Mr. Blair was obviously enjoying this confrontation, knowing he had the upper hand. Laura was astonished at Cassie’s bold reply. What was she thinking of? It was bad enough that she, Laura, and Mr. Blair were always sparring, but if Cassandra got on his bad side, too, there would be constant battles.
Mr. Blair tapped the pointer against his leg. "What may I ask was this other urgent matter?"
"I’d rather not say," Cassandra answered calmly.
Laura studied Cassandra’s perfectly formed nose and mouth, envying her friend’s beauty. Her gentle, but firm, stand against Mr. Blair reminded Laura of Joan of Arc facing her inquisitors.
"Very well," Mr. Blair snapped. "Come in before school in the morning for additional work." He dismissed Cassandra Adams as if she were a bothersome gnat. "I see it’s almost time for the bell." He paged through his textbook. "For tomorrow, read pages 201 to 230 and answer the questions at the end of the chapter." He glanced around the room and spotted Laura, who was not writing. "Jot the assignment down, Laura," he admonished sternly.
Dutifully she opened her hardcovered notebook and wrote in the page numbers, wondering why Mr. Blair’s assignments were always the same. Read and answer questions. Read and answer questions. She never missed an assignment, though, for she loved history, despite Mr. Blair’s attitude.
When the bell shrilled, she gathered her books and hurried to Cassandra, who was already halfway down the hall. Breathless, she came alongside her friend. "What made you say that, Cassie? Mr. Blair will loathe you forever."
Cassie shrugged her slim shoulders and looked over at Laura, giving her an enigmatic smile.
"Well?" Laura questioned, consumed with curiosity. Even though she was of medium height, she still had to look up to Cassie, who was taller. "Are you going to tell me about your mysterious doings last night?"
Cassie hesitated, then slowly moved her head sideways. "Not yet, but perhaps one day soon, Laura." Her expensive gray-and-black-plaid dress was cinched at her small waist with a wide black belt, and she moved gracefully. Every time Laura walked beside her she felt like an energetic, disheveled child with her long hair in disarray and her jacket flung over her shoulder.
"All right," she said, respecting Cassie’s secret. "When you’re ready to confide in me, I know you will. I just hope you don’t antagonize Mr. Blair any further. I know how vindictive he can be." She halted before the English classroom. "No matter what I do, he pokes fun at me or drips sarcasm." Her tone was one of bewilderment as she tried to fathom Mr. Blair’s reasons for disliking her.
"Don’t you see?" Cassie said soberly. "He’s upset by women and what they’re doing now. Look at your mother… a trolley car conductor, and your sister, Sarah, who’s taken over a man’s factory job. You’re a threat to him, too, Laura. You stand up to him. A man like Mr. Blair can’t tolerate that."
"I’d say you do a good defiance number, too." She looked at Cassandra in amazement though, for in a few sentences she had analyzed Mr. Blair’s treatment of women and his female students in particular. She turned the knob on the door. "Just be careful you don’t push him too far," she warned.
"Oh, I won’t," Cassie promised.
Laura was doubtful. "Your reply in class wasn’t very diplomatic." She saw Miss Emerson, her short, vibrant English teacher, coming to close the door.
"Don’t worry," Cassie said with a laugh. "My father is Mr. Blair’s doctor. Mr. Blair will treat me as well as he treats any girl. As long as I don’t get too uppity I’ll stay out of trouble."
"You were pretty uppity today," Laura teased.
"Come, come," Miss Emerson said in her gravelly voice. "It’s time for Shakespeare, Laura. Don’t dawdle. Hurry to your seat."
Laura liked Miss Emerson and gave her a broad smile. Miss Emerson was dressed in the latest hobble skirt and plunging neckline blouse. A bond had grown between them ever since they had talked about Mr. Blair last month. She wondered if Miss Emerson had suffered from the "slings and arrows" that Mr. Blair threw out so frequently. She couldn’t imagine Miss Emerson’s facile tongue letting Mr. Blair get the best of her. Maybe that was why she was so understanding of the problems of students.
"Skedaddle to your desk," Miss Emerson hissed in Laura’s ear, shooing her away from Cassie. Miss Emerson pulled a pencil out of her black hair, piled on top of her head with loose tendrils drooping around her ears, and pointed it in Laura’s direction. "I’ll have to mark you late." But her stern tone didn’t mean much with the smile that was at each corner of her mouth.
Cassie waved and hurried down the corridor to domestic science.
English class was pleasant, and the period passed quickly in a discussion of Mark Antony’s funeral oration from Julius Caesar.
After school, in the girls' locker room, Laura reached for her motorcade uniform nestled behind her middy blouse and bloomers. She hurriedly changed into her khaki skirt and matching blouse, laced up her boots, and set her khaki wide-brimmed hat firmly on her heavy head of hair.
On the way to the parade grounds she walked along E Street and thought of Cassie’s secret. What could it be ? What was her friend up to that she didn’t know about? She and Cassandra had shared secrets with one another since kindergarten days, and now Laura felt shut out.
Chapter Two
Coming closer to the Washington Monument where her motorcade unit met every Tuesday and Thursday, she stopped to survey the towering obelisk. The granite shaft, stark against the blue sky, never ceased to awe her. In the distance she could see the motorcade women in line formation, all dressed alike in their brown skirts, boots, heavy overcoats, and wide hats. They stood at attention in front of their vehicles.
Today they were practicing putting their cars in reverse and then driving them between a row of white pegs. Laura hurried to stand before her open car, feeling pride in her ambulance and the way she could maneuver it.
Miss Proctor, their instructor, a large woman with a stern face, marched to the middle of the field. "Attention!" she ordered in her booming voice, glowering at the women in line. Her thin hair peeked from beneath the brim of her hat, which was lowered almost to her eyebrows. Her chin strap held back her outthrust jaw. "Places!" she ordered, surveying the twenty women before her. "Start engines!" she bellowed.
Laura spun about and took the crank from beneath the dashboard. Connecting it to the crankshaft in front of the car, she vigorously turned the handle to spark the four-cylinder engine, and when it finally sputtered to life, she raced to climb onto the front seat. She sat, bouncing from the motor’s vibrations behind the wheel until the command came to move forward.
"Proceed!" shouted Miss Proctor, pointing her finger at the field. "Drive between the pegs!"
Laura skillfully maneuvered her Ford between the stakes and zigzagged through the maze, neatly cutting the corners. She wished she could open up the throttle and drive on a straight road. The Ford could do forty miles an hour!
Laura was an expert at driving, but if Miss Proctor knew her age, she would be thrown out of the corps. To be eligible to train as a driver, one had to be eighteen, but Laura figured one little white lie in the service of one’s country wouldn’t hurt anyone, particularly when she was such a good driver and could aid the war effort with her expertise.
She smiled when she remembered first reporting to Miss Proctor last July. The unit commander had been extremely suspicious, but when Laura demonstrated her driving ability, Miss Proctor was so impressed that she hadn’t questioned her further.