A Woman's Place Read Online Free PDF

sang out to her: You are needed!
    She fought the impulse to grab her purse and take a bus over to Stockton Shipyard immediately. They would certainly notice her hard work—notice her . But it was Monday, after all, and she had laundry to do. Ginny shoved her daydreams aside and dragged the laundry baskets downstairs to the basement. She pulled the string on the light bulb above the washing machine, and a pale circle of light bloomed around her. The furnace and hot water heater rumbled in a distant dingy corner, performing their tasks, and it occurred to her that she was just like those machines: working behind the scenes to keep the household functioning and comfortable but completely forgotten until something went wrong.
    She listened to the chugging washing machine, imagining that it was the sound of factory machinery, and she began to dream of a more purposeful life, building tanks and ships and armaments, becoming part of the Allied war effort as the tantalizing advertisement had promised. Doing her part on the home front had challenged Ginny at first, learning all the rationing rules, juggling coupon books, saving waste cooking fat, adapting her recipes to cope with sugar rationing. But it no longer seemed like enough.
    She was still dreaming of a more interesting life as she emptied Harold’s shirt pockets and found the ticket stubs. Two of them. Ordinary torn ticket stubs that said Admit One —or in this case, two. They could have been for a movie, an amusement ride, a coat check—anything. Except that there were two of them, and Ginny hadn’t gone anywhere with Harold this week that used tickets like these. She dropped the shirt and ran up the basement steps as if trying to escape from her discovery, collapsing onto a kitchen chair.
    If she hadn’t just realized that very morning that no one noticed her, Ginny might have done nothing at all about the tickets. But the evidence that Harold might indeed be having an affair prompted her into action. You are needed! the advertisement told her. And so she shut off the washing machine, grabbed her purse, and took a bus to Stockton Shipyard. Anger fueled her as she filled out all the paper work.
    “The job is yours, Mrs. Mitchell,” the personnel director told her. “You can start tomorrow morning.”
    On the bus ride home, she thought about all the rules the director had outlined and hoped she could remember them all: her hair must be covered, she couldn’t wear nail polish, she should wear sturdy shoes, and so on. When she got home her neighbor, Betty Parker, was taking her wash off the clothesline already, and Ginny still had two loads to finish. She had supper to fix, too. Thank heaven there was pot roast left over from Sunday dinner.
    Later, the laundry still felt damp when she took it down mere moments before Harold arrived home. He’d be shocked to learn that she had taken a job without asking him. She should confess to him tonight. And she needed to ask him about the two ticket stubs, as well. But Harold always needed time to unwind after his busy day at work, and he wouldn’t want to discuss either of those things in front of the children. She waited until the boys were in bed, then sat down with him in the living room, searching for a way to begin.
    “Harold … I was looking through the newspaper this morning, and—”
    “And it’s all bad news, I know.” He turned another page in the magazine he was reading without lowering it or looking at her. “Hitler’s invading Stalingrad, the Japanese just sank another one of our aircraft carriers. … That’s the third one so far.”
    Ginny’s heart speeded up. “Yes … our factories will need more workers to build new ships, and—”
    “It’s been nine months since the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor,” he said, shaking his head, “and the Axis powers are still dominating the world.”
    “Yes, and so while I was doing the laundry today, I—”
    “Isn’t it time for ‘Lux Radio Theater’?” he