She sat up straight. "When?" was all she could utter in a choked, dry voice.
"September first."
"That’s less than six weeks. Oh, Joe. I’ll miss you."
"I won’t be far away," he said wryly. "I’ll be trained right here at Fort Myer. I thought you’d be pleased."
She bent her head. "I’m not. What will I do without you?" And she meant it, too. How she would miss him! Joe’s love was dependable and sure, and it felt wonderful to be in the warm protection of his strong arms. If only the war would end and he could stay here.
"Look," he said matter-of-factly, "I got tired of seeing the poster all over town. On Which Side of the Window Are You? Remember?"
She nodded. The poster was everywhere and showed a young man in a suit gazing out his living room window at a regiment of marching soldiers.
"I want to do my part. Besides" — he laughed — "I know you like uniforms. Now, maybe I’ll be able to give Shawn O’Brien a little competition."
Her eyes widened. She didn’t need to tell Joe about Shawn. He knew.
Chapter Twenty
On July twenty-first, walking to headquarters, Laura thought all week about Joe’s enlistment. He would be a superb army medic, but it was a shame he couldn’t finish his schooling. How many of the men she loved was this war going to destroy? Frank was already dead, Michael was at the front, Shawn might be sent overseas, and so might Joe. What would happen to them? The morning newspaper reported that the Germans were pushing into the Allied lines at Amiens, Château-Thierry, and Saint-Mihiel. Never had she studied a map of France so closely. Marshal Foch admitted that the Allies' position was desperate, and he was depending on American troops to hold the line. Where was Michael in these vast troop movements? Was he still in a trench near Cantigny? Was he on the march? She prayed he would come home safe.
Well, she thought as she strode purposefully through the double doors, she had her own battle to fight today. This parade was drawing the battle lines between the suffragists and the President of the United States.
"Laura," Lucy Burns called out to her, "are you ready to be our lady in shining armor?"
"I’m ready," she called back cheerfully. "I’ve polished the armor until it will dazzle old Senator Shields."
"Three cheers!" Lucy exclaimed, holding up a clenched fist. "We’ll show them that we won’t give up!"
Laura hurried to the dressing room, for the parade would begin in an hour. Groups of women were holding banners, tuning band instruments, arranging flowers in each other’s hair, and lining up their placards.
Catching the excitement, Laura strapped on her leg armor, but before she could pick up the breastplate, Cassie hurried to her side.
"Let me help you, Laura." As Cassie moved toward her she adjusted the yellow sash across the chest of her white voile dress, looking slender and elegant as usual.
"I can use some help. This is heavy!" Together they lifted the armor over her head, and Cassie fastened the side straps.
"I hope I won’t embarrass anyone by falling off my horse," Laura said nervously. She straightened the armor. The metal would be hot on such a sunny July day, and she had to hold the purple, gold, and white banner high, plus sit on her horse straight and tall. "I haven’t been on a horse for two years, Cassie. I don’t know how I’ll handle the charger."
"You haven’t ridden since your father died, right?" Cassie asked softly, handing her the mail gauntlets.
Laura nodded, finding it difficult to speak. Her weekend horseback rides with her father were among her fondest memories. "Dad used to take me to the stables every Sunday." Then she stopped, not being able to speak of the painful memory of their Sunday canters through the park. She remembered that glorious September morning, she on her chestnut mare, and her dad on his bay gelding. It was after that last ride when her father dismounted at the stables that he had complained of chest pains. Later that night he suffered his fatal heart attack.
"I’d better go out and try mounting the horse," she said in a tight voice. She didn’t look at Cassie, only grasped her rolled banner and headed outside.
"Good luck," Cassie called after her.
"Thanks, Cassie, I’ll need it."
Her great white stallion, although beautiful and pawing the ground, was fortunately gentle. She mounted and unfurled her banner, which, unlike Joan of Arc’s standard with the dauphin’s royal emblem, bore only three words: EQUALITY FOR WOMEN.
Starting at the Capitol with trumpets blaring, the dazzling parade began. A contingent of women dressed in white with yellow sashes each carried a purple banner. A long line of yellow taxicabs, the suffragist color, had signs on the doors proclaiming: VOTES FOR WOMEN. A band played "America, America" with Laura leading the procession. Her heart was beating faster than the drum’s tempo. The great white horse pranced and bobbed his head in a stately gait, and she found that her old riding skills were not forgotten.
Past the District Building, the Willard Hotel, and the Treasury Building they marched. Crowds lined both sides of Pennsylvania Avenue, cheering wildly as she rode past. Flowers were everywhere — strewn in their path, in the marchers' hair, on her horse’s bridle, and small bouquets on the taxi hoods. How different this parade was from the parade of five years ago that she had read about, she thought, as she kept her head high and her eyes steadily ahead on the Capitol dome. Today they had flowers thrown at them instead of tomatoes, and they no longer had to fight their way through mobs of unruly hecklers. Today the leafy branches of the trees seemed to welcome them forward.
She wore a silver helmet, but it couldn’t hide her lovely hair, which fell loosely around her shoulders. Even though the sun glinted off her armor, she didn’t feel uncomfortable — only proud to be bearing the standard of the suffragists. When the trumpets sounded and her banner snapped smartly in the wind, she felt as if her heart would burst.
Reaching Lafayette Square in front of the White House, the women congregated to listen to Alice Paul. Laura’s armor was beginning to chafe, and her horse had to be led through the huge clusters of women. She was thirsty and wished she were dressed in her own clothes. She craned her neck. Where was Miss Paul? She was supposed to speak now. All of a sudden her eyes focused on another figure — Shawn! He was threading his way through the crowd toward her. She wasn’t hard to spot, she thought ruefully, in her cumbersome armor, a plume waving above her helmet.
"Hi, sweetness!"
"Shawn! What a surprise!" She couldn’t hide the fact that she was pleased at his unexpected appearance.
"I caught a glimpse of you in the parade, my warrior maiden. You looked very regal." He winked broadly. "Too bad there wasn’t a battle for you to fight."
"Miss Paul is about to speak. Please," she coaxed, "stay and hear her."
"No thanks. I have better things to do with my time." He smiled warmly into her eyes and took her hand; however, he soon pulled it back. "Do me a favor," he said, "and take those metal gloves off."
She chuckled, removing the gauntlets.
He took her hand again. "That’s better. Look," he said earnestly, "it’s not too late to go to the dance. It’s near here, only over at Blair House, and it’s the social event of the summer. Please," he wheedled, his hand squeezing hers.
Gazing into his expectant face, she patted her horse’s nose and shook her head. "You just don’t give up, do you, Shawn?" She hesitated, then abruptly said, "All right. I’ll make a bargain with you."