“After a while,” I said, “I started to get so tired of him looking down on me because I was young, and because I was a girl, that I became determined to show him that I could write as well as anyone else. But sometimes I must have sounded mighty headstrong, like I wouldn’t accept anything but my own way. Do you know what I mean?” I asked.
Almeda nodded.
“I know there are times you’ve got to fight for something you believe in. You’ve taught me that. But then again, Mr. Kemble is the editor, and he does have years more experience than I do, and I am young. Sometimes I wonder if I’m presuming too much to think I’m so smart and such a great writer that I can just tell him what I want.”
I glanced at Almeda. She was obviously thinking a lot about what I was saying, but still she let me keep talking.
“And not only am I young and inexperienced, I am a girl—”
“Not anymore, Corrie,” Almeda interrupted. “You’re a woman now.”
I smiled. “What I mean,” I said, “is that I’m not a man . . . I’m a girl, a lady, a woman—a female. I wish Mr. Kemble could look at something I write and not think of it as written by a woman. But there’s a division between men and women that affects everything—it affects how people look at you and what they expect from you and how they treat you. And as much as I find myself wishing it wasn’t that way, there’s no getting around that it is. There is a difference between men and women, and maybe it is a man’s world, especially here in the west. I don’t know any other women newspaper writers. There aren’t any other women in business around here but you.”
I stopped, struggling to find words to express things I was feeling. “Maybe Mr. Kemble is right when he says that it’s a man’s world, and that a woman like me can’t expect to get the same pay or have it as easy as I might like it. Maybe it is a man’s world, and I’ve been wrong to think things are unfair because Robin O’Flaridy can get paid more than I do for the same article. Maybe that’s just the way it is, and it’s something I have to accept.”
“How did your article’s not being in the paper lead you to think about all that?” asked Almeda.
“I don’t know. It’s just hard to know how to fit being a woman into a man’s world.”
“Very hard!” agreed Almeda. “Believe me, Corrie, I have struggled with that exact question almost from the moment I arrived in California.”
“My first reaction was anger,” I continued. “I wanted to march right into Mr. Kemble’s office and say, ‘Why haven’t you published my article?’ A time or two I’ve been really headstrong and determined with him. Part of me still says that’s the right approach. That’s how a man would probably do it.” I paused for a moment.
“But another side of me started thinking in this whole new way,” I went on, “wondering if the way I’ve handled it in the past wasn’t right.”
“It’s the Spirit of God putting these thoughts in your heart, Corrie,” said Almeda. “You’re maturing as a daughter of God. He’s never going to let you remain just where you are. He’s always going to be pulling and stretching you and encouraging you to grow into new regions of wisdom and dedication to him. And so he’ll continually be putting within you new thoughts like this, so that you’ll think and pray in new directions. He wants you to know both him and yourself more and more intimately.”
“If it’s God’s Spirit speaking to me inside, then what’s he trying to tell me?” I asked.
She laughed. “Ah, Corrie, that is always the difficult question! It’s often very hard to know. Separating the voice of God’s Spirit from our own thoughts is one of the Christian’s greatest challenges.”
The look on her face changed to one of reflection. “It’s funny you should bring this up,” she said after a minute. “I’ve been facing a real quandary myself. Different from yours, I suppose, but very similar at the same time.”
“You mean about knowing if it’s God saying something to you?”
“Partly. But more specifically, the issue of being a woman, and how to balance the two sides that sometimes struggle against one another inside.”
“That’s just it!” I said. “I feel that there’s two parts of me, and I’m not sure which part I’m supposed to listen to and be like. One part wants to do things and be bold and not be looked down on for being a woman. That part of me resents hearing that it’s a ‘man’s world’ and that a woman’s place is supposed to be somewhere different, somewhere less important, doing and thinking things that men wouldn’t do. That part of me wants to think that I’m just as important as a man—not because women are more important, but just because I’m a human being too. Do you know what I mean?”
“Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Corrie!” answered Almeda. “Don’t you think I’ve wrestled with that same question five hundred times since my first husband died? I’ve spent years trying to run a business in this ‘man’s world!’ I always had to prove myself, to show them that I could run Parrish Mine and Freight as well as any man. Oh, yes, Corrie, I’ve struggled and prayed and cried over these questions you’re asking!”
“Then you must feel the other half of what I’ve been feeling too,” I went on.
“Which is?”
“Well, maybe it’s not altogether right to expect to be treated the same as a man. Maybe it is a man’s world, and I’ve got to accept my place in it. Even if Mr. Kemble says or does something I don’t like, or even something I don’t think is fair, maybe I have to learn to accept it. After all, he is the man, he is the editor, and maybe he has the right to do what he thinks best, whether I like it or not. After all, it isn’t my newspaper. So who do I think I am to think that I have a right to expect Mr. Kemble to do what I want?”
Almeda drew up on the reins and looked at me intently. “Corrie,” she said, “it seems there are two principles at work here. Maybe you’re feeling the need to accept Mr. Kemble’s judgment about the paper and your articles. But it’s not just because he’s a man—it’s also because he’s in a position of authority, and deserves your respect even when you disagree with him.”
I nodded. “I guess so.”
“But there’s more to it than just the question of who makes the final decisions about your stories, isn’t there?”
“Yes. I guess the last couple of years, since I started trying to write more seriously, I’ve been wanting the people I meet—first Mr. Singleton, then Mr. Kemble, and then even Robin O’Flaridy or Derrick Gregory—to treat me like an equal and not look down on me just because I’m not a man. But maybe I’m not supposed to be an equal. Maybe that isn’t the way God wanted it to be. I don’t like the thought that I’m not as important in the world as a man. But I’ve been wondering if that’s the way it is.”
“Corrie . . . Corrie,” sighed Almeda, “you’ve really hit on the hardest thing of all about being a woman, especially out here in the west where we sometimes have to fend for ourselves and be tough.”
“You mean accepting the fact that we’re not equal to men, and that what we do and think isn’t as important?”
“Oh no—not that. We are just as important. The question isn’t about equality, Corrie, because in God’s eyes, men, women, children—all human beings—are equal and precious. The soul of the poorest black woman is just as important to God as the soul of the richest white man. The President of the United States, in God’s eyes, is no more important than a child dying of starvation somewhere in deepest India or Africa. No—men are all equal, and by men I mean all of mankind—men and women. You are just as important as Mr. Kemble or anyone else, and your thoughts are just as valid. Never think that you’re not as good as someone else—as a man. On the other hand, never think that someone else isn’t as good as you! Equality works in all directions.”
“Then what’s that hardest thing about being a woman?” I asked.
“I said you were wrong about us not being equal. But you were right when you said we were different! And that’s what is so hard about being a woman—trying to find how
we’re supposed to be equal and different at the same time. That is the struggle, Corrie.”
“It’s a struggle, all right. Half of me wants to tell Mr. Kemble off, and the other half wonders if I’ve got any right to.”
“That’s where women make a big mistake, Corrie. We want to be treated equally, but we forget that we really are different. We’re supposed to be. God didn’t make men and women to be the same. He made us equal but different. And so we’re supposed to fulfill different roles. And the minute we try to start turning our equality with men into sameness with men, we lose sight of what it truly means to be a woman. I think we become less of a woman, in the way God intended womanhood when he created it, when we try to compete with men and do everything men do.”
“Do you mean maybe I shouldn’t be trying to be a reporter, because it is something mostly men do?”
“No, it’s not that at all, Corrie. I think it’s all right to do many of the same things men do. There aren’t certain limits or restrictions God places around women. But even though we may be involved in many of the same pursuits, we’re still women, not men. There’s still a difference. There is still a leadership role which God has given to men, and a follower’s role God has given to women. That’s part of the difference I spoke of. Equal but different. Man is to be the head, the spokesman, the leader. A woman is to fit into that arrangement, not try to compete with it.”
“You mean, like Mr. Kemble being the editor of the paper, and so I have to realize the importance of his position?”
“Something like that.”
“And even if it weren’t for his being editor and me just being a raw young writer, him being a man and me being a young woman makes it that way, too.”
“I suppose in a way, although I wouldn’t want to assume that any man, just because he is a man, has the right to control your life and your decisions. I believe that God has set certain men—a husband, for example, or an employer—into positions of leadership. As women, we need to acknowledge that God-given leadership. But I have to admit that I don’t always know how it works out in practice. Lately I’ve been struggling with it a lot myself.”
“Is that how it is in a marriage too?” I asked. “Like between you and Pa?”
She didn’t answer immediately, but looked down and sighed deeply. I glanced away for a moment. When I looked back toward her, to my astonishment I saw that Almeda was crying.
Chapter 20
Almeda Confides
What’s the matter, Almeda?” I asked. My first thought was that something I’d said had hurt her feelings.
“I’m sorry, Corrie,” she said, looking over at me. I’d never seen such an expression on her face. To me, Almeda had always been so strong, so in control, so much older and more mature than I. For three or four years she had been the one I had looked to for help and advice. I guess before that moment it had never crossed my mind that she had inner struggles too. But that look on her face, with tears silently running down her cheeks, was a look of confusion and uncertainty and pain—a look I had never expected to see from Almeda!
I reached over and took her hand.
The gesture made her cry even more for a minute, but I kept my hand on hers, and she held on to mine tightly. Finally she reached inside her pocket for a handkerchief, then blew her nose and tried to take a deep breath.
“I’ve been struggling with this for several days,” she finally said, “ever since coming back from Sacramento and getting sick. I suppose I’ve needed someone to talk to. But I haven’t even been able to bring it up to your father yet, because I haven’t known how to put into words all that I was feeling.”
“What is it?” I said. “Is there something wrong between you and Pa?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. Although it certainly has to do with your father.” She paused, took another breath, then took my hand in both of hers again.
“I’ve always been a pretty independent sort of woman, Corrie,” she said. “Just the other day, when I was sick, I heard your father saying to the doctor that I was the kind of woman who was used to doing what I liked. When the thought of going to Sacramento came to my head, just like your father said, I didn’t ask him, I just said I was going and that was that—I went. Perhaps getting sick, and hearing those words of Drummond’s, and realizing that my impetuousness could have cost our baby’s life—all that set me to thinking about some things I hadn’t ever thought of in quite the same light before. And last week, as I lay in bed recovering, I spent a lot of time in prayer. And I must tell you, I’m having to take a new look at some things in myself. It’s not an altogether pleasant experience!”
She paused for a moment, dabbed at her eyes, then went on.
“Ever since I was a child I’ve had a determined streak. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. My past was anything but a spiritual one. I did not begin walking with God until I was in my mid-twenties, and before that I was a much different person than the one you have known. I did much that I am not proud of. And when I discovered who my heavenly Father was, and realized that he loved me and desired something more for me than what I was, I set my heart and mind to give myself to him completely. As a Christian, my inner determination has been a good thing. I have wanted to settle for nothing less than God’s fullest and best for me. I have determined to give my all to him, in every aspect of my being, to let him re-make me into what he wants me to be, rather than just settling for what I have always been. And thus, I really am a different person than I was fifteen years ago. He has created in me a new heart, a new mind. And I am thankful that he gave me the determination to seek him with my whole being. Some people do not have that hunger, that earnest desire to give their all to God. But he gave me that hunger, and I am glad.
“After Mr. Parrish died, I’d have never made it in business in Miracle Springs without being what your Pa calls ‘a mighty determined lady.’ I had to fight for what I wanted to do, and prove myself to people, mostly to the men of this community. It’s just like what we have talked about before, Corrie—fighting for what you believe in. God puts that fight, that determination into women’s hearts too, not just men’s. He fills women with dreams and desires and ambitions and things they want to do and achieve, and I really believe that God wants determined daughters as well as determined sons, willing to believe in things strongly enough to go after them. Like your writing. I think God is filling you not only with the desire to write, but the determination to fight for it, even when it might mean occasionally standing up to Mr. Kemble and speaking your mind.
“But on the other hand, there’s a danger women face that men don’t. Sometimes a single woman, who has only herself to depend on, can get too independent and lose sight of what it means to live in partnership with someone else. After I lost my first husband, I got accustomed to doing things for myself, in my own way, without asking anyone’s permission or what anyone thought. I had to, I suppose.
“But when your father and I were married, I continued thinking pretty much the same way, even though I was a wife again. I didn’t really stop to consider that maybe now I had to alter my outlook. I still thought of my life as mine to live as I saw fit. Once when we were talking about your future, I told you that I was the kind of woman who believed in exploring all the possibilities for yourself that you could. When your father suggested shutting down Parrish Freight for a while, so that I could be a more traditional wife and mother, I nearly hit the roof. I wasn’t about to have any of that, and I told him so!
“The trip to Sacramento and getting sick last week suddenly made it clear to me that I have carried that independence into my marriage with your father. I haven’t stopped to consider things, or to ask him about what I do, or to defer to him in any way as my husband, I’ve just gone on ahead and done what I wanted to do. And the instant I realized it—I have to tell you, Corrie, it was very painful. I love your father so much. Realizing that I haven’t been to him what God would have me be fills me with such remorse and sadness and—”<
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She stopped and looked away. I could feel her hand trembling in mine. I knew she was weeping again. After two or three minutes of silence, she continued.
“Your father has been so good to me,” she said. “He has never pressured me, never said a word. He has let me be myself, and even be independent. Yet now I see that I have done some things that perhaps he wouldn’t have wanted me to.
“Why, this whole thing of running for mayor—I never asked him about it, Corrie. We prayed about it when I decided to get back in the race, but I never really sought your father’s counsel as a man of wisdom. The initial decision for me to run was a decision I made. I never even sought his advice as my husband and as the leader of this family. I genuinely thought I was being led of God, and perhaps to a degree I was. But the point is, I never consulted your father in any way or allowed him to help me arrive at a decision. You were there that evening last July—I simply walked in and announced that I had decided to run against Royce.”
Again she stopped, tears standing in her red eyes. “Don’t you see, Corrie—I haven’t been fair to your father at all! My determined nature just lost sight of the fact that we’re not supposed to act independent of men, but with them, and following them, and allowing them to help guide us. God made women to live with men, not to act independently of them—especially in a marriage. And I haven’t done that with your father, the man I love more than anyone else in the world!
“Probably God was trying to get my attention even before last week. From the very start of the election, all the mischief and deceit Franklin has been up to—maybe that has been the Lord’s way of telling me some of my priorities haven’t been as he would have them. When he started spreading those rumors about me, even then God was stirring me up, though I didn’t know what he was trying to say.”
“But what could all those lies about you have to do with what God wanted to say to you?” I asked.
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