Letters from Skye

Chapter Five Elspeth

Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.

June 17, 1913

Dear Sue,

I am finished!

I’m sorry it took me so long to respond, but I was waiting to be able to tell you that I’m completely and utterly done. Ah, what a luxury to sit down to write to you without a stack of books glaring at me from my desk! Instead, I’m sitting in my parents’ house, window open, warm summer breeze puffing out the lace curtains, with nothing more malevolent glaring at me than the Chicago Tribune. Just to lean back, sip some cool lemonade, and write to you—extravagance itself!

You’ll be quite proud of me, I think. I came clean with my father. You may wonder how I worked up the courage to tell him. By barely scraping by in my classes! He took one look at my grades and sniffed. “How do you expect to get into medical school with grades like this?” he asked. “I don’t expect to,” I said. “I don’t expect to nor do I care.” He nearly choked on his morning coffee. “What do you mean, you don’t care?” “Exactly that, Father. I’ve never wanted to go to medical school. And it’s too late now to convince me otherwise.” He left the table with a thud of his chair and hasn’t spoken to me since. I think it’s only through my mother’s good graces that he hasn’t thrown me out on my ear.

My sister is here staying at my parents’ for a time this summer, making it easier to handle my father’s sulks, and I’m able to spend more time getting to know my niece, Florence. There’s a spot in the sitting room in the back of the house where the sunlight falls through the window just so in the afternoon. Florence and I will sit in that circle of sunlight and watch each other. When she gets tired of staring at me with those great blue eyes of hers, she’ll crawl onto my lap, tug on my suspenders, and beg, “Unc’ Day! P’ease, story?” And how can I resist such a plea? I tell her a fairy story and watch her eyes grow large at the frightening parts and turn up in the corners when she is laughing. It is marvelous to see the raw play of emotions on the face of a child. No trying to conceal any feeling or disguise one emotion as something else. We are going to be great friends, my niece and I, I can already tell.

Another bit of news: I have a girl I’ve started stepping out with. Lara. She’s a real nice girl, in college studying German literature. We met at a party, one of those socially tedious events one is expected to attend on occasion. I went to please my mother. Lara and I met and, after talking, realized that she “knew” my parents. One of those convoluted acquaintances—you know, where her mother plays bridge with my mother’s best friend’s aunt Vivian, or some such nonsense. Whatever the acquaintance, it means my mother approves of her.

So, see, life is going wonderfully for me right now. Two girls in my life, a room all to myself, and NO MORE EXAMS!

Oh, the night I dropped the squirrels in the Women’s Building was a classic! Can you think of a much better combination than a perilous climb, a gang of displaced squirrels, and shrieking women in various states of undress? I must say, though, these escapades don’t often end in hospital visits. But it’s the possibility they could that makes the pranks so tempting to me.

That’s really where my nickname came from. The guys, they call me “Mort,” morbidly convinced that my antics will lead me straight to the mortuary one day. Splendid fellows, aren’t they?

How are things on Skye for you, Sue? You must be happier with the snow gone. I can already picture you cheerfully tromping all over the hills in your trousers and hat, notebook tucked under one arm, pencil stuck behind an ear. Ah, summer!

By the way, you didn’t guess my age correctly. I’m already twenty-one! Now you can see why I strove to grow that mustache….

P.S. Here is a photo of me in all my robes and mortarboard. That proud sapling next to me is Paulie. Both the tree and I have (amazingly!) made it through the year!

Isle of Skye

7 July 1913

Dear David,

You look so exuberant! I don’t know who looks prouder or straighter—you or the tree. I’m glad things are going so well for you.

Your niece sounds delightful, and you are lucky to be able to see her as often as you do. My brother Alasdair died several years ago, and his widow moved to Edinburgh with their children. I haven’t seen Chrissie or my niece or nephews since then. My two other brothers, Finlay and Willie, are still living at home, so no children forthcoming there (at least, Màthair hopes not!), although Finlay has a girl I think he’s quite serious about, so it may not be long. Kate’s a sweet thing; we are all crossing our fingers.

Now that you aren’t going on to medical school, what are you doing to fill your time? Have you joined up with the Ballets Russes yet? Learned to play the cornet? Started writing the Great American Novel?

I’m sure it’s much easier to have a sweetheart now that your evenings aren’t full of studying. You say that Lara attends university. Is that usual for American women? All of the girls I went to school with thought of nothing more than getting married, picking out curtains, and basically emptying their heads of ten or twelve years’ worth of lessons. They thought I was as mad as a March hare for even wanting to read a book not on the suggested school curriculum, let alone wanting to attend university.

Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.

July 27, 1913

Dear Sue,

No, I haven’t joined the Ballet Russes. To be honest, I’m not sure what to do next. I suppose there was something very neat and reassuring about having my future planned out by my father. I’ve been looking in the newspaper at the jobs available, wondering what it is I might want to do. I’m not even sure which direction to take. My mother thinks it is very undignified for me to be looking to the newspaper for career options and has been discreetly asking at her bridge parties to see if anything “respectable” comes up.

No, I don’t think it is very usual for women to go to college. There were female students at the University of Illinois but not many of them, especially not in biology. Even though they were attending college, they seemed to limit themselves to feminine courses of study, like modern languages, literature, home economics. Not a geologist among them, I’m afraid!

Isle of Skye

14 August 1913

Dear boy,

Why is it that things such as languages and literatures are “feminine” courses of study? No censure to you, David. I know you were repeating a universal truth—albeit a questionable one. We are in an age where women work in professions previously prohibited. Although there still aren’t many, women have proven themselves competent as doctors, scientists, businesswomen. Now that the doors are open, why aren’t more women rushing to gain entrance? Instead, they are settling down, saying, “Who wants to win the Nobel Prize like Marie Curie? It will be much more satisfying to learn how to dress a roast chicken.” Of course, everyone is welcome to their interests, and perhaps there are women who truly desire to learn nothing more than chicken-dressing or home economics. But why is a woman who has studied chemistry or geology less fit as a helpmeet than a woman who has studied literature? I’m not a suffragette, but when it comes to the topic of women and education, I do get irate.

Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.

September 4, 1913

Dear Sue,

At long last, I am gainfully employed! I’ve got myself a job teaching biology and chemistry at a private school right here in Chicago. Lara says that, before the term is out, all of the girls will be in love with me and all of the boys will want to be my pals.

I don’t have a good answer as to why some areas of study are designated as “feminine.” You’re right, we are moving into more-enlightened times, but are still far from there. With more co-educational universities, a woman can go to college and study what she pleases. She can even go ahead and find a “radical” new job, working as a scientist or an academic. But it is still assumed—even expected—that she will give it all up when she becomes a mother. Pedagogy and Equality are always trumped by Maternity.

Now, I will give you that women seem to be much better at raising children than men are. Lord knows, my father would’ve made a mess-up of the thing if he had been in charge. But children grow up, move away. Why shouldn’t a woman be able to pursue a career later in life?

You make a good point, though, Sue. I hope for a wife who has more-interesting things to talk about than roasting chickens. Someone who reads the same things as I do and wonders about the same questions. Or even someone who thinks the exact opposite but doesn’t mind lively debate and loves me just the same.

Isle of Skye

30 September 1913

David,

What, my dear boy, leads you to think that women are better at raising children? It sounds as though your niece adores you, so you must be doing something right with the child. Don’t you have confidence in your ability to raise children, to care for them longer than it takes to tell a fairy story?

Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.

October 17, 1913

Dear Sue,

Well, wouldn’t you agree women have something innate, something that allows them to be mothers? I’m not quite sure what it is. Women are much more selfless than men. They have patience and a generous spirit. A woman could get all of the degrees in home economics she wishes, but even without having been to college, she can still run a household and become a mother.

Isle of Skye

31 October 1913

David,

Your letters have gone from merely rankling to downright infuriating. No innate quality makes us wives or mothers or homemakers. Are we born with something internal to make us good at cooking or darning socks? Do you think the Great Almighty had the foresight to know what would be required of the housewife of the twentieth century and reserve a special part of the brain for pie-making? Because, I tell you, I am proficient at none of those. No cooking, no pie-making, and certainly no darning of socks. Perhaps I was born with only half a brain, with something vital missing. Is that what you are suggesting?

You say that women, especially mothers, must be selfless. They aren’t born with this, yet it is still expected of them. No one begrudges a man his pint after a day’s work or the chance to put his feet up in front of the fire or even the opportunity just to sit with the newspaper in the mornings. But if a mother wants to take an hour off for a walk, a quiet mug of tea, or (heaven forbid!) a visit to a friend’s, there would be an outcry. Mothers aren’t supposed to want to be away from their children. They are supposed to be completely selfless. A good mother would never eat the last slice of cake.

I’m not sure that I want children. I can’t be that selfless. If I had a bairn clinging to my legs, I wouldn’t be able to go on my jaunts through the mountains. I wouldn’t be able to sit for hours staring at the waves, writing poetry. I wouldn’t be able to get by with cooking only sausages and Christmas pudding. I couldn’t stay up late, watching the stars move across the sky, or wake up early to walk the hills until the sun explodes over the horizon. You can’t tell me that I could still have all of that with children in tow. And I could certainly never give up that last slice of cake.

Independence makes a woman greedy.