Well Behaved Wives(49)

An abundance she needed to hold on to. Not just for her and Peter, but for future generations of their family. Her grandchildren. Great-grandchildren.

Pamela and Penny knew nothing but this lifestyle. Would they marry well enough to have someone else cook their meals? Should Lillian concern herself with the potential of their future husbands? How would Lillian handle it if one of her daughters pursued a real career? Wanting to be a teacher didn’t really count.

Or chose to remain single—or received no proposals? God forbid.

In a moment of doubt, the idea of her daughters’ future flustered Lillian. The notion of independence should thrill her, yet she perspired from fear that her daughters would be ostracized from something beyond their control.

She knew what that feeling was—the feeling that she was somehow tainted because her mother had been taken away. Whispered about when she wasn’t around. The feeling that misfortune had struck her family through no fault of hers.

Lillian was certain that her mother hadn’t had the time to consider any part of her daughter’s future, before she’d been unable to do so.

Because of that, Lillian was driven to become what her mother had not been able to become—a housewife who dedicated herself to her husband, and a mother who raised children to adulthood. These were lofty goals—at least, Lillian had thought so at the time.

Perhaps the lack of her mother’s example was an example itself. Maybe Pammie and Penny would want to assert themselves in ways Lillian had not. Would they have whatever opportunities they wanted? Would they be dependent on marrying well?

What about Carrie? What was the truth? Ruth wasn’t a liar—perhaps misinformed somehow. Perhaps Carrie—

Stop this nonsense, Lillian told herself. You have no business worrying about the rumor concerning Carrie when Peter will be home soon. With the cold dinner rolls evenly arranged on a baking sheet on the counter, Lillian went to the bottom of the steps that led to the second floor and listened for any activity upstairs. She heard silent stretches interspersed with low-volume chatter and the occasional giggle that floated downstairs as the girls slogged through their homework.

They wouldn’t run down the steps until called, wary they would be asked to help. They had been spoiled by Lillian’s need to give them an easier childhood than hers had been. Maybe she should change that now. It was time to prepare them for any social curveballs life might send their way. Pammie was right. It wasn’t fair that Lillian spent so much time training other girls.

It was hard to not spoil her children. And they so enjoyed each other’s company. Someday Lillian and Peter would be gone. Encouraging her daughters to be close to each other was important for their future too.

An only child with a working mother and workingman for a father, Lillian had spent hours alone most days and reveled in the time she spent with her parents, especially delighting in stolen days at the beach or a full week together for summer vacation.

She waited all year for that special week—to have her parents to herself. Her daughters only vied for her attention on shopping excursions. Lillian sighed. Maybe easier didn’t equal better. Pammie and Penny had one another. No matter how much Lillian had disliked the body changes and discomforts of pregnancy, she would never be sorry she had given each of them a sister.

She wished she had more relatives her age. After her father died, and her mother was taken away to the mental asylum, Lillian’s grandparents hadn’t maintained her relationships with her cousins. Her grandparents would never explain why Lillian was suddenly estranged from the cousins she loved. The cousins she’d played dolls with, played hopscotch with, and jumped rope with. As an adult, she realized it was because she had been tainted by her mother’s breakdown.

How she’d wanted a sibling! A sister would have been a lifelong companion, someone who would have had the same experience of losing her parents and growing up as the overprotected child of her grandparents’ dead only son.

Their expectations of Lillian had been high—different, but no worse, than Peter’s.

She’d always assumed it was because they didn’t want Lillian to relate to the unhealthy side of the family. They wanted her to focus on her father’s side—the wholesome, untainted side. Wanted Lillian to improve her station in life.

She wished she’d quizzed her grandparents more about it while they were alive. No matter. She would do better with her own girls—had done better with her own girls.

She and Peter wanted their daughters to marry well. Marry someone who could afford a cook, a housekeeper, a gardener. Someone who could pay for their clothes at Saks instead of making them with an old Singer.

It couldn’t hurt if she gave her girls a bit more training. She had no idea what else they might want to be. How their fortunes would change as they went through life. Starting tomorrow, she would make sure her daughters learned some life skills.

Lillian slipped the dinner rolls into the oven, set the timer, then hurried into the rec room. She slipped off her shoes, bounced onto the sofa, and tucked her stockinged feet sideways. Ahhh. She had a few minutes to relax, and she was going to savor each one of them.

She couldn’t stop thinking of her daughters’ futures. Of her future. Of the future of women.

She reached over for the small notepad Peter had left on the side table and scribbled.

What am I?

Housewife and mother

Teacher