For a long moment no word passed between the two sisters, then Sarah lifted her head. "I suppose you’re right," she said mechanically, and with trembling fingers she swept back her disheveled blonde hair, usually so perfectly waved, and faced Laura. "I’m all right, really, I just need to be alone." But her appearance said otherwise. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her pale cheeks were tear-streaked.

"Very well," Laura agreed doubtfully, hating to leave her, especially after she had said she hated suffragists. Laura was a suffragist. Did Sarah actually mean that she hated her, too?

As if reading her thoughts, Sarah managed a wan smile. "I love you, Laura. Forget what I said."

"Oh, Sarah." She hugged her sister tightly, but the close affection between them had disappeared some time ago. Although she held Sarah, things had changed. Sadly Laura turned and left, wondering how long it had been since she and Sarah had sat down and really talked. She remembered when she was fourteen and had confided in Sarah about her feelings for Joe and how his indifference bothered her. Sarah had laughed and told her to have patience… that she was growing up too fast as it was. Now confidences were no longer shared. Their conversations were limited to housework, lectures, and the war effort.

In the next few weeks school was let out for the summer, and things returned to normal. All except Sarah, who was quieter than usual. Nothing seemed to restore her good nature, nothing that is, until a letter arrived from a Lieutenant Bill Crowley.

As they were seated around the table, Sarah held Lieutenant Crowley’s letter. "It’s my turn to read a letter aloud," she said softly.

Laura gave her a sharp look. This was something Sarah had never done before, but perhaps Lieutenant Crowley’s letter would help ease her pain. "Good," she said, "then I’ll pour the tea." She knew this wouldn’t be an easy letter to listen to, for she could see by the address that Lieutenant Crowley had been in Frank’s 94th Aero unit.

Sarah nodded her appreciation as Laura poured the tea; she took a sip and began to read in a composed manner, although the words were scarcely audible:

Chamery, France 

Dear Sarah,

Frank has talked of you so often that I feel I almost know you. This is a hard letter to write, but while I’m in the rest tent, I’ll attempt to describe how Frank died.

Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, our commander, ordered a special service with military honors for Frank, who was shot down behind German lines on May eleventh. He was attacking enemy observation balloons, which is a particularly dangerous target, because there are German Fokker planes above them and machine-gun protection underneath. His French Sqad plane was no match against those kinds of odds. So you see, Sarah, Frank died a heroic death, and we’re all immensely proud of him here. He will be remembered by the men in the 94th squadron.

I guess I was as close to Frank as anyone. He was a shy fellow but one you could always depend upon. When he gave his word, it meant something. As you know, you are Frank’s only family, so I’m gathering his personal effects, including his posthumous Medal of Honor, and if it is all right with you, I’ll bring them to you after the war is over. I’m a Virginia boy myself, so Washington is close to Richmond, my home.

We’ll both keep fond memories of Frank, and I know you must be a special girl to have been engaged to him. I know you are very pretty. I have not packed your picture with Frank’s things and will keep it by my bed. I hope you don’t mind, but it brings a little cheer to my dreary barracks.

Would you please answer this letter so I know you got it?

With my sympathy, 

Bill Crowley

With a catch in her throat Sarah folded the letter, stuffing it in her apron pocket. "I’ll save this letter. Bill Crowley sounds like a good man, and I’m glad Frank had him for a friend."

"I am, too," Laura replied. "Sarah," she asked, brightening, "would you like to go with me to the motorcade unit this morning? The corps is planning to fill trucks with food and medicine for the drive to New York. Even though I’m not eligible to drive, I’ll help load the trucks. It seems the trains are overloaded."

"Sorry, but I can’t," Sarah said. "Mother and I are going to a pot luck this noon at the Red Cross." A small smile made her seem more like the old Sarah. "But thanks for asking."

Lieutenant Crowley’s letter had helped, thought Laura. "Maybe next time," she said, feeling good about asking Sarah. She began to clear the table. "I’ll see you later."

As she washed the dishes she felt so free. It was great not having school and the daily confrontations with Mr. Blair. Even the C he had given her was worth it to be rid of him. Now she had time for her suffragists and more time for Shawn and Joe. She was glad, too, that Sarah had renewed her interest in the Red Cross. For a week she hadn’t gone out of the house, but she had started to do her routine jobs, although the deep hurt she had suffered left a sadness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

As Laura went down the walk toward the motorcade drill grounds, she thought of how her mother and Sarah always seemed to be together. Their relationship had been like that even before her father died, except that she and her father had been inseparable then. How she missed him! Sometimes she felt like an outsider in her own home.

When she arrived at the drill grounds, the Packard trucks were lined up, hoods shining, and ready to be loaded. The five women drivers were dressed in long duster coats, the shaded cap and goggles and the hat with the closely tied veil ready for their two-day drive. Laura examined the packages of hospital supplies and foodstuffs, not wanting to look too closely at the drivers, for she was filled with envy. The trucks would be driving from Washington to New York, where the supplies would be shipped overseas. She wished she could be part of this "Express Run."

After the loading she watched as the five women climbed aboard their vehicles. The engines were cranked into action by fellow drivers, and with the American flags waving smartly in the wind atop the radiator ornament, they started off.

Wearily, Laura turned homeward. She was tired, but she had promised Shawn she would accompany him on the White House tour. What she really would like to do was to spend the time at Headquarters waiting for the results of the Senate vote. Today, June 27, 1918, it would be decided if the amendment would pass or fail, and she longed for the companionship of women she had worked with these past months. The tearoom would be jammed.

As she hurried along, the five trucks led by a motorcycle policeman drove by, with the women honking and waving at her. Huge signs on the trucks' sides proclaimed their destination: "The Washington—New York Express."

After she bathed and changed into a blue summer dress and her lisle stockings and pumps, with an azure satin bow atop her hair, she was ready for Shawn to call for her.

Later, with Shawn on the White House steps, waiting for the guide to begin, she felt every bit as attractive as the two officers' wives on the tour. A breeze came up from the Potomac, blowing loose several curls and tumbling them down onto her forehead. As she shaded her eyes to gaze down the mall at the Capitol she wondered what was happening on the Senate floor. Were Alice Paul and Lucy Burns sitting in the gallery?

Shawn took her arm. "We’re ready to start the tour." He looked at her and winked. "You look prettier every time I take you out! I’d like to think I was the one who brought such a sparkle to those emerald eyes. Wherever did you find that beautiful dress?"

"It’s just a summer dress, which will be new to you, but I can assure you, it is old for me."

As they proceeded into the great hall, passing the former presidents' portraits, Laura was pleased with Shawn’s compliments. Sometimes she felt like a drudge, doing housework, driving, serving coffee, but Shawn made her feel as pretty as a glamorous movie star.

Going into the State Dining Room, the largest room in the White House besides the East Room, she stared in wonder at the heavy oak paneling and big game trophies that Theodore Roosevelt had collected and that Mrs. Wilson was planning to dismantle. Following the group, she marveled at the ornate centerpiece with its sixteen carved figures, each holding up a giant candlestick. The gilt grouping was set on a mirrored base. Laura glanced at Shawn, lifting her eyebrows. "How would you like to live like this?"

"I think I could handle it," he said with a chuckle.

And he could, too, she thought. Shawn was meant for a luxurious life. She turned back to view the high-backed chairs and velvet drapes, imagining President and Mrs. Wilson entertaining one hundred guests from all over the world with the women in jeweled tiaras and men in black tuxedos. The waiters would bring in gleaming silver platters of food, which, with a wide flourish, they would uncover before the guests.

Shawn leaned over and whispered, "General Long is invited here next week for a state dinner for an Arab prince."

"Will you be…" she left the question hanging in the air.

Grinning, Shawn shook his head. "I’m afraid I’ll be waiting for the general in the car."

The sergeant-at-arms motioned Shawn to his side and the two conversed quietly.

It wasn’t until the tour had moved into the East Room and she was admiring the famous Stuart portrait of George Washington that Shawn rejoined her. "Laura?" His blue eyes were troubled.