“Conrad and Porter,” she says, her little bit of overbite disappearing into her wide smile.
Betts is still answering questions, saying now, “As Michelle Obama has said, real change occurs one determined woman at a time. Almost thirty years ago now, my dear friend Laney Robeson-Weils was raped. At the time, we remained silent. She did. I did. Our friends did. Even the prominent feminist lawyer Faith Cook Conrad did. We decided it would be too personally devastating to stand up for our friend.
“Perhaps it was a decision that made sense. Perhaps it wasn’t. The fact remains even today that it is a very hard thing for a woman who has been raped to stand up for herself. Particularly a woman raped by someone she knows. No young woman ought to have to make the decision to risk her own reputation in order to bring a criminal to justice. No woman—young or old—ought to. Like it or not, a change in the way our society thinks about violent crimes against women has to start with women like my friend Laney who are willing to stand up and say ‘this happened to me and it wasn’t my fault.’ ”
The cameras adjust to catch Laney, shots that perhaps will be seen differently than they might have a few days ago, now that her story is known. Her rape will be a part of her biography for a long time to come. But she’s standing tall, starting finally to make some good of the bad things that happened to her. I think of Gemmy watching from Palo Alto, and I wonder if we were right to talk her out of taking the red-eye to be here with her mom.
“Senator Cicero-Bradwell,” I whisper.
“And Justice Drug-Lord-Bradwell!” Ginger says.
“Chief Justice Drug-Lord-Bradwell by … what was the date in your gum-wrapper note?” I say. “2016?”
“2018,” Ginger says. “She may need every minute of that.”
“Progressio advenit sensim,” Laney whispers.
Progress does come slowly, I think as Ginger and I raise discreet finger crosses at Laney.
And I can almost hear, then, over the clamor of the gathered reporters, the quiet tick of a gum wrapper note landing on my Constitutional Law casebook spread open under the green lights of the Michigan Law School Reading Room. So many planets need to align on one side of your sun to reach any dream. But Betts is right. Faith was right. The change starts with the reaching itself, whether the goal is attained or even attainable be damned. If enough of us reach, the syzygy will occur someday. And if we don’t reach, every planet in the universe aligning will do no good.
“I think I might write a book,” I whisper, listening as Betts continues to answer questions, working in the prepared bits I wrote for her last night. As I say it, I see that this is my way of reaching and always has been: through words.
The way Ginger and Laney look at me, I’m not sure if they realize I’ve finally, after all these years, come to embrace my own dream, or if they think I’ve lost my mind.
“I think I’ll write a novel titled The All-True Tales of the Ms. Bradwells of Cook Island so everyone will assume it’s true,” I say, “and I’ll write myself as the pretty one and the smart one!”
I don’t think either of them hears that last part because Ginger is saying (perhaps a bit more loudly than she should), “That’s us! The law firm of Bradwell and Bradwell!”
Neither she nor Laney is laughing at my dream.
“Bradwell and Bradwell—and of course we’ll be sure to bring ‘the natural and proper timidity and delicacy which belongs to the female sex’ to our efforts,” I agree.
“Bradwell and Bradwell and Baby Bradwell,” Izzy says. “I graduate this spring, you know. And I’m still looking for just the right job.”
“Bradwell and Daughters,” I say, taking the hand of this goddaughter of mine.
Betts is coming to a close, saying, “Women need to step forward. To run for office like my friend Laney is. To seek out and accept judiciary appointments. To participate in shaping the law and determining what, exactly, a Constitution that didn’t contemplate our participation in the world beyond the home means for us. We need to grab for the reins at corporations and trade unions and universities, where we can foster environments in which women are treated with respect. Because that’s what it all comes down to: Insisting on the respect we deserve. Saying we are powerful, too.”
She opens the heavy bronze door behind us, the panels of Columbus discovering a new world. She doesn’t pass through, though. She pauses as if she is going to say one more thing, but she doesn’t do that either. She only touches a finger to the black pearls she wears, and she stands there holding the door open for Laney and Ginger and me, and for our daughters, too.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SO MANY PEOPLE were so graciously helpful on this novel, starting with my husband (and tireless reader), Mac; my sons, Chris and Nick; and my parents, Don and Anna Waite. Also my brothers, Pat, Mike, Mark, and David, my wonderful sister-in-law Ginny and niece Stephanie, and Cord and Yvonne and Grant and Molly. An extra-special thanks to booktrailer master, Ashley Clayton. Every writer should be blessed with such love and support.
Evan Caminker and Margaret Leary made me feel at home again when I came to poke around at the University of Michigan Law School on the possibility I might find a novel hiding there; thank you for the wealth of information, the tour, the yearbook, and your delightful company then and since. Brian Pascal’s lovely gargoyle photos allowed me to see detail from afar. And the spirit of friendship among the Ms. Bradwells draws heavily from my many Michigan Law friends—too numerous to name, but you know who you are. A very special thanks, though, to the women who shared a home with me—Jenn Belt DuChene, Darby Bayliss, and Sheri Young; to Stacy Fox for her hot tub gathering; to Paul Salvodelli for the note-tossing thing; and to Chuck Jarrett, Steve Barth, and André Jackson for allowing me to name characters who are not them after them.
My fascination with miniature books also began at Michigan, thanks to Margie McKinley and Paul Courant. When Margie proposed a reception in the Special Collections Library at Hatcher, I had no idea how moving an experience it would be to wander among such beautiful books, much less to have the benefit of Peggy Daub’s and Kathleen Dow’s expertise as we did. Bookseller Joe McKernan was kind enough to provide me details of the miniature Sonnets from the Portuguese I put into Faith’s collection.
My copy of Tom Horton’s lovely An Island Out of Time has nearly as much ink on the pages—underlining and margin notes—as the first draft of The Four Ms. Bradwells did; his graceful depiction of life on a Chesapeake Bay island might have made my own trip to one unnecessary, but left me all the more eager to go. I am indebted to him also for taking me boating to and from a lovely photo exhibit one rainy, spooky-dark night, and to Susan Evans, for her hospitality during my very memorable visit to Smith Island.
One of the great pleasures of writing this book was the excuse to spend afternoons reading poetry and call that “work.” I’m grateful to Phyllis Koestenbaum for pointing me in the direction of Anne Sexton when I had no idea which way to head, and to John Felstiner for his extraordinary reading of Jane Kenyon’s “Let Evening Come” from his book Can Poetry Save the Earth? Two wonderful texts on poetry I turned to were Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook and The Making of a Poem by Mark Strand and Eavan Boland. A complete list of poems referenced in the novel is included on my website; I hope readers will be inspired by the lines included in this novel to read and buy more poetry.
Other works I turned to in the writing of this novel include Catharine MacKinnon’s Women’s Lives, Men’s Laws, Susan Brownmiller’s Against Our Will, Sarah Evans’s Tidal Wave, Susan Faludi’s Backlash, and Ellen Sussman’s moving essay “How Would My Rape Shape My Kids’ Lives?” It’s thanks to the wonderful talents of Ilsa Brink that my Web presence looks so beautiful. And to John Downey that the Latin Laney speaks is not gibberish. Adrienne Defendi introduced me to the Holga camera and gave me one to try myself; would that I could make photos as beautiful as hers. Camilla Olson allowed me to dress Ginger in a suit of her design. Brenda Rickman Vantrease … well, if
I start here on how much Brenda does for me as a friend and fellow novelist, this book might never end. And Terry Gamble included me in a few wonderful days spent writing with friends at her lovely Sonoma home, where I managed to get a little water on this oar while waiting to see if The Wednesday Sisters would float.
A very special thank-you to Target stores, and to the booksellers, librarians, bloggers, and readers who helped that novel float along so nicely, allowing this one to find water, too. Two bookstores in particular, Kepler’s and Books Inc., have been truly amazing in their support. And with reluctance that I can’t thank every reader whose enthusiasm helped The Wednesday Sisters succeed, I’d like to specifically thank Nancy Salmon at Kepler’s and Margie Scott Tucker at Books Inc.
I am blessed to have found a literary home at Ballantine Books, and am grateful to Libby McGuire and Kim Hovey for making it such a comfortable one. Anika Streitfeld’s help in shaping this book in the proposal stages was indispensable. Caitlin Alexander brought moral support, friendship, and more enthusiasm than I could have asked for as I was writing, as well as the kind of editorial insight, guidance, and stamina that is a writer’s dream. Thanks to Victoria Allen and Georgia Feldman for the gorgeous cover and Victoria Wong for the lovely interior design, and to everyone else at Ballantine, especially Katie Rudkin, Jen Ramage (not Damage!), and Beth Pearson.
And last but not least: Marly Rusoff, who walks on agent water, and Michael Radelescu, who makes sure she doesn’t sink.
Questions and Topics for Discussion
The four Ms. Bradwells have distinct Bradwell nicknames based on things that they revealed during their first law school class. Do you think these nicknames suit them? In what ways do you think each woman stays true to her nickname? In what ways do the women flout them?
What did you learn from the Law School Quadrangle Noes chapter epigraphs? What insights did they give you into the evolution of the Ms. Bradwells’ friendships that wasn’t conveyed in the rest of the narrative?
Ginger goes to visit Annie on her eighteenth birthday, just as Faith came to visit on her twenty-first. How do the two different visits reflect the different mother-daughter relationships? What do you think Ginger absorbed about mothering from Faith? Is she a better mother, or worse?
How do you think race factored into the Ms. Bradwells’ decision not to go public with the rape? Do you think it would have turned out differently if Betts or Mia had been raped instead of Laney?
What do you think compelled each of the Ms. Bradwells to study law? Why do you think none of them is still practicing in the traditional sense?
At one point, Mia muses on the four Bradwell mothers: “It strikes me how different Faith and Mrs. Z were, and yet how similar. How different Ginger’s and Betts’s relationships with their mothers were, and how similar, too. Were Laney and I luckier, to have mothers who wanted for us but didn’t expect?” (this page) What do you think she means by this? How would you compare Matka and Faith? How have their similarities and differences shaped their daughters?
Isabelle, in a fight with her mother, says that Mia is the happiest of the Ms. Bradwells. Do you think that’s true? Why do you think Mia never remarried?
Mothers are very important to the story, but fathers mostly lurk behind the scenes. Why do you think this is? How do you think each of the Ms. Bradwells was influenced by her male role models, or lack thereof? In what ways do you see this reflected in the next generation of Bradwells?
Why has Betts kept her conversation with Faith to herself for so many years? Do you agree with her that talking about it could have helped Ginger and Faith’s relationship? Do you think Betts suspected Faith of killing Trey? Did you?
Would The Four Ms. Bradwells have been a different reading experience without Ginger’s poetry, Laney’s Latin, Betts’s quirky turns of phrase, and Mia’s photojournalist’s eye for defining details? Why is it significant that Faith left the letter to Margaret wedged into the pages of Anne Sexton’s “Briar Rose”?
Reread the epigraphs to Part II and Part III, as well as Ginger’s thoughts on this page–this page about the New York Times column. Were you surprised by the statistics? How, if at all, did this novel change your perceptions about violence against women? Do you agree with Muriel Rukeyser’s answer to the question “What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?”
When Ginger arrives on Cook Island, she quotes Elizabeth Bishop: “Should we have stayed at home and thought of here? / Where should we be today?” (this page) How do you think she would have answered that question at the end of the book?
The book ends with Betts opening both a literal and figurative door for the Ms. Bradwells and their daughters. What do you imagine the future holds for Annie and Izzy and Gemmy and the rest of their generation? What sacrifices have their mothers and grandmothers made in their names, and what sacrifices they will make for their own daughters? What aspects of these relationships resonated with you most personally? Would you share this novel with your daughter? Your mother? Your best friend?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MEG WAITE CLAYTON is the author of the nationally bestselling novel The Wednesday Sisters. Her first novel, The Language of Light, was a finalist for the Bellwether Prize. She is a graduate of the University of Michigan Law School and was a Tennessee Williams Scholar at the Sewanee Writers’ Conference. She lives in Palo Alto, California, with her husband and their two sons.
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