"We’ll stand at the White House till we drop!"

"We’ll win the vote!"

Cheers and foot stomping followed Alice Paul as she stepped down from the platform and went down the rows shaking hands and offering words of encouragement.

Miss Logan returned to the podium, waiting for the pandemonium to recede. Finally, when all was quiet, she spoke. "It won’t be easy. Alice’s hunger strike lasted twenty-two days, and she wasn’t alone in the terrible force-feeding that followed. The prison officials even declared Alice insane and forced her to undergo a medical examination."

A deep hush fell over the audience. Miss Logan continued in a louder, firmer voice. "Through Alice’s arrest and others like her, the suffragists have become heroines. Many are now on our side, but we mustn’t falter when we’re so close to victory, for there are still a few, including our Police Chief Bentley, who are determined to break our spirit. Monday morning will be a test. Everyone is to be at the White House gates at eight o’clock for a huge rally. At nine o’clock we will disband, leaving our pickets in their usual places." She paused; then her reedy voice rose again. "Remember. Be firm."

Laura’s heartbeat accelerated. She would have to miss school, but the Women’s Party came first. Hang Mr. Blair and his vengefulness.

"Laura and Cassie." Miss Logan looked straight at them, the youngest members of the group. "Are you ready to help?"

"The coffee cups will be filled and extra banners provided if the pickets have theirs destroyed," Laura responded resolutely.

Cassie nodded her agreement vigorously.

"That’s the spirit," Miss Logan said.

When she came home from the meeting, Laura still was elated and confident. There would be an ordeal ahead for the women, but in the end they would have the vote!

Closing the door, she walked into the parlor. Why had her mother sat up again tonight? Was she waiting for her again? It wasn’t eleven o’clock yet.

Maude Mitchell and Sarah, talking and knitting, looked up when Laura entered the room. She stood surveying them. "Hello, why are you still up?" she asked suspiciously. It probably meant another lecture.

"Come here, Laura." Her mother stood, leaving the rocking chair still moving. "We received two letters today. One from Michael and one from Frank!"

Laura’s elation came, and a sense of relief washed over her. Their two military men were still alive. She ran to Sarah, hugging her. "I’m so glad you heard from him. It’s been a long time."

"Six weeks," Sarah answered.

"What did Frank have to say?" Laura knew better than to ask to read his letter. Sarah never shared Frank’s words with anyone, but she did tell them a few general things.

Sarah’s face beamed. "He shot down two German Fokkers and was awarded the Croix de Guerre." She added happily, "Frank has only two more missions to fly and he’ll be given an honorable discharge and sent home!"

Laura, thrilled, took Sarah’s hands and twirled her around the floor. "How wonderful!" When she stopped, she stood with her arm around Sarah’s waist, then her mother joined them, slipping an arm around Laura. Laura’s happiness knew no bounds. She was fortunate to have a mother and sister that were so wonderfully loving. With a stab of remembrance she wished her father could be there with his arms around them, too. Then her world would be completely happy.

"Here’s Michael’s letter. We’ve been waiting all evening for you so you could read it with us." She held out the unopened envelope.

"Sorry," Laura mumbled. "The meeting was a little long." She didn’t go into a further explanation because, if she mentioned the planned Monday rally and picketing, both her mother and Sarah would be upset. Besides, if it came to light that she was planning on staying out of school, Maude Mitchell would get Aldo Menotti or someone equally brawny to drag her, if necessary, into Jefferson High. She had no intention of divulging her secret plans.

With steady fingers she took the envelope and sat in the rocking chair by the Tiffany lamp so she could read Michael’s words without faltering. How sweet of them to wait for her.

Laura read the letter in a clear, steady voice:

165th U.S. Infantry, 

42nd Division 

March 22, 1918 

Dear Mom, Sarah, and Laura,

I received the package. Thanks. Sarah, I’m wearing the socks you knitted, and Laura, I appreciate Booth Tarkington’s Seventeen, and even if it’s too young for me, for some of the boys it’s just the right level.

The Germans started their big offensive yesterday, and we were bombarded all day. The "Big Berthas," their largest cannon, has a range of seventy-five miles and shoots one-ton shells, but it’s not too accurate. This morning all is calm again, but Battery B, about twelve miles west of here, is being shelled.

I’ve seen a lot of gassed soldiers being carried to the rear. We’ve been lucky and only used our gas masks once.

Last week we were singing songs with the Germans across No Man’s Land, the area between the trenches. But this week we’re out to kill one another. It’s a crazy world! Don’t worry, though. The Allies are holding every inch of ground, and the Germans won’t get past the Marne River to capture Paris, which is what old General Ludendorff has in mind! Our commander, Brigadier-General Douglas MacArthur, is a young soldier, but every inch the commander that Ludendorff is! All the soldiers here have great faith in him!

More and more Americans are pouring in, but I have to hand it to the French soldiers and the British, for they’re good fighters. Right now, though, they’re exhausted after so many years in combat and welcome us Yanks with open arms!

I see it’s chow time — more hardtack and mutton, so will stop for now. Keep your letters, photos, and socks coming. 

Love to you all,

Mike

P.S. I knew you’d like Shawn — he’s a fine fellow.

When Laura stopped reading, she dropped the letter in her lap, tears stinging her eyes. If only her brother could come home from the horrors he described.

Here she was, in a beautiful home, and the biggest problem she faced was whether to go out with Joe or Shawn. A wave of despair washed over her. And poor Michael was being shelled and constantly surrounded by mud, blood, and death.

She held her hand over her eyes, wondering if Michael would approve of Miss Paul and her meetings. Yes, she thought. She was sure of it. Michael, just like Father, would applaud her suffragist activities.

Chapter Eleven

Monday morning, May 1, 1918, was to be an extra-special day for the suffragists. The morning dew sparkled on the tulips along the iron fence in front of the Women’s Headquarters at 14 Jackson Place, and the smell of cherry blossoms filled the air. Something else was in the air, too; a sense of excitement and exuberance swept through the women in the crowd. It was as if this rally were the last hurdle to jump before they reached the finish line.

Laura swelled with pride as she joined the ranks of women in Lafayette Square, where they gathered in front of the door of their cream-colored tiled mansion in anticipation of Alice Paul’s speech. Laura wished Cassie were here, but she had foolishly told her parents about the rally, and Dr. Whiting forbade his daughter to miss school. He even personally had chauffeured her to the steps of Jefferson High.

Laura’s excitement heightened as she observed the hall’s facade. A red, white, and blue banner was draped dramatically on one side of the door, while on the other was the purple, white, and gold banner, the tricolor of the Women’s Party.

When Miss Paul emerged, a loud cheer greeted her as the slight woman waved. Her voice carried throughout the hushed audience. "The pickets need everyone’s support," she exhorted. "This week will be grim, with prison staring us in the face again, but remember, we will gain more and more Americans' sympathy. Police Chief Bentley will find that if he arrests us, the climate is very different from when I went to prison last October!" She stopped to study her audience, then smiled. "I have deep faith in every one of you and want you to know your efforts are appreciated.

"Now," she said, adjusting her spectacles, "for our strategy. We will keep our same pattern, six pickets at the east gate and six pickets at the west gate. Again I must remind you that it will not be easy, and anyone that desires to drop out is free to do so with no censure whatsoever."

The women stirred restlessly, obviously with no intention of dropping out, eager only to begin their show of strength in front of the White House.

Miss Paul went on. "I’ve asked fifty of you to accompany me to the Senate today, to lobby for our amendment." She paused, searching the crowd in front of her, then, pointing a finger at a striking brunette, she called, "Miss Younger, please come forward."

A young woman in the audience modestly walked to a place by Miss Paul’s side. "I give you Miss Younger," Miss Paul said loudly. "The woman responsible for organizing our lobby efforts. Since she took over the Lobbying Committee, twenty-two senators have changed their minds about the suffragist amendment, and they, in turn, are persuading their fellow congressmen to vote the right way! Please, a round of applause for Miss Younger!"

The clapping sounded sharp and loud in the early-morning air. Miss Younger held her arms above her head, smiling broadly.