Inspired by The Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin, 1894.
“Darling, Mr. Crawford and his family will be
coming to dinner tomorrow. Frank and I have much to discuss over the railroad
so I will need you to entertain Mrs. Crawford and their children…” Brently
whipped the newspaper he was holding in an attempt to straighten out the pages,
making them stand at attention and hiding his face.
“Tomorrow? I have my women’s meeting tomorrow,
Brently. It’s the same every week. I cannot miss it.” Louise stood beside the
breakfast table, coffee pot in hand, her beige apron protecting her floral
print dress.
“Skip it. Why you need to attend a women’s meeting each week is beyond me.
What do you meet about? Stitching and floral arrangements? It can wait. I need
you here. I need your support. Is not your family more important than some
meeting? Besides, seeing Nancy with the children will be good practice for
you.” He turned a page.
Frustration bubbled beneath the cage of
Louise’s chest. A cage she felt tightening around her with every breath. “No,
dear husband…” she nearly choked on the words. “Stitching and floral
arrangements are not on the agenda. We have a very prominent woman of science
coming to speak to us about her research into something called radium. She’s
traveled a very long way to meet with us.”
“A woman of science? Your time is better spent
focusing on a woman of the home and Mrs. Crawford can help you with that.
There’s the end of it.” He peeked over the newspaper. “We’ll be dining at our
usual time.”
That was the end of it. She swallowed hard,
poured a warming up of his coffee, and turned on her heels to return the pot to
the sideboard. Each hand gripped the lace doily as she leaned over the table
and stared out the window. Outside a mother dressed in the season’s finest
fashion walked down the cement sidewalk along ahead of her son, a bouncing
young boy, and his caretaker. The mother’s posture was erect, almost leaning
forward, as she propelled the group on toward the park just one more block
away. The Mallards lived on a corner lot which afforded them a large view of
the square on one side of the house and the beginning of their neighborhood on
the other. Her gardens were well manicured and the roses just beginning to
bloom in their fullest glory. The roses had been his idea, something to occupy
her time while they waited for children to come and do the same. Her eyes
followed the mother and the nanny. They lowered when they met the boy. She was
not entirely sure she even wanted children, but it was what was expected of her
and so she must try and embrace the idea.
When she married into the Mallard family she
knew the contract she had signed. Wealth and comfort in exchange for a
well-managed home and children. Always this obligation lingered in the back of
her mind. It had not been a hard decision to marry the handsome and charming
Brently Mallard, in fact, it was the most logical decision she had ever made in
her life. She knew from where she came and the light stock of her family’s
breeding so she doubly knew the good fortune she had when she was born with a
pleasing face, calming demeanor, and well-shaped figure. It was why he married
her, for her presentation. Not for her mind or her dreams, though he met her at
University, but her ability to stand firmly at his side as his loyal and
beautiful wife. A showpiece like any other figurine on their parlor mantel. It
was a gift, then, that her husband had turned out to be as gentle as he was
wealthy and though ignorantly resistant to her aspirations as a human being, he
treated her more kindly than any of the other husbands treated their wives, her
friends.
The women’s group was a godsend, a refuge for
the babbling thoughts which raged within her mind daily. A place to knock
around ideas about a woman’s role in the world, her ability to enact change,
her eventual rights recognized by Congress through Suffrage. It was all too
much for her in the beginning, but after her first meeting she was hooked
completely and actively sought out the presence of such forward thinking, brave
women. Women who were free in spirit, though chained to their homes. Together,
in their small community of thirteen, they had fundraised scholarships for
future women to attend colleges reserved for men. Together, they had made small
ripples in their city to change the dialogue of a woman’s worth. Small changes,
but changes nonetheless. It gave her power and courage.
Oh, to be a woman such as the inspirational
Miss Curie! A woman not caged by the confines of marriage or restricted by her
gender. To explore the inner depths of her interests which on the surface were
manly, but which’s depths spoke out to all humanity. It took months of planning
to curate her visit to Louise’s women’s group as Louise, the project’s
spearhead, well knew. And she was going to miss it entirely. She held a duty to
her husband first, herself second… and one day to children who would usurp her
second place status to the bottom of the line.
Her eyes cleared of the misty fog which had
unwittingly rolled in. The mother, her son, and his nanny had progressed down
the tree lined pathway, leaving her gazing out over barren streets.
“Anything worth noting out there?” His remark
came across sarcastic, but kind.
“Nothing, dear. Dinner tomorrow. We’ll be ready
for you at six.”
