Well Behaved Wives(16)

How busy could they be? Ruth and her brothers always listened to their dad’s workday tales.

“Why did you stop teaching the lessons?” Ruth asked.

“Lillian’s a natural.”

Shirley didn’t look up—or answer the question.

Ruth would get the answer another way. “Do you miss it?” she asked.

“I keep busy,” Shirley said.

That wasn’t what Ruth wanted to know. She was trying to understand Shirley. They were family now.

Asher looked toward the ceiling. “We had some of the girls stay here, right?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you remember,” Shirley said.

“What was that first girl’s name? Cousin Louise!” Asher said. “God, I haven’t thought of her in years. It’s all coming back to me.”

“Who’s Cousin Louise?” Ruth asked.

“Dad and I painted the attic before she arrived so she could stay there. Whatever happened to her?”

“Nothing happened to her, son. She moved on,” Leon snapped.

Ruth was startled by the reaction. What was the big deal?

“A lot of girls from out of town wanted etiquette lessons back then, and some of the wives had the girls stay with them. Louise took to you kids the moment she met you, and she fit right in.” Shirley sounded genuinely fond of the girl.

“Wasn’t she related to us? Cousin Louise?” Asher said.

“So she wasn’t from Wynnefield?” Another surprise to Ruth.

“No and no,” Shirley said. “She was the niece of a friend of a neighbor, I think from the suburbs.”

“So we had a stranger staying here?” Asher sounded surprised.

“She wasn’t a stranger—I just told you.” Shirley seemed agitated by the quizzing.

“It’s not important, Ash,” Ruth said, smoothing things for her mother-in-law. “It was hospitable of your parents to let her live here.”

“Yes, it was,” Asher said.

“It was a favor, a long time ago,” Shirley said. “Now that’s your room.”

The random knickknacks on the bureau. The perfume. The writing paper in the desk. Ruth had assumed they’d been placed in the room for her comfort. Maybe they’d been for Louise, whoever she was.

“Hey, it’s a long time since I had my first piece of meat. I’ll have another helping, Shirl.” Leon always knew how to lighten a room.

Shirley shook her head at him with a sly, almost imperceptible glance, probably not meant to be intercepted, and passed the pot roast.

At bedtime, Ruth stood in front of the dresser and lifted her hairbrush from the silver mirrored tray. These beautiful discards she now used as her own had been used by some mysterious Cousin Louise. Of course, Shirley would have had them scrubbed and sanitized between guests, but it struck Ruth as odd that Shirley was so vague about where Cousin Louise had come from and why they called her cousin when she was not related to them.

Shirley wasn’t vague about anything.

“We should have told them we were getting married,” Ruth blurted. She had been holding it in all evening. “Your mother still holds that against me.”

“I told her it was my idea,” Asher said.

“But I’m the one who has to live up to her expectations—she thinks you’re perfect.”

Asher snuck up behind her, wrapped his arms around her middle, and kissed the back of her neck. “You’ll see—going to these etiquette lessons will make all the difference in how she treats you. If she thinks you’re helping my career along, she’ll be happy. Just give it time.”

Ruth whirled out of Asher’s arms, away from the distraction of his kisses, and climbed into bed. She was irritated with her husband, which rarely happened. She hated keeping secrets. Not being able to tell the truth about her aspirations. Despite having somewhat enjoyed meeting the women at today’s etiquette lesson, Ruth wanted Asher’s support for her success.

“I want to start studying for the bar without hiding what I’m doing so I don’t run out of time.” She opened the book on her lap and flipped to a section on constitutional law.

“Please be patient. The more my mother likes you, the easier it will be. It’s happening, Ru. Just be patient. Please.” Asher took the book from her hand, set it on her nightstand, and kissed her cheek.

Her first impulse was to grab the book back, but he was so cute: the way he stood beside the bed, smiled at her, then kissed her nose, her lips. She was grateful she’d found this man. Grateful for how much she loved him.

She gave herself a mental shake. Cute or not, she had to be sure he saw her point. A good lawyer wins her arguments, and there was no time like the present to practice.

“Just because I want to be a lawyer doesn’t mean I love you less. In fact, it means I love you more. I want to be the best version of myself, so you have the best me.”

During her sophomore year at Barnard, Ruth had met Judge Jessica Polk, a Barnard alumna who addressed Ruth’s class on social responsibility. “Compassion is worthless unless accompanied by a commitment to justice,” the judge had said.

Ruth hadn’t thought about justice before that day. Ever since, she’d thought of little else.

She’d snagged a summer job working for the judge, where she typed and filed. Ruth eagerly listened to and absorbed the judge’s advocacy for poor women, children, and female workers. She had never realized that women lawyers might be more relatable than men in this situation. Two years—and two additional summer jobs—later, Judge Polk endorsed Ruth’s application to Columbia Law.