Vivian Schurfranz - Laura

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."

He cocked an eyebrow upward and grinned. "Anything for thee, fair maiden."

"If you’ll stay and listen to Miss Paul I’ll go to the dance with you." At the sight of his frown she hastened to add, "Her talks are always short." She wanted to add "and inspiring" but thought better of it.

Shawn’s eyes sparkled. "You’ve got yourself a deal, but don’t expect me to become a convert."

"Oh, I won’t." She laughed, but she secretly gave him a sidelong glance, for that’s exactly what she hoped would happen. Miss Paul could sway anyone to her way of thinking.

There was a drumroll, and Miss Paul jumped up on a flower-decorated cart that had been in the parade.

As Laura predicted Miss Paul’s speech was short. The applause was loud and long. Then the band struck up the "Star Spangled Banner."

Miss Paul lightly leaped to the ground.

Lucy Burns next hoisted herself up on the cart. "Ladies, we’ll go back to Headquarters, where Mrs. John Melmon has sent in a catered dinner."

"Too bad you’ll miss the dinner," Shawn said.

"Yes, I would have liked to have gone." She looked at Shawn’s crestfallen face. "But I’ll have to go with you to the dance and have a good time instead. Besides, I can’t wait to get out of this armor!"

He chuckled. "You do look pretty ridiculous."

She frowned with annoyance.

"Hey! No frowns tonight." He leaned over and put his arm around her waist. "I just meant you’d look much more attractive in your lavender dress"—he gave her a lazy look—"and much easier to touch." He gave the back of her armor a sharp reverberating knock.

"Oh, Shawn," she said, laughing, "you’re impossible."

"I know," he said, winking again. "It’s the devil in me." He sobered. "Listen, I need to drive General Long to Blair House in twenty minutes. I’ll pick you up around eight-thirty. How does that sound?"

"Fine. I’ll be dressed and waiting in my lavender dress."

But as she returned the horse to the stable and hurried home, she suddenly felt she wasn’t doing the right thing. The suffragist dinner, the culmination of the whole exciting day, was important, and she had planned to attend. How could Shawn always coax her into veering off in an opposite direction than the one she had planned? She shook her head, feeling that she had been manipulated again, yet the decision had been hers, so why did she have this niggling doubt in the back of her mind?

Later, as she and Shawn climbed the steps leading to Blair House, she thought how much fun she was going to have attending a dance in this wonderful old mansion. How its rosy bricks and white trim shone in the pale carriage lights! It was fitting that this was the State Department’s guest house for foreign dignitaries. And this week, in honor of an Arab emir, the green shutters were thrown wide and she could see through the lace curtains that the dancers were circling and swaying to the music that drifted out over the oleander bushes and magnolia trees.

As she glided across the polished dance floor, inlaid with dark and light woods, and had Shawn’s arms around her, she felt lighthearted, but not lighthearted enough to forget where she should have been.

At the end of the gavotte, Shawn swirled her downward until her back arched and her hair touched the floor.

"I wish I had a picture of you dancing," Shawn said softly. "You’re as graceful and lithe as a wood nymph."

"Shawn, are you sure it isn’t more of the Irish blarney that has sneaked past that sweet-talking mouth again?"

He chuckled, sweeping her back onto the floor when the small orchestra struck up a fox-trot. His dress uniform was set off by immaculate white gloves and puttees. The glittering couples and the hundreds of tapers that lit the hall made her feel like a princess.

It wasn’t until the end of the evening that her guilt resurfaced. She should have gone to the dinner to hear Miss Paul’s plan for the amendment’s passage.

Shawn snapped his fingers before her eyes. "You’re far away."

"No, I’m here, Shawn." She mustered a smile, but even Shawn couldn’t restore her happy mood.

At eleven Shawn took her home in General Long’s auto, so that he could return by twelve-thirty to pick up the general.

When they turned down Cherry Alley and stopped before her house, she touched the door handle.

Reaching over, Shawn grasped her hand. "Sit here for a few minutes."

Glancing at his handsome, smiling face, so close to hers, she felt her heart hammer and her knees weaken. If he planned to kiss her she was more than willing.

Gently he bent his head and fulfilled her wish. Responding to his kiss, she felt as if she could melt in his arms.

"I love you, Laura," he whispered in her ear, his fingers entwined in her hair. "You’re my girl — no one else’s," he murmured in a low voice. Then he sat back, his blue eyes gazing into hers and repeated firmly, "No one else’s."

"Shawn," she said shakily, "I — I am your girl," but her tone couldn’t mask her uncertainty. Even as she said the words a stab of guilt went through her. What about Joe? she thought bleakly.

He faced the windshield, putting both hands on the steering wheel. "I doubt that!" His tone was harsh.

"Shawn," she said, placing her hand on his sleeve, "what’s wrong?" Her voice seemed to echo back at her in the roomy limousine.

He turned then and looked at her.

Did she see a flicker of pain in those darkened eyes? She smiled and restarted her question. "Is everything all right?"

"You’ve said you’re my girl, Laura." He cupped her face in his hands. "Now prove it."

Her pulse stopped, and in the stillness surely her heartbeat could be heard. "How can I prove it?" she asked huskily.

"I don’t want you to see anyone else — not even Joe Menotti." The name came out with bitterness.

"Joe’s my friend," she protested. "He lives above us. I can’t avoid seeing him."

"That’s not exactly what I mean. I don’t want you going on picnics alone with him along the Potomac."

Astonished, she said nothing.

Shawn went on, "I called the other day, and Sarah told me where you’d gone. I was crazy. I almost went after you to pull you away by your hair." He took a deep breath, faced her, and grinned. "But I knew you wouldn’t appreciate a caveman approach." He kissed her lightly on the nose. "Will you stop seeing Joe?"

"I’ll —I’ll think about it," she said, too stunned to say no. Why did Shawn always demand her wholehearted attention ? She was so torn. Was it only a few short months ago that her only yearning was for Joe to recognize that she was a young woman and to put his arms around her? Now, suddenly Shawn wanted her to see only him. Was she ready for that?