Unmarried

Leta had basically decided that she would never marry again. Her divorce and separation from Leech Hoose in 1931, her extended stay in the home of her brother Aaron and sister-in-law Florence, sporadic employment during the height of the Great Depression, the repeal of Prohibition and the liberation it brought to men and women alike, and most significantly, depositing her children with their father—her first husband Ralph Chetister—and their grandmother Ida seemed to conspire against any opportunity for domesticity.

In fact, Leta wasn’t sure she even wanted to be married again. Could anything compete with the vivid memories of her life with her second husband Albert Mohr and the terrible loss she suffered when he was so abruptly and ruthlessly taken from her? She wouldn’t say that she had a hard heart. She loved her children, and adored her nieces Florence and June, who she shower with attention. Next to her niece Leta (whom they called Junior to differentiate the two), she was principal nurse to her sister Louise, who was recuperating slowly from a bacterial infection.

Leta particularly loved hearing about Junior’s accomplishments as a high school athlete and scholar, who was studying to be a teacher. Her own daughter Vivian was also a superb student, and Leta sometimes forlornly wished she had the financial capability to secure her own daughter the ability to continue her studies at a university.

Leta had recently gotten a job as a secretary and moved into a boarding house in East Toledo. It was quite a change from living with her brother and his family—both in style and location—but she was managing. In both cases, she spent most of her time in her bedroom. Her room in the boarding house was slightly larger than the one in Aaron and Florence’s home. But it also contained everything she needed for living: bed, closet, chest of drawers, sink and small counter with a hot plate, window facing the south, chair and side table. She shared a bathroom and a telephone with the other women on the floor.

She particularly liked the view of the street from her window, and the great amount of daylight facing South afforded her, especially now that it was summer. The transom above the door leading into her room provided some cross ventilation, which she appreciated, particularly when the heat remained consistent throughout the night.

Not that she didn’t sleep well, Leta always slept well. Even now, with so much on her mind, she could lie down at night and count on her mind and body to relax quickly. After all, she had been divorced from her fourth husband for nearly five years. When her daughter Vivian married the previous autumn, she entertained the possibility of marrying again—she actually liked to be married—but observing her daughter’s happiness awakened in her the great wealth of feeling she had been avoiding since the untimely and horrible death of her beloved Albert. Her sense of loss weighed on her, even when she was in conversation with potential suitors. She enjoyed talking to them, even turning on her great charm, but always on her mind was her Albert.

She was beginning to accept this life—work, a drink or two at the local bar, Saturday with her brother and sister-in-law, church on Sunday followed by spending the afternoon or evening with one of her children, dinner at the nearby diner two nights a week, an occasional visit with one of her sisters. She was 43 years old. She had had enough adventures for one person. Before too long, she would have grandchildren.

She didn’t need to be married.