilling part of the dance was that Shawn had kissed her and asked her to be his girl.

With a brief frown she snapped off a small twig of an overhanging branch and wondered if perhaps Shawn O’Brien was only charm and sweet words. However, she dismissed the unpleasant thought, wishing that Joe had more of Shawn’s lighthearted banter and appreciation of her.

As she turned off N Street onto Fishing Lane, she glimpsed the Whiting home in the distance. The gaslight lantern at the entrance of the red-brick house and the green ivy entwining the turquoise-painted double doors looked so inviting. For a moment she could almost hear the night watchman of Colonial times going up and down the street on his nightly rounds calling out, "Seven o’clock. A fair, bright night… all’s well!"

As she neared the front steps she could see the chandelier’s sparkling crystal teardrops twinkling over the Whitings' dining room table. Her mind came back to the reason she was going with Cassie, and she remembered the pamphlet she had read, written by Alice Paul. Tonight she would actually hear her speak. A twinge of doubt assailed Laura, and she wondered if she should really involve herself in the Women’s Movement. If her time was so taken up now, how could she squeeze another activity into her schedule?

As she lifted the heavy brass door knocker, she smiled. Just because she was attending a suffragist meeting, it didn’t mean she would have to become one.

Cassie, tall and striking in her coat and high boots, answered the door. "Let’s go," she said quickly, fitting her fur hat over her dark hair. The white fox fur was a stunning frame for her lovely oval face. "We mustn’t be late, because Miss Paul will start her speech at the stroke of seven-thirty."

The two girls hurried to catch the trolley that would carry them to the Women’s Headquarters in Lafayette Park, just across from the gates of the White House.

When they entered the warm hall filled with banners and posters, Laura estimated that there were about five hundred women there. Some were seated in the rows of chairs; others, in small groups, were in animated discussion. Laura caught a few of their words as she and Cassie moved toward their seats: "… the vote… President Wilson… workhouse… jail… force-feeding." She could feel the energy and vitality pulsate in this room. Her anticipation heightened.

They sat close to the front of the stage, and while Cassie chatted with a suffragist behind her, Laura sat studying the poster on the wall. However, when a small woman entered, accompanied by a stout younger companion, she sat straight up in her chair. Laura would recognize Miss Paul anywhere. Her thin face was dominated by metal-rimmed spectacles, and her dark hair was piled on top of her head. She looked smaller than in the photograph she had seen. Despite being a tiny woman, Miss Paul radiated confidence and zeal. It was evident, too, that all her energy was focused on one thing — the Women’s Movement.

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."