July 2, 1950

The police found Rose Quartz's body just after sunrise, surrounded by the books she'd loved.

Rose's Cooperative Bookshop.

A modest store in the middle of Washington, not far from Embassy Row. Two rooms with a few shelves stacked with literature, along with a revolving shelf with new arrivals. There was a small backroom for speakers and meetings, and a little area for employees. Rose lived upstairs in an equally modest apartment.

At a glance, nothing distinguished it from a hundred other little bookstores in Washington. True, it was right next to Sheridan Circle and its equestrian statue, and the row of foreign embassies; many of its patrons were diplomats and State Department officials, recognizable by name if not necessarily appearance. But even that wasn't unusual; after all, DC was the capital, and government officials had to buy books somewhere.

Nothing remarkable. Unless you examined the books themselves. Names and titles to send chills up the spine of any red-blooded American.

Nonfiction books, old and new, by Stetson Kennedy, Owen Lattimore, George Seldes, I.F. Stone. Novels by Upton Sinclair and Howard Fast. A fresh edition of plays by Lillian Hellman. Receiving pride of place, on the revolving display out front, were E.H. Carr's new book on the Soviet Union, and another volume entitled The Peace Imperative, written by one of Rose's most frequent clients, a now-ex State Department official who'd recently lost his job for arguing against American involvement in Korea.

Over Rose's desk, an autographed picture of Eleanor Roosevelt, standing between Rose and another woman, tall, pale, with a wan smile between pride and embarrassment. The inscription read:

"To Rose and Pearl - thank you for helping make this country better!"

Look around and you would see other photographs. A group portrait of Rose with the store's staff and clientele. A laminated copy of her first newsletter, mimeographed on cheap paper, the ink smeared and the font slightly off-center, announcing Carleton Beals' latest on American exploitation of Latin America. And a campaign poster for Henry Wallace, the one-time Vice President and Commerce Secretary dismissed by Harry Truman for urging piece with the Soviet Union, who ran as a third party candidate in 1948 and destroyed his reputation. Somewhat faded and frayed, but left untouched.

Only after taking all this would you notice another display, in the far corner behind the periodicals. A broken car mirror in a glass display case, carefully preserved as if in a museum. The mirror's glass shattered, the metal frame twisted. Further in the case were other implements of battle: several rocks, a torn, bloody piece of clothing, a bloodstained souvenir program. Most of the words were illegible, but the key remained visible:

PEEKSKILL

Then you might go into the backroom. It was exceedingly modest: a small wooden podium with a microphone, a few tables, an empty space for audience chairs and a reception area. Today it was sparse and empty, nothing in it.

In previous times, it hadn't been. Eleanor Roosevelt, of course, had spoken here. As had assorted other government officials. Henry Wallace visited without making a formal speech. Alger Hiss, after his congressional testimony but before being charged with perjury for espionage. Howard Fast, a close friend of Rose. Paul Robeson, the singer, actor and black activist, close friend (and, rumor had it, an ex-lover) of Sarodynx Brown, renowned musical performer, one of Rose's closest friends.

In previous times, it had been a place of lively debate and passionate argument. Beliefs, commonplace and dangerous. Expressions of faith and love and commitment. Some noble, others badly misguided, but never dull, always exciting. The electricity of minds at work, sparking off each other.

Today, it was quiet, empty, and cold. Like a morgue.

As indeed was the store.

Because Rose Quartz was dead.

EXCERPT FROM TESTIMONY OF ROSE QUARTZ, 27 JUNE 1950

BEFORE THE HOUSE COMMITTEE ON UN-AMERICAN ACTIVITIES COMMITTEE

THE HONORABLE JOHN S. WOOD (D-GA), PRESIDING

Mr. WOOD: We convene this committee today, of course, under the most grave and trying of circumstances. Across the world in Korea, we are seeing the true face of Communist aggression in its most malignant form, stamping the boot heel of Marxist oppression across the face of a small, free nation without cause or provocation. A blatant act of aggression and tyranny, as inexcusable and monstrous as any action perpetrated by Mr. Hitler or General Tojo in the late war. Even as we speak, American boys are joining the gallant South Koreans in defense of freedom, which might make our proceedings seem small, even trivial in comparison.

Nonetheless, it is my firm belief that the work we do here at home is equally important. If anything, the fact that we are now directly fighting Communism in Asia makes our work confronting the henchmen of Marx and Stalin at home all the more vital . Never let anyone in this country feel that we are not doing enough to combat the subversive elements within our midst. All it takes is one spy, one subversive thought written down or whispered in an unsuspected, uncritical ear, to do the utmost damage to our Republic and everything it stands for. That is why we are here.

I believe the gentleman from California would like to make a statement, as well.

Mr. NIXON: Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I can only agree with my honorable colleague's statement. Communism, both at home and abroad, is the paramount threat facing this nation today and the events in Asia over the past three days have shown that it is a menace to everyone everywhere, no matter how much we try to appease or coddle or downplay, no matter how much the misguided and the naive pretend that it's not a problem. Everywhere someone desires to live in peace, everywhere a man goes to work, a woman prepares meals or a child lays their head, they are menaced by Communism. It is our solemn duty to prevent that menace from overtaking everything. We can only act - and pray that we are not too late.

Mr. WOOD: Thank you, Mr. Nixon. Mr. Wheeler, will you please swear in the first witness?

(Witness takes the oath.)

Mr. WHEELER: Your name for the record?

Miss QUARTZ: Rose Quartz.

Mr. WHEELER: Could you spell that last name for us?

Miss QUARTZ: Q-U-A-R-T-Z.

Mr. WHEELER: And could your counsel identify himself for the record.

Mr. PARKINS: Mr. Elliot Parkins, Attorney at Law.

Mr. WHEELER: Miss Quartz, where do you live?

Miss QUARTZ: I currently reside at 1030 17th Street, the same location as my bookshop.

Mr. WHEELER: What is your occupation?

Miss QUARTZ: I am a bookseller.

Mr. WHEELER: What is the name of your bookstore?

Miss QUARTZ: Rose's Cooperative Bookshop.

Mr. WHEELER: Cooperative. What does that mean?

Miss QUARTZ: We operate as a cooperative, or co-op. Meaning that customers are required to become members of the bookshop in exchange for purchase and subscriptions.

Mr. WHEELER: Subscriptions to what?

Miss QUARTZ: Our book of the month and our newsletter.

Mr. WHEELER: What is the name of your newsletter?

Miss QUARTZ: Rose Knows.

Mr. WHEELER: Rose...Nos? Nose?

Miss QUARTZ: Knows, K-N-O-W-S.

Mr. WHEELER: I see. Knows what?

Miss QUARTZ: I'm sorry.

Mr. WHEELER: Knows what? What does Rose know?

Miss QUARTZ: Quite a few things, I'd like to think. But in this particular instance, I just liked the pun.

Mr. WHEELER: The pun?

Miss QUARTZ: Or, I suppose it's not really a pun. Just a rhyme.

Mr. WHEELER: I see. A rhyme with no deeper significance, then?

Miss QUARTZ: Correct.

Mr. WHEELER: When you say this is a cooperative, how many members do you have?

Miss QUARTZ: My last count was 240 dues-paying members.

Mr. WHEELER: Does that imply there are not dues-paying members?

Miss QUARTZ: No, I would just suggest to Mr. Wheeler that he needn't examine my every turn of phrase for hidden cryptographic meanings.

Mr. WOOD: Mr. Wheeler, please allow me to interrupt here. Miss Quartz, I understand you are a very intelligent and clever woman, and I appreciate that as I'm sure all of my colleagues do. Reading all those books must do wonders for your mind. But I would caution you, as I'm sure your counsel has done, to treat this hearing with the proper amount of gravity. This isn't a book club or a knitting circle where being clever is an asset, or where questions can be playfully pushed aside. You're expected to answer questions truthfully and without any unnecessary interjections or digressions. Now, I'm sure you understand.

Miss QUARTZ: Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Let me assure the Honorable Gentlemen of this chamber that I am fully aware of the gravity of this hearing. I know that I'm being accused of many things, from being a Communist sympathizer to being an active agent of the Ministry for State Security, which is of course preposterous. All of which could lead to imprisonment, fines, many types of censure that aren't so easily quantifiable. But I do not think the charges are, at base, serious ones, and I do not think the truth can be arrived it through silliness and condescension. Or that Communism is more of a menace to this great country than the people who deign to destroy it in the name of Freedom. Or that women, whether we inhabit book clubs or knitting circles or indeed the inner circles of government, like your colleague Miss Diamond, are fully capable of intelligent thought and discernment. Perhaps if the Chairman would read some of my books, he'd recognize that .

Mr. WOOD: I would like Miss Quartz's last remark stricken from the record. I will also remind the gallery that any further outburst or demonstrate will result in the clearing of this hearing room.

Miss DIAMOND: Mr. Chairman, if I may? I feel compelled to answer since my name was brought into this conversation.

Mr. WOOD: The Chair recognizes his honorable colleague, Miss Diamond from Connecticut.

Miss DIAMOND: Miss Quartz is correct that there are women in government, and women in our country who are capable of achieving great things. But no woman who ever followed the siren song of Communism was ever a great woman. Women who uphold everything decent and good about America are not to be compared with women who would tear it down in service of a wicked ideology and the perversions of common decency propagated by women like you. Therefore, I would suggest Miss Quartz keep in mind who she is addressing when she makes comments like that, and that she not ever again draw comparisons between myself and her. In every way that counts, we are different.

Miss QUARTZ: I beg to differ, ma'am. We are more alike then you'd care to think.

Mr. WOOD: Miss Quartz, I would caution you to mind your tongue or you can and will be cited with contempt.

Miss QUARTZ: I would expect nothing less, Mr. Chairman.

Mr. WOOD: Thank you, Miss Diamond. Mr. Wheeler, please continue.

Pearl wasn't surprised by Rose's death. Horrified, sure, and angry, and sad all at once. But not surprised, exactly.

Not in June 1950. Not when the country was mad with fear at anyone and anything different. And not considering who Rose was, and what she believed in.

In fact, Pearl knew precisely who to blame. And once she gathered her thoughts, she took it out on its nearest manifestation.

"They've been trying to destroy her for so long," she said into the phone, screaming hysterically at her sister. "People like your dear friend Congresswoman Diamond. You think that Rose was a danger to democracy because she sold fucking books. And now you've killed her."

"Now Pearl, calm down!" her sister yelled back. "I understand you're upset..."

"You don't understand a fucking thing, Sienna."

"Pearl, watch your language."

"Oh, screw off, you little witch. I'm not about to listen to your rationalizations and your calls for civility when your side is fucking murdering people."

Pearl couldn't remember the last time she'd been so angry. Her chest was heaving with rage, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She took a few deep breaths, hearing Sienna talking to her but not really digesting the words.

"...you can't honestly blame us for Rose killing herself. I mean..."

Of course there was a lie already out there. That Rose killed herself.

How convenient. She testifies before HUAC, tells the Congressional committee off in no uncertain terms. Unbowed, unbroken, proud. Just like Rose always was.

She remembered her last conversation with Rose, the night before. Boasting about how she'd put those bastards in her place, and how the whole thing was a sham, and that they had no case against her or the bookshop. And then asking, practically pleading, Pearl for a chance to have dinner. They hadn't seen each other in so long...

And despite everything, how could Pearl say no?

And then she dies, and they blame it on her. Because that's easiest way out.

Because it makes the most sense.

Unless you knew Rose. And knew that she'd never, ever kill herself.

"You aren't going to sell me on that, Sienna," Pearl barked. "I don't know what Diamond told you...Rose would never do that."

"Pearl...maybe Rose Quartz wasn't who you thought she was. Maybe she was..."

And she left that thought hanging in mid-air, as if terrified of completing the thought. Then she sighed, and added:

"Pearl...some people just want to die."

Pearl imagined herself strangling Sienna, and smirked.

"Nobody knows Rose better than me," she hissed, before hanging up the phone.

Maybe that was true, once. But now?

How could Pearl be sure?

There was one other person who might know. But they were barely on speaking terms.

"Pearl, it's Greg."

"Greg."

"Listen, I heard about Rose...I don't know what to say."

"She's dead, Greg. They got her. I don't know how, but they did it."

"Maybe you're right, Pearl. But that seems...I dunno, a little wild to just throw out there, you know?"

"It's true. I just need to find evidence."

"I'm not a policeman, Pearl. But that's...not how it works. Fitting evidence to match something you've already decided? I mean, that's what Rose's friends at HUAC do..."

"I'm not a policeman either, Greg. But I know Rose, and...so do you." Then she added, as acidly as she could, "I thought."

A pause on the other end. Just Greg's heavy breathing. And Pearl realized, with not a little satisfaction, that she'd cut straight to the bone.

"Well, anyway. I called to see how you were doing." His voice sounded flat and perfunctory.

"Since when do you care about me, anyway?" Pearl demanded.

"Since your best friend and the woman you loved died," he said, resigned to her anger. "I thought...maybe you needed someone to share your feelings with. Someone else who...knows her."

He wasn't wrong about that. But talking to her sister made Pearl furious, and talking to him was...no, she wasn't going to open herself up to him.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

"I'm fine, Greg," Pearl said. "As fine as could be considering Rose just died."

And she hung up, not letting him say another word. And, after another minute, punched the wall.

The cheek of that bastard! she thought.

She started rolling herself a cigarette, but her hands were trembling too much. She spilled tobacco all over her desk, and ended up sweeping it all into a dustbin. Some brown-and-red flecks clung to her shirt sleeve and she couldn't wipe them off.

Unable to smoke, she walked over to her bed and sat down, fiddling with her hair. A day's inattention had turned her up-do into a shaggy pink mess, and it was too late for her to do anything about it.

She shook her head and let the last stubborn strands fall down around her shoulders. If she was gonna be disorganized,

She felt tired, and a little frustrated. And very, very angry. But she didn't feel sad, at least any more.

Sure, when she'd first seen Rose's body, she'd wept horribly. She cried so long and loud and intensely that she terrified the coroner and the two police officers who'd brought her to the morgue. They'd had to restrain her and given her a sedative in an attempt to calm her down.

For that matter, she'd cried all the way back to her apartment. Cried for a solid hour or more, until all the mascara and make-up ran down her face, until her shirt front was smeared with a gross pallet of tear-infused sadness. Cried every time she thought about Rose, and remembered how happy she'd been, and how she'd hurt Pearl, and how that didn't matter because she still loved her more than anyone on Earth.

But now, Pearl was done crying.

Now Pearl felt a flame growing inside her, a spark of defiance that grew with each passing thought.

Now Pearl had to find out the truth.

But where to start?