Opening the cell door, the matron glowered at her but didn’t touch her again. "In with you," she snarled.

Once the cell doors shut, Laura sank down on the cot. The day stretched interminably ahead.

The long hours dragged by, and she still couldn’t bring herself to touch her food. She glanced at Mrs. Lewis and Rowena, who were eating their bread. The corridor was very quiet. How frustrating not to be able to speak to one another! The silent corridor with its long shadows appeared ominous and eerie.

Later, when the lights were turned off, she stood on tiptoe on the cot’s edge to peer through the bars. The Capitol dome shone in the streetlights. Bitterness flooded through her. The dome was the symbol of freedom, democracy, justice! Words, words, and more words. They meant nothing.

Saturday night was almost gone, and there had been no messages all day.

Throwing herself on the cot, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Was it all a hideous nightmare ? Would she wake up tomorrow in her own bed? But as she stared at a roach skittering across the wall, the bars throwing black stripes along the moonlit wall, she knew this was real.

Chapter Sixteen

Sunday’s subdued morning light filtered through the rain-streaked windowpane, but the steady patter didn’t diminish her spirits. Today, please God, she would be released.

Although she was starving, she hadn’t touched her breakfast gruel. She couldn’t. If Alice and Lucy could go on a three-week hunger strike, she could manage without food for two days! Her bruised collarbone was a constant, dull throb. Nonetheless, she knew it wasn’t broken. Her spirits lifted even more when she thought of this afternoon and Shawn’s arrival. She was eager to see him and tried to look as clean as she could under the circumstances. She splashed water on her face, combed her thick hair, then re-braided it. Her gray gown was wrinkled, and the coarseness was scratchy against her skin. She wriggled, feeling like such a clod in it. What she wouldn’t give to scrub every inch of herself in a sudsy bath and then wash her hair. Still and all, she was able to smile at Rowena and Mrs. Lewis across the way.

When lunch came, she ate a few bits of the stale bread, then began her constant watch toward the corridor door. Surely the matron would come any minute and tell her Shawn was here. Visiting hours were over at three, so he had to come soon.

Two o’clock and still no Shawn. She lay down, her spirits plummeting. Had he forgotten her?

Just as she’d almost given up hope, the frowning matron, without a word, unlocked her cell door and jerked her head toward the waiting room, saying gruffly, "You’ve got someone waiting."

Her heart soared. As she hurried to the visitor’s room she looked around and there he was, leaning nonchalantly against a chair. The khaki uniform he wore fit him as if a tailor had measured him first, and the match-leggings were neatly wrapped around his muscular legs. His brown hair was in perfect waves, and his blue eyes danced as he stood with his hands on his hips, surveying her. "I don’t know," he said, teasing. "Is this my Laura of the cascading hair?" He moved closer, pretending to inspect her, lifting a braid and letting it fall across her breast.

She smiled feebly. She knew she looked awful, but she had worked hard to make herself presentable.

"Oh, Shawn," she murmured, moving into his comfortable arms.

He stroked her head, holding her tighter.

"Ouch," she whispered.

"What’s wrong?"

She smiled ruefully. "When I was arrested, the policeman hit me with his nightstick, and my shoulder is still sore."

He shook his head, holding her more tenderly. "Laura, my poor Laura."

She muttered against his rough-grained wool jacket, "I thought I’d be home by today."

"Isn’t this home?" he said dryly. "The suffragists seem to inhabit this district jail more than anyone else!"

She stepped back, her blood rising, but she was too weary to fight with him. "We’ll be here as long as it takes," she responded quietly as she moved out of his arms and sat in a straight-backed chair.

"And what about school?" His eyebrows lifted, and he drew up a chair, straddling the seat with his arms resting on the chair back.

Crossing her ankles, she sat with her eyes cast down. "I don’t know just what I’ll do if I’m thrown out of school, but I’ve been weighing my options." She looked up and met his eyes unflinchingly. "I may work full-time at National Headquarters."

Abruptly Shawn pushed his chair forward and walked around the room, hands in his pockets. "I don’t know how you could get yourself into this mess. The suffragists are no good for you, Laura. Get out of their organization before they ruin you!" He stopped and watched her reaction, but she kept her face immobile. Shawn continued. "You’ve been beaten with a nightstick; you’ve landed in jail; you’ve been near expulsion; and in all likelihood you’ll be kicked out of school; and you still talk of helping these crazy women!"

Stricken, she could only stare at him.

Shawn stopped pacing and confronted her, his dark blue eyes probing and intent. "When you’re let out of here, and you will be soon, I promise you, I want you to relax for a while. Stop going to your motorcade drills, too. You can’t win the war or win the ballot single-handed!" His voice softened, and he cradled her cheeks with his palms, bringing her face near his. "I love you, Laura. I want to take care of you. Don’t you want that?"

She gazed into his searching eyes as if mesmerized, and a smile spread across her face. His words sounded wonderful — he was wonderful, like a safe haven, and if she ever needed taking care of, it was now!

He smiled, bent his head, and kissed her.

His lips were sweet and lingering. How pleasant it was to lean against him and let him handle her problems. She needed him, she thought, as her arm slid around his neck, pressing her hand against the nape of his neck.

When he released her, her knees wavered, and she felt dizzy. She smiled wryly. Was it love or hunger pangs ?

As if reading her thoughts, he brought out a napkin with four dried apricots and handed them to her. "You’re so pale," he said sympathetically. "Your mother told me you couldn’t eat the food in here, so I thought you might appreciate some nourishment."

She ate one of the wrinkled apricots, savoring each mouthful while surreptitiously watching the matron who was seated by the door, reading. One after the other she ate the apricots, hiding her mouth with her hand, for it was forbidden for food to be smuggled into the prison.

Shawn nodded approvingly.

Eating the last of the fruit, she didn’t know what she needed more, this food or Shawn’s arms around her. "You know, Shawn," she said slowly, "perhaps you’re right. Maybe I do need taking care of. I only get myself into trouble." She noticed his pleased reaction and hastened to add, "But one thing I can’t give up until women have the vote is following Miss Paul."

His mouth set in a straight line. "You can’t or you won’t?" He reached for her hand and coaxed gently, "Not even if I ask you to?"

Her gaze was steady, despite feeling as if his eyes would melt her into submission. "Not even if you ask me, Shawn," she said softly. "Please try to understand."

He shrugged, reaching for his hat, twirling it. He looked so jaunty and self-possessed. "I’ve got to go, Laura."

Her hands became cold and clammy. "You’re not angry with me, are you, Shawn?" she asked in panic.

"Of course I’m angry!" he said hotly. "I’m tired of coming in a poor second to the suffragists." He tipped his hat farther over his brows and eyed her levelly.

Her lower lip trembled slightly at the thought of his leaving so angry. She wasn’t as brave as she thought. She reached out to him, but he ignored her hand.

"I’ll stop at the front desk and see if there are any new developments on the court order," he said matter-of-factly. "When I came in, that woman lawyer was arguing with the police captain, and she had a sheaf of papers she was waving beneath his nose."

Her pulse picked up a beat. "Perhaps Opal Zacks is negotiating my release, even while we talk. If only I could get out of here today."

"I’ll do what I can," he said cryptically. "But you can’t force them to hurry things along. You ought to know that!"

She closed her eyes and said, "To eat a wonderful dinner, to go dancing with you, to weed the garden, to be free. I can’t wait!"

He eyed her dress. "I can’t wait, either. To see you with your hair done up and wearing your lavender dress." He glanced around. "If I could have brought you a saw file, I would have done that, too." He grinned ruefully. "There must be more than one way to break you out of jail!" Impishly he pinched her cheek. "I’d like to see those cheeks rosy and a smile on those pretty lips."

She smiled tremulously, relieved at his mood change.

"Time’s up!" the matron ordered. "Back to your cell." She paused and sneered. "Suffragist!"

With a heavy heart at the thought of the confining cell, she blew Shawn a kiss and accompanied her guard.

As Laura paced back and forth in her small room, she expected Opal Zacks to appear with discharge papers, but no one came, and when the lights were turned off and all the prisoners were ready for bed check, Laura blinked back her tears until the matron had peered into her cell. After her heavy footsteps had receded down the hall she buried her face in the thin pillow and let the torrent gush forth. She cried until she had no more tears. Then, exhausted, she finally dozed fitfully.