Don't Put the Boats Away: A Novel

September 1945

She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going, but right now that doesn’t trouble her. This is the start of the next stage of her life. Harriet Sutton—who’s always been called Harry by her family—puts two fingers into her mouth and gives a piercing whistle as soon as she spots a battered black Ford with a small TAXI sign moving toward the West Madison train station.

Brakes squealing, the vehicle stops. She opens the door and tosses her suitcase inside. As she slides in and settles on the cracked leather seat, the cabbie turns around. You only need wave to catch my attention. I watch for customers. He almost looks like a bum with his unshaven cheeks and chin, but his smile is sweet.

I’m sorry, sir. I’ve just come from New York City. I guess I’m used to whistling for a cab.

No wonder. Where can I take you, miss?

She gives the address of the boarding house where she has arranged to stay.

The cabbie pulls into the traffic. Watching her in the rearview mirror, he asks, How was your trip?

The train was terribly crowded. Someone told me more than a million people are riding the rails every month.

It’s all those soldiers returning home from the war.

That’s right. They were pretty raucous. I guess it’s understandable after what they’ve been through. Then, inevitably, she thinks about the soldiers who will never return home. Her brother Eddie.

The buildings blur. Quickly quashing her grief, she blinks the tears back. Despite herself, a sigh escapes.

Miss?

She looks out the window and spots an arresting white granite dome. Is that the State Capitol over there?

Yep, that’s it. You’re new to Madison?

I’m here to study chemistry at the University of Wisconsin. Her stomach feels tight. While she’s excited to start, she’s also terrified. I just hope I can make it.

You seem like a capable young lady, the cabbie says.

You’re nice to say that. Disarmed by his friendliness, she says, "I can’t get over the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki last month. Why did we ever create such a powerful weapon and then use it on innocent people?"

Watching her through his rearview mirror, he says, I’ve heard that if we hadn’t used the A-bomb on Japan, the Japs would have held out until the bitter end, and we would have lost another five million of our soldiers.

War destroys so much.

The cabbie turns around quickly. War is hell. I was there in France last time around, in the ‘war to end all wars.’

My mother was there too, she replies proudly. Mother drove an ambulance in France.

Is that so?

And for the last two years she’s worked as a nurse’s aide in an Army hospital on Staten Island.

We all did our part.

I’ll say! Harriet had become much stronger working on their Victory Farm.

He signals a turn. Almost there now.

That afternoon, standing outside Dr. Blackwell’s office on the third floor of the Chemistry Building, she knocks briskly on his partially open door.

Come!

She steps into the room. Directly ahead, a wall of books and scientific journals face her, and to her right a man wearing a rumpled jacket sits in a club chair.

Dr. Blackwell?

As he turns, she sees that his bowtie is askew. Yes? He sounds annoyed by the interruption.

I’m Harriet Sutton. We have an appointment.

Ah, so we do. Take a seat. He grabs the papers off the chair facing him and places them on top of his messy desk.

She sits, carefully crossing her legs, and then tugs her skirt down over her knees.

He looks at her. How old are you?

I’m twenty-six.

Why start a master’s program at your age?

She lifts her chin. I spent the war years running my family’s Victory Farm in New Jersey. Our chickens produced 1,500 eggs each day, so my hands were full until now.

I see. Dr. Blackwell goes on to explain that she should register in the graduate school office, and he spells out precisely which chemistry courses she should sign up for.

I’d like to take some business courses too.

Why? Dr. Blackwell raises one eyebrow, which is as bristly as porcupine quills.

Because I want to be able to run my father’s company when the time comes.

Shaking his head, Dr. Blackwell declares, That’ll never happen.

She sits up straighter. Why not?

You’re a woman.

So what?

What kind of company?

Clenching her right hand into a fist, she says, It’s a chemical company! I’m here to pursue a graduate degree in chemistry so I can become a research chemist. She has never spoken so impatiently to a professor in her life. Her parents would be appalled. She’d better get a grip on her temper.

Huh.

Are there any other female graduate students in the chemistry department here at Madison?

One or two. I don’t know why you women bother with graduate school. After getting your degree, you just marry and leave the field.

Coolly she replies, That’s not my plan. She shifts in her seat. Are you and Dr. Fowler friends? Dr. Fowler was her favorite professor at Bennington; he was the one to write her recommendation.

We were both working on our dissertations here at the same time. I never understood why Fowler would choose to teach at a women’s college.

He’s an excellent teacher.

I always thought he was a little soft.

I’ll stop wasting your time, Dr. Blackwell. Good day. As she exits his office, Harriet realizes she’s going to have to find some other advisor. Dr. Blackwell won’t do.

She just hopes she’ll be able to handle the coursework at this university. Before going to college, she’d needed intensive tutoring, and until she discovered chemistry, she’d thought she was stupid. She loves how much sense science makes. But sometimes she’s still afraid that she’s dumb. To her SAM looks the same as WAS or SAW, so she learned to read fragments of sentences for context in order to figure out what was being said. She’s learned how to manage. On the plus side, the part of her brain that makes reading a challenge is able to visualize molecules in three dimensions, and that’s very helpful.

Later that day, Harriet sits at the table in her room at the boarding house that serves as her desk. She writes Professor Fowler to thank him for his help getting her into graduate school, and she tells him about the courses she’ll be taking. She doesn’t mention Dr. Blackwell.

Her roommate, Klara, a perky freshman who is lounging on her twin bed, interrupts. Is that your boyfriend? She points to the small framed photo on Harriet’s bureau.

Harriet moves over to sit on the other bed. Yes. His name is Frank.

Until she met Frank, she’d been afraid she’d never find a boyfriend. She’s very grateful that he’s attracted to her, even if she’s not exactly excited by him. She knows she can be a bit intimidating, but Frank isn’t put off. She likes the way he teases her about being so brusque and bossy and sure of herself. She admires his values—he’s a pacifist, a Quaker, who works as an administrator at the Essex County Hospital. She respects the way he stood up to her father when he questioned Frank about that the first time the men met. She’s glad Frank hasn’t pressured her to get married when the main thing on her mind is earning her master’s degree. All she wants right now is to see what she can do on her own. And you, Klara? I bet you have a boyfriend.

I have lots of boyfriends, but I’m not exclusive with anyone. I just got here—I want to look around.

That’s smart. This is a good time of life to play the field. She almost sounds like someone’s aunt.

I plan to! Klara rises and goes to stand in front of the mirror.

Harriet watches Klara comb her long blonde hair. Then she notices the lamp on Klara’s dresser. Its shade features little round cotton balls hanging from the bottom rim. I’ve never seen anything like that lampshade. It’s sort of silly.

I think it’s cute.

I kind of like it myself, Harriet agrees, surprising herself.

Then Klara grabs her bathrobe from behind the door and leaves the room.

Thinking she should probably write a few more letters now before her classes start, Harriet moves back to her table. She ought to write her mother and father and her brother Nat, but the family member who fills her mind is Eddie. She leans her elbows on the surface and puts her face in her hands.

In Eddie’s last letter, the one that reached the Sutton home weeks after the telegram from the adjutant general, he said, I’ll be seeing you soon, but he was wrong. Eddie had written, Our mission is crucially important to the big push ahead, and I know we will help ensure the Nazis’ defeat. The family only learned the details months later. A member of the Eighty-Second Airborne Signal Company, Eddie died when his glider crash-landed in France while attempting to deliver a high-powered radio set for communications between the continent and England just before D-Day.

Her mother’s spirit is still broken, and her father never mentions Eddie’s name, but Harriet knows they both think about him every day. So does she. Harriet hopes that after she gets her degree, she’ll be able to step in and assume the traditional role of the oldest son in their father’s chemical company—maybe that would help mitigate the loss they all feel. She wants to do that for her father.

Klara returns and climbs into bed. Good night, Harriet. Klara shuts her eyes.

Eddie must have been the glue that bound the family together. With his death, everything changed. Eddie had been her buddy. They’d competed against each other at tennis, worked on jigsaw puzzles together, joked and kidded each other all the time.

Within moments, Klara’s breathing indicates she’s asleep.

Her other brother Nat is much younger than she. But she wants to be a good sister to the only sibling she has left, even if they aren’t particularly close. A few months ago she tried playing tennis with him, but he isn’t athletic. One night he took her to a jazz club in Manhattan where the music was so frenetic it gave her a headache. She promises herself that tomorrow she’ll write a letter to Nat, now in his final year at Phillips Academy in Andover.

Shouldn’t she write her mother? The problem is that she doesn’t have anything to say that her mother would care about. Since Eddie’s death Eleanor has continued to work as a nurse’s aide at Halloran Hospital, but once she gets home, she retreats to Eddie’s empty room. Nothing seems to rouse her mother’s interest. Eventually Harriet began to feel she was in danger of becoming infected with her mother’s despair. It’s a relief not to have to witness her misery every day.

Klara is snoring quietly. Harriet tiptoes over to the stack of books on her dresser and pulls out her copy of Stuart Little, the spine of which she’s turned to the wall. She finds this recently published volume thoroughly delightful, though she’d be embarrassed to be seen reading a children’s book. Harriet loves the tiny mouse and his heroic quest in search of his friend Margalo. She wishes she had a friend like Stuart does. Her best friend at college—Sarah—left after their sophomore year to marry and move to Texas. Harriet has yet to find another kindred spirit.

As she leaves for the lab early one morning a week later, Harriet spots frost on the mums outside the house. Walking quickly up Bascom Hill, she’s shocked by how cold the wind feels coming off Lake Mendota. This is outrageous! she says out loud.

A young man passing her as he descends the hill replies, Miss?

It wouldn’t be this cold at home until November!

The man’s cheeks are bright pink. Where’s home?

Harriet shakes her head. Never mind. She doesn’t want to be diverted by any man. From now on, she’ll keep her eyes down when she’s walking around campus.

As she continues up the steep incline, she realizes she’d better buy some long underwear and slacks. She’ll stick out among the women on campus in their plaid skirts with sweaters, saddle shoes, and white bobby socks, but at least she’ll be warm.

Later that afternoon, she sits in the front parlor of her boarding house reading the Capital Times before going to meet Judy, the other woman in her analytical techniques course, for dinner at Memorial Union. According to the newspaper, there’s some controversy over the spiral-shaped gallery that Frank Lloyd Wright designed to house Solomon R. Guggenheim’s art collection in New York City. A wave of homesickness washes over her. Taking a deep breath, Harriet tells herself she just needs to make a friend or two. Someone with interests like hers, someone who’s not as immature as Klara. Maybe Judy will become a friend—she seems thoughtful. There are very few women in chemistry, though one of the teaching assistants in the organic chemistry lab is female; perhaps she’d be another candidate.

What else would help her feel more at home? Looking around the room, she spots a card table pushed up against the corner. She’ll ask Mrs. Schmitt whether she could use that table for piecing together the jigsaw puzzle she brought. And Bach, she thinks, recalling Sunday mornings when her father played Bach cantatas, concertos, and masses on the phonograph. She should look for a place where she can hear Bach.

A few nights later after Harriet returns from studying in the library, she gets the jigsaw puzzle from her room and brings it back downstairs to the parlor. She pulls a chair up to the card table, opens the box, and starts laying out the pieces right-side up. This is a puzzle she and Eddie had made before he left for basic training. Taking a picture of the barn on their family’s farm, they glued it onto a thin piece of wood, and then Eddie showed her how to operate the jigsaw he’d received for his birthday a few years earlier. The pieces she cut aren’t nearly as smooth as Eddie’s, but they still fit together well enough.

Klara appears at Harriet’s elbow. What are you doing?

I’m starting to work on this puzzle. Want to join me?

OK. Klara pulls another chair up to the table.

First I like to pick out the edges.

Klara joins in, pushing the edge pieces to the side. Then what?

We put them together to form the frame for the picture.

Oh, I get it. Klara starts connecting edge pieces to each other.

Harriet looks at Klara. This is kind of fun, isn’t it?

Mmmm. Klara is clearly preoccupied. She fits two pieces together.

My brother and I used to spend hours working on jigsaw puzzles together. It’s such a companionable way to spend time with someone—you can talk or not, it doesn’t matter.

The clock on the wall is ticking but otherwise the room is quiet. The hooked rugs on the floor add to the feeling of coziness.

Harriet?

She looks up from the table.

You could look really attractive if you curled your hair. It’s thick and such a pretty shade of brown. I could show you how to set it.

Harriet recalls the comment her mother made while seeing her off at the station when she left for Madison. Her mother called her a handsome young woman, and her tone suggested that she was giving Harriet a compliment. Harriet knows she isn’t pretty, but handsome? What does that even mean when you’re talking about a female?

She doesn’t want to hurt Klara’s feelings, but there’s no point in learning how to curl her hair. Not tonight, she says. Maybe some other time.

Sure.

Harriet says, You’re kind, Klara. She smiles warmly at her roommate. Klara seems almost like a younger sister.

They return their attention to the puzzle pieces on the table before them.

After a few moments, Klara says, Didn’t your mother ever show you how to set your hair?

No, she wasn’t that kind of mother. But then, I never asked her about that sort of thing.

On December 4, Harriet waits for Judy in front of the University Club, where the initiation ceremony and banquet for Sigma Delta Epsilon, the club for graduate women scientists, is being held. She knows she’s a little late, but apparently Judy is too. They agreed to enter the intimidating red brick building together.

A stout young woman with very short red hair, wearing a navy blue suit, rounds the corner.

I’m so sorry! Judy cries. I broke the heel on my shoe, so I had to go back for my other pair.

Harriet starts up the steps toward the triple archway, saying, Don’t worry. You’re here now. She grabs the knob and flings open the heavy wooden door. Inside, exquisitely rendered oil paintings of local landscapes framed in gold are mounted along the walls, and an enormous Persian carpet covers the floor.

This is fancy! Judy says.

Very nice, Harriet agrees.

They proceed to a reception room where forty women stand talking in groups. Everyone is wearing a dress or a suit and heels. Most of the women hold a cocktail in one hand. Harriet’s glad she dressed up in the gray flannel suit her mother had bought for her at Lord & Taylor.

Judy says, I wonder what the decibel level is in here?

Oh, you and your penchant for measurements, Harriet jokes, lightly tapping Judy’s arm. She scans the room, looking for the bar. Can I get you a drink? Scotch and soda?

Thanks, Harriet, that would be terrific. Judy steps toward the nearest group of women.

As Harriet approaches the bartender in the far corner, she sees that many of the women here are much older than she is. Some of the eldest women look quite forbidding with their severe haircuts and tailored suits, though there are a few women with softly curled hair in silk dresses as well.

After cocktails, everyone heads into the dining room, where they have an unobstructed view of Lake Mendota. Harriet and Judy sit next to each other at a round table for eight covered with a white cloth, glasses, silverware, cups and saucers, and plates of iceberg lettuce with slivers of carrots. A small round votive candle graces the center of the table.

Harriet leans toward Judy. Isn’t this nice? We can almost forget about the war.

Lots of the guys are still coming home and being demobilized, Judy counters. The war’s not over yet for some people.

It’s not over for my mother, Harriet replies, thinking of Eddie.

Judy doesn’t say anything.

After taking a deep breath, Harriet reaches for the basket of rolls. Thank goodness the United Nations’ charter has been ratified by twenty nations now, including the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and the Republic of China. I hope the UN can ensure that atomic weapons will never be used again. We’ve got to be able to guarantee there won’t be any more wars.

Judy swallows a forkful of salad before she replies. I’m with you. I’m not sure they can ban atomic weapons, but here’s hoping they’ll figure out some way to keep the world safe from mass destruction.

A tall woman wearing a tweed suit walks over to the podium. Her short hair is graying at her temples, and wrinkles appear around her mouth and eyes as she smiles at the audience. Can you all hear me? I am the president of the University of Wisconsin chapter of Sigma Delta Epsilon, and I’d like to welcome all our new initiates and the rest of you established members of Sigma Delta Epsilon. My name is Marjorie Pennington—Dr. Pennington. As most of you know, members of Sigma Delta Epsilon are distinguished for demonstrating originality, independence, and initiative in scientific research work.

Harriet leans forward.

To be a scientist requires a high order of intelligence, with strength in mathematics and spatial ability. It requires persistence and an intense channeling of one’s energy so that one derives significant satisfaction from the activities of the work itself.

She identifies with what Dr. Pennington is saying; she loves to work hard on things that interest her.

Dr. Pennington continues, A preference for working alone is another characteristic of the best scientists.

Really? Harriet prefers to be in charge of a group of people working together. Is this going to be a problem for her?

"And to be a woman scientist requires an even higher order of dedication and hard work. We must prove ourselves because many of our male colleagues doubt that we are truly dedicated to our profession. It’s up to us to prove them wrong."

The audience breaks into applause.

She whispers to Judy, Isn’t she inspiring?

Judy nods.

Once Dr. Pennington concludes her remarks, Harriet says, Thank God there are women like this at Madison! The hell with Dr. Blackwell.

Will you go on for a PhD after we get our master’s degrees, Harriet?

No. I want to work for my father. He’s president of Sutton Chemical Company in New Jersey.

Really?

My brother Nat isn’t likely to want to work for the company, and Father will need someone to hand it off to. Nat hopes to be a musician. Besides, I want to please Father and earn his respect. When I ran the farm for him, we got along better than we did when I was struggling in high school. He called me his ‘right hand man,’ and I kind of liked that, though he did require me to report in to him every day. He’s so critical and demanding. He’s not easy to please. She’s not going to tell Judy that the man she calls Father is not the man who sired her—which is why she has to work extra hard to win his approval and, if she’s lucky, maybe even his affection.

Judy says, I see.

On Saturday, Harriet invites Klara to go skating on Lake Mendota with her. The ice is very hard and smooth because, though it’s been cold, it hasn’t snowed much yet. Harriet races back and forth, hungry for fresh air to fill her lungs after hours of breathing pungent odors in the organic chemistry lab. Klara skates figure eights and twirls. Afterward they head home to their boarding house. Once they’ve added a log to the fire, have drawn the brown corduroy drapes closed, and hold cups of cocoa in their hands, they sit down at the table in the parlor with a new jigsaw puzzle Harriet bought earlier that week.

When all the pieces are face up and the edges have been separated out, Harriet looks at Klara. Your cheeks sure are red.

I know. They always get that way when I go outside in the winter. Klara picks up the box the puzzle came in and scrutinizes the picture.

You’re not supposed to look at the box for clues, Klara. Her mother was very strict about this rule.

Then how do you know what the puzzle is supposed to look like?

Use the shapes and colors to guide you.

Ralph, their fellow boarder, looks into the room. A former GI, his grown-out buzz cut stands straight up. How are you girls doing?

Glancing at his midsection, Harriet admires how flat his stomach is. Frank isn’t nearly so svelte. She lifts her eyes. We’re fine.

This is hard! Klara picks up a corner piece.

I’m off to the library, Ralph says. Tell Mrs. Schmitt not to wait dinner.

Once he exits, Harriet asks, How are your classes going, Klara? Are you getting some good grades?

I don’t want to talk about it.

OK, sorry I asked. Harriet would like to be able to tell someone about her own grades. She’s been studying extremely hard, spending most of her waking hours in class, or at her lab bench, or in the library, and she’s happy about how well she’s doing.

They work awhile in silence. Klara says, I got some of the new Breck shampoo this week. I really like how it makes my hair feel.

Hmmm.

You’re welcome to try some.

Thanks. After a few minutes, she says, "Would you be interested in going to hear Bach’s Christmas Oratorio with me tomorrow at the Congregational Church? It’s directed by one of the faculty members in the music school."

No, I go to Calvary Lutheran Church.

"It’s a special afternoon