Laura knew she could drive better than most women, or men for that matter, for her brother had been an excellent teacher. Michael had taken her in hand when she was fourteen, and she had driven their car all over Washington. Their poor Tin Lizzie! The old Ford hadn’t had a run for over a year because Michael had put it up on blocks before he had been sent overseas. The priority to save gas was uppermost in his mind. Even though the country had imposed gasless Sundays, Laura’s mother had said that every day would be gasless for them, so they’d have to take public transportation or walk.
"Turn right!" Miss Proctor blared, pointing with an unswerving thumb.
Laura jammed on the brakes and veered to the right.
"Reverse!" shouted Miss Proctor.
Concentrating, Laura stepped on the foot pedal, putting the car in reverse.
A woman’s cry and a brake squeal caught her up short. One of the women driving a truck had almost backed into her. Quickly Laura pressed her foot on the accelerator and flew forward, averting an accident.
After an hour’s drill they drove their cars in formation down the avenue to the garage where Miss Proctor dismissed them. Laura bade several women good night, for it was already becoming dark. Four of the older women were slated to go overseas the following week to serve as ambulance drivers. She wished she were eligible, but one had to have at least a year’s training and be twenty-one.
She could never look like twenty-one, but she would keep training and hopefully be used as a driver here in the city. It was important to her mother that she finish high school, and with only her senior year left, it would be foolish not to stay. Nonetheless, if she had to suffer through many more classes with teachers like Mr. Blair, it would be tempting to leave school.
Since it was late, she got on a trolley that ran almost the length of Virginia Avenue until she reached H Street, then she walked the rest of the way home. It was a clear night, and the streetlights formed strange shadowed patterns across the brick sidewalks. As she approached Washington Circle, she noticed a crowd with several mounted policemen shouting as they tried to hold their rearing horses in check. When Laura came closer, she could see that they were disbanding a group of women. She caught and held her breath. What was happening? Why were they hurting these women?
All at once a patrol wagon, with siren blaring, pulled up and came to a screeching halt in the center of the melee. Several policemen leaped out and pushed their way into the crowd, hitting women at random. One man knocked a thin woman to the ground while another officer stood over her with his billy club raised. Laura stifled a scream. She wanted to run to help the prostrate woman, but her knees shook beneath her. Three policemen surrounded the poor woman, yanked her to her feet, and half-dragged, half-carried her semiconscious form over to the closed van. It was horrible, and all she could do was stand and tremble.
The sound of the neighing horses, cursing police, and screaming women unnerved Laura. She was so helpless, almost paralyzed, as she watched a woman who had chained herself to a lamp post being taunted by a policeman, attempting to open the padlock on the chain.
The women began to run, scattering in every direction, so that the whistle-blowing officers, both on foot and on horseback, couldn’t grab them.
A small woman in black, with a yellow ribbon across her breast, darted in Laura’s direction, shrieking all the while. Her hat was askew, and one long braid dangled free.
Instinctively Laura ducked behind a hedge but peered at the scene through the branches. The woman, hoisting a placard high in the air, dashed to the statue of Washington. Her hat flew off, and she spun around to fling her sign at the pursuing horseman. As the policeman dismounted she huddled at the base of the statue. Then, as she tried to scramble away, he grabbed her by the loose braid. With his nightstick waving above her, he pulled her along like a reluctant, leashed dog. Despite the woman’s frantic struggle, she was hustled to the waiting van, handcuffed, and thrust inside.
Terrified that she might be arrested, too, Laura watched in agony as each of the women was captured and forcibly thrown into the van. One suffragist fought with a police officer, beating him on the head with her sign, but he furiously jerked it from her hands, threw it in the gutter, and stomped on it.
Laura placed her fist against her mouth, not daring to utter the moan that threatened to escape. What had these women done? Of what were they accused? She knew they were suffragists by the yellow ribbons across their chests, and she knew they were demanding the right to vote, but what terrible deeds had they really done? They certainly weren’t threatening the security of the Capitol; they weren’t carrying guns to assassinate the President.
The woman chained to the lamp post spoke softly to one of the officers, but he paid no attention. Several others joined him, and they roughly pried her loose from the tangled chain links.
"Oh, no, no," Laura whispered, seeing the woman’s bloody wrists. Her stomach heaved, and her hands were clammy. "Why?"
After the van had been jammed to capacity, it rattled away with its horn honking triumphantly. The mounted police followed while Laura stood numbly watching them leave the violent scene.
Washington Circle, deserted and tranquil, appeared as if nothing had happened.
The moonlight cast a silver glow over the circle, empty except for a marble George Washington, who perused all before him with a calm, but resolute, face. For one hysterical moment Laura felt a laugh bubble up in her throat. What would the "father of her country" think of the scene he had just witnessed? If only he could have stepped down and thundered a command to the police.
The laugh never materialized, and Laura quickly sobered as she stepped lightly to the place where such angry activity had taken place only minutes before. With the women’s cries still hanging in the air, Laura picked up a placard from the wet snow and read the words aloud: EQUALITY FOR WOMEN. Why were men afraid of this sentiment? Her heart hammered as the image of the courageous women danced before her eyes. Why were they arresting defenseless women and trampling their signs?
Laura moved forward and reached for a torn banner, staring at the slogan: GIVE US THE VOTE. The women only wanted to cast a ballot and were willing to risk their lives for it!
Strewn over the ground were pamphlets and tiny American flags, which fluttered in the wind like dead butterflies. Laura, tears filling her eyes, slowly gathered several pamphlets, all the while thinking of the brave suffragists and their cause. She stooped for a tiny flag and stuck it in her lapel.
Chapter Three
Shaken and upset, Laura relived the arrest scene as she opened the brightly painted blue door of their Federal house with its three apartments. She wished someone were home. After seeing the suffragists brutally hauled to jail she didn’t want to be alone. However, her mother and Sarah were attending their Red Cross meeting tonight, and she doubted if Otto Detler, their janitor, who lived in the basement apartment, was in, or if the Menottis, who lived directly above them, were home. The Menottis were probably still working in their grocery store. How she wished she could talk to Joe, their son, for he would have understood what was happening and why she was in such a turmoil. He, too, would have been sickened at the treatment of the women. That was one reason she loved him — because of his gentle nature and the care he felt for all human beings. He had chosen a good profession for his career, too, for he’d make a wonderful doctor. She longed to tell him about the awful beatings and arrests, but knowing how hard Joe worked, he was no doubt unpacking fruit and vegetables for the next day’s trade. Either that or he was studying for one of his science courses at Georgetown University, where he was enrolled as a second-year medical student.