Dearest Rita,
Spring! Oh, beautiful (cold, dreary, icy) New England spring! My plants are growing and I just can’t wait to put them in the ground. It’s not safe to plant most things until Mother’s Day...and that seems a world away.
Rita, how I enjoy your stories of Mrs. K. I’ve begun reading them to Levi... I hope that’s okay. Not your entire letters—those belong to me. But your stories! My goodness. You should pen a novel while you’re sitting at that desk. I love to think of you there at work. Making all the women in your life, in your town, realize that it’s possible to leave their kitchens and be active members of society.
Here in Rockport things are waking up after the long, icy winter. The church bell tolls almost every day. I’ve stopped being able to attend most memorial services. Too many boys are dying. It seems like a lie. Like an impossibility. And the war itself seems stuck in the mud of a European spring. Robert says it feels like “two steps forward, three steps back” all the time.
I’ve been a wizard in the kitchen. I love to cook. I think it’s so odd that every week now I make speeches trying to liberate women from the shackles of wifely serfdom...at the same point in my life where I’m learning just how good I can be at homemaking. I’ve learned to sew, knit and crochet. (Truthfully I used to do these things with my nanny, but I haven’t revisited the skills as a grown woman.) I know you probably do all these things better than I do, but I’ve made you something. I hope you like them.
Overalls. Yes! I’ve taken men’s overalls and pulled in the midsection and shortened the length. I’ve completely guessed at your size. (If you need them bigger or smaller just send me your measurements. Look at me, assuming you will like them.)
I’ve taken the liberty to embroider some vines and flowers on the legs and bib. I’ve made them for the women in town, and they are quite popular. Who would have thought such things were possible. Such joy coming from overalls.
I love wearing them with Robert’s old flannel shirts. And I never wear my hair up anymore (only when I’m cooking). And I don’t even try to have it cut or tame the curls. They just fall all around me. Levi tells me Robert won’t recognize me. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. That situation is still holding...but it’s so, so complicated, Rita. I can’t even tell you.
Anna is getting older by the day. It’s a sad thing, watching someone so vital begin to age rapidly. Marie has taken over the Sunday masses, but I’m in charge of almost all the organizing now.
And did you hear? They’ve begun allowing students at Radcliffe to attend classes at Harvard! When I heard the news I immediately thought of a good use to that abandoned house of mine in Cambridge. I’ve decided to turn it into a boardinghouse for women who want to go to school but can’t afford it. I’ve gone so far as to speak with some architects about possible renovations, and I’ve applied for the necessary permits.
Someday, mark my words, women will be allowed into elite colleges. Harvard was my father’s alma mater. And I would have loved to go. But no matter how much money or power you have in society, women are always excluded. Is the university where you work coeducational? I sure hope so. Someday I’d like to set up scholarships. In my mother’s name.
All my best,
Glory
P.S. As soon as the lemon balm revives I’m going to make your tea for Robbie. I’m certain it will put pink right into my son’s cheeks. Thank you so much for being my darling Garden Witch.