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Liberty, but she loved art.  The stained glass windows in the church had given her the impetus to learn more about the great artists of the Renaissance and the impressionist movement in Europe.  She longed to go to Paris and walk through The Louvre museum.  For Hannah, her desire to work in a museum stemmed from her love of art, and the desire to be in an environment that made her feel alive.  How could she reconcile her two loves?  Would she have to abandon one to keep the other?
    When she got home, she sat on a rocking chair on the porch and took off her hat, held it on her lap and ran her fingers over the lilac ribbon around the crown.  A soft breeze ruffled her hair, and a few strands blew across her face.  She brushed them back, putting them behind her ear.  The sky was bright blue and the clouds, full and fluffy white, were marbled with gray highlights.  The world was full of artistic inspiration.  She could feel the clay in her hand as she shaped those clouds.  She didn't realize she was molding the air until Becky came onto the porch and began to laugh.
    "What are you making this time?" she asked.
    Hannah smiled.
    "I was making that cloud up there," she said, pointing to the sky.
    Becky looked up.
    "It is pretty.  So, I saw you walk off with John, but you came back alone."
    "We had a fight," Hannah said.
    "Not again," Becky said.
    She sat in the other rocking chair.
    "He said a woman shouldn't work if she has a husband to support her."
    "Oh, he did, did he?  Hasn't he heard of women's suffrage?"
    Becky had become entranced by the burgeoning woman's movement.  At the age of twelve, her interest in bettering the lot of women had begun the day she asked her father why women couldn't vote, and he slapped her so hard across the face that she fell into the wall. 
    "You'll never get a husband talking like that," he said.
    At that moment, Becky decided that in that case, she didn't want a husband.
    I'll provide for myself , she thought.
    At that age, she didn't understand how limited her choices for employment would be, and when, at sixteen she went looking for work, the only jobs she could find were for servants and shop girls.  Becky wasn't plain, but she had a tendency to look angry, with narrowed eyes and a pinched mouth.  Her brown hair was as straight as a stick, and she usually wore it in a tight bun to keep it in place.  She hated stray hairs and would often pull them out if they annoyed her, and then would have to deal with the short hairs that resulted from her habit. 
    Shopkeepers wanted happy, pretty girls working in their shops, so Becky began her career as a kitchen maid at the house of Marian's parents in Philadelphia.  When Marian married, Becky was sent with her to the house in New Beach where she worked as both housekeeper and ladies' maid.  She and Marian had grown close since Randall died, and every night, before going to sleep, she thanked God for bringing them together.
    She looked at Hannah's sweet face and sighed.
    "Men think they rule the world.  Wouldn't it be something if they knew the truth?"
    "He's leaving, Becky," Hannah said.  "His father is sending him to New Brunswick to some private school to prepare him for college."
    "That sounds like a good idea.  Give the boy a leg up on the others."
    "But I didn't think he was leaving until next year."
    Becky saw one tear roll down Hannah's face.
    "Now, don't go getting all upset," Becky said as she patted Hannah's hand.  "Did he say he'd write to you?"
    Hannah nodded.
    "He even asked me to wait for him."
    "Well, now, see?"
    "I know, but he's my best friend.  What will I do without him?"
    "You'll find a new friend.  Maybe some nice girl who has no friends, too."
    "I've never been close to a girl.  All they talk about is getting married."
    "Well, I've got nothing to say to that.  I saw you come up the stairs and came out to tell you lunch is ready."
    Becky got up and went inside, leaving Hannah on the porch to brood.  John was