"So did we," said Laura bitterly.
"You’ll have to admit," Mrs. Mitchell said, "that the parades and speeches these last few weeks at the Lafayette monument have been inflammatory." She rose, standing with her hands on the back of the chair. "How many were arrested last week?"
"Forty-seven" — Laura’s tone was grim — "including Alice Paul, and she wasn’t even in the parade. Lucy Burns, Rowena Green, and Mrs. Lawrence were all arrested, too." She made a fist. "I wish I had been there." Her face felt warm when she thought of how she and Shawn were having a good time canoeing along the river that day.
"I was in court the next day, though, and you should have heard the trumped-up charges."
"Trumped-up charges?" Sarah’s pink-and-white face wrinkled into a questioning look. Her voice was quiet, as if trying to soothe Laura.
"The women were charged with climbing the Lafayette statue! Can you imagine?" Laura asked indignantly. "You can’t go there without seeing someone climbing all over the monument or eating their lunch at its base." She banged her fist into her hand. "It’s infuriating!"
"I’m just glad you weren’t there to be arrested again," Sarah said.
Laura shuddered. "So am I!" She didn’t think she could take a cell again, not even for Alice Paul. There was a moment’s silence, then Laura’s mouth twitched with a smile. "It was funny when the women were arrested last Thursday, though. There were nine of them making speeches at the statues, and when the police pulled one down, another would clamber onto it and begin to speak. The officers were going crazy trying to catch them. It was like trying to catch fireflies!"
"They don’t give up do they?" her mother murmured in a low voice.
"No, we can’t give up!" Laura emphasized the we. "Not after all these years! There will be another protest today," Laura dared to say, "and I intend to be there." She looked defiantly, first at her mother and then at Sarah.
Laura’s mother sighed. "Do what you have to, Laura. But don’t forget the boys overseas. I think you’d do more good knitting a pair of socks for Michael!" Her wry look and crooked smile softened her words.
"I am helping the war effort, Mother," Laura countered. "Doesn’t my motorcade unit, Red Cross, or canteen work count for anything?"
Mrs. Mitchell reached out and touched her hand. "Yes, my darling Laura. Come," she urged gently. "The troop train will be in at eleven o’clock. We’d better go."
Laura looked at them. No tongue lashings? Were both of them becoming reconciled to the suffragists? Maybe Michael’s approval helped. Perhaps now they had a glimmer of belief in the suffragists' ideals!
Sarah smiled at her and grabbed her elbow as they left. "Time to feed those marines some coffee and doughnuts."
For the first time in months the two sisters went out arm in arm.
Chapter Twenty-two
After working at the canteen Laura hurried to meet Cassie at Headquarters. Cassie, looking cool and sophisticated in her pale apricot dress, was sitting in the tearoom having an iced tea.
"Cassie" — Laura waved, dashing to her table — "how is everything here?"
Cassie’s small mouth turned down at the corners. "Not good. They brought in the women from the workhouse this morning. They’re being nursed upstairs."
"That workhouse hasn’t been used for years," Laura said, appalled that the suffragists would be kept there. "Not since the days of Teddy Roosevelt."
"Melinda and Josephine came back with rheumatism because those underground cells are so cold and damp that you need blankets even in this ninety-five-degree heat."
"I’d like to round up Chief Bentley and all the antisuffragists in the city and throw them in the very same workhouse for a year," Laura said vehemently, her chin jutting forward.
"They’d never last," Cassie said, her eyes liquid fire. "Our women were only there for two weeks, and look how they came out. I’ve been upstairs rubbing arms and legs until I think I’ve got rheumatism in my own hands." She held out her slender fingers, and to Laura they looked perfectly manicured without a mark on them. Cassie continued, "Many of the women got lead poisoning because the water pipes hadn’t been used for years."
"I could cry for them," Laura said. She glanced around. The tearoom didn’t have its usual exuberant noise. Women were subdued, talking quietly in small groups. "Is our duty schedule the same?"
"No, we’re to help the nurses upstairs."
Laura nodded grimly.
After the two girls parted Laura went upstairs to see how she could help.
Lucy Burns was in the front bedroom, and when she saw Laura, she called, "Laura, come in. Am I glad to see you! We’ve been up to our elbows in work." She meant that literally, too, for her sleeves were rolled to her upper arm.
"Whatever you want me to do I will." She glanced at the four beds occupied by four women.
"Bless you, child. Will you fill the water pitchers and fetch some clean towels from the supply room?" Her square face was red with perspiration, and she patted Laura on the back. "If you have time, of course."
"I always have time," Laura said, but silently she wondered if Lucy was taking a barb at her because she hadn’t been anywhere near the protest meeting when Lucy and the others had been imprisoned.
"Oh, one other thing," Lucy said. "Would you read to Mrs. Lawrence ?"
Taken aback, she asked, "Is Mrs. Lawrence all right?"
"A headache and chills." Lucy rubbed her forehead. "I think it took a lot out of her this time. She demonstrated in the rain, then was thrown into a damp cell. No wonder she came in chilled to the bone."
Laura looked over at Mrs. Lawrence, who had been with her in prison, and remembered how brave she had been. Now Mrs. Lawrence huddled beneath the blanket.
"There are six bedrooms on this floor," Lucy explained. "Each room contains four very sick women. Anything you can do to cheer them will be a big help."
"You — you don’t suppose any of them have the flu, do you?" She felt like a coward asking, but there was a little flutter in her heart when she thought of the disease sweeping Europe.
"No," Lucy said matter-of-factly. "I haven’t heard of any cases in Washington yet. There have been a few reported in New York and Boston. Don’t worry, Laura. These women don’t have anything contagious. What most of them have are aches in their backs, arms, and legs." She had an iron glint in her eye. "I’m afraid they’ll have those pains for the rest of their lives." She wrung out a cloth and placed it on Mrs. Lawrence’s forehead.
For a moment Laura couldn’t move, only stand and stare. Why this constant persecution? Why? With leaden feet she moved to refill the pitchers with fresh water. When she finished, she noticed that Mrs. Lawrence’s eyes were open and following her.
"Hello, Laura," the woman said in a weak voice. "This time the workhouse got the best of me."
Laura smiled down at her.
"Oh, Mrs. Lawrence," Laura said, impulsively grasping her hand and holding it. "You’ll feel better in a few days. You need rest and quiet and then you’ll be back on the line."
"As long as it isn’t back in prison," she whispered.
"Lucy said you might like to be read to, is that right?"
Her eyes brightened, and she struggled to sit up, a determined expression on her square face.
Laura chuckled. "I see you like that idea." She picked up the leather-bound book, checked the spine, reading the title aloud, "A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens." She settled herself comfortably in a chair and ordered Mrs. Lawrence to lie back and listen.
Laura began this novel about the French Revolution. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…."