I am wanting to speak to Mr. Jorgensen,

Vera’s brother. I tell her I’m home alone.

Can you give to your father a message for me?

(No, I’m tempted to reply, we’ve had all

the bad news we can take.) Of course, I answer,

picking up a pencil. My name, she says,

is Ruby Madsen. I am living

in Washington, and I have been

picketing the White House with Vera.

She is in prison for five weeks now.

(Five weeks? I’ve lost track of time!)

They are beginning to see they can’t

prison us forever—they release a few

women already. Vera still refuse to eat,

no matter how hard things are for her.

You know how strong she is in her mind,

but in her body she is very weak now.

We are hoping they release her next week,

but she can’t travel alone then. I want to ask

your father can he come to Washington

to travel home with his sister. Ruby gives me

a number where she can be reached, and asks me

to have Papa call her back or send a telegram.

I’ll give him the message, I promise.

I stay on the line to find out how many

people have been listening in.

Two clicks—no, three. Who else, besides

the operator, heard our conversation?

I hitch up the horses as quickly as I can—

I want to reach the lumberyard and give Papa

this message before he hears it as the gossip

it will become within the hour.

Muriel Can Help / Muriel

Muriel Can Help

Muriel

I don’t see how I can go, Papa says to Mama.

We’re shorthanded at work as it is these days.

He studies Mama’s face. Could you go? he asks.

Mama shakes her head. It’s all too much; I’m

going to quit my job—Ollie needs me at home.

But that’s the reason I can’t do this for Vera.

How could I be away for a week right now?

Ollie objects—he’s finally woken up, after sleeping

for twelve hours a day, six days in a row—I have to

learn to take care of myself sometime, Ma.

Go ahead, if you want to—Muriel can help me.

Mama glances from me to Ollie, and then

to Papa; she opens her mouth, closes it—

she doesn’t want to go, she’s hurt that Ollie

doesn’t think he needs her, and neither she,

nor anyone, questions Ollie’s assumption

that “Muriel can help.” They all know

I’ll do what’s asked of me, in this, as always. I see

in that glance a long lifetime ahead of me—am I to be

“my brother’s keeper”? His right arm? Even as

I’m forming words, about to spill them out,

I’m wary of hurting Ollie and Mama,

wishing Papa would come to my defense