Vivian Schurfranz - Laura

After working at the canteen Laura hurried to meet Cassie at Headquarters. Cassie, looking cool and sophisticated in her pale apricot dress, was sitting in the tearoom having an iced tea.

"Cassie" — Laura waved, dashing to her table — "how is everything here?"

Cassie’s small mouth turned down at the corners. "Not good. They brought in the women from the workhouse this morning. They’re being nursed upstairs."

"That workhouse hasn’t been used for years," Laura said, appalled that the suffragists would be kept there. "Not since the days of Teddy Roosevelt."

"Melinda and Josephine came back with rheumatism because those underground cells are so cold and damp that you need blankets even in this ninety-five-degree heat."

"I’d like to round up Chief Bentley and all the antisuffragists in the city and throw them in the very same workhouse for a year," Laura said vehemently, her chin jutting forward.

"They’d never last," Cassie said, her eyes liquid fire. "Our women were only there for two weeks, and look how they came out. I’ve been upstairs rubbing arms and legs until I think I’ve got rheumatism in my own hands." She held out her slender fingers, and to Laura they looked perfectly manicured without a mark on them. Cassie continued, "Many of the women got lead poisoning because the water pipes hadn’t been used for years."

"I could cry for them," Laura said. She glanced around. The tearoom didn’t have its usual exuberant noise. Women were subdued, talking quietly in small groups. "Is our duty schedule the same?"

"No, we’re to help the nurses upstairs."

Laura nodded grimly.

After the two girls parted Laura went upstairs to see how she could help.

Lucy Burns was in the front bedroom, and when she saw Laura, she called, "Laura, come in. Am I glad to see you! We’ve been up to our elbows in work." She meant that literally, too, for her sleeves were rolled to her upper arm.

"Whatever you want me to do I will." She glanced at the four beds occupied by four women.

"Bless you, child. Will you fill the water pitchers and fetch some clean towels from the supply room?" Her square face was red with perspiration, and she patted Laura on the back. "If you have time, of course."

"I always have time," Laura said, but silently she wondered if Lucy was taking a barb at her because she hadn’t been anywhere near the protest meeting when Lucy and the others had been imprisoned.

"Oh, one other thing," Lucy said. "Would you read to Mrs. Lawrence ?"

Taken aback, she asked, "Is Mrs. Lawrence all right?"

"A headache and chills." Lucy rubbed her forehead. "I think it took a lot out of her this time. She demonstrated in the rain, then was thrown into a damp cell. No wonder she came in chilled to the bone."

Laura looked over at Mrs. Lawrence, who had been with her in prison, and remembered how brave she had been. Now Mrs. Lawrence huddled beneath the blanket.

"There are six bedrooms on this floor," Lucy explained. "Each room contains four very sick women. Anything you can do to cheer them will be a big help."

"You — you don’t suppose any of them have the flu, do you?" She felt like a coward asking, but there was a little flutter in her heart when she thought of the disease sweeping Europe.

"No," Lucy said matter-of-factly. "I haven’t heard of any cases in Washington yet. There have been a few reported in New York and Boston. Don’t worry, Laura. These women don’t have anything contagious. What most of them have are aches in their backs, arms, and legs." She had an iron glint in her eye. "I’m afraid they’ll have those pains for the rest of their lives." She wrung out a cloth and placed it on Mrs. Lawrence’s forehead.

For a moment Laura couldn’t move, only stand and stare. Why this constant persecution? Why? With leaden feet she moved to refill the pitchers with fresh water. When she finished, she noticed that Mrs. Lawrence’s eyes were open and following her.

"Hello, Laura," the woman said in a weak voice. "This time the workhouse got the best of me."

Laura smiled down at her.

"Oh, Mrs. Lawrence," Laura said, impulsively grasping her hand and holding it. "You’ll feel better in a few days. You need rest and quiet and then you’ll be back on the line."

"As long as it isn’t back in prison," she whispered.

"Lucy said you might like to be read to, is that right?"

Her eyes brightened, and she struggled to sit up, a determined expression on her square face.

Laura chuckled. "I see you like that idea." She picked up the leather-bound book, checked the spine, reading the title aloud, "A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens." She settled herself comfortably in a chair and ordered Mrs. Lawrence to lie back and listen.

Laura began this novel about the French Revolution. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…."

She paused, thinking that this 1859 sentiment was just as relevant in 1918. There were so many good things in her life, such as love and the suffragists, yet so many bad things, such as the war.

"Is that as far as you’re going to read?" Mrs. Lawrence asked wryly, smoothing the covers.

"Sorry," she muttered with a small smile, and continued.

After Mrs. Lawrence had drifted off to sleep Laura quietly made her way downstairs.

By September the women had recovered from their imprisonment and Laura was back in school. Her senior year promised to be a good one, for she liked all her courses and her teachers. Miss Emerson was her adviser and the only time she saw Mr. Blair was in the halls or the main office, which suited her just fine.

On Friday, walking home from school, the sky was as azure blue as Shawn’s eyes. The only clouds in the distance were fleecy white, but there were gray clouds on her horizon, and they made her fearful. There were cases of the flu being reported in D.C. now.

However, her heart lifted along with the breeze that blew through her hair when she thought of tomorrow, for Joe would be back from Fort Myer on a weekend pass. She smiled. Dear Joe. She longed to talk to him about her teachers, the suffragist meetings, and just… everything. How she had missed him! Even if she hadn’t seen him as frequently in the past few months, still knowing that he was there gave her a good, safe feeling. Her muddled feelings were so frustrating. Perhaps when Joe came home she’d be better able to sort out her emotions.

Tomorrow she planned to visit the Menottis' store and hoped he would ask her out. Just for old times' sake. She was disappointed that he hadn’t called to ask her to the movies or for a picnic by the river, but perhaps it wasn’t too late. She had deliberately not made a date with Shawn so she could be with Joe. She breathed in the honeysuckle and thought how much Joe would like going to the zoo and a picnic.

Right now, however, she was on her way to a protest meeting at the Lafayette monument.

When Laura reached Lafayette Square, she stopped short, for there at the base of the statue was Alice Paul and Lucy Burns. She also recognized Julia Emory holding a flaming torch. What was happening? she wondered. There was an expectant edginess to the forty or so women assembled.

Alice had climbed up and stood directly beneath the statue of the Marquis de Lafayette. "Ladies! We’ve heard many speeches about how we need the same freedom that Lafayette helped to bring to this country, but as yet this freedom has been denied to women!" She looked around calmly, but beneath her serenity was an indomitable spirit that fairly radiated from her small face. "And so it is time to do something that President Wilson will listen to!" Her tone was firm and her eyes like steel.

The women, never taking their eyes from her face, stood silently waiting for their leader to proceed.

"We have just learned from Senator Overman that the Senate has no intention of presenting our bill this session…."

There were grumblings and the shuffling of restless feet.

"Here, ladies, are the words that President Wilson spoke to our delegation this morning!" She turned slightly to a tall woman next to Julia Emory, who immediately held up a sheaf of papers.