A Woman's Place

by Lynn Austin

  “I promised my dad I’d be back by tomorrow night. Any chance I can bring you home with me? There’s room in my truck for all your things.”

  Oh dear. Jean still wasn’t ready to move back home, but she didn’t know how to reply without making him angry all over again. Then she remembered Helen’s warning about not allowing him to manipulate her with anger. She decided to be honest with Russ right from the start instead of raising his hopes.

  “I can’t come home with you, Russ. There’s too much going on at work. One of my crew members is going to have a baby and I have to train a new—”

  “I get the message,” he said, holding up both hands. “I didn’t come here to talk about work, so let’s not.”

  He pulled Jean close and kissed her again. The sensations that flooded through her were so wonderful that she almost decided to hand in her own resignation along with Rosa’s. The attack on Earl had scared her more than she was willing to admit to anyone—even herself. And if Thelma did manage to get hired on Jean’s crew, there might be more attacks. But as much as she wanted to be safe and to be near Russ, Jean knew that the battle over hiring Negro workers was well worth fighting. She wasn’t a quitter. Earl had stood up for what was right and so would she.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she murmured as she hugged Russ again.

  CHAPTER 25

  * Rosa *

  Rosa leaned forward from the backseat of Helen’s car as they pulled out of Jean’s driveway. “What did Jean say? Why isn’t she coming?”

  “Apparently her boyfriend drove all the way from Indiana to see her,” Helen replied.

  “So she isn’t coming with us at all?”

  Ginny turned around on the front seat to face her. “I gather from some of the things that Jean has said in the past that her boyfriend gets jealous easily.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken him back if it were me,” Helen said, almost to herself.

  “Me either,” Rosa said. “He’s got a lot of nerve. He doesn’t write for months and months, then he just shows up one day like everything is hunky-dory? That stinks, in my book.”

  “They say love is blind,” Ginny said, smiling faintly.

  When they arrived at the hospital, Earl was sitting in a wheelchair in the lobby with a huge fruit basket on his lap. Rosa winced when she saw how awful he looked—like something from a bad horror movie. His face was black-and-blue and swollen up like a balloon, his nose was bent and crooked looking. The row of Frankenstein stitches above his eye didn’t help any, either. One of his arms was in a cast—his good arm, poor guy. Evidently no one had thought to bring him a change of clothes, so he wore the same shirt and trousers from yesterday, torn and stained with blood. Someone had cut the sleeve of his shirt so it would fit over the cast.

  “What’s the wheelchair for?” Rosa asked. “Is your leg broken, too?”

  “It’s hospital policy,” the gray-haired woman who was pushing it said. She wore a striped volunteer’s uniform and thick-soled shoes that squeaked on the linoleum as she maneuvered Earl outside to Helen’s car.

  “You look terrible,” Rosa told him. “They really worked you over, didn’t they?”

  “What a lovely fruit basket, Mr. Seaborn,” Ginny said before he could reply. Too late, Rosa realized that she shouldn’t have told him the truth about how awful he looked. Why couldn’t she ever keep her mouth shut?

  “The fruit came from Mr. Wire and the other bigwigs at the shipyard,” Earl replied. Ginny lifted it from his lap so he could climb into the front seat. He moved stiffly, as if he ached all over, and he let out a grunt as he seated himself again. He glanced all around as everyone else climbed in. “Where’s Jean?” he asked.

  “Some unexpected company arrived at the last minute and she couldn’t come,” Helen explained. “She said to be sure to give you her best wishes.”

  “And she made you some fried chicken,” Ginny added.

  “Was it her boyfriend from Indiana?” Earl asked as Helen started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Yeah, how’d you know?” Rosa asked.

  “Lucky guess.”

  Rosa heard the disappointment in his voice and had a sudden thought. “You’re sweet on Jean, aren’t you?”

  Ginny laid her hand on Rosa’s knee. “Shh, Rosa.”

  “Was that a nosy question? Sorry. You don’t have to answer it, Mr. Seaborn. Besides, I think the answer’s pretty clear from your long face.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Am I that transparent? Great!”

  “We were just talking about Jean’s boyfriend on the way over here, weren’t we?” Rosa continued. “To tell you the truth, we don’t think too much of him. None of us has ever met him, but even so …”

  “I’ve met him,” Earl said, “and I don’t stand a chance competing against him.”

  “I may be speaking out of turn, Mr. Seaborn,” Helen said, “but you do have one huge advantage over her boyfriend. Jean says you’ve been very supportive of her college education—and I’ve heard her say that her boyfriend isn’t.”

  “A lot of good that does me. The guy is built like a statue of Atlas.”

  “Give Jean a little credit for not being superficial,” Helen replied.

  “I can think of another advantage you have,” Ginny said. “You’re with Jean every day and he isn’t. You have more opportunities to make a good impression. I know she was very concerned about you after you were attacked. She insisted on riding in the ambulance with you. And she told everyone how brave you were, standing up to your attackers and not running away.”

  “I couldn’t have run even if I’d wanted to,” he said quietly.

  “Because of your crippled leg?” Rosa asked.

  “Rosa …” Ginny said with a sigh.

  “Did I do it again? Gosh, I’m real sorry, Mr. Seaborn.”

  “That’s okay. I’m the one who brought it up.”

  They arrived at his apartment, and he climbed out of the car very gingerly, holding his arm close to his chest as if his ribs hurt. “Thanks for the lift, Helen,” he said when he finally maneuvered to his feet.

  “We’re coming inside with you,” Rosa said. “We all made food for you. Dirk’s mother and I made a peach pie. We’ll help you carry everything into the house.”

  “Thanks.” It took him a long, awkward moment to fish his keys from his pocket with his withered left hand and unlock the door. Rosa was surprised to see how small his apartment was. He pointed to the counter behind a folding screen where there was a hot plate and space to set down the food and the fruit basket. “That looks like enough food for an army,” he said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  “What you’re trying to do for Thelma and the other Negroes is very courageous,” Helen told him. “I admire you for standing up for what’s right, even when it has cost you so much. You’re a good man, Mr. Seaborn.”

  “Yeah, Jean’s crazy for not picking you,” Rosa said. She knew by the look Ginny gave her that she’d been too forward again. She wanted to make it up to him. “Mr. Seaborn, can you dance?” she asked him.

  “Can I … dance?”

  “Yeah, I mean … with your crippled leg and all—can you dance?”

  “Rosa, not now—” Ginny tried to interrupt, but Earl stopped her.

  “No, that’s okay. I’d rather have people come right out and ask about my handicaps than simply ignore me. To answer your question, Rosa—I probably could dance if I knew how. Why?”

  “Because Jean has told me a bunch of times how much she loves to go dancing, but her boyfriend doesn’t like to and won’t ever take her. If you offered to take her to a dance sometime, you’d have a leg up on the guy—so to speak.”

  Helen rolled her eyes. “I believe we have meddled in your life enough for one day,” she said, opening the door. “Come on, Rosa. Let’s allow Mr. Seaborn to get some rest.”

  “I’ll teach you how to dance if you want me to,” Rosa said, pausing in the open doorway. “I can mak
e you into a regular Fred Astaire.”

  Earl laughed. “I don’t think Fred Astaire ever danced with a broken arm and cracked ribs, but maybe I’ll take you up on your offer when I heal a little bit. Thanks again for all your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” Rosa said. “And you take care of yourself, Mr. Seaborn.”

  CHAPTER 26

  July 25, 1943

  “Benito Mussolini has been ousted as ‘il duce’ and premier of Italy.

  Marshal Pietro Badoglio will succeed him.”

  * Virginia *

  Ginny tried to forget about all the housework that she was neglecting at home as she rode the bus to Rosa’s house one steamy Saturday morning in August. She never worked on Sunday, the Lord’s Day, so all of her chores—laundry, shopping, vacuuming, cleaning—had to be done on Saturday. But Rosa had pleaded with her for help in getting ready for the baby, and Ginny didn’t have the heart to refuse.

  Rosa stood on the Voorhees’ front steps, waiting for her. “Thanks so much for coming. I don’t know a thing about babies, and you’re a real-live expert!”

  “I think you’re exaggerating, Rosa. I only have two children. Now, Jean’s mother, with eighteen kids—that’s a real expert!”

  Ginny greeted Mrs. Voorhees, who was in the kitchen baking something that smelled wonderful, then followed Rosa to her bedroom. It was obvious from the baseball equipment and school pennants and the shelf full of adventure stories that this was Dirk Voorhees’ boyhood bedroom. But Rosa’s things were scattered around in abundance, as well—perfume bottles, makeup containers, high heels, a brassiere, and silk slip. Piled on the floor were several boxes and bags.

  “Dirk’s sister gave me some clothes and things that her kids don’t need no more, since they’re school age already. And Jean’s sister loaned me the stuff in those bags. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what half of it is even used for, let alone what else I need to buy.”

  “We’ll sort through everything together,” Ginny said, “then we’ll have a better idea what to shop for. Just think,” she said with a sigh, “in only four and a half months you’ll be holding a little one in your arms! You’re halfway there already.”

  She sat down on Rosa’s bed and opened the first box, pulling out baby-soft undershirts, nightgowns, and receiving blankets. Such tiny little things! Ginny battled her emotions as she sorted everything into piles according to size.

  “Does a little-bitty baby really need this much stuff?” Rosa asked.

  Ginny cleared the knot from her throat. “You’ll be surprised how quickly they grow. It seems like only yesterday that Allan and Herbie could fit into tiny undershirts like these.” She held one to her nose and inhaled, remembering how wonderful a new baby smelled.

  Rosa pulled out a nightie and studied it as if it might start talking to her. She lowered it to her lap with a sigh. “You know what, Ginny? I’m scared.”

  “I was, too. I think every woman is afraid the first time. We hear so much about the pain of childbirth and the hours and hours of labor and so on.”

  “It’s not the birth so much as afterward,” Rosa said softly. “I never even played with dolls when I was a kid. I don’t know anything about babies—like how to pin diapers or fix bottles or anything.”

  “It’s much easier if you skip the bottles and feed your baby yourself. The milk is ready whenever he’s hungry and it’s always the right temperature. You get to hold him close to your heart…. It’s the most wonderful thing… .” She couldn’t finish.

  “You want another baby, don’t you?”

  Ginny could only nod. The longing felt like a hunger that consumed her from the inside. She had to get hold of herself. She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Don’t mind me. Maybe it’s a good thing that Harold doesn’t want any more children or I’d probably end up with as many as Jean’s mother.”

  “She must have been pregnant all her life!”

  “Most of it, anyway. Have you felt the baby move yet?”

  “I think so. I was sitting in the living room listening to the radio the other night and felt something fluttering inside—like I had butterflies in my stomach or something.”

  “That’s exactly what my babies felt like the first time—like a tiny little hand was waving at me from the inside. But wait until he starts to kick! You’ll feel that for sure. It’s the most wonderful sensation, feeling that baby moving inside of you. I missed it so much after they were born.”

  “You should have eighteen kids,” Rosa said, frowning. “You’re a natural-born mother. Why doesn’t your husband want any more?”

  “I don’t know. He never really gave me a reason.”

  “Can’t you talk to him about it?”

  “He’s still so mad at me for working at the shipyard that he barely speaks to me about anything these days.”

  “That’s what I call carrying a grudge. You been working there almost a year.”

  “And you know what? I made up my mind to keep working there until he gets over it. Like Helen says, I won’t let him use anger to get his own way.”

  “Atta girl, Ginny!”

  They sorted through all the boxes and bags, putting the smallest things on top to use first. Then Ginny helped Rosa make a list of all the other things she would need.

  “Dirk’s mother has already started knitting sweaters and booties. She said she’d help me sew diapers if I got some cloth. But I was wondering … is there some other way I can keep diapers on the kid without using pins? I just know I’m gonna stick his little behind and make him cry.”

  Ginny laughed. “I guarantee you won’t stick him—unless he squirms all around the way Herbie did. I used to warn him that it would be his own fault if he got pricked.”

  “Did his fanny bleed?” Rosa asked in horror.

  “No, because I never did stick him, and you won’t, either. But we can practice if you want to. I’m sure Patty would let you diaper her baby, or we can borrow a doll from somewhere. Believe me, if you can learn to solder the circuits on a landing craft, you can certainly learn to diaper a baby.”

  “It seems like being a mother is a really important job—a hard job. And I don’t want to mess things up. Especially with Dirk’s baby.”

  “Motherhood is a really big job, Rosa. But—”

  She’d been about to say how meaningful and fulfilling motherhood was, but it suddenly felt like a lie. Ginny remembered nursing both of her sons and thinking, This is what I was born to do, what I’m happiest doing. But once her children had become independent, she had outgrown her usefulness. Wasn’t that why she had gone to work in the shipyard nearly a year ago—because motherhood no longer fulfilled her? She remembered thinking that her family never noticed her, that they no longer needed her except in the same way they needed the refrigerator or kitchen range. She had felt as though she was losing herself. If she was no longer a mother, then who was she?

  But how could she tell Rosa that her baby would need her, that his very life would depend on her, not just for nourishment but for protection, nurture, instruction—and then one day he wouldn’t need her anymore? That she would have to find something else to give her life meaning?

  Ever since Ginny had taken the job at the shipyard, she had begun to grow in new directions. She had looked up the words growing and sprouting in her thesaurus and had discovered the word burgeoning. It meant: “to begin to grow, as a bud; to put forth buds and shoots, as a plant.” That’s what she was starting to do—burgeon out. But if Harold didn’t want her to be a mother or to have a job, in what other direction could she grow?

  “But what?” Rosa asked. She was still waiting for Ginny to finish her sentence. Ginny couldn’t tell her all of these things. Rosa would have to learn them for herself. And she would learn them soon enough.

  “I just remembered,” Ginny said, struggling to change the subject. “I still have the bassinet I used when the boys were babies. I think it’s down in the basement at home. It will fit in this little bed
room quite nicely, and you won’t have to worry about getting a crib for a while.”

  “Maybe by that time the war will be over and Dirk will be home, and we can get our own house.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Ginny said, smiling.

  There was a knock on the bedroom door. “I thought you ladies might like some lemonade and cake,” Mrs. Voorhees said from the other side of it. Rosa opened the door, and Tena handed her a tray. Mrs. Voorhees’ face softened when she saw the baby clothes spread out on the bed. “Ah, look … so precious,” she murmured.

  “Why don’t you stay and have some lemonade with us?” Ginny offered.

  “Oh no. I don’t want to bother you.” She backed from the room and closed the door again, but Ginny had the distinct feeling that Mrs. Voorhees would have stayed with a little encouragement from Rosa.

  “This was very nice of your mother-in-law,” Ginny said as she bit into the still-warm cake. “You know, I think she would be more than happy to give you advice and to help you with the baby if you asked her.”

  “I don’t want her to know how dumb I am when it comes to babies,” Rosa said in a whisper. “She might tell Dirk. And I also don’t want her interfering in my life.”

  “She isn’t interfering; it’s her way of showing love—like bringing us this cake and lemonade. It must be so hard for her now that her children are all grown—and then to have Dirk leave home, too. There is nothing worse than feeling useless. Believe me, I know. But if you let Mrs. Voorhees help you, she would feel valued and needed.”

  “She always takes Wolter’s side.”

  “All the more reason to get her on your side. You told us about your mother and how she wasn’t a very good one. Why not let Mrs. Voorhees mother you? She seems like a wonderful one. Look how well she raised Dirk.”

  “He thinks the world of his mom.”

  “Why not let her be a friend and a mother to you, a grandmother to your baby?”