What Was I Thinking? (25 page)

“Nonsense, my dear,” she said comfortably,
sitting back down beside me on the sofa and patting my hand. “You are about to
become my daughter, and you are a very dear friend quite apart from your
relationship to my son. Now, do stop crying and let’s talk of other things.”

I stopped sniffling, but I wasn’t ready to talk
of other things. That darn moose was
still
not out on the table where he belonged and more delay wasn’t going to help
anything.

I dried my eyes, took a deep breath, and turned
to face her directly. “Augusta, Bert didn’t quite get the point of what I was
trying to tell him at breakfast. I
did
want
a watch, and this
is
beautiful,” I
patted it, and couldn’t help smiling, “but it wasn’t the point. The point
was—and still is—that I need to find a way to earn my own money. Wanting a
watch was just what made me realize that I needed a job, if you see what I
mean.”

She didn’t see at all, but to her credit, she
was paying attention, which was more than her son had done. “I do not see. I’m
sorry. I can tell that this is important to you, but I cannot understand why.
Do you not have all that you need?”

“All but self-respect,” I said, somewhat
bitterly.

She looked at me with surprise, and perhaps a
little hurt.

I hated hurting her, but I had to spit it out
while I still had my nerve. “It’s not that I’m lacking anything material. It’s
that I am living on your generosity, like a child—or a leech. I need to earn my
own money, spend it according to my own decisions, and contribute to the
household.”

“Oh, now, dear!
A guest must never pay for her
keep and you are a most honored and welcome guest here!”

That was part of the problem, I realized. I
didn’t want to be a
guest,
I wanted to be a member of
the family, to consider this my home, or have a separate home that was my own.
But how to say that without seeming demanding and selfish?
I
decided to let that part go, for now at least.

“Still, I would feel better if I were earning
some money of my own.”

“But, Addie, do you not have an income?” She
sounded bewildered, but she couldn’t be as bewildered as I was.

“No! I just said that!” What had happened to
me, raising my voice to Augusta? She looked as annoyed as I had ever seen her
and I was ashamed.

But I couldn’t stop myself. “What
is
it with you and Bert and this
‘income’ stuff? How could I have an income when you know perfectly well that I
don’t have a job?”

She was quiet for a moment, looking at me
consideringly, and then she looked over at her desk where I knew she hid a
secret journal with a list of terms I’d taught her. “I think we must have run
across another problem of translation,” she said at last. “Will you walk in the
garden with me?”

“Of course.”
I wondered what could be hard
to translate about income, but if she wanted to talk where the servants
wouldn’t overhear, so be it. Fresh air and exercise could only help, after all.

When we had reached the far border of the
backyard, where we would see any servant approach long before we could be
heard, she turned to me and said, “what I mean when I speak of ‘having an
income’ is an annuity, or some arrangement of cash set up by your family to
keep you. When I was a young unmarried lady, I was allowed a certain part of my
family trust quarterly, and when I married my husband arranged a further
income, so I need not feel dependent and childlike. I think that is the
frustration you speak of, so perhaps we are not entirely out of sympathy.”

“Oh.” I was all but dumbfounded and I felt very
dumb. Hadn’t I ever read a historical novel? Well, I had, but either they
weren’t very detailed, or I hadn’t paid enough attention. “I’m sorry. That
never crossed my mind. People do still have income from trusts and investments
in my time, but not people like me.”

“No? Why not like you?”

“Because I’m ordinary, and only
the very rich have money like that, and don’t have to work.”
It came to me like a block of
ice in my stomach that this woman
was
the very rich and even in my day she and Bert would not have understood needing
to work just to pay the bills.

“But then, how did you live if you did not have
an income?”

“I had a job. I had a good job, I made good
money, I paid my bills, and I tried to save and invest a little.”

“A job?
I knew…you did speak of working
in that office spire, but I had thought that was a diversion to occupy your
mind until you married.”

Don’t get mad, don’t get mad,
don’t
get mad, I thought fiercely. That wasn’t at all a strange
assumption for her time and some people still thought it in my own time. It was
just that they were clearly jerks and I ignored them on the rare occasions I
even came into contact with them.

I looked at the tips of my shoes, peeping out
beneath my dark gold skirt, and tried to think of an answer that was both
truthful and conciliatory.

Augusta misinterpreted my silence, and spoke
first. “I have no intention to insult you, Jane Addams.” I assumed that she
used both of my names to imply formality and extreme courtesy. “I simply do not
understand. Perhaps you could tell me more.”

I looked up into her kind, troubled face. “I
probably
should
tell you more.
There’s so much we don’t know about each other’s worlds. And the truth is
,
enjoyment was part of the point of working, even though it
didn’t work out so well for me.

“Do you think we could go for an actual walk,
down the street, or in a park, so we can talk for a long time without anyone
interrupting or remarking on it?”

She agreed readily enough that we should go
out, but the muddy street was no place for ladies to stroll, especially if they
wanted to
avoid
comment. She asked
the gardener, Joshua, to hitch up the buggy and we took a quiet ride out to the
country to talk.

I told her all about working, about how good it
felt to earn one’s own money, how rewarding it was to work at a career that
mattered, and how I had let my own career get sidetracked into something I
didn’t think mattered. I told her how much I had enjoyed relaxing and being a
pampered guest and I told her that I was beginning to get bored without mental
challenge and that I felt very guilty about making no contribution to my own
keeping or to society.

She
listened
a lot,
asked good questions, and at last stopped the horse under a shade tree near a
brook. We both got down and she let the horse have a drink.

At last she asked, “Are you thinking of leaving
us, Addie? Do you want to go back to your old life?”

I was startled. I hadn’t even considered that.
“No, not at all.
I love Bert. I couldn’t leave him. And
there’s nothing for me there. I just need to figure out a way I can live here,
do you see?”

“Mm.
And to do
that you need a career?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. I do need to do
something useful with my days and to earn at least a little money.”

“Well, let us think. Surely these things can be
arranged. I am not acquainted with any ladies who have careers, but they do
exist. After all, Mrs. Curie has received a doctorate and works as a full
partner in her husband’s science lab.”

She looked at the sky as if estimating the
time, and I looked at my new watch brooch with pleasure. “It’s ten forty-five
a.m.,” I said.

She smiled at me. “I thought it must be about
that. I do not like to cut our chat short, but we are expected at Mrs.
Harbison’s house for luncheon, so I think we must turn back.”

I agreed and we had another peaceful ride back
to the house. This time, the talk was less intense, but it was still in the
same vein.

She asked me why I had left my science behind
to work in marketing—I had explained modern marketing careers on the way
out—and I had to admit I didn’t really know why. I guessed it had been the path
of least resistance. For all I had thought discrimination against women had
been ancient history by the time I got my first job, it was true that women
were expected to be more interested in the pretty and soft careers like
marketing, PR, advertising. Women were
allowed
to work as scientists, but I didn’t personally know many who had stuck with the
lab, instead of moving into the office.

It gave me a lot to think about for the rest of
the day. That was good, because the conversation at luncheon and the afternoon
of croquet certainly didn’t provide any food for thought.

At supper that evening, Bert announced that he
had arranged for me to have pocket money of ten dollars a month, to be paid
into a small account he’d opened for me at Boatmans Bank. It didn’t sound like
much to my twenty-first century ears, but I knew it was about the
annual
household expenditure on
subscriptions, so it was really a very generous monthly income for someone with
no real expenses.

He ceremoniously handed me five shiny, new
one-dollar coins and a bankbook with an entry showing a deposit of five
dollars. “It will all be deposited for you in the future, but I thought you
would like to have your first installment partly in cash, to save the trouble
of a visit to a bank.”

I thanked him sincerely, trying to fight down
the embarrassment. I had no other money and I couldn’t find a job or start a
business without a little capital. And the freedom of making small purchases
without asking for gifts would surely help me manage my grumpiness. I would
take the allowance with thanks for now and figure out how to pay it back as
soon as I had figured out a way to earn my own.

* * * *

With my reawakening need for a career came
increased awareness of how little involvement I had in Bert’s real life. I had
thought I was joining him for a grand adventure, made all the better by a true
romance. But now that I was paying attention, over the excitement of the new
world and accustomed to the leisure, I realized that, in his eyes, he had
returned from a grand adventure, having found a wife along the way. Now he was
back to his normal life, and the little woman was preparing for a wedding, as expected.

As the weeks had gone on, our cozy after-supper
chats between just the three of us who knew about the Roland Steamer had
dwindled to just one or two a week, and with them, the talk of science and
research had disappeared.

That would never do. Romance was fine and
well—I did like roses and poems—but I couldn’t love anyone I barely saw and
never had serious talks with. Also, how could he love me if I were no more than
a stranger he took to dinner once a week and kissed barely more often than
that?

I had to fix that, too. I had to fix everything
about this life, except that I was in love with Bert and had a good friend in
Augusta. I had made a start at fixing things by arranging for healthy
breakfasts and at least talking about career options. But I still needed
exercise, low-fat lunches and dinners, and Bert’s attention.

I had to set some priorities. I had tried
enough makeovers in my old life to know that trying too much in one go was
doom. Well, priorities. Okay. What should they be?

Changing my dietary habits entirely would be
hard to do, and fairly rude. It would mean extra work for the servants, and
would probably offend Mrs. Horner, who would take it as a criticism. It might
even offend Augusta. I knew she collaborated with the cook on choosing menus
and prided herself on her well-run household and excellent cook. So I would
take pleasure in my improved breakfasts for now and eat what the others ate the
rest of the day.

Getting Bert’s attention would take time,
patience, and concentration. Demanding it would backfire and he was still upset
by my nutty thoughts of working for money.

The only thing I could change without upsetting
the whole household was exercise. Without a bra, running shoes, or any
equipment, my options were limited, but I
could
contrive a way to take long walks daily. I could also prop my bedroom door
tightly closed against surprise visits from maids, and do yoga, gentle
stretches, sit-ups, and push-ups. I could remember enough from the various
exercise classes I’d taken over the years to give myself a good, quiet daily
workout.

Well then. There was my plan. Starting
immediately, I would do a secret workout first thing in the morning, ring for
my healthy breakfast, then bathe and dress. During our morning chats, I would
talk over career options with Augusta. At some point every afternoon, I would
take a long walk. And I would begin, very slowly, to introduce more serious
discussions at supper to engage Bert’s attention.

Hmm. Comfortable shoes and a sturdy bra would
improve my walks by so much. Bras hadn’t been invented yet. I had studied all
the fashion magazines, the newspaper classifieds, and the departments store ads
carefully, and there definitely wasn’t even a whisper that they were on the
way. Sneakers as I knew and loved them were impossibly far away too, but ladies
did play tennis, and the shoes they wore would surely be comfortable for long
walks, if not as perfectly engineered as they would be in a hundred years.