With their jeering laughter ringing in her ears, Laura rose painfully. There was no gallant Joe or Shawn in this mob to dash forward and help her to her feet. She brushed at her white blouse and gray skirt, but it was hopeless. The dirty rainwater had soiled her school outfit. Her hair, too, loosened from its clasp, tumbled down around her shoulders, and the loud catcalls unnerved her.
Stooping, she picked up the umbrellas with shaky hands. Very much aware of her disheveled appearance, she hurried past the smirking faces surrounding her, stumbling once. She kept her eyes resolutely fastened on the women holding the placards while the thought flickered through her head that these boys were her own age — between fourteen and sixteen. Young enough to be rowdies, yet old enough to know better. Where were the police? she wondered. No doubt, as so many times in the past, they were staying discreetly away. Chief Bentley didn’t want to do any favors for the pickets. If the public wanted to harass them that was too bad, but it was none of his affair.
One of the boys dashed up to Refna, tore the sign from her hands, and threw it to one of his companions, who commenced to rip it to pieces.
Laura, dropping all the umbrellas except one, rushed at the skinny, grimacing boy, swinging the black umbrella like a bat. "Stop it, you bully! Leave her alone!" she shouted.
"Catch me if you can," crowed the hoodlum, darting just beyond the range of the umbrella’s spiked top.
Dismissing him, she turned her attention to Refna, rushing to her side. "Are you all right?" she asked, opening the umbrella and holding it over the gaunt woman’s head.
Refna’s eyes gleamed with determination. "I’m fine. Just bring me another placard, Laura." Holding the umbrella high overhead, Refna stared straight ahead as her shoulders shifted slightly in her canvas coat. There were tiny white lines around her thin lips. Why, she’s afraid, thought Laura, afraid of these young hooligans! She wanted to cry for her, to take her place, not to let her suffer alone amidst the taunts and the pelting rain.
"Hurry, Laura," Refna said between chattering teeth.
"I wish I could take your place," Laura offered sympathetically.
Refna nodded, smiling briefly. "Run back and find a bigger sign. President Wilson goes to the Senate this morning, and we want him to be sure to see our message."
Laura nodded grimly. The president must realize that these women would continue to picket just as long as it took to obtain their demands. With her chin firm and her head high, she didn’t hear or see the hecklers as she went back to the mansion.
The next day at school, Mr. Blair noticed Laura’s skinned cheekbone but said nothing.
Laura, quiet and subdued, kept her eyes on her history book. The section on U. S. Grant’s presidency was boring, and she’d be glad when they came to Theodore Roosevelt. She much preferred recent history to what they were studying now.
"Laura, tell the class what mistakes U. S. Grant made during his presidency."
Oh, no, she groaned to herself, still staring at the blurred page before her. Why would he call on her, knowing that she was absent yesterday and hadn’t read the assignment?
"Laura?" His voice rose in irritation.
"I don’t know, sir," she answered evenly.
He sniffed and tapped his forefinger on his text. "I thought as much." Staring disdainfully at her for a few seconds, he finally said, "See me after class."
"Yes, sir," she mumbled. If he found out what she had done yesterday, there was no telling what he might do.
She rubbed her bruised cheek ruefully. He had certainly observed her appearance. It was all she could do this morning to keep her mother and Sarah from seeing the bruise, but the generous rouge she applied had hidden it from eyes that were busy with morning chores. However, she couldn’t hide it forever. Besides, she had no excuse for missing school, and her mother would never be dishonest and write a note for her.
After class her pounding heart proved justified when Mr. Blair pointed an accusing finger at her cheek. "Did you get that bruise at the suffragist rally yesterday?"
Her hand involuntarily flew to her cheekbone, too flabbergasted to reply.
"Oh, you needn’t look so surprised that I’ve discovered your secret. Dr. Whiting and I had an interesting chat yesterday when he told me that he wouldn’t allow Cassandra to attend the rally." He directed a thoughtful frown in her direction. "But you, Laura, being a headstrong, obstinate, unthinking young girl, decided you didn’t need to abide by the rules. So you played hooky from school and evidently were involved in a brawl while listening to that radical, Alice Paul."
His last words were said with a sneer; "Well, Laura, you are not going to get away with flagrant disobedience this time! I intend to see that you’re punished." He coughed slightly, holding his fist near his mouth. "I have tended to overlook your transgressions in the past but not anymore!"
Openmouthed, she stared at this opinionated, prim viper. When had Mr. Blair ever overlooked anything she had done?
"I’m recommending to Mr. Cole, the principal, that you be expelled from school," he said harshly as he turned on his heels. "You can go. By Friday Mr. Cole and the Board of Education will act upon my recommendation."
Stunned, Laura could only glare at Mr. Blair’s rigid back. Her face flamed with shame and fury. Expulsion from Jefferson High! How could she leave her high school in disgrace? How could she tell her mother?
Chapter Twelve
Stumbling out of the classroom door, Laura moved through the morning in a daze. How could Mr. Blair do such a thing! Just because she missed one day of school! Tears stung her eyes, and she had to blink hard to keep them from spilling down her cheeks as she sat through each class like an automaton. In English Miss Emerson gave her a strange look, but Laura wasn’t ready to talk to her yet.
At the end of the day she piled her books in her locker, taking only her history book home. She would at least have her homework finished so Mr. Blair couldn’t criticize her on that score.
Rushing down the hall to leave school, she didn’t want to see anyone, not even Cassie. Still, she felt the need to confide in someone, and making a decision, she knew exactly whom she must see.
As she hurried down Cherry Alley, she turned into the Menottis' store, hardly able to wait to speak to Joe. He was the only one who would understand and offer her advice. Shawn was fun to be with but dismissed her problems as inconsequential.
Threading her way between the cracker barrels and flour sacks, she wiped away the teardrops and looked around for Joe. Bertina, alone in the store, was packing up potatoes for an old man.
After the customer left Laura asked in a thin, little voice that she tried to keep from cracking, "Where’s Joe?"
Bertina’s forehead creased in concern at the sight of Laura. "He and Aldo go to fruit market to get load of bananas. They be back in very quick time." The heavyset woman watched Laura with narrowed eyes. "You cry, Laura. What is wrong?" Her jovial face was transformed into a caring, sober one.
Laura moved her shoulders in a gesture of despair, and before she knew what had happened, tears spilled over again. "It’s — it’s Mr. Blair, my teacher. He’s going to have me expelled from school!"
"Santo Cristo! What is this expelled?" Bertina asked, wiping her hands on her half-apron and holding wide her fleshy arms.
Laura moved into Mrs. Menotti’s welcoming arms, sagging against her ample breasts with relief. "Expelled," she snuffled, "means that I will be forced to leave Jefferson High."