of the heavier farmers and their wives, maintaining the margin of decency could be quite taxing, to the point where farmers would turn in their seats, crossing their legs away from their neighbors and putting their arms around their wives’ shoulders, thus eliminating the possibility that anyone, even for an instant, could imagine any untoward touching.
The easiest way to avoid this contortionist purity was simply for the men to sit together in the back of the room and the women to sit together in the front. As many of the Nickerly families came from Quaker ancestry, they were quite familiar with the separation of men and women in public places. Indeed, although it was now a source of liberal pride that most churches had moved away from the practice of forcing men and women to segregate, it was still a voluntary chastity that was widely practiced. Also, men and women had different things to talk about in terms of their farm duties. Some families liked the Literaries, however, because children were among the few subjects that men and women could talk about, and in many cases it was the only time a farmer even found himself in the company of a woman, or at least a woman other than his wife.
So it was not unusual to see the first three rows filled with the women of the Civic Improvement Association, although there did seem to be a special intensity about their introductions, as each lined up to meet Margaret Chambers, the new teacher at Sunny-side. Margaret was wearing a dark blue wool dress that protected her against the cool air of the autumn prairie evening. The dress had bright white trim about the neck and sleeves. On her right shoulder, like a star against a blue bird’s wing, she wore a golden brooch, as large as a silver dollar and curved like a seashell. The brooch glittered like a piece of broken glass that catches the sun. Every introduction brought the patrons of the community face-to-face with this undefined challenge, this bit of rebellion.
In fact, all the women were a little frightened of Margaret, for reasons that few understood. Ileen had noticed it years before. Even when Margaret was in high school, other women shied away from her on the street. When she walked into a group of adult women, they drew back like a clutch of hens, as though sensing danger in their midst. Even now, as the ladies drew closer to Margaret to welcome her to the school, some of them got a spooked look, like a horse’s eye when it catches the flicker of a passing shadow, skittish and fearful of a rock in the field. Ileen could never understand this reaction. Perhaps it came from Margaret’s reputation in school for perfect papers or from her physical maturity that had always seemed on the verge of being out of control. As a child Margaret’s long legs were hard to keep hidden. But there was also an innocence about Margaret that kept the women from gossip, from assigning any malicious motive to these lapses in decorum. It was as if Margaret could not be blamed for an uncontrollable gene her ancestors had bred beneath her bonnet.
“What a beautiful brooch,” Mrs. Garvey said to Margaret, knowing that the ladies were already looking askance at the bright piece of jewelry and hoping to relieve the stigma by openly and specifically addressing the matter.
“Thank you; I won it at school,” Margaret said. Margaret had won the brooch her first year at Emporia, as the only female member of the debate team that argued the merits of Theodore Roosevelt’s efforts to bust the railroad trusts. The team sponsor had given writing pens to his team for years, but in honor of this break in the gender barrier, he had selected a simple brooch from the local jeweler. Margaret had worn it tonight as a symbol of intellectual achievement and because she liked the sparkle it gave to her dress.
Mrs. Garvey could see that the womenfolk had a somewhat different interpretation, and was determined to help Margaret with a clear statement of her approval. But her chivalry didn’t prevent Mrs. Tucker from staring straight at the brooch as she said hello to Margaret. A look of condemnation was spread across her face like the pain of tight shoes. The brooch was brazen. It boasted of a superiority to Mrs. Tucker and most of the other ladies there, from a woman judged to have no right to superiority by all the normal standards of social ascendancy. Margaret’s claim to superiority could only come after she had taught for thirty years in the community, or if she married a farmer and raised a dozen children, or if long days of backbreaking work in the fields had yielded honest wealth, or if she demonstrated piety through faithful service to the church. These were the normal pathways to social acclaim and community praise. Anything less than a lifetime of commitment was a superficial attempt at recognition, a temporary and sometimes scornful presence, like the patent medicine salesman who stepped down from his square rig and prancing horse to offer cures for every ailment, then moved on down the road and out of mind.
Margaret caught the look in Mrs. Tucker’s eye and instinctively stepped back. Then, recovering herself, she leaned into the introduction with the confidence she had learned in college and she did a remarkable thing: she stretched her arm forward to its full reach, opened her palm and there for all the room to see, she offered to shake Mrs. Tucker’s hand.
Jay Langston, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Margaret since he first caught sight of the auburn curls that flowed over her shoulders, noticed the exchange with Mrs. Tucker and exclaimed to the men huddled near him, “The new teacher shakes hands.”
“She thinks she’s a man,” said Ed Garvey. “My mother has treated that girl like a daughter, helped send her off to college, and now she comes back thinking she owns the place.”
Margaret realized there was a flutter in the room, but she held steady, her gaze fixed and her smile as broad as Tiny Tucker’s bosom. Mrs. Tucker was not prepared to be on the defensive and had no idea how to respond. She was a private person in a world where people did not draw attention to themselves in public, certainly not by shaking hands, which women just did not do, and not by sharp words or wild gestures either. She turned and walked to her seat, head down, realizing her humiliation and vowing to exact an appropriate vengeance, just as soon as God made his wishes known. Margaret Chambers had committed the sin of pride, and Tiny Tucker had no doubt that she would soon feel the wrath of the Lord.
The handshake attempt brought the room to order as quickly as if someone had tapped a spoon on a glass, and the evening’s formal festivities began. The teacher at Mt. Pleasant School, Mr. Talmage Grimes, welcomed the parents and friends to the first Literary of the year.
Mr. Talmage Grimes was only twenty-three. He had completed just one year of high school, the minimum requirement for getting a teaching certificate from the State of Kansas, and he had spent nearly four years helping his father in the local grocery store before leaving in a family dispute and deciding on a career in education. He found himself well suited to education, patient with the children, studious in his preparations, and serious in his ambition. As a man, he enjoyed the preferential benefits of a higher salary and community recognition. He was in his third year of teaching, and he was earning thirty-six dollars a month, well above Margaret’s starting salary of thirty-one dollars and fifty cents. He introduced Margaret briefly as the new teacher at Sunnyside, whose family had resided in Nickerly for many years.
Margaret had thought about her introduction to the community carefully. Although this was an evening of socializing, she wanted to express her seriousness of purpose and to educate the parents as to their children’s curriculum. This first Literary might be the only one of the year for the men folk, especially if the remaining ones occurred during a snowstorm or at harvest time.
“Good evening,” she began, “I’m delighted to meet you all, even though I know most of you from living here, and I thank you for coming. I want to take this moment to tell you about our new eighth-grade graduation test. It will be given to all proposed graduates, and since we don’t have any eighth-grade students this year, I thought you would like to take the test, just to see how smart our children have to be to graduate.”
The audience was not prepared for levity, and missed the attempt entirely.
“These questions were developed by the State of Kansas,” Margaret continued, “and will give you a clear idea of what your children are learning. Now, here’s the first question on the exam: Name the parts of speech and define those that have no modifications.”
Margaret paused for emphasis, and to let the parents think about the question. But most of the fathers in the room, still having nightmares about questions they couldn’t answer in grade school, thought she might be waiting for one of them to stand up and answer.