Cordelia is a force, striding over to the table, yanking off her gloves and slapping them against the hall stand. She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a folded newspaper and a series of pamphlets.
“Margaret! What do you make of this?” Cordelia glares at Peggy.
“Hello, Mother, it’s lovely to see you, too. My day? Well, I have a lot of things on the go.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Margaret. Look at these headlines. ‘Flippant Flapper a Real Peril, Says Labor Secretary’, and this one, ‘Is the Younger Generation in Jeopardy?’ She enunciates each word.
“I like this one,” says Peggy. “ ‘Mother Not to Blame for Flapper’s Flapping’ ”. That must be a comfort?”
“My dear, do not adopt that tone with me. This is real. We had a man in to speak to the Garden Club. He’s a physician. An expert. He talked about young women these days smoking and drinking in public.” Cordelia dabs her neck with her handkerchief and sits. “And it’s not just newspaper headlines. It’s right on our own doorsteps. Mrs. Tate, you remember Mrs. Tate? Her daughter was seen cavorting with a young man and no chaperone. Imagine.”
Peggy coughs quietly into her hand. “Excuse me a moment, Mother. I’ll just get the coffee.” She barely makes it through into the kitchen before doubling over in laughter. That old relic. Stuck in the good old days. You can’t keep young girls at home and in the kitchen anymore. Well, she never could. Peggy smirks, thinking of her own escape.
“Margaret? Can you hear what I’m saying? I said that this article says that women are working in offices and factories, earning the salary a family man would need.”
Peggy returns with the coffee tray. “It was all right when ladies worked in factories during the war. Why should they give up their jobs just because the men are home?”
“That’s just ridiculous. Men need those jobs. And each woman needs to find a man with a job to support them. So they can stay at home with their children. I mean really, Margaret. It’s always been that way. Something perhaps you could aspire to.”
No, it hasn’t always been that way. “Yes, Mother.”
“And the clothes young girls are wearing. Scandalous. You can see their knees. And short hair. I am so glad you’ve kept yours long, Margaret. A woman’s hair is her crowning glory.”
Maybe I should cut my hair? Give it one of those sassy bobs? So much handier, a quick flip and you’re out the door instead of hours of braiding and piling and pinning. “Yes, Mother,” Peggy replies.
“Since women got the vote, the whole country has fallen apart, let me tell you, Margaret.”
Women have been fighting for the vote since Mother was a girl. Pushing for change it seems like forever, and now, almost overnight, change is pulling us along so fast we can hardly keep up.
“Margaret. You aren’t paying attention. I was saying…”
When is she going to realize that the soft, demure Gibson Girl is gone; replaced with a sharp-edged, sassy flapper? All those rules for women? Well, rules are made to be broken, and then some.
“Women don’t even sound like they used to. I can’t understand a thing they say. Bee’s knees. What does that even mean? It’s ridiculous. All this independence. Young women are not shy to give their opinions anymore, Margaret. I fear for you, getting all caught up in this modern age.”
That’s true. All this change happening around me, but where do I fit in?
The mink’s head on her mother’s stole clutches its tail in its teeth. Above it, Peggy watches her mother warily. She waits for the next eruption.
“You don’t want people thinking you’re a flapper, do you? My dear Margaret, I really must insist again that you come home.”
Well, that didn’t take long. “Mother, I keep telling you that I left home to be with Jack, to start a new life. We’ve had this conversation many times: we’re living in a new age, and I am a new woman.”
“I see nothing new about a widow struggling to raise her son, Margaret. There have been women left alone since there were families. Look at your Aunt Elizabeth, who lived with Grand-mamma when dear Uncle Charles fell in the Boer War.”
Peggy grimaces. Mother produces these martyrs effortlessly, as if they are out of her handbag like a grocery list.
“Yes, dear Uncle Charles. Now he was a real soldier. A hero. Unlike some, he fought and died honorably” Cordelia says.
Peggy will have none of it. She’s convinced that her mother wishes Jack's death had been on the front lines in battle rather than on a picket line. That would have made it more honorable for Mother. She doesn’t understand that for him, that picket line was about the honor protecting his comrades and their families. There is a way her mother's mouth curls when she talks about Jack's work with the labor movement, as if she's chewed a bit of spoiled food.
“Jack fought for what he believed in as well, Mother. And died for it.”
Cordelia frowns at Peggy. “That was a shame, and selfish of him, leaving you and Tommy alone. Aunt Elizabeth would never have been able to manage on her own, without her family to stand by her. By new age, do you mean that you should turn your back on your family, my dear? Well then, I want nothing to do with this ‘new’.” Cordelia moves into her favorite line of attack. “And you know, Tommy would be much better growing up in a secure home, with all the advantages you had.”
“I know no such thing, Mother. You forget that I chose to leave all those so-called advantages behind to have a life with Jack, a life that includes Tommy. We’re doing just fine on our own.” Peggy lowers her teacup to the table, afraid she’ll snap the handle.
“Well, if you’re not going to think of what’s best for Tommy, then think about us, Margaret. You used to care about what people thought. You have no idea what I’ve had to endure since you left. It’s still the main topic of conversation at the Club.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s been difficult for you, Mother. I, on the other hand, have enjoyed nothing but the life of Riley since I left. Nothing but good times for me.”
Cordelia huffs and puffs at the accusation.
“I have to think about what’s best for my family, Mother. And my family is Tommy. I’ve told you before, it’s best that he and I remain in Philadelphia. There are opportunities here, and good schools.”
“Opportunities?” Peggy now has her mother’s close attention. “Does that mean you are you seeing someone, Margaret?”
“Not those kinds of opportunities, Mother. Economic opportunities.”
There's a commotion in the front hall. Joe and a young woman are standing in the entry to the living room. She is a tiny thing, done up in the latest fashion; her skirt ends mid-calf, her hair is a short, neat bob. The flappers' typical bee-stung mouth pouts prettily as she peers out from behind long bangs. A little cloche cap sits snug on her head.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Oh, I’m sorry, you already have a visitor. I wanted you to meet a family friend from my hometown. Mrs. Barnes, let me introduce Fanny Carmichael. Fanny, this is my landlady, Mrs. Barnes,” Joe says.
Peggy rises to greet her new guests. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Carmichael. And this is my mother, Mrs. Gifford,” Peggy says.
“Ah yes, the young boarder. Good afternoon, Constable Kelly,” Cordelia says. “And charming to make your acquaintance, Miss Carmichael.”
Peggy notices that Joe has his arm around Fanny. Family friend? Sure.
“We were just having coffee. Would you and Miss Carmichael like to join us?” Peggy says. Joe and Fanny may be the cavalry that she’s been hoping for in the ongoing skirmish with her mother.
As the young couple settles on the couch and Peggy pours them coffee, she admires the neat T-strapped heels that Fanny is wearing. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of those. Like anyone would see them under my long skirts. I look more like Mother than Fanny.
“So, Miss Carmichael, you must be from Ardmore, like the Constable here. Margaret has mentioned that your family are in coal, Constable Kelly. And Miss Carmichael, are you en
joying your visit to Philadelphia, my dear?” Mrs. Gifford asks. She leans back to better peer down her nose at Fanny.
“Nope, I don’t live in Ardmore anymore. I’m a Philly gal, now. Moved here six weeks ago. And it’s the cat’s pajamas, I tell ya.” Fanny tosses her head as she speaks; her earrings twinkle in the light.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, my dear. I understand then that your parents have passed. Was it an accident?”
“Mother,” Peggy warns.
“Oh no, they’re still alive and kicking. I just decided I needed a change of scene and thought I’d give Philly a try.” Fanny says, with a gay little smile.
Peggy smiles at Fanny, admiring her pluck.
“Excuse me, but surely your parents did not give you permission to move to Philadelphia? Are they not concerned? A young woman, on her own, in a big city?” Mrs. Gifford tries gamely to re-establish her footing.
“Oh, they were put out, all right. We had a huge row before I left. They really didn’t approve. But I just felt that I could do better on my own. I found a good job as a telephone operator at Atlantic Refining.”
“Ah, so you’re one of those modern women I hear so much about from Margaret.” Mrs. Gifford frowns at Peggy. “Well, I certainly don't approve of young, single women leaving home. Margaret was bad enough, and she left to be married. There is far too much selfish thinking these days, and not enough respect for traditions and family.”
Peggy watches the volley pass between Fanny and her mother. She would intervene but is enjoying the rare opportunity to spectate rather than participate.
“Oh la, Mrs. Gifford, you slay me.” Fanny giggles, gazing around the room, humming, her toe tapping. “You know this song, don’tcha? It’s the bee’s-knees.” Fanny leaps up and shimmies around the living room. “You have to move with the times, right Mrs. Barnes? Like I told my own ma.” She belts out in her best Tin Pan Alley style:
“Every morning, every evening
Ain’t we got fun?
Not much money, oh but honey
Ain’t we got fun?”
Peggy’s delighted to be included ‘with the times’. She taps her foot in time to the song. At the end of the tune, Fanny collapses on the couch in Joe’s lap. Joe is in awe.
“Well, I have never heard such poppycock. Nor seen such behavior. Young lady, I’ll have you know that in MY day…”
“Mother, perhaps we could finish this visit another time? I’m sure that Constable Kelly and Miss Carmichael have things they’d rather be doing than sitting here, being lectured to? And I’m sure that you have other errands in the city as well?”
Peggy’s mother stares at her stonily. “Are you asking me to leave, Margaret?”
Peggy stands, then heads for the front door. “Yes Mother, I guess I am. I look forward to visiting with you another time.”
Cordelia Gifford rises slowly and casts a disparaging glance around the small living room. Her gaze settles on the young flapper, who has moved off of Joe's lap and is once again perched on the edge of the sofa beside him, still humming, still tapping.
Cordelia turns to Peggy. “As I said, my dear, there is a distinct lack of respect these days.” And in a parting shot at Fanny, declares, “Young ladies who run wild come to no good end, as my daughter knows only too well.” She sweeps out of the room, and out the front door.
“My apologies for my mother's very rude behavior, Miss Carmichael. She can be a stubborn and opinionated old woman at times. Well, actually, all the time.”
“Oh heck, Missus B., don’t give it a mind. I got one of those at home, too. Your ma’s a real Mrs. Grundy,” Fanny says. She giggles, snuggling closer to Joe. ”Hey Joe, didn’t you say you needed to get something from your room? Before we head out tonight?” Fanny gives him a push. “Go on, ya’ big palooka. Missus B and I are just going to sit here and have a bit of a chinwag. You go do what you need to do.” Joe pats her hand then heads upstairs.
As Joe climbs the stairs, Fanny turns to Peggy. “I hope you don’t mind me barging over like this, Missus B., but Joe talks about you all the time and I just had to meet you.”
“I’m glad you came over, Fanny. I’ve been wondering where Joe has been off to these past few weeks. He’s never home.”
Peggy, still rattled by her mother’s parting jab, smiles at Fanny perched beside her. “It must be quite the adventure to be living on your own. When I left home with Jack, it caused a major scandal up and down the Main Line, as you can imagine. It was seven years ago and, back then, that kind of thing just wasn’t done. It was years before my parents would speak with me. Even after Tommy was born.”
“Oh, I’m not on my own, not really. Me and a couple of gals share an apartment downtown. It’s the only way I can afford to live here. Even with a regular paycheck, I never seem to have any dough,” Fanny says. “Being on your own, with a baby and all, now that would have been hard, but you've done okay. It's swell that you have this house and have folks like Joe to live here. Joe says that you got hitched real young. He died, didn’t he? Your husband, I mean, not Joe…” Fanny says, giggling again. “You’re swell. Not like those old gals.”
This girl admires me?
“Yes, my Jack was killed in the Great Steel Strike four years ago. It’s been a struggle, as there wasn’t much money to begin with. His pals from the union helped out, and his parents as well, when they could. And I took in mending and some sewing. It’s been hard, but we’re managing.”
“Jeepers, Missus B. Can I call you Missus B?” Fanny says, taking both of Peggy’s hands in her own. “I just knew it. You and me, both on our own in the big city. Our folks steamin’. It’s like we’re sisters or something.” Fanny leans in with a hug. Peggy pats Fanny’s back. My, but she’s a peppy thing.
“I mean, you and me, we got tons in common, it feels like. And I think that you’re just awesome,” Fanny gushes. “When I left home, I felt that I was the only girl ever to do that, you know what I mean? Nobody in my family got it. Lots of frowny faces, I can tell you. Then finding a place, and then figuring out how I was going to find the clams to stay here. I gotta tell you, Missus B, walking into the Atlantic was the hardest thing I ever had to do. They’re in one of those twenty-story skyscrapers, you know, downtown? I rode an elevator, first time ever. And then had to talk my way into trying out for the job. But I got it.”
“I bet you did.” It’s exhausting, keeping up with her.
“And then I couldn’t believe it when Joe tells me that you did the same thing. Leaving home. Your folks put out. And I have it easy compared to you. I mean, a little boy, all on your own. Your husband gone.” Fanny‘s wide eyes fill with tears. “Losing your one true love. I mean, that’s all pretty rough, ain’t it?”
Peggy pats Fanny’s hand. She’s flustered and proud at the same time. She’s never thought of herself as a role model. Or been praised for doing what needs to be done. This young girl is looking up to me. Me. Maybe Tommy and I can make it on our own after all.
Joe bounds down the stairs wearing a different jacket.
“Don’t you look spiffy,” says Fanny. She hops up to greet him. “Bye, Missus B. We got to vamoose. Big plans tonight.” With a wave of her fingers and a twinkle of her earrings she is gone, Joe in her wake.
Chapter 21
P eggy gathers the coffee cups and heads into the kitchen. What a breath of fresh air Fanny is. The perfect antidote to Mother. Gosh, I hope I never become as rigid as that old battle ax. Peggy turns the tap. Nothing. “Nerts!” she stamps her foot.
Broken again. That plumber sure did a crappy job. And this is crappy plumbing. In a crappy house. And I have a crappy, crappy life. How will I make breakfast in the morning? How will the lodgers wash up? Oh no, I’ll lose the lodgers. They won’t stay in a house without water. Without the lodgers, I’ll have to marry Howard. Or worse, move back in with my parents. All because of these stupid, crappy taps.
“Why don’t you just fix them yourself?” Frank asks.
"You
. Your sudden appearances throw me for a loop, Inspector.” She paces in front of the sink and tries the taps again.
“Fix them myself? Yes, why don't I just. And shingle the roof while I'm at it.” She places her hands on her hips. “It doesn't seem to matter what I do, I just can't get ahead.” She smacks at the taps.
“You know, Constable Kelly brought a young woman around this afternoon, and she thought I was the cat's pajamas for what I've accomplished on my own. She loves my independence. Ha! She should see the real consequences of foolish decisions. No water, a stack of bills, a dead husband, raising a child alone, no one to talk to, except for an old codger who's been dead for a dozen years. Sometimes, Inspector, I think it's just all too much.”
Frank is pushed back by the ferociousness of her remarks.
Peggy collapses into a chair, leans her elbows on the table, and cups her forehead in her hands. “I gave up my home, my family, my security. For what? A twinkling eye and a warm kiss?” She fights off tears by breathing deeply.
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