A Woman's Place

by Lynn Austin

“She sure bakes good cake,” Rosa said, taking another bite.

  Ginny went down to the basement as soon as she got home and found the white wicker bassinet she had used for her boys. The sight of it rekindled all of the feelings and emotions that had been stirred up as she’d sorted the baby clothes with Rosa. Ginny dragged it upstairs later that night after the boys were in bed and was on her knees, giving it a good scrubbing, when Harold walked into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing with that thing?”

  “Rosa Voorhees from work is expecting her first baby. I’m going to let her borrow this if I can get it cleaned up. Rosa’s husband is a Navy Corpsman. He’s with the marines on one of those Pacific Islands.” Harold winced at her words. “That’s a really dangerous job, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t suppose it’s much worse than any other job in the military.”

  “Rosa said he’s seen some terrible fighting.”

  “I’m sure he has.” He surprised Ginny by sitting down in a kitchen chair to watch her work. He didn’t speak again for several minutes, but she could tell that he had something on his mind. She had a sudden premonition that he was going to ask her for a divorce. She stopped scrubbing.

  “Is something wrong, Harold?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about the incident at the shipyard. That was your foreman who was hospitalized, wasn’t it? Earl Seaborn?”

  “Yes. He’s a good man, and he got beat up for doing the right thing. I was shocked that people would create such an uproar over a silly drinking fountain. What difference does it make what color a person’s skin is if he’s thirsty?”

  “Racism is everywhere, Ginny. The war and the need for defense workers have simply brought it to the forefront. President Roosevelt issued an executive order last January banning discrimination, and now the defense industries are supposed to offer jobs to all citizens, regardless of race. He even set up the Fair Employment Practices Commission to implement the order. The shipyard should report this incident to the commission before things get out of hand the way they have in Detroit.”

  Ginny nodded. Before the war, she had never kept up with current events and would’ve had no idea what Harold was talking about. But she’d read how twenty-five blacks and nine whites had been killed in race riots in Detroit this summer—and then she’d witnessed racism firsthand at the shipyard.

  “It was horrible how all those people got killed in Detroit,” she said. “Thank God those men stopped short of killing Mr. Seaborn.”

  “I visited a factory in Maryland last week, and trouble is brewing there, too. A group of white women walked off the job after management transferred a Negro woman to their department.”

  Ginny thought immediately of Thelma King. “What happened?”

  “The workers are threatening to stay on strike until the factory provides segregated bathroom facilities, even though Roosevelt’s executive order requires that they be integrated. It’s a standoff at the moment. The War Labor Board is supposed to intervene.”

  Ginny knew about the plans to hire Thelma to replace Rosa and decided to confide in Harold. Maybe he could offer some advice. “There’s a Negro maintenance worker at the shipyard who’s a qualified electrician. Jean Erickson and Helen Kimball have already started training her to replace Rosa after she leaves to have her baby. Mr. Seaborn is all set to fight for her, too.”

  “They’re walking a very dangerous line—even if it is the right thing to do.”

  Ginny rose from her knees and pulled out a chair to sit at the table beside Harold. “Why is there so much hatred in the world, Harold? There’s racism here in Stockton, hatred toward Jews over in Germany, and people out on the West Coast have turned against all the Japanese-Americans. I don’t understand it.”

  Harold shrugged. “I guess it’s part of our fallen nature to mistrust anyone who isn’t like us. It’s tragic when fear leads to hatred and violence.”

  “Life is much too short to spend it hating other people. I hope we’ve taught our sons not to judge anyone by what they see on the outside. I pray that they’ll grow up without prejudices.”

  “I do, too.” Their eyes met, and Ginny realized with a jolt of surprise that they were talking, connecting. Harold hadn’t had divorce on his mind after all.

  “We haven’t talked like this in a long time,” she said softly.

  “I know…. You’ve changed, Ginny.”

  She hesitated before asking, “In what way?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.

  “You seem … stronger. More sure of yourself. More involved in things like this race issue … Some men would say those traits aren’t very feminine.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  He shrugged again, then fiddled with a loose straw on the bassinet, not meeting her gaze.

  “I’ve learned a lot about myself these past few months,” she said. “I found out that I’m capable of doing more than I ever believed I could. I’ve been growing, Harold—burgeoning out. I think that’s a good thing, to know myself a little better, don’t you? Maybe men prefer women who are weak and helpless, but I’m ashamed of the way I used to let Betty Parker and the others push me around. I used to hear such vicious gossip from the club women and I was afraid to say anything. A year ago I never would have had the courage to speak up for Thelma and the other Negroes at work, but that’s wrong. My crew chief, Jean Erickson, isn’t even twenty years old and she’s leading the way. I want to stand up for what’s right, too. I don’t want to go back to the way I used to be.”

  He looked at her and she saw sorrow in his eyes. She wondered if he still wanted the old Ginny back. Once again, the thought occurred to her that he was preparing to leave her.

  “I love you so much, Harold. I wish I knew that you still loved me.”

  “Of course I do. You’re the one who is moving away from me, not the other way around. You left our home, you’re always working … Sometimes it seems like you care more about the people at work than you do about the boys and me.”

  “That isn’t true.” She reached to take his hand. “If I learn new things about myself, then I’ll have more to offer you. I’m becoming a better person. I’ll have more to give the boys, too. I showed them one of the ships I built. They said they were proud of me. I wish you felt that way, too.”

  “I do.”

  The two words had been barely audible, but they were music to her ears. Ginny knew they were all Harold was capable of. She leaned toward his chair to hug him, and he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her with a passion that had been missing from their marriage for a long time. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.

  “Are the boys in bed?” he asked. Her mouth opened in surprise. It was what he always used to ask whenever he felt romantic.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Let’s go upstairs.” He slid her off his lap, then stood and took her hand. Ginny could have floated up the stairs. She wondered if she would glow in the dark. Maybe things would be different between them from now on.

  But on Sunday morning Harold acted as aloof as usual. “There’s another article about the racial strife in Baltimore,” he said as he read a section of the newspaper at breakfast. He lowered the page to face her. “The unrest is bound to spread. While I agree with what Earl Seaborn is doing, it’s extremely dangerous. I don’t like it that he wants to put a Negro woman on your crew. I wish you would consider quitting, Ginny.”

  “He hasn’t hired Thelma yet. Rosa is going to continue working for a few more months.” Harold made a face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Women don’t belong in a place like that, especially if they’re in the family way.” He folded the paper and stood. But he surprised Ginny by kissing her before he went upstairs to dress for church.

  She watched him go, feeling happier than she’d felt in months. Then, as she cleared his breakfast dishes from the table, she suddenly had an astonishing thought: What if I got pregnant last night?

  G
inny leaned against the sink as she tried to absorb it. Had that been Harold’s plan when he’d decided to get romantic? Was he manipulating her, letting her have a baby so that she would finally quit her job?

  She was still sorting through her feelings when Allan walked into the kitchen. “What’s that thing doing here?” he said when he saw the bassinet.

  “It’s for Rosa Voorhees, from work. She’s going to have a baby.”

  A rush of joy and hope welled up inside Ginny. Even if those were Harold’s motives, she didn’t care. She might have another baby! Maybe it would be a little girl this time.

  CHAPTER 27

  * Helen *

  Sunday had become a very boring day after Helen stopped believing in God and attending church, but tutoring Rosa now helped fill the long afternoons. It surprised Helen to discover how much she enjoyed teaching her. They had spent nearly every Sunday afternoon for the past few months seated at Helen’s massive dining room table, studying geometry and geography and grammar.

  “It’s time to take the examination,” Helen told Rosa in August.

  “Oh no, I don’t think I can—”

  “You’re ready. You passed this practice test with a score of eighty-nine percent. The equivalency exam is being given next Saturday morning at the high school. I’ll drive you there.” Rosa sputtered in protest, but Helen remained firm.

  On Saturday, Helen hung around outside the school, pacing like an expectant father while Rosa took the exam. “How did it go?” she asked the moment Rosa emerged from the building. She looked like an exotic flower that had wilted under the strain.

  “I don’t know. Some parts of it were really hard. I had to figure out the volume of a cylinder and I think I messed it up.”

  “We’ll study some more. Don’t worry. You can always take it again.”

  “They wanted to know where to send the results,” Rosa said as they walked to Helen’s car, “so I gave them your address. I hope that’s okay. I don’t want Dirk’s folks to know how dumb I am.”

  “Rosa, for heaven’s sake. You’re not dumb.”

  “I didn’t finish high school.”

  “There’s a big difference between being uneducated and being dumb. Jimmy was uneducated but he certainly wasn’t dumb.”

  “Whatever happened to him? Did he die or something?”

  “I’d rather not talk about him, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sorry … Maybe sometime you could teach me how to stop asking nosy questions. I think Ginny gave up on me.”

  “Children usually learn manners from their parents.”

  “Well, that explains it, then. I never had a father, and my mother didn’t teach me nothing—I mean anything.”

  Helen watched the mail, waiting for Rosa’s test results. One afternoon a letter arrived from the principal of Lincoln Elementary School. An uneasy feeling writhed through Helen’s stomach as she ripped it open. It should have been good news: The school needed a sixth-grade teacher for the coming fall. The principal wanted Helen to call him right away if she was interested. But the unsettled feeling persisted.

  A teaching position. Helen could teach again.

  She called the school and set up an appointment for tomorrow after work. She would come home and change her clothes, then drive to the school. “We’re eager to fill this position right away,” the principal told her, “before classes start. We know how highly qualified you are.”

  But after Helen made the appointment, she felt as though she were walking around in lead shoes. Why should that be? She should be jumping up and down with excitement at this opportunity. Her career was in teaching, not working in a shipyard. She had enjoyed tutoring Rosa, hadn’t she? And she was good at it. Helen didn’t understand why there was even a question in her mind about returning to Lincoln School—but there was. Where had it come from?

  Helen pondered these questions all evening and slept restlessly that night. It was the same anxious, dreamless sleep she’d experienced when her parents had been ill and she had awakened dozens of times to listen to the dreary old house creak and groan. In the morning she rose before dawn and paced the floor as if waiting for a loved one to return home. By the time she left for work at the shipyard, she felt exhausted. The day seemed endless.

  At five minutes to four that afternoon, Helen parked her bicycle in front of Lincoln Elementary School. The two-story brick building looked as solid and uninspiring as always. The principal was waiting for her in his office, and they chatted about the war and the fall of Italy’s dictator for a few minutes before he suggested that she visit her sixth-grade classroom on the second floor.

  “You might want to look over the textbooks you’ll be using. Take them home with you, if you’d like.”

  Helen plodded dutifully up the squeaky wooden stairs, even though she knew the classroom well. The school smelled of disinfectant and floor wax, scents that would evaporate quickly once the students arrived with their sweaty bodies and bologna sandwiches. The building was clean and ready for fall, the desks sanded, the floors polished, the chalkboards scrubbed, the erasers cleaned. Helen walked into the classroom that would soon be hers and looked around at the bulletin boards waiting to be decorated, the textbooks waiting to be distributed, the desks waiting to be filled. She thought of all the young minds waiting to be shaped and felt weary before she even began. She leafed through one of the teacher’s manuals on her desk, but the pages may as well have been blank.

  Why couldn’t she get excited about returning here? She had fought so hard to become a teacher, defying her father, who’d considered teaching a commonplace profession, far beneath a wealthy, Vassar-educated woman. She had been forced to battle the prevailing notion that it was a father’s duty and right to make decisions for his unmarried daughter.

  “It’s a new world, Father,” she’d told him. “I’m a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions. It isn’t up to you to choose where I’ll work or who I will marry; it’s up to me.”

  She had successfully broken through barriers in her life and in society’s way of thinking—the same way Ginny Mitchell was now fighting the notion that a woman’s place is in the home. The way Jean Erickson would fight stereotypes to study something other than nursing or teaching. Even Rosa was doing battle, fighting against her upbringing to get a high school diploma and choosing to continue working when she was nearly five months pregnant.

  The schools hadn’t been integrated when Helen had begun to teach, and she’d further outraged her father by teaching in a oneroom schoolhouse in rural Michigan. Her students were nearly all Negroes, children of tenant farmers and migrant workers, children who deserved a good education, too, she’d believed. She had encouraged them to get as much schooling as they could, to reach for the sky. Many of them had, and Helen was proud of them all. She had moved to Lincoln School not by choice, but because the rural ones eventually consolidated. Helen had loved teaching. Why did she hesitate now?

  She closed the classroom door and went downstairs. In a few weeks the other teachers would arrive and put their rooms in order. Helen recognized most of the names stenciled on the doors, but she didn’t know any of these people very well. She had always remained aloof, to use one of Ginny Mitchell’s favorite words.

  Helen smiled fondly when she thought of the girls from the shipyard—then she caught herself. How had she allowed herself to become so fond of them? She suddenly realized which emotion she had felt last night when she’d been unable to sleep: loneliness, something she hadn’t felt for a long time. She would miss Jean and Ginny and, yes, even Rosa. Helen would be lonely again after she quit. In that case, she had better quit right now before the ties tugged any tighter, before she ended up getting hurt.

  The principal had a contract ready when she returned to his office. “It’s pretty standard. You’ve seen one just like it before. Do you have any questions?”

  Helen couldn’t bring herself to sign it. “May I take it with me? I’d like to give it some more thought. I’ll l
et you know tomorrow.”

  She found the envelope with Rosa’s examination score in the mailbox when she returned home. Helen could hardly wait to bring it to work tomorrow. She spent another restless night thinking about the decision she needed to make, trying to imagine herself standing in front of the chalkboard in the sixth-grade classroom. She dreamed of Jimmy Bernard.

  Before punching the time clock the next morning, Helen took Rosa aside and gave her the envelope with the test results. They both held their breath as Rosa opened it. “I’m scared to look,” she whispered.

  “It doesn’t mean anything, Rosa. Don’t let a test score tell you who you are.” Helen watched as she pulled the letter from the envelope and scanned it.

  Rosa let out a squeal of delight. “I passed!” She hugged Helen, jumping up and down. Helen felt Rosa’s baby like a hard little ball between them. “Look! Ninety-two percent!”

  Helen forced back happy tears. “That’s excellent. You have a right to be proud, Rosa.”

  “You helped. I couldn’t of done … I mean I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Helen held Rosa at arm’s length and met her gaze. “Listen, I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down or acting inferior anymore, understand? You’re a bright young woman. As good as the next person. Shall we tell the other ladies?”

  “I really want to, but I think we should wait. Ginny is pretty upset today. I saw her crying in the locker room.”

  “Oh. Then we’ll wait for a better time.” Ginny’s problems were none of Helen’s business, she told herself. But of course Rosa thought everyone’s business was her own.

  “I did the nosy thing and asked Ginny what was wrong,” Rosa whispered. “She said she’d been hoping that she was pregnant, but she just found out that she’s not.”

  “That really isn’t our business,” Helen told her.

  “But Ginny is my friend, and I figured that if she’s happy, then I’m happy—like you and me when I got this good news. And if she’s sad, then I’m a little sad, too. Wouldn’t you have felt bad if I had flunked? Ginny wants a baby so bad, you know.”