Getting Married Again

That Leta wanted to get married again surprised her. She thought she was contented with her life. After all, she was 42 years old and had been on her own for seven years. She had been working for nearly a year in an office of a factory, where she helped process orders. She had her own apartment, and a comfortable social life. Her children were grown. There was no good reason for her to let marriage disrupt this pleasant life.

Then her daughter Vivian introduced her to the man she was going to marry, and suddenly everything changed. While Leta would never admit it, her first encounter with her future son-in-law was an embarrassing one. She had been nervous. She wanted to make a good impression. He knew that she had been married four times. He knew that she had spent the last several years in relationships with multiple men that she had not married. He knew that she abandoned his fiancee and her brother when they were teenagers. She wanted to show him a different side, the one where she was a proper mother-in-law.

But she was too nervous, and one drink to calm her nerves turned into several. When she finally saw him, he was so handsome that she just wanted to give him a big hug and kiss, so she did. He drew back in surprise, and suddenly everything was tense. They finished their evening, had supper and went their own ways.

For the next two weeks, Leta did not touch a drink. She spoke to her daughter Vivian once on the telephone. Vivian seemed calm, but one could never tell what her quiet, introspective daughter was actually thinking or feeling. Vivian stated that she was too busy to see her.

That simple declaration hurt Leta, and she wanted to make amends. She invited both Vivian and her fiance Ed to dinner in two weeks. Vivian hesitated but then agreed. Unfortunately, Ed could not accompany her. He had another obligation, Vivian said, but she wanted to spend time with her mother anyway.

Leta had made lemon meringue pie for dessert and a batch of her special raisin cookies to follow a hearty meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and fresh bakery bread. Leta loved fresh bread, but she never learned how to bake it.

Although the conversation lacked tension, Vivian was more subdued than usual, and Leta less outgoing. Vivian did, however, talk about her upcoming marriage. While they definitely were getting married, they had not yet set a date. Finances were a slight concern, especially since she was not working.

“Do you need a job?” Leta asked.

“Yes, I need a job, Ma,” Vivian answered with a slight irritation, obviously misunderstanding her mother’s question.

“No, I mean, do you need help in finding a job?” Leta clarified.

“I’ve made a few calls, but no one is hiring,” Vivian said. “Being a housekeeper is not a great background for most places.

“But you took secretarial and bookkeeping classes in high school,” Leta said. “You were on the Honor Roll! Doesn’t that count for something.”

“That was three years ago, Ma. “I’m not sure I could even keep up.”

“Of course, you could,” Leta insisted. “Let me check around for you. May I?”

“Yes, I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

While Leta’s own marital history was complicated and full of frustration, she still wanted the best for her daughter.  The Depression was still going on and jobs were scarce, but she knew enough people to find some employment for her daughter.

And that’s when she realized—as she was walking back to her apartment from the streetcar where she saw her daughter safely aboard—that she, too, wanted to be married again.

The Man-Stealer, part two

Leta didn't care very much about her reputation. At least that was the impression she gave to most people. On several evenings a week she could be found at one of several drinking establishments, enjoying her libation and chatting with any number of men. She had bright blue eyes and a winning smile, and as her niece June told her again and again, she looked beautiful. Leta liked to look pretty. She washed her hair and bathed frequently. She wore fashionable clothes. She styled her hair, and wore perfume and make-up.

Some of those around her called her “Jezebel” after the Sidonite Queen of Israel, wife of King Ahab and arch-nemesis of the Israelite prophet Elijah. As any Christian or Jew knew, once her husband was killed in battle, the Queen was in mortal danger. She dressed in her finest clothes and put on make-up to greet the conqueror, but the palace servants did not let her get that far. Instead, they threw her off the balcony, and, as ghastly as it sounds, she was torn apart by her own dogs. For many, that she wore make-up and dressed was her punishable sin (instead of idolatry and murder), and so they used that against any woman who deigned to feel beautiful.

Leta ignored them. When she was chatting with men, when she was having a drink or two, when she dressed in a form-enhancing dress, a garter and stockings, styled her hair, and put on lipstick, she felt more womanly than any of those around her could imagine. She also felt powerful, and after two terrible marriages in which she was disrespected and abused, she relished the feeling.

While she still didn’t have good sense with regard to the type of men she attracted, she had enough sense to only remain in relationship with them for a few months, a week or even a night.

Sometimes she went two weeks without connecting to anyone, but something inside of her, something she could not explain, would awaken. It was a kind of emptiness that needed to be filled, a hunger that needed to be fed. If she waited too long, this anxiety would become desperation, and she would make a poor choice of companions. While many of her encounters were pleasant affairs, there were from time to time, men with little respect for women at all, men seeking their own pernicious pleasures. In these experiences, she was slapped, twisted, or if her companion was highly aggressive, thrown against an automobile or wall, with her dress lifted, garter and stockings ripped away. When he was finished, he pushed her away roughly, leaving her more often than not lying on the ground.

After the man was gone, she would rise, pull herself together, wipe off any dirt or blood with her handkerchief and make her way home. She sometimes swore she would stop, but several days later the darkness would grow, and she would need to address it.

This lifestyle suited her, she believed, and she pursued it with relish for six years until her daughter introduced her to the man that she was planning to marry. Leta was happy for the young couple, and a rekindling of her own desire to be married lit inside of her.

The Man-Stealer

"All I'm saying is that no-good hussy had better stay away from my husband or there’ll be hell to pay.”

Leta was outside the window of the kitchen, sipping lemonade on a hot summer day, when she heard her sister-in-law Florence’s cousin make that remark. The setting was an Independence Day gathering, 1934. She was 40 years old and had been divorced from her fourth husband for nearly five years. That marriage and the one prior to it were miserable, and she had no intention of marrying again. Besides, she was having a terrific life, enjoying freedoms and experiences that she never would have if she were a married woman with a home and husband to manage.

All around her she watched women get old, not just older, but old. Their bodies were frumpy, as was their dress. Most of them went through life in faded cotton housedresses covered by aprons. They bundled their graying hair up loosely on their heads, more to keep it out of the way than with care in how it looked. They smelled of onions and ammonia. They didn’t so much pursue life as exist within it, priding themselves on their housekeeping, cooking and children. The only time they seemed energetic was in preparing and serving food at church functions. When they relaxed, they did so, sitting on couches and easy chairs and knitting, crocheting or sewing. In most of their activities, they avoided the company of men, even their husbands.

Leta, however, enjoyed the company of men. Actually, she preferred it. When two or more women were together, their conversations covered such topics as bragging about their children, complaining about their husbands and chattering about other couples. The gossip irritated Leta. So much of it was based on superiority, envy or a combination of both; the women engaging in the malicious conversations would either use someone else’s misfortune to support their own better lives or proclaim their stronger virtue. Sometimes it was just the appearance of misfortune that would send their tongues wagging, which Leta found to be the harshest reaction of all. Men, on the other hand, used conversation to share information. The comments were less judgmental, more matter-of-fact. They laughed at humanity’s foibles, not its shortcomings. They were more worldly and included politics and economics. They shared a beer or belt of strong whiskey, smoked cigarettes or cigars and watched leaves rustle in the trees. They cared little for personal appearance, but recognized what was or wasn’t attractive. Physically, their bodies were more open and relaxed. Overall, Leta found men far more engaging to spend her time with than women.

Likewise, they seemed to enjoy her company—in a multiple of ways, including her demure smile, hearty laugh, attentiveness and figure. In a group of them, she could always single out the one who was most in need of female companionship, and while she never fully ignored any of them, she would feature him with slight bits of attention.

First he participated in the group conversation, and then he invariably found a way to speak to her alone. Sometimes they would find a place for more intimacy. Sometimes he was married.

On this miserably hot August day, where the humidity made it so that perspiration having nowhere else to go simply cling to the skin, she sipped her lemonade and watched the children play. She had been in the kitchen with her sister-in-law, but when that conversation paused, she left in search of the men. There were four of them, and all intently examining the engine of someone’s recently acquired used automobile. As this didn’t interest her, she settled in the shade just outside of the kitchen, overhearing bits and pieces of the women’s conversation through the open window. For a few minutes, she watched the children throw cups of water at each other for relief. It was somewhat of a delirious effort, noticeable by the more than usual amount of screaming and enthusiastic participation of the older children, even the girls. Now they were all collapsed under two trees. Leta envied them for their spirit and their ability to just enjoy the moment.

Being called a “hussy” was not what she wanted to hear. It startled her, and immediately, she wanted to charge into the kitchen to defend herself. She knew the woman who made the remark, and the husband in question. Neither was a very pleasant person. Neither seemed to care all that much about the other, at least in public. They would either avoid each other or bicker over the most inconsequential misunderstandings, like what time they should leave or who did what and how at home. At home, behind closed doors, no one but the two of them could say; however, Leta could not imagine that there was much difference between their private and public lives.

She sipped her lemonade. She had no intention of endearing herself to that man. Still, she felt some pride in the knowledge that if she wanted to, she could. With a bit of distinct attentiveness, a smile here, a touch there, she could get him to, at least for one long evening, leave his obviously unpleasant life and give over to passion and fun with her. Almost any man would do it.

She smiled, finished her lemonade and went into the house.

Leta Rejects Marriage

"I don't think I could ever be married again,"Leta told her sister-in-law Florence one morning. 

It was late October 1931, the United States economy had entirely collapsed, and hundreds of their neighbors were out of work. Even Leta’s brother, Florence’s husband Aaron, had to take a pay cut in his job as the custodian of a local elementary school. Leta had not worked herself in more than six months. While they always had a garden for some vegetables, they were now fully focused on growing a large amount of their own food. They ate from it throughout the summer and autumn, and Florence and Leta stocked as many home canned products as possible. Florence also had a generous heart. Once a month, she took two jars of each—corn, green beans and tomatoes—to church for soup for the hungry. When she was available, Leta assisted and served. They also had a few chickens, which Leta and Aaron received from one of their farmer cousins.

“At least we’ll always have eggs and tomatoes,” Aaron said one particularly evening at a paltry supper. 

Rather than spend money on new clothes, Leta repaired and made adjustments to what they already had, working miracles with a needle and thread. Florence’s daughters, now 16 and 14, respectively, were still growing, but the elder was able to wear Leta’s clothes and the younger could still wear her older sister’s hand-me-downs. Like most younger children, June hated wearing her sister’s clothes, but Leta could fix them especially for her, which alleviated some of the dissatisfaction. 

Their intention was to survive the difficult time, and as Florence made known more than once that she hoped her sister-in-law would find a suitable mate to take care of her, Leta’s revelation startled her.

 “Why?” she inquired, her hands trapped by soapy dishwater. “I thought you were being courted by that car mechanic Aaron introduced to you.” 

“Not any more,” Leta answered, as she dried the plates Florence just washed.

“I thought he liked you, and you liked him,” Florence said. 

“Yes, that’s true,” Leta answered. “He even proposed to me.”

Florence stopped washing the dishes to look at Leta.

“I turned him down,” Leta continued. “I know, Florence, you think me foolish, but in spite of all of that, I just couldn’t say yes. My heart was not in it.” 

“Why not?” Florence persisted. 

Leta sighed loudly. Even she had trouble explaining her feelings. How could she tell her beloved sister-in-law what her heart was telling her about husbands and marriage. When she was a young woman, like most, she had wanted to be married, to raise a family and to keep house for all of them. And she believed she had found all that she wanted in her second husband Albert. He was attentive, loving, considerate, good to her children, a solid provider and a lot of fun. When he was taken from her so brutally, she never thought she could feel so good again in her life, so she chose men she believed cared about her and would be good providers to her and her children. Unfortunately, neither proved to have any of the qualities she needed in a marriage. They were even unsatisfactory providers. At first she hadn’t noticed. In the marriages, there was relief from the strain of providing for two children and herself. Over time, her husbands’ ability to fulfill their part of the marriage and family became apparent and difficult, and she had to extricate herself and her children. 

For the past two years, however, she had been living for herself. The children were living with their father and his mother. Certainly, men were an important part of her experiences. For the first time since she was married to Albert, she realized that she was having fun in her life, and she was not ready to stop. She was not at all interested in a commitment of any kind. Twice since she left her most recent husband, she received proposals of marriage. Both times the offer came as a kind of affront to her sensibility, and she declined. 

How could she explain all this to Florence, who lived such a simple and contented life—with her husband, two children, a home and church? 

“I just don’t feel it,” Leta answered. It wasn’t a satisfactory response, but it was all she had. 

“Leta,” Florence began and paused for effect, “you are 37 years old. You are not getting any younger. How are you going to live?” 

“I’m managing,” Leta responded. “Flo, I’m not expecting you to understand, but I don’t know how better to tell you that I’m happy like this. Sure, it isn’t always easy, but I’m doing well. Look at me. Look closely. I’m happier than I’ve been in years. I don’t want another man to ruin it.” 

“Marriage isn’t always easy, that’s true,” Florence said, “but it’s still the natural place for us. Everyone is married!” 

“Well,” Leta said slowly, “not me. Not right now. Maybe not ever.” 

Florence didn’t say anything for a few minutes. The room was so quiet that Leta could hear the wind creaking lightly in the attic. Finally, Florence took a deep breath. 

“At least promise me that you won’t stop thinking about it,” she finally said. 

“Yes,” Leta agreed, “I can promise that.” 

"Good."