"Michael looks wonderful," Laura’s mother said gently. Laura knew the same thought crossed both their minds. Michael was so happy on this sunlit day in the photo, and now he was in the mud of French trenches.

"This is a picture of my mom and dad on their twentieth anniversary," Shawn said, handing them the snapshot.

Shawn’s parents were an attractive couple. His mother was in a flowered chiffon dress and had a shy little smile on her oval face, while Mr. O’Brien had the same grin Laura saw on Shawn’s face.

Laura handed the photo back, noticing that Shawn hastily tucked two snapshots back in the billfold, no doubt a girlfriend or two.

Shawn caught Laura watching his action. Quickly he stuffed the wallet in his pocket and jumped to his feet. "Sorry, but I’ve got to run."

"Could you come to dinner about six o’clock next Saturday evening?" Mrs. Mitchell said, standing also. "I’ll prepare corned beef and cabbage. Any Irishman should like that!"

"The dinner sounds swell!" he exclaimed. "I’ll be here." He turned to Sarah. "Goodbye, Sarah." He bent over Maude Mitchell’s hand and brushed it with his lips. "Mrs. Mitchell." He bowed politely to her and turned to face Laura. "I’m looking forward to seeing you again," he said meaningfully.

Laura walked with him to the front door where Shawn settled his wide hat on his wavy hair. As he slipped into his great overcoat he half-turned and asked bluntly, "Will you go dancing with me one night soon, Laura?" He reached for her hand as if to shake it but held it instead.

She caught her breath. She blushed and gradually pulled her hand free. She answered his brashness with her own. "If you don’t mind having your boots stepped on."

He touched her hair, letting his fingers slide down her cheek, then he laughed and said, "Oh, Laura, you and I are going to get along just fine." With a flick of his finger to his wide brim, he sprinted down the front steps and was gone.

Laura stared at the closed door for several moments. She had never met anyone like Shawn O’Brien before.

Thoughtful, she went upstairs.

As she made her bed, cleaned the bathroom, and mopped the floors, she kept thinking of Shawn. She was glad he was coming next Saturday night for dinner. She began to plan the salad and dessert and what she would need to do, such as polish the silver candelabra and iron the Irish linen tablecloth. With a guilt pang she thought of Joe. What if he asked her to the movies next Saturday? Her happy spirit was dampened. She would simply have to tell him the truth. After all, there was no harm in entertaining a friend of Michael’s. What a ninny she was to be dreaming of Shawn O’Brien with such a flutter in her heart. She had only just met the boy, Joe was the one she loved, had for years, and would forever! She smiled. She was, after all, only fifteen. How could she predict what her future held? She wanted to get out and see the world. As much as she wanted Joe to notice her, she had to admit it was nice when someone else like Shawn admired her right away. Shawn was from New York, and she’d never visited the largest city in America. Someday she would see New York, she vowed. She might even go out with a boy from New York!

Chapter Six

After Laura finished her Saturday morning chores she soaked in a hot tub and thought of Shawn and his flashy style. She had never met anyone quite as gregarious and daring, and it was pleasant to have such a dashing soldier want to take her dancing. Humming, she soaped her arms and scrubbed her neck, wetting a fallen tendril of hair.

While drying herself she wondered how Shawn would adapt to his White House assignment. Knowing Shawn with his cocky smile and charming manners, she knew he’d feel right at home.

Dressing in her middy blouse and wool skirt, she settled down to read a pamphlet on Alice Paul, the leader of the Women’s National Organization in Washington, and then to write her history theme. She decided to start with a poem that Miss Fisher, a suffragist, had written about Alice Paul. The more Laura read about Alice Paul, the more she wanted to meet her, for Miss Paul was the type of woman she would be proud to be like.

The work on her history essay progressed well, and she was pleased with the flow and the idea. She hoped Mr. Blair would be, too. The paper was a fervent appeal for equality for every citizen. Who could argue with such a concept? Certainly not Mr. Blair, who was an American history teacher. Nonetheless, there was a nagging doubt in her mind that perhaps she had gone too far and that he’d find her pro-suffragists' viewpoint indefensible. Perhaps she would only further antagonize him and he would become angrier with her.

At seven o’clock, when she had finished recopying her essay, the doorbell rang and she dashed downstairs to greet Joe. She was always impressed with his tall, slender frame and the way he moved with such grace.

"Hello, Laura," he said. "It’s a beautiful evening for the rally. Fifty-seven degrees, which isn’t bad for February." He talked about the weather, but his eyes said he wanted to talk of other things.

Laura wondered if she and Joe were going to go through life being so shy with one another that they would never touch or kiss. She smiled at the idea. "Joe," she said brightly, "you look wonderful." And he did, too, dressed in knickers and a heavy navy sweater, belted in back.

He grinned, white teeth flashing against dark skin. He was so good-looking and sweet, she had the mad impulse to give him a hug.

"You don’t look bad yourself, Laura." He reached for her coat. "Let me help you."

Fastening her coat at the neck, she went into the parlor for Sarah. "We’re ready to leave."

Putting aside her sewing, Sarah rose and slipped into her brown suit jacket. "Laura," she said, her rosy cheeks shining and taking away her matronly look, "my bedspread is almost finished."

"Your hope chest must be bulging," Laura said, chuckling. "Frank will be overwhelmed." She handed Sarah her hat. "Come on, the rally will begin, and you’ll be too late to see your idols, Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford."

Lafayette Square was thronged with thousands of people. It was true that Washington had almost doubled in population in wartime, but Laura didn’t think they would all be at the rally tonight.

Joe, holding both sisters' arms, maneuvered them through the crowd and nearer the platform.

Sarah clutched Laura’s hand when the announcer came out and told the audience that Mary Pickford was ill and had to cancel her appearance. "Oh, no," she whispered. "I so wanted to see her!"

"But ladies and gentlemen," the announcer continued loudly, "Douglas Fairbanks will be on stage as promised, and as an added attraction, Al Jolson will sing for us!" He leaned down and winked broadly. "Wait until you see these two silver screen stars, ladies. I hope you have your smelling salts handy!"

Then, in the midst of his introduction, Douglas Fairbanks dashed onto the stage and stood before the flag-draped grandstand, blowing a kiss first to the row of Red Cross girls standing at attention behind him and then to the audience. His exuberance and smile seemed to reach out and embrace the crowd. It was little wonder he was so popular.

Joe leaned down and asked Sarah, "What do you think of your handsome movie star? Does he fulfill your expectations?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed. "Look at him. He’s so slender and agile. No wonder he’s able to do all his own stunts in the movies." Then her face clouded. "I did want to see Mary Pickford, though."

Just then Douglas Fairbanks, megaphone in hand, exhorted the crowd to buy Liberty Bonds. "Raise your hand if you’ll buy a ten-dollar bond!" he shouted. Sarah raised her hand, caught up in the excitement of the banner waving and the band playing Sousa’s "Stars and Stripes Forever."

Knowing how Joe scrimped and saved for medical school, Laura was surprised that he, too, bought a bond. She wished she could afford to buy one; however, she had filled five twenty-five-cent Liberty Stamp books. The popular phrase "Lick a Stamp and Lick the Kaiser" flashed through her mind, and she pledged that she’d fill another book before the month of February was over.

The Red Cross girls passed through the crowd and collected more money and more pledge cards.

As the people dispersed Laura thought that the evening must have been a huge success for the government. It was as if a momentum was building to give Germany a knockout blow — and soon. America was on the march!

When they reached home, Laura started to go in, but Joe reached for her hand. "Stay a minute," he urged.

Amazed and pleased, Laura walked to the back of the house with Joe, where they paused in front of the outside stairs leading to the Menottis' apartment.

Joe, still holding her hand, said with a broad smile, "I’m glad you invited me tonight, but I still want to take you out on a Saturday night. How about next Saturday?"

Inwardly she groaned. "Oh, Joe, I’d love to, but we’re entertaining one of Michael’s army buddies."

"Oh?" Joe’s eyebrows shot up. "Who is he?"

His eyes were too difficult to fathom in the dark, but she hoped they showed disappointment. "His name is Shawn O’Brien; he’s from New York. He and Michael were in boot camp together at Fort Sheridan."

"Is Shawn passing through Washington on his way overseas?" Joe asked casually.

"No, he’ll be stationed at the White House as an aide to General Long."