January brings true disaster for our community. I knew of the 18th Amendment, passed last year, but had no idea how widespread its impact would be in Napa. The locals have grown used to the annual flooding of the town, but Prohibition yanks the rug out from under their proverbial feet. I suppose I should have been aware, but my mind clouded with newlywed bliss and so was taken aback when the local wineries began to shut their doors. A few decide to produce medicinal wines and so remain in business, and others will sell wine grapes to the East Coast. With the prohibition of manufacture, sales, and distribution of alcohol, I am thankful that Teddy’s business is not in wine. Even so, when disaster threatens a community’s livelihood, all manner of businesses in the area suffer, too. Taxes rise, and we are forced to sell our property in Berkeley. Letters keep my spirits high.
Dear Eva,
I am sorry to hear that you had to sell the property Ed purchased in Berkeley. I wish I could make this first year of your marriage easy for you, but if you struggle together it makes the relationship stronger. I know you and Ed will make it, sweetheart. Lil and I have had our struggles, as you know. I am barely in business as an architect any more, and Lil has had to close The Palmer Shop. Yet we live summers at Wake Robin and rent our other properties to survive.
Now Lil is president of the San Francisco Business and Professional Women’s Club. The membership has grown so that we now have our own clubhouse on Kearney Street where we hold weekly luncheons. So don’t despair, dear Eva, if you push on, you will come to a brighter day.
Love,
Emily Williams
Prohibition seems to affect Teddy’s demeanor also. He begins to find fault with everything. I admit I am not the best housekeeper, but I can cook. Since I have not yet joined local society clubs, I spend my days cooking and cleaning, which are tedious, and playing with Suzanne. The cocker spaniel settles into her new home easily, and clearly believes she owns it. Books also are a great distraction and we have many of them, some purchased, some borrowed from the library in town, and some passed on from family. Today I have been tired and distracted all day, very low on energy.
On the table in the kitchen, Dangerous Days, the newest mystery novel from Mary Roberts Rinehart, invites me to rest. Maybe a chapter before starting dinner? I slip into the chair and fall into the book’s world.
The latch on the door brings me back to my world. Suzanne has been dozing under the table, but she lets out a bark. Dusk softens the light coming in the windows, turning it gray with impending night. Teddy comes into the kitchen, and the worry in his face clears, turning to anger.
“I thought something had happened to you when I saw no lights, yet here you are sitting at the table reading.” He sees the dust cloth on the counter. “You let the dust pile up while you read?” He crosses to the table and flips the book closed, inspecting the title. “A novel?” The contempt in his voice lashes me even more strongly because I haven’t experienced it before.
“Would it go easier if I was reading Crowds?” I try to make my tone conciliatory, even teasing, but it comes out a challenge. Crowds: A Moving Picture of Democracy is the tome on his nightstand. I often read nonfiction, but that one daunts even me.
He frowns. “It would go easier if my house was clean and my dinner ready when I get home.”
I stand up and tuck the novel in a kitchen drawer. “Dinner will be on the table soon.”
He leaves the room with a disparaging grunt and no welcome-home kiss from me. I hear him settle into his chair and open the newspaper. Suzanne hides on her blanket in the corner of the kitchen. I don’t deliberately clang pans as I fry some ham and eggs, but the noise soothes my bruised heart. Mama says a wife must support her husband as he supports her. Teddy and I will learn.
In the weeks to come, I come to realize why I am so tired all the time and wish to sit. Once I confirm the pregnancy, I organize a special dinner for Teddy, planning to tell him the news so we can share the meal in delighted plans. The roast cooks perfectly, filling the house with the aroma of beef and onion. The mashed potatoes and peas keep warm in the oven. I light candles on the table and set out a plate of pickled beets and olives. Tomato cream soup simmers on the stove. I set out our last bottle of Napa red wine and go to change my dress.
Teddy comes in quietly, and I greet him at the door with a smile and a kiss. He seems distracted as he puts his hat on the rack and takes off his coat.
“Come on, Teddy, I have a lovely dinner ready.”
His eyes sweep the room and narrow. “You didn’t dust today?”
My lips tighten. I force myself to say lightly, “The dust will wait for tomorrow, but your dinner won’t.”
We enter the kitchen and he stops dead when he sees the wine. “Eva, it’s illegal to serve that. I won’t have it on my table.”
“It’s our last bottle, Teddy. I promise this is a special occasion.” I wait until he sits at the table, then pour the wine and serve the soup. He nibbles on the olives and ignores the wine. I take my seat and inhale the aroma of the tomato soup, my favorite. If I’m pregnant and will be gaining more weight anyway, maybe I will have some mashed potatoes.
“What’s the occasion?” he asks.
I pick up my wine glass and hold it up. “I’d like to propose a toast to our first child.” My glass hangs there in air for a long moment.
“First child?” His face clears as he stops focusing on the wine and looks into my face. “Eva, are you with child?”
I nod. “As near as I can figure, our baby will be here a month before our first anniversary.”
“Our first child. That truly is good news!” Now he does lift his glass to clink against mine, and we sip the wine.
My heart and soul sing as we enjoy the meal and plan our future, just as I pictured it would be.
I write letters to Aunt Emily, my parents, Grandma Van, and even Uncle Paul’s sweetheart, Phyllis, with whom I feel a special bond. They write back with effusive congratulations. I always share my letters with Teddy and he appears to enjoy them.
He receives letters every so often from his sisters in Glasgow, multiple pages that make him smile or frown or read thoughtfully. He never shares them. When I ask what Ethelwyn and Gladys have written, he only says, “They would like to meet you.”
My initial tiredness lasts only a few weeks, and I am healthy and strong so I feel wonderful. Teddy continues to come home with a storm on his face, and I know he worries about money. I walk into downtown Napa, intent on finding a way to help our financial situation.
Napa is the county seat of Napa County, home to a glove factory and the new Magnavox Company. It is also home to more than twenty brothels around Clinton Street. I stay away from that end of town and enter the office of the Napa Valley Register to see if the newspaper needs a photographer. They turn me away.
Not far away on Second Street an empty building beckons. An idea, just a hope really, sparks in my mind. I rub at the dirty windows and try to peer inside. Turning to face the street, I survey the small businesses that dot both sides of Second Street and watch people walk along the storefronts. A new business could do well here. I go back to the newspaper office to find out who owns the empty storefront.
That afternoon, I am deep in dreams and plans for my own photography studio. Just putting the idea into coherent thought makes me giddy. I can feel Aunt Emily’s supportive thoughts across the miles that physically separate us. From her, I have the creativity to think of this idea and the confidence to pursue it. Still, my hands shake as I dial the number the newspaper office has given me. A man answers.
I try to project a businesslike tone. “I’m calling about your office space on Second. I’d like to know what the rent is, please.”
“Who wants to know?” The man’s voice is rough and rude.
I swallow. “Eva Van—Eva Walters. I plan to open a photography studio there.” Fool! He doesn’t care what you do with the space!
He makes an unpleasant growling noise that might be laughter. “Well then, the rent is $75 a month. Can’t have a broad makin’ more money than me.” More growling laughter.
“Thank you for your time, sir.” That is much more money than we can afford.
What was I thinking? Teddy and I barely scrape together enough money to pay for groceries. With coffee now at forty-seven cents a pound, I have begun watering it down each morning. What fantasy was I living in, to think I could afford $75 a month for rent?
Rubbing my belly thoughtfully, I walk through the house with Suzanne at my heels. The second bedroom still sits empty. Soon we will prepare it for the baby. Until then, could I use the space for my studio? I walk to the window and bask in the weak sunshine of early spring. I could set up my camera so that this window lit the subject. I could put a chair there, maybe a small table for a desk. The developing could be done in the service porch with its ugly wash basin. My mind is afire once more. Like Aunt Emily, I will find a way.
That night as I set dinner on the table before my tired husband, I think more of my dreams than of his exhausting day. “Teddy, I can bring in extra money if I open a photography studio. I can use the baby’s bedroom until late summer, then we can fix it up for the baby.”
He holds the paper in front of his face, but he hears me. “The Russian Civil War may be over, but there is terrible famine in the country.”
“We’ll need the extra money for the baby,” I continue. “I can take family portraits and baby photos. Those are quite popular now.”
“The League of Nations is meeting in Paris, but the U.S. Senate voted against joining. They must think another war is coming.” He laughs at the absurdity. “Haven’t we just had the war to end all wars?”
“Teddy.” I take the newspaper from him and fold it. Taking his hand, I wait until he is looking at me. I say softly, “I want to do this. It will help, and I want to do it.”
He smiles, but it’s a quick, grim smile. “It will help.” His tone makes it sound as if we are teetering on the brink of disaster.
“We are in this marriage together,” I tell him. “You must let me help where I can. I won’t continue once the baby is born.”
He nods. “All right, Eva.”
I give him back the paper and pass the peas.
I hang pictures of Suzanne in my new studio, but the wife of the newspaper editor becomes my first paying client. I appealed to him for leads since I was unable to pay for an advertisement in the paper. He told me if his wife was happy the whole town would know it. She brings their six month old daughter in for a portrait. The baby fusses and won’t sit without her mother. I convince her that a portrait of both of his girls together would delight her husband. It does, and my business launches successfully.
In August, Congress finally ratifies the 19th Amendment. This fall I will be busy with a baby, but for the first time every woman in America will be able to vote. I write to Grandma Van, sharing my pleasure with her. I hum to myself as I ponder the impact of voting women on our country and move carefully around my studio. I am quite large now, packing away my photography supplies to prepare for the imminent birth of the baby. Teddy hopes for a son to carry on the family name. I hope to keep him happy.
My photography efforts have produced enough money to buy a lovely bassinet, an infant bed to use when the baby is a bit older, and some baby clothes. Teddy brings home a wooden rocking chair that I am sure will see many hours of use. On September 10, I enter Victory Memorial Hospital. Much later, I emerge with Teddy’s daughter. We name her Sheila and take her home.
For the entire year of 1921, I focus on home and family. If the world falls to global pandemic I wouldn’t notice. Sheila’s smile lights my day, rewarding me for the fussy nights, the long days with colic, the panic when I don’t know what she needs. Despite my inexpert mothering, watching her grow soothes my soul.
Suzanne sniffs the new baby gently, although Teddy urges caution. He thinks Suzanne may get jealous and nip. Sheila seems to trigger some mothering instinct in the dog, though, because Suzanne never gets impatient. I take picture after picture of dog and baby, individually and together.
Money remains tight, but Teddy smiles more often than not when he comes through the door at night. After dinner, I bathe the baby, and he holds her for awhile in his chair by the fire. I take father-daughter pictures that show faces glowing with firelight. While Sheila sleeps, Teddy and I play chess by the fire. He usually beats me, but it doesn’t matter.
Then Teddy comes home one night without a smile. I greet him with Suzanne at my heels and Sheila in my arms, but it doesn’t help. He sits in his big chair, and I perch on the couch, waiting.
“You like it here in Napa, don’t you?” he asks.
“It’s where my family is,” I say, clutching Sheila tightly.
“I’ve been offered a job with Pacific Gas and Electric in Vacaville. It’s more money, but it means moving the family.”
“Oh, Teddy, that’s wonderful!” How could he imagine that I, who moved from Cholame to Santa Cruz to Inverness to Napa would have qualms about relocating again?
Now his excitement bubbles over. “They are building a big substation there. It will be the world’s largest.”
“How exciting!”
We move to Vacaville early in 1922. The new house, little more than a shack, sits in the middle of five acres of land, two of which belong to us. On the hill a swamp full of frogs tempts Suzanne. Teddy and I dream of planting fruit trees, building a barn, buying a cow and chickens and rabbits. I can hardly wait for spring to plant a garden, and I must have an almond tree. PG&E’s tremendous substation still awaits completion when we arrive, so Teddy works as a gardener while they finish it. We busy ourselves settling in and fixing up the property as much as we can.
On April 16, we get a call from Aunt Marion. Grandma Van has passed away in Santa Cruz.