Sash Abandoned in the Snow

Muriel

I open my eyes and look around.

The man who hit me has disappeared—

into the paddy wagon, I assume

(the police are locking it).

Ruby and Mrs. Ellis help me to my feet.

Are you needing an ambulance? asks Ruby.

No, I answer, I’ll be okay in a minute.

The crowd is dispersing, but …

all these banners on the ground, and …

Where are the picketers? I ask.

Ruby points to the paddy wagon

driving off. Not the brutal man inside,

but eleven peaceful women. Why? I ask.

“Obstructing traffic,” Ruby mimics.

Mrs. Ellis gathers up the banners.

She’ll need help carrying them back to

headquarters. A lump is rising on my forehead

as I kneel to pick up a gold-and-purple sash—

torn, abandoned in the snow. I fold it

carefully and put it in my pocket.

Grace Brings a Message / Emma

Grace Brings a Message

Emma

Grace brings a message on the day

we thought Muriel would be coming home.

Muriel got hurt. She was in a suffering picket line.

Aunt Vera isn’t out yet. They won’t be home until next week.

She must mean “suffrage.” My first thought, unfortunately, is not:

What happened to Muriel? Oh, I’m so sorry! How badly is she hurt?

But rather: Another long week of doing half of her work, plus my own.

Grace looks tired. She’s doing as much as she can; I don’t want to moan

to her about this—she’s a child. I go back to the ironing. Father’s shirt

is missing its top button—where is it? Then Grace says, I’m hot,

Emma. Will you walk partway with me—as far as the creek?

It’s been too long since I, or any of us, have made time

for Grace. Wait a minute—her face … How come

it’s so red? Yes, I’ll walk you home, I say.

We’re Winning / Muriel

We’re Winning

Muriel

The goose egg on my head has gone down.

Ruby and I wait with Mrs. Ellis at the prison gate—

I’m telling them about Aunt Vera: When she

comes to visit, she always brings a book for me, a toy

for Grace. She brings Ollie chocolates,

and something practical for Papa—a handsaw

or a box of nails. For Mama, she finds a new hat

or dress—the latest fashion from Chicago.

Mama always says, “Oh, I could never

wear something so flamboyant, Vera—you

keep it; it looks better on you.” But in the end,

Mama usually keeps her gift;

occasionally she even wears it.

I’m smiling at these memories, picturing

Aunt Vera getting off the train last Christmas

in her blue wool coat and matching hat,

sweeping me into a big hug …

Here she is. What does Mrs. Ellis mean?

I see the prison gate swing open—

but here who is? The woman

who walks toward us on the arm