Vivian Schurfranz - Laura

The influenza epidemic had hit Boston, with over five-hundred deaths reported. By law Bostonians could only venture outside if they were wearing a face mask. But New York was one of the hardest hit cities in the country, with almost twenty-five thousand registered deaths.

By the first part of October there were over seven hundred flu cases reported in Washington. No one, however, least of all President Wilson, seemed too alarmed. In fact, the president had a little limerick he recited about the flu:

Laura wasn’t too concerned about the flu, either, as she sat in English class, ready to give her recitation on Emmeline Pankhurst. She was well prepared and spoke clearly and firmly.

When Laura finished and gathered up her notes, she was greeted with a round of applause. Even Olaf Jorgensen beat his large hands together in approval.

"That was terrific, Laura," he whispered after she was seated. His ruddy, large face was beaming.

Laura was pleased also. After class she was delighted to learn that Miss Foster had given her an A+.

Walking home, she felt the brisk air enlivening her step. The pin oak, red oak, and silver maples were beginning to change to new autumn colors, and she spied a yellow finch darting from one tree to another.

Fall was her favorite time of year. She loved the tangy air, the red and yellow fall leaves, and the brisk breeze from the north. She smiled when she thought of Washington’s nickname — "the green-and-white city" — because of all the trees with white buildings nestled in between. In the autumn, however, the city didn’t live up to the name, for the trees took on too many vibrant hues.

She was happy about life, too. Shawn was beginning to listen to her and recently had said nothing derogatory about the suffragists. Perhaps she was making a difference in his attitude after all. She did long for the old casual footing she had with Joe, but that seemed to have disintegrated even before his confrontation with Shawn. Maybe when he came home on October twenty-second, things would be different. But even as the thought flickered through her mind, she was afraid it was only wishful thinking. She’d been doing too much wishful thinking lately. Joe seemed bent on stepping aside for Shawn, and perhaps he was right. Her mother had tried to steer her to Joe, but now she was the one that needed to make a choice. The old frustrated feelings welled up inside, closing her throat. What should she do?

She patted her knapsack bulging with note cards. Because of her neat handwriting, Lucy Burns asked her to recopy fifty cards for the index. She had agreed but would much rather have been the one to be calling the senators or what the newspaper called "tele-suffing." Although all the suffragists had received a "Don’t List" on how to talk to a senator, it didn’t do her any good. She was too young. She remembered some of the "Don’ts" on the list that each new interviewer was given, though, such as:

She sighed. It was always her age that stood in the way. A person-to-person interview with a senator she could understand, but why couldn’t she call? She could crank the phone, give the operator the number, and talk pleasantly to a senator just as well as the older women.

Dashing up the steps, she took the mail from the box and unlocked the door. As she sifted through the mail — the Ladies Home Journal, an advertisement for a shampoo — she noticed that her mother and Sarah were gone. Her heart lurched when she saw a letter from Michael; at least his name was on the return address. But it wasn’t his handwriting. She shed her long, loose vest and tore open the envelope. Something must be wrong!

Hastily she scanned the contents:

Dropping the letter in her lap, Laura stared at the grandfather clock with its gilt Roman numerals, but even when the chimes rang, the time didn’t register. She was thinking of Michael, who had helped shape her ideas and taught her, as her father had done, to stand firm in her beliefs as long as they didn’t hurt people. How much fun she had growing up with Michael! The memory of their fishing expeditions on the Potomac, where they fished for brook trout, came flooding back. Smiling wistfully, she remembered how Mike had allowed her to wear his old knickers and vest and how she had tucked her mass of hair beneath one of his large caps. With a pole balanced on her shoulder she marched proudly by his side.

Her eyes brimmed with tears when she thought of how things had changed. Mike was lying wounded in France, and she was involved in other interests. Becoming an adult was often filled with loss and pain. She sighed. There was little chance they would ever recapture those carefree fishing days.

She propped the letter on the hall table where her mother and Sarah would be certain to see it. With a sad weariness she went up to her room to work on the note cards.

In the next few weeks Laura was involved in the Banner Campaign, which consisted of picketing the Senate and especially the thirty-four senators who had voted against the amendment.

On Saturday she, along with Cassie and other suffragists, marched to the Capitol.

She glanced at Cassie, feeling a deep commitment to her country and the women with whom she marched. The impressive white dome with its many columns representing states of the union and the Goodness of Freedom crowning the cupola all made her tingle with pride.

They mounted the steps with the banner held between, each girl holding a wooden support. The columns surrounding them and the marble entrance were splendors Laura had forgotten. Perhaps she should return to her dream of becoming an architect.

Quietly she and Cassie stood atop the steps as men and women passed, some stopping to read their banner and others pointedly ignoring them. Dressed in her wine-colored suit, Cassie was the epitome of grace, while Laura, in the bulky navy sweater and skirt, made quite a contrast. Still, their yellow sashes indicated they were of one mind!