In my chambers, a solitary spider builds her web where two walls meet the ceiling. I pull my quilt around my lap, watching the spider connect two strands. She doesn’t need a mate. She’ll do fine on her own.
Caroline’s scowling visage appears in my mind. With herwealth, every door will open for her. But maybe what she wants is not for doors to open, but for the walls to come down. When one grows up with walls, it is difficult to dream of a world beyond. Who knows what Caroline—what any of us—could accomplish without the constant pressure to get married? Without the walls, we could be like this spider, who can go anywhere she wants.
THE SINGULAR QUESTION: IS IT SO WRONG NOT TO MARRY?
It seems to me that in the rush to the altar, few who marry give much thought to how they got there until it is too late. And then they are stuck with a lifetime of disappointment, not to mention an exponential growth of laundry. We are all well-schooled in why women supposedly should marry: A husband will take care of her and secure her respectability and prestige; bearing children is every woman’s divine privilege and responsibility; without marriage, society would decline into barbarism.
Yet, little thought is paid to the benefits of remaining single, or at least delaying marriage. While some women are spinsters simply because life has not dealt them the marriage card, I submit that many women are single by choice, though it may not be obvious. It is one thing to be single and miserable, and quite another to be single and content. We cluck our tongue at the former and brand the latter as “off her onion.”
Sometimes Mrs. English’s clients would tell her, “A fine widow like you surely deserves to remarry,” to which she would always demur, “Perhaps I shall be so lucky one day,” and then turn to me and whisper, “Do I look like I deserve a kick in the teeth?” And then there are women, like Miss Culpepper, who have never seemed to be interested in men.
So what are these benefits to remaining single?
1) Singlets do not risk a lifetime of being shackled to a bore or, worse, wondering whether she is the bore.
2) Singlets are free to pursue whatever activities interest them, and to be industrious without having to share their wealth.
3) Singlets grow more robust in constitution than married women, having only to look after their own welfare. Furthermore, with no man to “protect” her, she learns to walk with steel in her spine, and a confident mind lights a dark path.
Invisible fingers stretch the golden thread of my candle to the ceiling, where the spider has completed her web.
We are all like candles, and whether we are single or joined with another does not affect how brightly we can burn.
Respectfully submitted,
Miss Sweetie
—
“MISSSWEETIE?” ONLYone sleeve of Nathan’s oak-brown sweater is pushed up this time, exposing an ink stain that looks like a paw print. The fireplace casts a halo around his thatch of hair. “Would you like to come in, or are we still strangers?”
The blazing fire in their hearth beckons me forward, but I remain fixed to my spot halfway between the door and the stairs.
“Still strangers,” I say crisply, willing my heart to pipe down. Bear is nowhere to be seen. I briskly hand Nathan the column and then step back. “Please pardon the delay. What did your mother think of ‘The Custom-ary’?”
“She agreed it was very good. But I am sorry. We are a moderate newspaper. She worries that if we print something too, er, radical, they will call us carpetbaggers. We would go out of business.”
“I understand.” I hide my disappointment in a brisk and forward manner. “Please tell her not to worry. I am a seasoned professional, not some ingenue who will cry into her handkerchief at the slightest rejection. If one column doesn’t serve, I move on to the next.” I dust off my gloved hands with two quick movements.
“Delighted to hear it.”
“Any new subscriptions?”
“Yes. Ninety-seven!”
I gasp and clap my hands. “Ninety-seven! That is swell!”
“All thanks to you.” With a grand sweep of his arms, he bows low to me.
I hear myself giggling and stop immediately. “Ahem. Well, I don’t have all night. Does this column serve?”
Nathan, who has started to move his feet back and forth in a lilting gavotte, abruptly straightens. “Oh, er, let me see.” When he is done, a smile skims his face. “Very serviceable. Certainly puts the male pressures in perspective.”
I shouldn’t linger, but when the window is opened, the breeze always floats through. “Which pressures are those, Mr. Bell?” I hug the undyed coat to me, rooted to the spot by the certainty that I am about to learn something very intriguing about Nathan, something I would never hear eavesdropping.
“Well, er, the pressure of providing for a family.”
At least that is a nobler concern than that voiced by Merritt Payne. “Your parents have given you a noble profession.” A profession that Lizzie Crump has no reservations entertaining.
