Portion of the Sea

by Christine Lemmon

  But as I stood alone, ankle-high in the water with the moon beaming down, it was time for me to act on behalf of them and all the girls of the world, and I had to imagine that herds of them would be standing here with me, if they could.

  Lydia

  “Here,” I answered without looking up from the journal when the civics teacher called my name on the attendance roster. “I am most definitely present with you, Ava,” I muttered under my breath.

  Only physically was my body sinking lower into the wooden desk at school, for my mind was standing beside Ava, ankle-high in the water way past dark with the moon beaming down on me. And I couldn’t stop reading, not now.

  Ava

  I stood there with my toes sinking into the sand. I was just one girl in a large world, but I stood there for us all, for all the girls who believe what I do. Yes, I stood there as president of the unladylike club, and I could almost hear others from around the world and throughout the past and future ages cheering me on. I bent down and scooped up seashells in my hand. I didn’t know what they looked like, for it was too dark.

  “I will not behave according to rules set forth by men,” I murmured as I dropped one shell. “I will never do what a lady is supposed to do but what I want to do,” I whispered as I threw another out to sea. “I will pursue my own dreams,” I said louder as I tossed one further than the last. I felt bold and courageous as I threw the entire handful of shells in my hand and then waited to hear them make their splashes. “I declare I will never marry a man!” I shouted at the top of my lungs with arms raised and head hung back and eyes wide open toward the moon. None of what I did was for the rudimentary purpose of childish rebellion, nor dramatic art, however one might interpret it, but for the advancement of womankind.

  Lydia

  I sat with the journal wedged between the pages of my home economics book. My mouth hung open. I had never in all my life heard such things coming from the lips of a girl. I didn’t know such girls existed in the world, at least not where I lived.

  “And Mary Beth,” I heard Mrs. Fields say, glancing three seats behind me.

  “What do you envision for yourself?”

  “To be a happy homemaker, Mrs. Fields,” Mary Beth answered in her perky voice. “Although I’m horrible at ironing business shirts. My mother wants me to learn, but I’ve burnt three of my father’s necklines.”

  “It’s okay to admit that,” Mrs. Fields said with a warm smile. “We’re going to spend an entire week on laundry. And there’s still plenty of time to master it before you get married.”

  “How about you, Judy? What are your aspirations?”

  Judy sat two seats behind me, and that meant Mrs. Fields was working her way up my row. I could feel my breathing becoming shallow, as if I were standing on a humidity-ridden beach. When I closed my eyes, my thoughts soared across the sea and I never knew how large the sea was, and then I saw stars scattered throughout my mind like options I never knew I had and they were infinite. But when I opened my eyes, I was still in class, and the reality of the world in which I lived.

  “Maintaining a perfect home and keeping my husband happy,” Judy two rows back answered in her soft, dainty voice. “But after that, I may want to become a nurse,” she added.

  “Don’t forget the children, Judy,” said Mrs. Fields. “It takes a lot of time to create the ideal home life. We’re up to Suzie.”

  “Marriage,” she answered from the desk behind me.

  I closed my eyes again and joined Ava on the beach. I, like her, may be just one girl in the world, but one plus one equals two girls and two girls can make a difference. I wanted more than anything to join her unladylike club, to be one of its official members. So, quickly, I opened my eyes and the journal at the same time and found the part where she bent down to pick up seashells.

  There were no seashells on my wooden flip-top desk, but there were erasers. I had an entire collection of pencil erasers, and I scooped them up into my hands.

  “Marriage,” said Mrs. Fields “is the highest achievement. We’re up to you, Lydia Isleworth. Lydia?”

  “I will not behave according to rules set forth by men,” I read softly, dropping one eraser to the floor. “I will never do what a lady is supposed to do, but rather, what I want to do,” I murmured as I threw another out into the aisle. “I will set and pursue my own dreams,” I said louder as I tossed one toward the front of the room. I felt bold and courageous as I threw the entire handful of erasers in my hand and then waited to hear them smack against the chalkboard. “I declare I will never marry a man!” I shouted at the top of my lungs with my arms raised overhead and my head hung back and my eyes wide open toward the moon, or maybe it was the fluorescent light above me.

  VIII

  “LYDIA!” I HEARD MRS. Fields yell. “In God’s name! In the name of patriotism.”

  It was then that I realized what I had done. Girls were flapping about their seats like fish jumping up from the water and their eyes were bulging with fear. I heard one with her head out the door yelling, “Help us, someone help us. Lydia’s going insane.”

  “Girl! Get a hold of yourself!” Mrs. Fields took hold of my shoulders, and as she glanced around at the panic-stricken girls, I had just enough time to break free from her grip and tuck the journal into the waist of my skirt.

  “Order! Order!” Mr. Smith demanded as he tapped my desk with a ruler. That’s when the pandemonium settled and the girls returned to their seats.

  “What were you thinking?” he asked me.

  I hadn’t meant to shout out the words of Ava, but they came rattling out of my mouth like venom I couldn’t contain. When I didn’t answer, Mr. Smith took hold of the sleeve of my blouse and pulled me out of my desk and toward the door. I could hear girls snickering and Mrs. Fields saying to them, “Girls who express masculine characteristics and behaviors as Lydia just did will not achieve any form of satisfaction in their adult lives, most especially personal fulfillment as wives and mothers.”

  Still in the grip of the principal, I managed to cast Mrs. Fields a look before leaving the door. And as our eyes were hooked, I blurted out in a voice that wasn’t at all mine, and one that sounded the way I imagined Ava’s to sound, “I beg to differ, Mrs. Fields.”

  I sat in the principal’s office all afternoon as Mrs. Cross, his secretary, repeatedly rang for Lloyd at work. She still had the blue iris sitting on her desk, I noticed.

  “It’s an important day at the bank,” I said to her. “I don’t think my father will have time for this.”

  “Oh, I think he’ll find time once we inform him of what happened today in civics class,” she said, putting down the receiver and looking at me. “Do you really mean what you said? Because anyone who does not embrace marriage and parenthood risks being perceived as perverted, immoral, unpatriotic, and pathological.”

  Then, she shifted in her seat, her voice softening. “I’ve known you since you first started school here, Lydia. You’re not any of those, are you? Do you know what all those words mean?”

  “Just because a girl has her own plans for life doesn’t mean she’s a deviant,” I said. “And besides, why would any girl want to get married? Why would she want to enter into a contract where she must serve and obey a man? If you ask me, it’s a form of master and servant.”

  Mrs. Cross didn’t answer. She stood up and walked out of the room and left me alone. A few minutes later I heard Mr. Smith and my father talking in the hallway outside the door. Mr. Smith had one of those voices that carry. It had always amused me that successfully whispering hadn’t been a prerequisite for him getting a job as principal. I heard every word he spoke to my father in the hall and I’m sure the nearby classrooms did as well.

  “I’m mostly concerned about deviance,” Mr. Smith announced. “The disturbed, hostile, and rebellious child is a danger to herself and to the community and a poor risk as a future citizen.”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” said Lloyd. “I do believe that the great ta
sk of parents is to see that their child’s individuality develops naturally without harm to himself or society. I am aware that Lydia is going through a phase in which she wants to express her individuality and she’s testing authority and boundaries in an effort to feel secure. I will discipline her accordingly. But I know my daughter. And she is not disturbed, hostile, or rebellious.

  She’s a respectful, charming young lady.”

  “I had always thought that, too, but there’s apparently another side to her. She wasn’t so charming when she used a Southern accent and told Mrs. Fields that she ‘begs to differ.’”

  “A Southern accent?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Lloyd. “I’m horribly confused. I’m distraught, I’m beside myself.”

  “I don’t want to overstep my boundary, but I’m wondering about your home life.”

  “Our home life? That girl has everything she needs and more.”

  “But she doesn’t have a mother,” said Mr. Smith.

  “No, but she has nannies and helpers and …”

  “Do they do everything for her? Do they let her do anything domestic?

  Does she wash dishes or help with laundry?”

  “There’s no need. I pay for it to be done.”

  “That’s my point. A girl, from the time she is little, finds it exciting and challenging to be like her mother,” Mr. Smith said. “In caring for her dolls, she takes that attitude and tone of voice of her mother. She absorbs her mother’s point of view toward men and boys. Observing a mother is a major way for a daughter to accept the distinction between a man’s role and a girl’s.”

  There was a pause. “Maybe I should have remarried. I should have found a mother for Lydia years ago,” said Lloyd. “But I became so entrenched at work. I don’t have time to …”

  “Have her help with dishes. You’ve got too many nannies, maybe. They’re doing everything domestic for her, and in that, you risk the possibility of raising a social misfit.”

  “She’s never washed a dish in her life.”

  “That’s concerning. She must learn to appreciate the distinctions between men and women and to think and act as members of her own sex are expected to think and act in marriage. There are books and articles I can give you. They’ll help put it into perspective.”

  I could hardly listen any more, and when tears of shame began pouring down my cheeks, I opened the door and ran into my father’s arms. “I’m so sorry,” I cried. “I didn’t mean to make you leave work and come here like this. I’m sorry.”

  “Lydia,” said Lloyd. “I love you and I’m going to correct your unhappiness.”

  “You’re going to work less and stay home with me more?”

  He looked up at Mr. Smith, who shook his head sadly and walked away.

  “You’re my number one most important asset, Lydia. I’m taking the rest of the day off, and you and I are going home. And we’re going to spend all evening together.”

  “Can we stop for ice cream?”

  “No,” he said. “Maybe,” he added, analyzing my unhappy face. “Okay.”

  The ride to the soda parlor was taking so long in traffic that I felt as if I were aging by an entire year. That’s how limousine rides made me feel, like the world was passing by through those windows and I was passively watching it go.

  I unrolled my window. At least I could then feel the breeze outside. But there were so many cars honking that it sounded like wild animals outside my window.

  The ride wouldn’t have been so bad if Lloyd and I spent the time talking, but instead, he chose to read. It looked at first as if he had opened the newspaper, but I caught a glimpse of what he was really reading, an article Mr. Smith must have given him called, “Raise Your Girl to be a Wife.”

  So I opened Ava’s journal, eager for words of advice from the president of the unladylike club. I may have felt a year older, sitting in the limo listening to the car horns bemoaning the tempers of the drivers, but Ava truly was a year older.

  I was stunned to discover it had been an entire year since our president’s previous entry.

  IX

  SANIBEL ISLAND

  1891

  Ava

  According to my mother, a girl is like an island in that she is constantly changing with time. And elements such as sunlight, wind and tides are constantly at work, altering her. When I asked her how a girl becomes a woman, she said it’s a process consisting of waves, gentle ripples, crashing surf and shifting sands. It’s the coming together of small things over time that creates a woman.

  I KNEW THE SEASONS on Sanibel had fully revolved, and it was spring once more when I awoke to the sound of alligators bellowing in the swamp outside my window. I first heard their sound last spring when we first arrived, and it was a sound I’d never forget.

  “Why are they making all that noise? What are those gators doing out there?” I pulled the pillow off my face and called out from my bed to Dahlia and Abigail, who were up before dawn doing laundry.

  “Alligator noises are none of a young lady’s business,” my mother replied from the other room. “Ava, get out of bed. There’s work to be done.”

  “They’re mating, aren’t they?” I asked, kicking the blanket down off my body and past my toes. “Why do they mate?”

  Dahlia poked her head in my room. “It’s how they make baby gators,” she murmured.

  “I knew that, Grandmalia, but how exactly do they do it?”

  “I think you better get your mind off that and think about something else.”

  “How can I think of anything else when all I hear are those gators mating out in the swamp? What else should I think about?”

  “How about Little Ben?”

  “Benjamin Harrison? The president? Why on earth would a girl want to think about anything or anyone political? I’m not interested in any of that. I do want to know more about mating.”

  “It’s not for me to tell you.”

  “Why? Why won’t anyone ever tell me anything I want to know? Oh come on, Grandmalia, tell me how babies get made.”

  I didn’t know my daddy had been standing outside the door, listening, but he made his presence known by clearing his voice loudly, and when I saw his shadow on the wall outside my door it looked like the spooky branches of a swamp tree. He staggered into my room like a creature and said in an eerie tone, “You hear all those roaring bellows and splashing head slaps out there?”

  “Yes,” I said, reminding myself why I never ask my daddy any life questions in the first place.

  “It’s the fellows courting the females with nose-taps, nudges, and shoves. That’s all there is to it, dear,” he said with moody eyes.

  “That’s disgusting,” I said.

  “It sure is and it’s exactly why I’m warning you to stay clear of boys. They’re disgusting. That’s all you need to know, coconut.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, disappointed in our stagnant conversation.

  “You think maybe you’ve got too much time on your hands, Ava?”

  “Hardly any.”

  “Okay, because I could always add to your chores.”

  “More chores?” I asked. “Unless you want to create an eighth day of the week, Daddy, my seven days are already full with nothing but chores. Look at me,” I said, wiping the tears from my face. “I’m fretful, frazzled, and fraught with tension as it is, and I’m starting school in the fall. If I take on more work, I’ll die.”

  “No additional chores, then. But you better pull yourself together and get out of bed. I’ve got to get going myself.”

  “Where are you going this morning?” I asked him.

  “To the bay to catch us something good. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye, blossom.”

  I once again sat up in bed and touched my feet to the wooden floor but collapsed back down again. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, other than I dreaded Mondays. I couldn’t tell my moth
er how I loathed doing laundry on Mondays, because a lady ought to joyfully fulfill her womanly role as keeper of the house and I didn’t want to be chastised, but it saddened me to think we spent at least forty-four hours a week making meals and cleaning up after them and another seven hours each week cleaning and doing laundry. It’s great for those who enjoy that sort of thing, but I didn’t enjoy it. I was different, and it was burdening to me to be so different, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Don’t let that sun rise before you, dear,” Abigail said as she walked into my room with a vase of flowers. She had been walking with a bounce ever since we arrived on the island and more so once Stewart had started bringing flowers home to her on a daily basis.

  No sooner had she set the vase on my bureau then Dahlia came following after with a broom. “When Abigail was a little girl, around your age, Ava, fifteen, sixteen, she’d pick me flowers,” Dahlia said slamming the broom down on escaping bugs. “But I told her the flowers had to stay out on the porch.” She tossed the broom aside and started stomping the bugs with her feet instead. I frowned.

  “Don’t make that face or it’ll freeze like that. You look like a dented coconut,” she said as she stopped her bug smashing and sat down at the end of my bed and began rubbing my toes. “You should be up by now. What’s going on this morning?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, pulling my knees to my chest. “My body aches. I feel no cheerfulness left in me. I hope it’s not tuberculosis.”