A Woman's Place

by Lynn Austin

  CHAPTER 14

  * Jean *

  Jean rose earlier than usual for work the next morning, certain that she would have to take time out to see the personnel director, Mr. Wire, and ask him to replace Virginia Mitchell. Jean changed into her coveralls in the locker room, punched her time card, and was reading the day’s work orders on her clipboard when Earl Seaborn called her aside.

  “You got a minute, Jean? I was wondering what was going on yesterday between one of your electricians and that government engineer? I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”

  “Mr. Mitchell is Ginny’s husband.”

  “So? What’s the problem?”

  “He didn’t know she worked here until he saw her yesterday.”

  “Oh boy. I can imagine what that did to his pride, finding out that way.” Earl’s insight surprised Jean. He had zeroed in on the problem in seconds—pride. “You think Mr. Mitchell will cause problems for her?” Earl asked.

  “Yeah, I do. He’s evidently one of those husbands who thinks a woman’s place is in the home. I sure would hate to lose Ginny, but I have a bad feeling that he isn’t going to let her come back to work.”

  “Mr. Mitchell is going to be observing here for a few more days. How about if you and I go talk to him?”

  “You would be willing to do that, Earl?”

  “Sure. Come on.”

  They found Harold Mitchell pacing outside Earl’s cubicle, clipboard in hand, waiting for everyone else to arrive. He glanced noticeably at his watch as Jean and Earl approached, as if silently rebuking Earl for not being in his office on time. Jean agreed with Rosa that Mr. Mitchell was handsome, yet his somber, unsmiling expression marred his good looks. He might have been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His unapproachable manner was such a stark contrast to Ginny’s warm, tender heart that Jean wondered what had drawn them to each other. Maybe it really was true that opposites attracted like the poles of a magnet.

  “Mr. Mitchell, could we have a word with you?” Earl gestured to his cubicle, and the three of them entered the tiny room. Earl closed the door, shutting out some of the noise. He nodded to Jean to begin.

  “It’s about Ginny—”

  Mr. Mitchell held up his hand to stop her. “Excuse me, but my wife and my personal life are nobody’s business but mine.”

  His words were so cold and abrupt that Jean felt as if he’d slapped her. She knew then that they weren’t going to get through to him. They may as well leave. But she had underestimated Earl.

  “You’re right, Mr. Mitchell, your personal life isn’t our business,” he said calmly. “But Mrs. Mitchell is my employee, and—”

  “She shouldn’t be. Virginia never should have taken this job in the first place.”

  “I disagree. You’re in a better position than anyone to know the importance of production schedules and what happens when quotas aren’t met. The truth is, America can’t hope to keep up with the demand for arms and equipment unless women step up and take the jobs that men have vacated.”

  “A shipyard is no place for a woman,” Mitchell said. “This is men’s work.”

  Earl kept his composure, refusing to back down. “That was the thinking in the past, I know. But women like your wife and my colleague, Jean Erickson, have shown that they are quite capable of doing so-called men’s work—and they do it very well. We have women welders and mechanics—and women electricians, like your wife.”

  Jean could tell by Mitchell’s glaring, tight-lipped expression that his mind was firmly closed. “Are you finished?” he asked coldly.

  Earl shook his head. “No, sir, I’m not. The government hired you to come here and make sure this shipyard runs at full production, right? You know how important it is to finish enough landing craft for the invasion of Europe when it comes. Well, I’m telling you that if your wife quits, our production schedule is going to suffer.”

  Jean finally found her voice and jumped in to help him. “Ginny is one of our best electricians. She knows her job and does it exceptionally well. It would take me weeks to train her replacement—if I could even find one.”

  “That’s right,” Earl added. “We have a dozen other vacant positions waiting to be filled. This war won’t last forever, Mr. Mitchell. The sooner it’s over, the sooner things can go back to the way they were and you can have your wife back.”

  “Ginny doesn’t want to do this work for the rest of her life,” Jean said. “But we really could use her help for the duration.”

  Mr. Mitchell stared at them in icy silence until Jean grew very uncomfortable. “Now we’re finished,” she said. He opened the door and walked out.

  “I’d better go catch up with him,” Earl said.

  “Earl, wait. I hope he doesn’t take it out on you for speaking up.”

  “There’s nothing much I can do about it if he does,” he said with a shrug, “except let it roll off. I really don’t care if he likes me or not.”

  “At least we tried.”

  Earl smiled mischievously. “Oh, I’m not done trying. I’ve just begun. I plan to point out all of our finest female workers to him today—welders, mechanics, carpenters, maintenance workers, painters. If he’s going to hang around me for a couple of days, he’s going to get a front-row seat to my lecture on what a great job women war workers are doing.”

  Jean couldn’t help smiling in return. “Thanks for being willing to stick your neck out. It’s awfully nice of you.”

  Jean walked across the vast expanse of factory floor, dodging around workers and tool chests and ships in various stages of construction. When she finally reached her workstation, there was Ginny, wearing her coveralls and tool belt, ready to go to work. She looked tired and shaken, but she was here. Helen and Rosa hurried over to talk with her, too.

  “Hey, no black eyes?” Rosa asked. “Your husband sure looked mad yesterday. I thought for sure he would beat you up or something when you got home.”

  “If he ever tries it, Ginny, call the police,” Jean said. “Men aren’t supposed to beat up women.”

  “Some of the men in my mother’s life didn’t think twice about beating on her,” Rosa said with a shrug.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you to quit,” Helen said.

  “He did,” Ginny said quietly. “I took your advice and made up my own mind. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Is he okay with that?” Rosa asked.

  “No. He’s very angry with me. I … I don’t know what’s going to happen … .”

  Jean could see how scared Ginny was, how close to tears. “Let’s get to work,” she said. “Let’s show these government inspectors what we can do.” She assigned everyone a task and ended up working alongside Rosa all morning.

  “I learned something today,” Jean told her. “I never want to marry a husband like Harold Mitchell.”

  “Yeah, some men think they own their wife.”

  “My father never treated my mother that way, so I guess I assumed all husbands were like him. Now I’m starting to wonder what kind of husband Russ will be.”

  “How’s things going with him, anyways?”

  “I don’t know. When he was here, I sort of told him that I would try to come home and look for a job. It was in the heat of the moment, I guess you could say. But I don’t really want to quit, Rosa. So now I’m wondering how he’ll react if I change my mind and stay here at the shipyard.”

  “If he makes you choose between him and your job, what are you gonna do?”

  Jean shrugged in reply, concentrating on the wire she was connecting.

  “Boy, I’m sure glad that Dirk didn’t tell me to quit, ’cause I wouldn’t of done it.”

  Jean looked up from her work and gazed down the long production line for a moment, deep in thought. “When we were talking to Ginny’s husband this morning, Earl said that life would go back to normal when the war ended—but I don’t see how it ever could. Ginny’s life as a housewife will never be the same now that she’s gaine
d self-confidence working here. And I sure don’t want to be a housewife after the war.”

  “But what else is there?” Rosa asked. “All the men are gonna want their jobs back when they come home, right? And you don’t want to be all alone like Helen, do you? With no husband?”

  “I want to go to college and have a career first, but of course I want to get married someday. Some of the men around here call me ugly names, implying that I want to be a man—I don’t! I like being a woman. But why does life have to be so confusing for us?”

  When their shift ended and it was time to go home, Jean pulled Ginny aside on her way out. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know,” she told her.

  “Well, I might have another problem in a few weeks… .” Ginny sounded dazed and numb. Her husband hadn’t beaten her physically, but she seemed beaten down nonetheless, her newfound confidence bruised.

  “What’s wrong, Ginny?”

  “The boys will be getting out of school for Christmas vacation in December. Harold asked me last night what I planned to do about them, and I didn’t know what to say. I know they can’t stay home alone all day. I’m going to need a baby-sitter, but we don’t have any relatives who live close enough to help.”

  “Do you want me to ask my sister Patty if she’ll watch them? She could use a little extra spending money at Christmastime. And she loves kids.”

  “Would she do that for me? Doesn’t she have some little ones of her own?”

  “Three of them. But Patty handled ten or eleven younger siblings when we were growing up, so I’m sure she can handle your two boys.”

  “I’d be so grateful, Jean.”

  “I’ll ask her and let you know tomorrow.”

  Jean walked outside to a cold, gray afternoon and falling snow. It already covered the grass and had begun to accumulate on the streets and sidewalks. She waited at the bus stop with dozens of other women, finally giving in to the blustery weather and paying the bus fare rather than walking home. She had promised Patty that she would stop at the grocery store to pick up a few items, so she got off in downtown Stockton and crossed the street to the A&P.

  The store was crowded as usual at this time of day, with other working women like herself hurrying to get their shopping done before the supper hour. Jean wished the store would stay open later now that so many women worked. But judging by the Help Wanted sign that had hung in the storefront window for weeks, the A&P was probably too shorthanded to extend their hours. Everyone knew you could make more money at the shipyard than as a store clerk.

  Jean quickly perused the crowded aisles and found all the items on her list. As she stood in line at the register, she heard a familiar voice behind her. “Hey, Jean, have you figured out how these stupid ration books work?” She turned to see Earl Seaborn in line behind her, a book of ration stamps in one hand and a pile of groceries expertly balanced between his crippled left arm and his chin.

  “I don’t have a clue. I’m just going to hand my ration book to the clerk and let her figure it out. My sister Patty usually does all the shopping. I offered to help her today because the weather was so nasty and the baby has a cold. By the way, how did it go with Mr. Mitchell today?” Earl grinned. “If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man. I think he figured out my not-so-subtle sales pitch for women workers in about two minutes. That didn’t stop me, of course. And unless he’s more stubborn than I thought, he couldn’t help but admire the beautiful seams some of our female welders showed him.”

  “Do you think it made a dent in his thinking?”

  “Probably not. He’d better change his attitude, though, because things aren’t going to be the same after the war. It’s obvious that women are capable of doing the same work as men. And it’s obvious that they deserve fair treatment and fair pay—not to mention respect.”

  “True, but change comes slowly, Earl. After we talked to him this morning, I realized that women have only been allowed to vote for twenty-two years. That’s not a very long time. There are probably a lot of husbands like Ginny’s who still haven’t adjusted to women being allowed to vote, let alone taking over men’s jobs. Those guys are going to want things to go back to the way they were after the war.”

  “Does that include your boyfriend? Is he going to want to settle down and get married to a traditional wife after the war?”

  Jean looked away, unable to meet Earl’s gaze. She had wondered the same thing just this morning while talking to Rosa. “Russ and I are too young to talk about marriage. Besides, he knows that I plan on going to college.”

  The line moved forward, and Jean placed her handful of items on the counter, making space for Earl to set down his items, too. He unloaded them smoothly, obviously used to his one-handed balancing act.

  “Don’t you want children?” he asked her.

  “Of course I do—someday. I just don’t want them now. And I don’t want eighteen of them like my mother. What about you, Earl? What are your plans after the war? Marriage? Kids?”

  “I’d like to get married, but I doubt if I ever will. Not too many women are on the lookout for a crippled husband.”

  “Listen, Earl—”

  “I’m not feeling sorry for myself, just facing facts. Who wants to wake up in the morning beside a man with a withered hand and a leg brace?”

  Jean had noticed that he kept his left hand in his pocket nearly all of the time. She couldn’t say whether his withered hand repulsed her or not because she’d never taken a good look at it, not wanting to stare. But she wasn’t going to let him get away with such a pessimistic attitude.

  “What about all the men who will lose limbs in the war?” she asked. “I’m sure that the women who love them will stand by them no matter what.”

  Earl shook his head. “Some women say they’ll stand by their man and they mean it. Most change their tune when they’re faced with the reality of it. The truth is, a lot of marriages aren’t going to survive the war. A lot of people can’t handle anything less than perfection.”

  As Jean handed her ration book to the clerk and paid for her groceries, she remembered comparing Earl to Russell and judging Earl unfavorably. Was she the kind of shallow woman he was talking about?

  It was almost dark and snowing hard when Jean walked out of the store. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, trying to decide whether to spend more money on another bus fare or walk home and get her feet wet. Earl came up behind her once again.

  “Can I give you a ride home? My car is right over there.”

  She turned to him in surprise. “I didn’t know you could drive.” Jean regretted her words as soon as she’d spoken them. Earl wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions, and she saw that she had hurt him. “I’m sorry, Earl. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded … .”

  “That’s okay,” he said with a sigh. “Yes, I drive. I had the clutch pedal on my car modified. And I have a special knob on the steering wheel.”

  “Earl, I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing, Jean. You’re making it worse. I can’t stand pity. I’d much rather have people talk honestly about my handicaps and ask questions instead of avoiding me or ignoring me because I make them uncomfortable. That’s the reaction I usually get. People don’t know what to say or they’re afraid of saying the wrong thing, so they act as if I’m invisible. Then there are the ones who see that I’m crippled and assume that I must be retarded, too.”

  His car was parked close to the store. She followed him to it and he opened the passenger door for her. “Get in. I’ll brush the snow off.” He set his grocery bag on the backseat and took a moment to clear the snow from the front and rear windows. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and when he finally slid behind the wheel and started the car, his hands were red with cold. He blew on them to warm them.

  Earl drove slowly and carefully through the slippery streets, the windshield wipers swishing, the snow dancing in a chaotic flurry in the headlights. He leaned forward, concentrating on the road. The tow
n looked like a Christmas card, dusted in a layer of white. They rode the short distance through Stockton like polite strangers.

  “This is my first winter here,” Jean said, searching for something to talk about, “but it seems awfully early for a snowstorm.”

  “People say the reason we get so much snow is because we’re close to the lake.”

  “I know Lake Michigan isn’t far,” she said, “but I keep forgetting that it’s there. I hardly ever get out of town.”

  “You probably haven’t seen it when it’s frozen, have you? It looks beautiful. I’ll drive you there sometime.”

  They slid safely to a stop in Patty’s driveway a few minutes later. Jean exhaled, unaware that she had been holding her breath while Earl navigated the slippery streets.

  “Let me carry your groceries inside for you,” Earl offered. Jean didn’t protest, knowing that Earl probably needed to be chivalrous. He managed the sack of groceries well with one hand, but the frozen sidewalks were treacherous, and Jean saw the dragging print his left foot made in the snow. They walked into the kitchen to the aroma of baking bread.

  “Wow! Something sure smells good,” Earl said.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” Patty said with a grin. “The bread just came out of the oven, and I made a pot of pea soup to go with it.” The baby was perched in his usual place on Patty’s hip, as comfortable as a cowboy in the saddle. Patty was as adept as Earl was at doing things with one hand. He set the bag of groceries on a kitchen chair, since there didn’t seem to be another uncluttered place to put it, then turned toward the door.

  “Well, see you tomorrow, Jean. Bye, Patty.”

  “Whoa!” Patty said, stopping him in his tracks. “It’s snowing pretty hard out there, mister. You don’t want to go back out in that, do you? Stay for supper, Earl.”

  “No, I really couldn’t …”

  “Oh, come on. Take your coat off. Have a seat.” Patty was already setting another soup bowl on the table for him, much to Jean’s dismay. “I made enough soup for an army. It seemed like that kind of a day. And how can you say no to fresh bread?”