Chapter 19
Woman to Woman
By the middle of the week Almeda was back to a normal schedule and was going into town for at least a good part of the day. But she was unusually quiet, and it seemed as if something weighed on her mind. I didn’t know if it had to do with the election or the Royce trouble or anxiety about the baby.
After all that had gone on with the build-up to the election, the last week was completely quiet—no speeches, no rumors, no new banners. No one saw Mr. Royce. Almeda kept to herself. There were no more threats of foreclosure. Business went on as usual, and Tuesday, November 4 steadily approached. The most exciting thing that happened had nothing whatever to do with the election. That was the news that Aunt Katie was expecting again. The two new cousins were both scheduled to arrive sometime in the early spring of 1857.
Time had slipped by so fast that I didn’t have the opportunity to get a second article written about the election. But almost before I had a chance to think through the possibility of a post-election story, which I wasn’t sure I wanted to do if Mr. Royce won, all of a sudden a realization struck me. I still hadn’t seen my Fremont article in the Alta!
What could have happened? Did I miss it? I’d been so preoccupied with everything that was going on, I hadn’t read through every single issue. Had it come and I hadn’t seen it?
I couldn’t believe that was the case. Mr. Kemble always sent me a copy of my articles separately. He had done so with every one he had ever printed. Then why hadn’t this article been printed? It was the most important thing I had ever written, and it was almost too late!
I rushed home that day and frantically searched through the stack of Altas from the last three weeks. It was not there. My article had still not been printed!
All that evening I stewed about it, wondering what I ought to do. By the next morning nothing had been resolved in my mind. So when we got ready to go into town, I asked Almeda if I could ride with her in the buggy instead of taking Raspberry like I usually did.
I began by telling her about the article’s not appearing, and about Mr. Kemble.
“After a while,” I said, “I started to get so tired of him looking down on me because I was young, and because I was a girl, that I became determined to show him that I could write as well as anyone else. But sometimes I must have sounded mighty headstrong, like I wouldn’t accept anything but my own way. Do you know what I mean?” I asked.
Almeda nodded.
“I know there are times you’ve got to fight for something you believe in. You’ve taught me that. But then again, Mr. Kemble is the editor, and he does have years more experience than I do, and I am young. Sometimes I wonder if I’m presuming too much to think I’m so smart and such a great writer that I can just tell him what I want.”
I glanced at Almeda. She was obviously thinking a lot about what I was saying, but still she let me keep talking.
“And not only am I young and inexperienced, I am a girl—”
“Not anymore, Corrie,” Almeda interrupted. “You’re a woman now.”
I smiled. “What I mean,” I said, “is that I’m not a man . . . I’m a girl, a lady, a woman—a female. I wish Mr. Kemble could look at something I write and not think of it as written by a woman. But there’s a division between men and women that affects everything—it affects how people look at you and what they expect from you and how they treat you. And as much as I find myself wishing it wasn’t that way, there’s no getting around that it is. There is a difference between men and women, and maybe it is a man’s world, especially here in the west. I don’t know any other women newspaper writers. There aren’t any other women in business around here but you.”
I stopped, struggling to find words to express things I was feeling. “Maybe Mr. Kemble is right when he says that it’s a man’s world, and that a woman like me can’t expect to get the same pay or have it as easy as I might like it. Maybe it is a man’s world, and I’ve been wrong to think things are unfair because Robin O’Flaridy can get paid more than I do for the same article. Maybe that’s just the way it is, and it’s something I have to accept.”
“How did your article’s not being in the paper lead you to think about all that?” asked Almeda.
“I don’t know. It’s just hard to know how to fit being a woman into a man’s world.”
“Very hard!” agreed Almeda. “Believe me, Corrie, I have struggled with that exact question almost from the moment I arrived in California.”
“My first reaction was anger,” I continued. “I wanted to march right into Mr. Kemble’s office and say, ‘Why haven’t you published my article?’ A time or two I’ve been really headstrong and determined with him. Part of me still says that’s the right approach. That’s how a man would probably do it.” I paused for a moment.
“But another side of me started thinking in this whole new way,” I went on, “wondering if the way I’ve handled it in the past wasn’t right.”
“It’s the Spirit of God putting these thoughts in your heart, Corrie,” said Almeda. “You’re maturing as a daughter of God. He’s never going to let you remain just where you are. He’s always going to be pulling and stretching you and encouraging you to grow into new regions of wisdom and dedication to him. And so he’ll continually be putting within you new thoughts like this, so that you’ll think and pray in new directions. He wants you to know both him and yourself more and more intimately.”
“If it’s God’s Spirit speaking to me inside, then what’s he trying to tell me?” I asked.
She laughed. “Ah, Corrie, that is always the difficult question! It’s often very hard to know. Separating the voice of God’s Spirit from our own thoughts is one of the Christian’s greatest challenges.”
The look on her face changed to one of reflection. “It’s funny you should bring this up,” she said after a minute. “I’ve been facing a real quandary myself. Different from yours, I suppose, but very similar at the same time.”
“You mean about knowing if it’s God saying something to you?”
“Partly. But more specifically, the issue of being a woman, and how to balance the two sides that sometimes struggle against one another inside.”
“That’s just it!” I said. “I feel that there’s two parts of me, and I’m not sure which part I’m supposed to listen to and be like. One part wants to do things and be bold and not be looked down on for being a woman. That part of me resents hearing that it’s a ‘man’s world’ and that a woman’s place is supposed to be somewhere different, somewhere less important, doing and thinking things that men wouldn’t do. That part of me wants to think that I’m just as important as a man—not because women are more important, but just because I’m a human being too. Do you know what I mean?”
“Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Corrie!” answered Almeda. “Don’t you think I’ve wrestled with that same question five hundred times since my first husband died? I’ve spent years trying to run a business in this ‘man’s world!’ I always had to prove myself, to show them that I could run Parrish Mine and Freight as well as any man. Oh, yes, Corrie, I’ve struggled and prayed and cried over these questions you’re asking!”
“Then you must feel the other half of what I’ve been feeling too,” I went on.
“Which is?”
“Well, maybe it’s not altogether right to expect to be treated the same as a man. Maybe it is a man’s world, and I’ve got to accept my place in it. Even if Mr. Kemble says or does something I don’t like, or even something I don’t think is fair, maybe I have to learn to accept it. After all, he is the man, he is the editor, and maybe he has the right to do what he thinks best, whether I like it or not. After all, it isn’t my newspaper. So who do I think I am to think that I have a right to expect Mr. Kemble to do what I want?”
Almeda drew up on the reins and looked at me intently. “Corrie,” she said, “it seems there are two principles at work here. Maybe you’re feeling the need to accept Mr. Kemble’s judgment about the paper and your articles. But it’s not just because he’s a man—it’s also because he’s in a position of authority, and deserves your respect even when you disagree with him.”
“But there’s more to it than just the question of who makes the final decisions about your stories, isn’t there?”
“Yes. I guess the last couple of years, since I started trying to write more seriously, I’ve been wanting the people I meet—first Mr. Singleton, then Mr. Kemble, and then even Robin O’Flaridy or Derrick Gregory—to treat me like an equal and not look down on me just because I’m not a man. But maybe I’m not supposed to be an equal. Maybe that isn’t the way God wanted it to be. I don’t like the thought that I’m not as important in the world as a man. But I’ve been wondering if that’s the way it is.”
“Corrie . . . Corrie,” sighed Almeda, “you’ve really hit on the hardest thing of all about being a woman, especially out here in the west where we sometimes have to fend for ourselves and be tough.”
“You mean accepting the fact that we’re not equal to men, and that what we do and think isn’t as important?”
“Oh no—not that. We are just as important. The question isn’t about equality, Corrie, because in God’s eyes, men, women, children—all human beings—are equal and precious. The soul of the poorest black woman is just as important to God as the soul of the richest white man. The President of the United States, in God’s eyes, is no more important than a child dying of starvation somewhere in deepest India or Africa. No—men are all equal, and by men I mean all of mankind—men and women. You are just as important as Mr. Kemble or anyone else, and your thoughts are just as valid. Never think that you’re not as good as someone else—as a man. On the other hand, never think that someone else isn’t as good as you! Equality works in all directions.”
“Then what’s that hardest thing about being a woman?” I asked.
“I said you were wrong about us not being equal. But you were right when you said we were different! And that’s what is so hard about being a woman—trying to find how we’re supposed to be equal and different at the same time. That is the struggle, Corrie.”
“It’s a struggle, all right. Half of me wants to tell Mr. Kemble off, and the other half wonders if I’ve got any right to.”
“That’s where women make a big mistake, Corrie. We want to be treated equally, but we forget that we really are different. We’re supposed to be. God didn’t make men and women to be the same. He made us equal but different. And so we’re supposed to fulfill different roles. And the minute we try to start turning our equality with men into sameness with men, we lose sight of what it truly means to be a woman. I think we become less of a woman, in the way God intended womanhood when he created it, when we try to compete with men and do everything men do.”
“Do you mean maybe I shouldn’t be trying to be a reporter, because it is something mostly men do?”
“No, it’s not that at all, Corrie. I think it’s all right to do many of the same things men do. There aren’t certain limits or restrictions God places around women. But even though we may be involved in many of the same pursuits, we’re still women, not men. There’s still a difference. There is still a leadership role which God has given to men, and a follower’s role God has given to women. That’s part of the difference I spoke of. Equal but different. Man is to be the head, the spokesman, the leader. A woman is to fit into that arrangement, not try to compete with it.”
“You mean, like Mr. Kemble being the editor of the paper, and so I have to realize the importance of his position?”
“Something like that.”
“And even if it weren’t for his being editor and me just being a raw young writer, him being a man and me being a young woman makes it that way, too.”
“I suppose in a way, although I wouldn’t want to assume that any man, just because he is a man, has the right to control your life and your decisions. I believe that God has set certain men—a husband, for example, or an employer—into positions of leadership. As women, we need to acknowledge that God-given leadership. But I have to admit that I don’t always know how it works out in practice. Lately I’ve been struggling with it a lot myself.”
“Is that how it is in a marriage too?” I asked. “Like between you and Pa?”
She didn’t answer immediately, but looked down and sighed deeply. I glanced away for a moment. When I looked back toward her, to my astonishment I saw that Almeda was crying.