I'm really sorry for the delay. I had finished this chapter about two weeks ago and then lost the entire thing due to a tech fail. It was like being punched in the gut, I tell you, and it took me a while to get the motivation to rewrite it.
Thank you to Sarah for taking the beta lead this time and to Beth and born2speakmirth for being so supportive. A huge thank you to TLYDF, Edwardville, The_Gazebo, Twilighted, PastichePen, UU, Freakyhazeleyes, giselle-lx, and anyone else who pimped the shit out of this story. Thank you to all who faved and reviewed; you guys are so amazing. I hope this chapter lives up to the wait.
The Twilight Saga and all involved belong to Stephanie Meyers. Everything else in this story is mine.
March 1911
To the Brandons, it seemed their days in Biloxi passed like water through a sieve. Jimmy worked; Marianne tended to the home; and the two monitored, with the keen eyes only parents have, little Mary's growth. While other parents looked for signs of gift or promise, the Brandons searched for normalcy. Another inch, another pound, another month of life and they'd breathe simultaneous sighs of relief. She's normal, they'd think. Thank God, she's absolutely ordinary.
If only they knew…
For those few months of her life, Mary saw color in ways others didn't. She saw brightly hued ribbons curling around people's hands; washes of blue rolling over the floors; small starbursts of yellow peppering the walls of her nursery. To everyone, it seemed she spent her days in stare, tiny hands outstretched towards things out of her grasp.
"I worry about her," Jimmy told his wife over dinner one night. "Should I be worried about her?"
Marianne gave her husband a small smile and gently patted his hands. "Things are new to her, Jimmy. She's just curious."
The neighborhood women all agreed with Marianne. They came over one day to help cook a jambalaya for Jimmy's birthday.
"She's going to be a smart one," Sis said while peeling shrimp. "Look at those wheels turnin', Marianne. I wish my Sally was that curious about the world."
Carolynn made a noise of agreement. "It's not a bad trait to have."
Peals of laughter suddenly bubbled from the baby girl, making the women look at each other and smile. Marianne gave a small sigh and wiped her hands on her apron. "What in the world could she be laughing at?"
To Mary's eyes, the shrimp were throwing off tiny rays of light, traces of phosphorescence lingering on the swiftly discarded shells.
Of all the wondrous things her eyes beheld, Mary loved hands the best. Every time Marianne reached down to feed, weigh, or measure her, Mary would grab on to her fingers and examine them.
"There's nothing special about these hands," Marianne told her repeatedly. She couldn't see the long purple ribbons that hung down past her knees and sometimes knotted themselves in her sash, or ran in and around the slats in the crib like latticework.
Edith had pink ribbons around her hands, soft ones that left halos of fuzz over everything she touched for just a moment. Mary was over at her house often, sometimes with her mother, more frequently without. Edith would bounce her on her lap and hum songs while watching the rest of the neighborhood children play on the sidewalks. This was her favorite thing in the world, for outside in the sun the colors were everywhere and they blurred together in the most beautiful and intense way. One gorgeous summer afternoon Mary began to writhe from Edith's grasp.
"What's the matter?" Edith said with a smile in her voice. "What are you reaching for?"
The DeWitt boys had run by and behind them trailed the most beautiful braid, the intricate weave of family, sliding across the bright yellow pavement.
Edith looked, squinted, and then frowned at the boys. "Not until you're older," she huffed.
Jimmy's hands were something else entirely. While others had a solitary color for all time, his would change almost daily. Mary would wait impatiently for him to come home and then grab his hands immediately. Sometimes they were red speckled with taupe, other times they were the mellowest blue. In the early days of the New Year, Jimmy's ribbons would match the grey of his weary eyes. His shoulders were tense, his gaze sad, and he didn't smile at Mary as much as he had before.
She reached for him once from her seat on the floor next to his chair and he, as if she could understand, shook his head at her. The rejection was startling; it felt like flames licking her cheeks and the sensation surprised her so much she began to cry.
"Oh for Pete's sake, Jimmy." Marianne threw her fork down and wiped her mouth on her napkin. She pulled away from the table and went around, picking Mary up and rocking her against her chest. "You're never like this with her. What's going on?" Traces of uncertainty flickered across Marianne's face. Was he worried? Was he leaving her for Edith? Was it someone new?
It was someone new, someone unexpected. Jimmy took a deep breath and sighed. "His name is Lewis Hine."
Sometime in February, Jimmy explained, Hine had walked into the DuKate cannery, camera in hand. He was a thin man, close to forty, with large round spectacles and a pressed jacket and tie.
"He said 'I've come to take photographs,' and that was it. That was his entire introduction."
"He came with a camera?" Marianne mused. "Well, it's peculiar, but nothing to be upset over. "
Jimmy shook his head. "DuKate told him to knock himself out. He took a few photographs of our offices, and then asked me to lead him to the floor to take some of the workers. Now I knew some of them were children…"
It was at this point Jimmy seemed to crash. He placed his head into his hands and let out a staggering breath. "I didn't know!"
On the cannery floor there were babies working; eyes drooping with fatigue, small bodies pressed against their mothers' legs, fingers red from peeling shrimp and shucking oysters. Jimmy had stumbled backwards into the high trough, shells and discarded mollusks cracking and slipping under his shoes.
"Marianne, one of them was a little girl just three years old. Three--" his voice cracked and he took another shaky breath, eyes locked on Mary's tiny figure. "Just babies," he whispered.
Marianne reached out and took his hand in hers. "It's not your fault. There are people in desperate times, people who need every penny. You didn't know."
Jimmy nodded, but he could never agree; there was so much he hadn't noticed in that tiny little office above the cannery floor, so much he'd never caught sight of.
And there was Lewis Hine, snapping away for the entire world to see.
###
Two months past Mary's first birthday, the colors disappeared. They didn't fade or dim; it was as if someone forgot to turn them on one day. When Mary woke up that morning and pulled herself up on the bars of her crib, the walls and floor were plain. She blinked repeatedly and when the pictures wouldn't come back, she screamed and banged on the railing.
Her mother hurried in, smiling and rolling her eyes in mock indignation. "Are you hungry already?"
When she got close enough, Mary reached out and grasped her mother's hands. They were just skin and flesh and bone, no ribbons or flashes of color, nothing miraculous about them at all. Mary began to cry harder and threw herself onto the mattress.
Marianne's smile disappeared. "Honey?" She reached out to pick her up, but Mary only whimpered and moved away, her eyes never leaving the bare hands in front of her.
Marianne examined her hands briefly and reached out for her daughter again, fingers spread wide. "There's nothing there. See?"
Mary eventually let herself be coddled and fed, and after a while, she stopped looking for the flashes of light. After a while, she forgot she had been able to see something more at all.
###
March 13th, 1917
Every day, at 3pm, Mary found a place to hide. Some days she would dive under the couch and some days she would hide under the table. In February she even hid in the huge cedar trunk where her mother kept all the good linens. Unfortunately she fell asleep in there, and woke up with an ache in her head and the smell of cedar ingrained into her nostrils for days.
Good hiding spots didn't matter anyway; her mother always found her, wielding that divine weapon called "motherhood", and always, always, with that despicable vial and spoon in her hand. Today her mother had found her hiding behind the curtain, her small feet sticking out from underneath the sheer drapes. Marianne stifled the urge to sigh and tapped her foot. Mary didn't move, hoping her mother was just bluffing.
"Mary Alice, get out of there. It's time for your liver oil."
Mary pouted and stuck her head out. "But, momma…"
"Now."
Mary stepped out of the shelter of the curtains with a wounded look on her face. Her hair was a mess, the curls at the end frizzy and tangled, and her eyes were slightly sunken. At six years old, she was barely three feet tall.
She grimaced and pointed at the spoon. "I don't want it, momma," she whined.
Marianne paid no attention and pinched her daughter's nose until she was able to stick the spoon into the girl's mouth. "And don't you dare spit it out," she warned.
Cod liver oil had to be the worst thing in the world, Mary decided, as she swallowed the slimy, fishy liquid and began to cry. A nagging little voice in her head told Mary that it really wasn't that bad, but the rest of her wasn't listening. She sat on the sofa and cried until her father came home from work.
Jimmy hated seeing his daughter's red splotchy face and scooped her up the minute he hung up his hat and jacket. "Cod liver oil?" They had done this routine many times before.
"It's bad, daddy!" Mary pressed her face into her father's shoulder and hiccuped. The smell of his cologne calmed her and he held her close until her sobs dissipated and her breathing evened out.
"What can I do to make it better?"
"Out!" Mary exclaimed before he even finished the sentence. She wriggled until he set her on the ground and ran towards the door. Neither her father nor mother had to ask where she was going. She ran all the way next door, her Mary Janes kicking up dust behind her. She knocked on the door repeatedly and impatiently.
Edith opened the door with a wide smile. "I was wonderin' if you'd show up today." She opened the door wider and Mary slipped underneath her arm and took a running leap onto the sofa. Edith laughed and clicked her tongue against her teeth. "I hope you don't do that at home."
Mary shook her head and straightened up, her thin legs kicking back and forth. She waited patiently while Edith got her a glass of lemonade and she gulped it happily, washing away the taste of salty tears and fish.
"Miss Edith? Can you tell me a story?"
Edith didn't answer right away. She held up a finger and walked over to a cabinet near the entry of the kitchen. She pulled out a small pearl comb and, when she returned to the sofa, she pulled Mary onto her lap and began to make her way through the tangles.
"That's better. Now, what story do you want to hear?"
Mary couldn't contain her excitement. "The one about Mister Paul asking to marry you! That's my favorite."
"It's my favorite too."
###
The first time Paul Dewitt had proposed, Edith didn't have to answer; he never got the words out. They had joined Cormack and Elizabeth Liddell for a late supper. Just as they were about to sit at the table, there was a knock on the door. Cormack answered the door and moments later Marianne's voice floated to the dining room.
"We decided to come after all." Marianne breezed into the house, followed by Jimmy who was holding a sleeping Mary in his arms. Upon seeing Edith and Paul, Marianne stopped in her tracks.
"Oh, Elizabeth," Marianne's face was flushed and she wrung her hands together. "We didn't realize you had invited others. We don't want to intrude…" Edith tried to look elsewhere but once she felt Jimmy's eyes on her body, the magnetic pull was too much. They had seen each other since Boston, of course, but it was in fragments, glimpses through windows or doors, and the sound of each other's voices in entrance and exit. But now Edith was staring at him fully, trying to catch any traces of change. When she met his eyes, she shuddered; they were full of tenderness and longing.
Elizabeth waved her hand and huffed. "Don't insult me, Marianne! There is plenty of space and food. Come, we can put Mary in bed with Beth." And so the Brandons squeezed in and joined the dinner.
It had gone well enough; Edith immersed herself into conversation with ease, laughing at the right times, her fingers grazing Paul's arm. Her body spent each moment hyperaware of the heat rolling off the man next to her and the gaze of the man across the table.
Near the end of the dinner Paul tapped his fork on his glass. Everyone paused and looked at him as he stood.
"Paul?" Edith whispered.
He cleared his throat and a telltale blush spread across the bridge of his nose. "I'd just like all of y-y-you to know how much I care for the woman next to me," he said. He sighed shakily and grabbed the waist of his pants, hitching them up.
Oh lord, not while he's here… Edith glanced up to see Jimmy grow pale. He let out a growl and moved to get up at the same time she shuddered and covered her eyes with her hands. Suddenly Mary let out a high-pitched scream from the nursery that sent Paul tumbling backwards and onto the floor. Elizabeth gasped as she took in the scene before her:
Jimmy leaning over the table, arms outstretched towards Paul.
Paul sprawled out on the floor next to Edith's chair.
Edith with her hands over her face, shaking her head.
Marianne at the end of the table, laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all.
###
Paul tried again a few weeks later. This time he and Edith were eating dinner alone at her house and, after kissing her on the cheek, he got down on one knee.
"Oh, Paul, I—"
"Now, don't interrupt me before I even get to start. That's happened once already." He let out a laugh and cupped her cheek in his palm, running his thumb over her lips. "I know you. You're thinking of a million reasons to say no, even though you love me. You think I'm too young, even though I'm a man. You think I shouldn't make a wife out of a widow, even though your strength gives me courage. You think there's something better for me out there, even though there cannot be anything more consuming than the way I feel about you." He paused and lowered his voice. "I love you, Edith Coutu. Whatever your answer, I'm going to watch over you for the rest of my days. All I'm asking is for you to make an honest man out of me while I do."
Edith let out a laugh and wiped the tears she felt falling down her cheeks. "That was beautiful."
"And I didn't stutter o-o-once... Oh, dammit."
Edith really let the laughs fly then, slapping her knee, and tossing her head back. When she calmed down she held Paul's hand in her own. "I s'pose we'll have to make honest people of each other."
Within the month, Edith Coutu became Edith DeWitt and went from being alone in Biloxi to being one of sixteen.
Mary got the censored version of the story, of course. The first proposal was left out entirely and the speech was worded in ways a six-year-old could understand. All Mary got out of the story was the way Edith's eyes grew soft and how she looked wistfully beyond anything in the room as if she was reliving the moment with each retelling.
Mary mimicked Edith's content sigh and reached out to rub the small ring on her left hand. "Pretty " Mary whispered.
"One day," Edith said, "you're going to find someone like Paul for yourself."
"Hmm?"
Edith laughed at Mary's confusion. "What I mean is, when you're older, you're going to find a boy you'll want to always be with."
Mary thought of the boys she knew and wrinkled her nose. "Boys are ickier than cod liver oil."
"Oh," Edith clasped her hands and smirked, "I would love for you to feel that way forever but trust me. Same day some boy is going to steal your heart away."
Edith's words were still tumbling around in Mary's head days later. She was in the backyard with her father, pressing her face into the sheets hanging on the clothesline. They felt cool on her cheeks and smelled like a mixture of her mother and the smell before rain. Her father laughed at her and kept lifting up the sheets to make faces at her, an odd complicated game of peek-a-boo spurring between them.
Marianne suddenly burst through the backdoor, a peculiar expression on her face.
"Mary," she said breathlessly, "there's someone waiting for you. On the lawn."
"Who is it, Marianne?" Jimmy rose at eyebrow at his wife's face.
"Let's go see." Mary followed her parents through the side and to the front lawn eager to see who their guest was. When she caught sight of messy black curls she stopped in her tracks. It was William Reed, a lanky neighborhood boy who was a head taller and would wheeze whenever he said her name. One time, while playing softball with the rest of the boys, he had proclaimed he would hit a home run for Mary Alice. He had missed the ball entirely and fallen over into the Dickett's trashcan. Now he was standing on Mary's lawn, sans trashcan, shuffling his feet on the grass.
Mary looked back at her parents. They were polar opposites; her father stood still and stiff, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, his face stern. Her mother seemed to radiate joy and she had her hands out in a gentle shooing gesture, her teeth gleaming from the space between her lips. "Go on, Mary," she prodded.
Mary slowly stepped out on the lawn and let out a fake cough to get the boy's attention. William looked up and smiled.
"Hello, Mary Alice." He began to wheeze. "I made you something. My momma helped." He held up both fists. In one he held a paper doll, in the other, two paper dresses to clip on it.
Mary reached out and gently pried them from his hands. The doll's right arm was crumpled as well as one of the dresses. She bent over and smoothed them on her skirt.
"Thank you, William," she finally murmured. "They're lovely."
"I think you're pretty." He took a step back, waved, and then ran off down the street to join the older boys who were already playing a game of softball.
"What did he give you, Mary?" Jimmy suddenly towered over her. She silently held up the doll and watched as his face went from amusement to concern and back again. "Isn't he a few years older than you? Have you met his family? What does his father do?"
Marianne stepped in between them, putting one hand on her husband's arm and the other on Mary's head. She was trying desperately not to laugh. "Oh, Jimmy," her eyes crinkled, "Stop being so difficult. The Reed boy is just a year older than her. It isn't a big deal."
Jimmy huffed and adjusted the waist of his pants, mumbling something about "damn boys".
Marianne choked back another giggle and bent down slightly so she was at eye level with Mary. "Don't pay your father any mind, sweetheart. He's just afraid you're going to run off with a boy some day and stop being his little girl."
Jimmy muttered something under his breath and rolled back on the heels of his feet. Marianne declared she would start dinner and walked inside the house, yelling out a warning for Jimmy to behave. He crossed his arms and tucked his chin into his chest like a child.
Oh, he's really angry, Mary thought. He had his eyes trained on the group of boys playing baseball down the block. William kept pausing occasionally to wave at Mary.
Mary cocked her head to the side in thought. Boys can bring me gifts. They can steal my heart. They can run off with me…
"Eww!" Mary grimaced when she saw William spit on his hand and shake another boy's.
And they're definitely ickier than cod liver oil.
She turned to her father and squeezed his large hand between her two small ones. "I'll always be your little girl, Daddy" she said confidently.
Jimmy tore his gaze away from the boys and smiled. "I'm sure you will." He smoothed the hair from her forehead and lifted his head slightly. Suddenly his brows furrowed, and he looked stern again. "Mary?"
"Yes, daddy?"
"Don't talk to any boys until you're older."
"Yes, daddy." Mary didn't see what was so great about boys anyway.
###
Spring settled onto Tanglewood Drive late in 1917; the grass was peeking up from the barren ground, and the annual blooms had just begun to unfurl from their tucked slumber.
Mary began to leave her window open just a crack; she loved the smell of the grass and the morning dew as it floated through her window.
In the first week of April, in the middle of the night, the breeze carried the sounds of panic and Mary awoke to the rise and fall of voices. She blinked her eyes and tried to figure out what was going on.
"Momma?" she called out but there was no answer. She crawled out of bed and paddled over to her door. The voices grew louder and Mary realized that they were coming from her own home. The door flew open before she had a chance to grasp the knob. Marianne stood on the other side, eyes wide and panting. Edith stood behind her looking similarly.
"Momma? What's going on?"
Marianne shushed her and picked her up from the waist. She quickly ran down the steps, Edith barely a step behind.
The Pleasants, the Liddells, the LeMaines, the Reeds, the Thomases, the Dicketts, even all of the DeWitts were stuffed into the Brandon home. The men were gathered around the phone talking excitedly to one another while the women huddled around the couches and chairs, the children in a circle at their feet. Mary reached out to William and Sally but Marianne wouldn't put her down; she sank into the nearest chair and began rocking her daughter slowly, Edith sitting close next to her.
Mary was afraid. Everyone was; she could hear it in their voices. The curtains were drawn, the front door locked with a chair placed in front as if someone or something would try to get in.
"Damn it, Wilson!" Bill DeWitt suddenly cried. The crowd parted and he stood in the middle, finger pointed in the air at no one in particular. He was an old man, just turned seventy, with white whiskers and a slight paunch of the belly. Without warning, he walked over to the nearest wall and slammed his fist so hard into it that bits of plaster flaked off onto the floor. The air filled with gasps.
"Oh, Bill, you'll hurt yourself!" Mrs. DeWitt cried.
Bill paid her no mind and ranted and raved, using words that made the women flinch and the men shake their heads. Mary didn't understand any of them but the look on his face was enough. She had never seen someone this angry.
"He said he'd keep us out of this!" Bill gave one last grunt and stopped. He stood still with his hands up in the air, shaking with rage or exhaustion. It was quiet, eerily desperately quiet, for a few moments.
"So it's true then." Sis whispered.
Bill lowered his hands and exhaled. He slowly walked towards a chair on the other side of the room and set himself down without grace, the thud resonating through the still quiet room. He shook his head once, twice, then scoffed and pointed towards Jimmy, who was setting the phone back down on its cradle.
Realizing all eyes were on him, Jimmy cleared his throat. He opened his mouth several times, his eyes looking pained. Mary imagined the words must have had thorns or sharp edges; it seemed as if he was hurting himself trying to get them out. He tried again, standing tall and serious, no match for the tinny voice that came through. "That was Harry from the newspaper. He's supposed to run the story tomorrow. He could lose his job for telling us early, I suppose."
"Out with it," Sis demanded.
"Yes, it's true. Wilson has declared war."
Mary didn't know who Wilson was, though she had heard the name before, but she understood it wasn't family or a friend. The words her father said seemed bigger than her, much bigger than she could comprehend. She felt her mother shake silently and the arms wrapped around her began to squeeze tighter. Mary felt something clawing at her chest, a chill that crept up to her throat and made her realize something was so very wrong.
In that instant, two young brothers had looked at each other across the room and nodded with grim faces. Earnest DeWitt was a week shy of eighteen and planning to start college next fall to be an accountant. Harry DeWitt was only a year older and worked on the docks like his father and older brother. They had seemed worlds apart in interests and dreams but suddenly their lives converged and coiled, their possible ending as connected as their births. In one sentence fishing on the dock and the study of numbers seemed insignificant. Their father had understood this the moment his fist met the wall but their mother was locked firmly in denial.
"No." Elena said quietly without a questioning lilt to her voice. Missy reached over and patted her on the hand but she pulled away quickly, rising up in the center of the room, puffing her chest in defiance. "No," she repeated, her eyes scanning the room. "Not my boys."
"Mama," Earnest choked out. How many times had she heard him say that throughout the years? Why hadn't she counted them? Why had she assumed she would hear that word always? "Mama," he said again and Elena shattered before everyone's eyes. She ran toward her son and threw her arms around his neck. She sobbed into his shoulder, momentarily letting go so she could beckon Harry into her embrace and the three stood together, a mass of sorrow, rocking back and forth in the foyer.
Mary felt the hole in her chest expand and she looked away from the scene. She felt movement next to her and looked over. Edith wasn't looking at the scene either but was instead staring at her husband who, in turn, was staring at his mother with fierceness in his eyes. Edith jumped up from her seat and made her way over to him, cupping his cheek in her palm.
She leaned in close to his ear and began to whisper. "I know what you're thinking, Paul, and I understand. You want to protect them. But…but you can't leave me." She loved her newfound brothers, her newfound family, with all her heart but to lose the man she was holding on to would destroy her. Losing him after losing everything else…"You can't leave me," she repeated.
His eyes grew soft. "I promised you I'd watch after you the rest of m-m-my days, Edith. How could I possibly do that halfway 'round the world?" He pushed her back slightly and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.
Mary couldn't stand to see Edith cry and she wriggled from her mother's tight grip and ran towards the kitchen.
"Mary!" her mother yelled. Everyone stared in shock for a moment before letting that one call loosen tongues. In seconds everyone was talking, yelling, comforting, and they converged together in the center of the room making it easy for Mary to zigzag between them and leave them behind.
She ran out the back door without bothering to shut it behind her, around the side yard, out to the lawn where she paused to catch her breath. She shivered in her long nightgown and then, finding courage, puffed out her chest as Mrs. DeWitt had done. She looked up and down both sides of the street, expecting to see Wilson and his war come marching down her block. Isn't that why everyone is so scared? I'll show him.
But Wilson and the war never came marching up to Tanglewood that morning. Jimmy found her curled up on the sidewalk some time later counting the cracks.
"Mr. Wilson didn't come, daddy."
Jimmy picked her up and brought her inside, past the crowd of people.
"She's fine," he told everyone and he climbed up the stairs and tucked her into bed. "Get to sleep," he whispered, "and dream really beautiful dreams."
"What should I dream about?" Mary fell asleep before she heard her father's reply.
That night she did dream. Her visions were filled with vivid colors and someone humming a lullaby. They were just flashes, random images that towards the end focused on a child sleeping comfortably in her mother's arms. Mary awake with a start and let out a squeal of glee. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and ran out her bedroom door through the open hallways of the house towards the room where her parents lay. She opened their door cautiously. Her parents were asleep on separate sides of the bed, miles of paisley and lace stretching between them. The stream of light from the open door stirred her father awake and he sat up like a shot.
"What is it, Mary?"
The little girl rushed toward the bed and dived right into the middle, settling in the space between them. "I did it, daddy," she whispered. "I dreamt of something wonderful."
Her father looked at her curiously with one eye raised before groaning and throwing himself back onto the pillows. "That's real good, sweetheart."
"Uh-huh. It was great. There was someone new here and—"
"You know," Jimmy interjected, "if you tell your dreams they won't come true."
Mary gasped and zipped her lips tight. Her father's breathing evened out and she realized he had fallen asleep. She wanted to tell him but she didn't dare risk her dream not coming true. But if he's asleep it doesn't count, she rationalized.
Softly, making sure he wouldn't wake, she leaned close to his ear. "This is a secret," she whispered. "Her name is Francine and she's going to be my friend."
She covered her mouth to hold back her giggles and then exited the room, closing the door behind her.
History Lessons:
1) Lewis Hine is real. As a photographer for the National Child Labor Committee, he visited the canneries in Biloxi to photograph children, some as young as three, working on the floors. His photographs and captions helped push the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938.
2) When WWI started in 1914, the USA had a policy of neutrality. Woodrow Wilson was reelected in 1916 largely because he managed to keep the US out of it; his slogan was even "He kept us out of the war." Four months into his second term, on April 6th 1917, he declared war on Germany. This was followed by rumors that the draft, which had not been seen since the Civil War, was going to be reinstated. The rumors came true that following June when the Conscription Act of 1917 was passed.
Want to see Alice and Jasper talking about looking for her past? Want to see Edith and Paul's wedding? Want to hear one of Jimmy's secrets? Want a Mary, Full of Grace outtake where YOU choose what I write? Then run over to my Fandom Gives Back auction page and bid!
Links to the auction, Lewis Hine's photographs, and other references can be found on my profile and/or blog.
Reviewers get a bowl of steaming jambalaya and a teaser.