These days, however, the news took precedence even over Shawn. She, along with everyone else, eagerly devoured the papers. The German offensive was coming up against strong resistance, and over one million American troops along the western front had given a renewed fighting spirit to the Allies. The news today had been encouraging. Last week, on a misty morning with over four hundred tanks, the British had surprised the Germans and pushed them back east of Amiens. The Germans' previous gains had placed them in a vulnerable position, for they no longer had the heavy fortifications of the von Hindenburg line to protect them. At Amiens the Allies had captured over thirty thousand prisoners and taken some five hundred guns. General Ludendorff had called this the "Black Day of the German army," but according to the Post, there was plenty of hard fighting left.

Despite the German offensive’s being broken, Laura was concerned about Michael. She worried constantly about his whereabouts. The casualty lists were mounting, as hundreds of names were printed daily. Surely the Mitchells wouldn’t lose two men in the war. Every day she watched for Clara, along with Sarah and Mom, and every day the postmistress shook her head. No letter from Michael. Clara knew what the black-edged flag in their window meant and knew the fear of adding a second one.

Leisurely Laura swung back and forth in the hammock, and her thoughts strayed to Opal Zacks and the talk they had had. Maybe she should think about becoming a lawyer, too. At least she needed an idea or two about her future. She was no longer a child, she thought with a sigh. In just a few months so many things had happened that made her grow up. The transformation of her body, two beaux awakening her love, becoming a suffragist, being jailed, helping train recruits at the motorcade, and Frank’s death. Yes, it was time she had some direction in her life. Miss Zacks had convinced her that more women needed to go into the professions, and although a lawyer could help, wouldn’t a compassionate teacher like Miss Emerson prove to be just as important?

A warm breeze drifted across her face, and the scent of the yellow roses was pleasant. She watched a pair of bluebirds flit from tree to tree. They were sure of their place in the world. Why couldn’t she be?

It was two weeks later when the whole world exploded for Laura. The suffragist arrests had started all over again — including Alice Paul’s. As Laura washed her hair she rubbed the soap into her scalp so hard that it tingled. When was the President going to do something for them? When was he going to see how many wrongs had been done against women? Her eyes burned, not from the soap, however, but when she thought of the forty-seven women who had been arrested. To think she had been out with Shawn. She hadn’t attended the rally and thus missed the fiery speeches at the foot of the Lafayette monument.

"Laura! Laura!" Sarah said excitedly, rushing into the bathroom. "I’ve put the teakettle on!"

Rinsing her hair, Laura almost banged her head against the faucet. "Sarah," she said, her voice sounding muffled as she bent over the sink, "does this mean there’s a letter from Michael?"

"Yes, it just arrived. Hurry. Mother’s cutting the cake."

"Pour the vinegar solution over my hair, please, Sarah?"

Carefully Sarah poured a stream of the solution over Laura’s rich hair, cutting the soap. The pungent, acrid odor hung in the air.

"I’ll be right there," Laura said, wrapping a towel turban-fashion around her head.

Coming into the kitchen, she squeezed her mother around the waist. "At last, eh, Mom?"

The letter was propped against her cup, ready to be read. Laura slit open the envelope, took out the contents, and began to read in a clear voice:

July 30, 1918 

Charlons-sur-Marne 

Dear Mom, Sarah, and Laura,

The Rainbow Division has left the British sector and joined the French army under General Gouraud. The German offensive we expected didn’t materialize, so the general ordered us to work on our main line of defense. It’s a good thing, because the Germans charged us the other day. You can’t believe how the Germans are still trying to cross the Marne and capture Paris. The prisoners we’ve taken are mainly either old men or fourteen-year-old kids. Today, though, Foch has ordered a massive counter-offensive and we move forward in three hours. There’s something in the air that spells victory for us! I can feel it! The Americans have given a good account of themselves at Cantigny, Belleau Wood, and Château-Thierry. Even our Chief of Staff, Douglas MacArthur, has won the Distinguished Service Medal. I predict he’s going to go far in the army! Today was a sad one; the poet of our division, Joyce Kilmer, was killed by a sniper’s bullet — you remember, he wrote "Trees." I’m sorry about Frank, Sarah. Those airmen put their lives on the line every time they take up their planes. You don’t know how much they’ve done, though, and how much the infantry depends upon them when we go into battle.

I have the photo of the three of you that Shawn snapped propped up on my knapsack. Every time I think this war will never end, I look at your smiling faces and know that nothing can keep me from coming home to you. When we go through a French town, we’re offered crusty bread, cheese, and wine. The villagers almost kiss the ground we march on. There hasn’t been time to really meet anyone, so I’m eager to get back to Washington — to see you, to sleep in a soft bed, and to eat a meal without the sound of exploding shells.

I enjoyed your letter, Laura. I see you’re going out with Shawn. He’s my good buddy, but in all honesty, he can be a heartbreaker, too. No, I don’t think you’re silly for being a suffragist. That takes a lot of grit, something you’ve always had!

Tell everyone hello. I won’t be able to write too often as new marching orders come almost every day.

With all my love,

Mike

P.S. Send me socks. Dry socks are as scarce as German beer. I’ll bet I could sell a pair for five dollars!

"Today’s August eighteenth," Laura mused. "I wonder how far they’ve gone and where they’re fighting since he wrote this."

Maude Mitchell looked up, eyes bright with tears. "He’ll be in the thick of it, that’s for certain. He’s like you, Laura — Michael never was one to hang back."

"He’s right about the pilots," Sarah interjected. "Bill Crowley wrote yesterday and said their planes fly low and go in ahead of the infantry. The American Expeditionary Force really depends on them."

Laura’s eyes grew round. "So Bill Crowley said the AEF really depends on the pilots, eh? How many letters have you received?"

Smiling, Sarah said, "Only two."

"And you didn’t say anything?" Laura said. "Sarah, you’re a sly dog. You are such a private person, isn’t she, Mom?"

"Yes, she is," Maude answered, raising her brows. "Did this Bill Crowley write anything about the war in his last letter?"

"Very little." Sarah threw out her hands and with an apologetic smile said, "He told me a little of his upbringing, that’s all. He’ll be discharged September first and will bring me Frank’s things soon after."

"September first," Laura said in a low voice. "That’s Joe’s induction day." She must stop by the Menottis' store and see them. It had been weeks, but she’d had other things on her mind, although that hardly excused her from spending a few minutes with old friends.

Laura’s mother pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. "It’s almost time to go to the Canteen Center, girls." She glanced at Laura with a worried frown. "You’re going with us, aren’t you, Laura?"

"Of course. I promised, didn’t I?" She flushed.

"Promises don’t mean much if Alice Paul beckons," her mother said dryly.

"Mother, you know the past two weeks have been turmoil at Headquarters."

"Oh, yes, who hasn’t heard of the arrests?" Maude drained her cup, remaining calm.

"I thought the arrests were to be over after you had been released from jail, Laura," Sarah said, puzzled.

"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!"