Women on the Edge of a Nervous Breakthrough (2 page)

Two

My Report on Suffragettes in Kettle, Wisconsin

by Sarah Bannon

Mrs. Browley's fi fth grade

In 1920, women had the right to vote for the president for the first time. But the men in Kettle didn't want the women to vote November 9. So after the town Halloween party, some women locked themselves in the Harcourt house on Maple Street. They would not come out until the men let them vote. Then the men did let them vote. One woman went home, though, and her husband killed her by beating her.

Comment from Mrs. Browley:
Good work, as usual, Sarah! But the death of the woman was ruled an ac

cident. As I'm sure you know, there's never been a crime in Kettle.

  Sarah walked along Main Street, taking long, confi dent strides, enjoying her own grace. She'd been a dancer at Cornell and had danced professionally for a few years when she and Ben lived in New York. In fact, she might very well have gone on to a big career, though she didn't regret her decision to marry Ben and have Amber and give up what she loved.

  She smiled and greeted Mrs. Gripentrog, out for a stroll with her miniature schnauzers. Sarah knew she looked nice today, in a new fall outfit from Talbots online—crepe pants in a color called sandstone, and a sage -and-cream striped shell set. Her bobbed hair curved all the right ways this morning, and her face was clear and young -looking, no eye puffi ness, no deep lines. People were happy when they encountered someone who looked nice; they always responded more warmly, smiled more openly.

  Her heart sped up a little opposite Granley's Stationers; she turned as if by chance and caught a glimpse of Tom Martin, who ran the place. She'd known Tom since grade school; they'd even dated briefly. Very handsome man. He always smiled a little too personally, made eye contact a little too long. Sarah liked that he still found her attractive, though marriage was wonderful, and Lord knew she was devoted to Ben. But little secret crushes were exciting and did no harm to anyone.

  She walked on farther, past Stenkel's, the town's general store since 1837, still run by members of the Stenkel family. The early October breeze was brisk, but the sun deliciously warm, and the town looked so quaint and lovely in this light. When Sarah left Kettle for college, she never expected to come back. Funny how love changed that.

  Four years ago, Ben had finished graduate school at Columbia. New York City had grated on their nerves and they weren't wild about Amber spending adolescence in the city. Sarah's parents had announced they were selling the house and buying an RV to tour the country. Kettle seemed the perfect place for Ben to launch his writing career. So he and Sarah bought the house from her parents. Sarah gave up her friends and her job and her life and came back to tiny Kettle.

  All of which turned out to be a good thing, of course, since they'd been so happy here.

  She waved at Mike Curtis, just coming out of Hansen's Hardware. In her opinion, Mike was the town's most eligible bachelor
after T
om Martin. Most women would probably rank Mike first. Mike had lost his adored wife, Rosemary, a little over two years ago. The two of them had run Mike's business together, and were somehow in physical contact every second as far as Sarah could tell. Made her have a strange feeling in her stomach, but she could never identify it.

  After that devastating blow, Mike left town for a year, and had come back harder and with enough grief still in him, poor man, that the women of the town all wanted either to adopt him or to make him forget Rosemary, depending on their age.

  "Hey, Sarah." He gave his now -customary short nod; the dazzling-smile part of his greeting had died with Rosemary.

  "Hello, Mike." She smiled, carefully keeping pity out of her eyes. Mike got plenty of pity from everyone else in town. But while she was smiling without pity, she also hoped he noticed how nicely her sage blouse caught the green tints in her hazel eyes, and laughed to herself that she should even be thinking such a thing with Ben and her still so much in love. After so much time together. Nearly twenty years. "Been busy?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry. I'll be by to fi x your porch some—"

  "Oh no, that's not what I meant." She waved the unimportant delay away. "I was just making conversation."

  "Okay." He nodded, those dynamite blue eyes so serious and intent on her that her heart was unsure whether to melt from pity or silly excitement. Honestly. She had better get a grip.

  "I'm off to the Social Club meeting. I'll see you later."

  "Next week." He backed up a step or two, raised his hand in farewell, then turned to walk to his pickup.

  Sarah turned the opposite way, toward the white wooden Lutheran church on the corner of Main and Spring streets, resisting the urge to watch him get into his truck. Someone might spread it around that she seemed awfully interested in Mike's rear view. Of course she wasn't. Not any more than any other straight woman with functioning sight.

  On beautiful days like today, instead of walking straight to church, she walked down to the end of Main Street and back, just to reconnect with the town. Walking the length of Main, seeing the stores of her childhood and many of the same people, was reassuring. Like meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Not exotic, not exciting, but something you could count on for warmth and sustenance.

  Two women approached the side door to the church at the same time she did. Erin Hall and her mother-in-law, Joan. Sarah put on a bright smile at the same time her abdominal muscles—kept strong with exercise—clenched. Erin wasn't so bad. Just sort of strange, and so mousy and dull, you couldn't help feeling sorry for her, even if she made you nervous. But Joan Russell strained every part of Sarah that had been raised by her gentle parents to be forgiving and gracious to all living things. Joan had lived in Kettle all her life, lost her fi rst husband to the bottle, the second in Vietnam, raised Joe by herself, and lived for her own personal grudge list.

  Of course poor Erin was on this list by virtue of being married to Joan's son. As far as Joan saw it, there wasn't a woman alive good enough for Joe. Which was amusing since he was a butcher, which wasn't exactly an exalted trade in Sarah's eyes. But since Erin showed up pregnant in high school with his baby, Joe hadn't had the leisure to choose a bride perfect enough for Mom. If such a woman existed. Which Sarah doubted.

  "Hello, Joan. Hello, Erin. Isn't it a beautiful day?"

  Joan cast a withering glare at the lovely fall afternoon. Her enormous eyes were startling and cowlike, surrounded by cascades of wrinkling tobacco -aged skin. "It'll be winter soon enough, and then my aches and pains will start. You wouldn't say that about a fall day if you had my body."

  Sarah put on her sympathetic face and opened the door for the older woman, thanking God she didn't have Joan's body. An inch or two shorter than Sarah, who stood fi ve foot eight, Joan had an enormous bust and a stomach to match. Supporting this abundance, tiny hips, a small rear like a fl at forlorn heart, short skinny legs, and size fi ve feet. Top -heavy enough to be tipped over by one good puff of air.

  "Winter must be very hard on you, Joan." Sarah spoke in her most soothing, respectful voice, about the only voice that didn't immediately provoke some kind of contradiction from Joan.

  Erin stole a brief glance at Sarah. The girl—woman, of course; she was only three years younger than Sarah—always stole glances, as if she honestly didn't think she deserved them. Frustrating, because after one of Joan's comments, Sarah always wondered what would happen if Erin dared a longer look and Sarah winked or rolled her eyes to try to establish a bond.

  But as far as Sarah could tell, Erin was afraid to get out of bed in the morning, let alone do more than glance, which Sarah had no patience for. Life should be enjoyed to its fullest, and if you didn't have the guts for that, why bother living?

  She followed the two women inside, down the steps to the church basement, to the spartan gray -green room where they met once a week, to chat, drink coffee and eat treats, either homemade—Sarah dreaded Joan's week—or purchased from Sidler's Bakery across the street. The Social Club's job in Kettle was to plan constructive, healthy activities for the residents to keep them out of trouble, not that anything truly bad had ever happened here, or probably ever would.

  This week the ladies of the Social Club were going to discuss Kettle's annual Halloween party. Sarah couldn't wait to tell them her idea; she was sure it would capture them. She was impressed herself that she'd even thought of it. Ben had not been enthusiastic, but he had this way of not being excited by her ideas—or at least signifi cantly less than she was.

  Betty was already there, enormously pregnant as usual. "Welcome, Sarah, what a beautiful day it is!"

  "Lovely. I walked down Main Street and back, just to enjoy it." She wouldn't mention peeking into Tom's store. Betty would feel she had to pray for Sarah's soul and Sarah's marriage, both of which were in fi ne shape.

  "Hi, Sarah." Nancy smiled eagerly at Sarah through glasses so thick, her eyes looked as if they were holograms pasted to the insides of the lenses. Nancy had glommed onto Sarah in Mrs. Johnson's third grade and hadn't let go yet.

  "Hello, Nancy. What a sweet dress."

  Nancy beamed her pleasure, which made Sarah feel good. Being charitable to everyone was important, so Sarah tried her best to be pleasant. When she herself was perfect, then she could afford to be critical of others.

  She helped herself to coffee in the mug she'd brought with her—who could stand the dreadful taste of Styrofoam?—and chided herself for forgetting to bring skim milk. One surreptitious glance at the donuts Betty had brought—raised with chocolate frosting—and Sarah turned away. Betty really should be more careful about her eating habits, gaining steadily as she was. Sarah had seen her at Sidler's buying two dozen donuts for a family of six, two members of which were too young for donuts.

  She allowed herself one more glance, but she tried not to pollute her body with too much fat and sugar, so she took her coffee to her usual seat in the circle of chairs, and sat.

  "Well, ladies." She lifted her coffee in a gracious salute. Joan hated it that Sarah had unofficially appointed herself chairwoman, but then Joan hadn't volunteered to do all the work Sarah did. "I wanted to tell you about an idea I had for this fall's Halloween party. As you all know, I am very passionate about growing pumpkins."

  She laughed so they'd understand that she was aware she had a fairly strange passion, and that they were welcome to chuckle if they wanted to. "I planted a record number this year—Baby Bear, Harvest Moon, Connecticut Field, Winter Luxury—" She stopped when she realized she sounded obsessed.

  "Ben gave me permission to use the next -door lot we bought when the Judds sold it, so I'll have a bumper crop. I thought we could sell pumpkins this year at the party, and use the money to help a child in need. Not here, of course, we have no children in need here in Kettle, but somewhere there are some."

  She smiled, trying not to look smug. If people thought you were already overexcited about your idea, they tended to downplay their enthusiasm. Sarah wanted to hear the enthusiasm her idea deserved unencumbered by such a fi lter.

  "Oh, I like that. Very nice. Very nice indeed." Nancy nodded, her dead -straight strawberry -blond hair twitching forward and back over her narrow face. She always spoke slowly, with great importance, as if she were constantly pronouncing couples man and wife.

  "Your idea is wonderful, praise God in his mercy, a chance to help a child in need. Sarah, you are so sweet." Betty reached over a plump hand and smacked Sarah's knee, which seemed a strange way to enjoy someone's sweetness.

  "Ben is nice to let you indulge that passion," Nancy said. "Fred would laugh if I suggested growing pumpkins."

  "Donald would howl! He wants me home taking care

of him. Lord knows he feels neglected enough these days." Betty laughed that special female laugh that indicates men are fools, and put a protective hand over her bulging belly, which bulged so much anyway, you couldn't tell what was pregnancy and what was Betty belly. Sarah kept smiling and looked to Erin for her reaction, proud of Ben and how he didn't mind her growing pumpkins.

  Erin stared at Sarah's hairline, as if she was registering something fascinating. Who knew what went on in that head of hers? Everything about her was so pale. Skin, lips, eyes, hair, even her clothes. Yet Sarah thought if Erin made herself up and got some confidence, she'd probably be lovely. Sarah even bought her a pretty rose sweater once, but as far as she knew, Erin had never worn it.

  "Good idea."

  "Thank you, Erin."

  When the silence edged toward awkward, Sarah gave in and looked at Joan, who was patting her jet -black, poufy hairdo. Any idea Joan didn't come up with was ignored or met with resistance.