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her own room, happily having diverted them from any discussion of her surprising interaction with Matt. It wouldn’t do to have people in the boardinghouse speculate about the two of them. She refused to do any speculating on her own, either. She buried Matt’s odd behavior in the back of her mind and got ready for bed.
    Outside the wind was blowing fiercely; snowflakes struck the windowpane. She closed her eyes, hoping for a heavy snowfall. She always felt curiously happy, often content, too, on snowy days.

Chapter Three
    Saturday’s march was lively. It was held after dark with torches to light the path of the marchers. More than four hundred women showed up, carrying placards. Tess marched between two women she knew vaguely, but she missed the company of her friend Nan.
    â€œIsn’t this exciting?” the girl beside her asked. “We’re bound to win with such large numbers of us demanding the vote now.”
    Tess agreed, but less wholeheartedly. She’d learned one terrible truth in her young life, and that was the bullheadedness of government in the face of demands for change. Regardless of how just the cause, the people in power in Washington were avid in supporting the status quo. Roosevelt was keen on creating a safe place for wildlife and showing pride in the American spirit. But he was also a believer in Manifest Destiny, and a manly man. Tesswondered if he shared the same attitude toward women that most men of his generation harbored—that women were created only to keep house and bear children and look after men.
    Demonstrations inevitably attracted spectators; Tess glanced around at them. A man waving a flag that read Up With Labor stepped from the street into the ranks of the women, bringing a small body of cohorts with him.
    â€œThis is not your group!” one woman yelled at him.
    â€œThis struggle is also the workers’ struggle!” the man yelled back, and kept marching. “We support your cause! Down with oppression of all kinds!”
    â€œYou see?” one of Tess’s companions grumbled. “We cannot even hold a rally without having a man step in and try to lead it. Well, I’ll just show him a thing or two!”
    The small, matronly woman turned in the throng with her placard held like a club and beaned the advocate for laborers with it right on his bald spot.
    He yelped and dropped the banner, and the few men and women who were in his group started attacking the women’s rights marchers.
    Tess stood very still and gave a long sigh as she heard the first of many police whistles start to sound. The authorities had looked for a way to break up this march, and the communist had given it to them. The small scuffle became a melee.
    As she tried to move back from the combatants, Tess was aware of a newcomer who didn’t seem to be part of either group. He was tall and young, expensively dressed,and he carried a cane. He seemed to be looking straight at her. While she was wondering about the odd incident, she was suddenly knocked down and all but trampled as the fighting accelerated.
    She never lost consciousness, but she heard a metallic sound through the commotion of loud voices. She rolled to avoid being stepped on, and as she did, her arm was hit a mighty blow. It throbbed, and even though the light was dim, she could see that the sleeve of her jacket and blouse seemed to be ripped through.
    Two policemen were on either side of her when she looked up again. One of them, kindly and older, assisted her to the sidewalk. Muttering about people who couldn’t live and let live, he left her on the stoop of an apartment house. Two small boys played with a hoop and gave her curious stares.
    She wished that she could open her blouse and look at her arm because it felt wet as well as bruised under her torn jacket, but to do something so indecent in public would start another riot. She wondered how she was going to find the carriage and driver