Ames Sheldon - Don’t Put the Boats Away

DONT PUT THE BOATS AWAY

Copyright 2019 Ames Sheldon

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published 2019
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-63152-602-2 pbk
ISBN: 978-1-63152-603-9 ebk
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019935878

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She Writes Press
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Berkeley, CA 94707

She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.

All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Reading Dont Put the Boats Away is like being enveloped in a family, a real family bound by love and loss, music, and science. Its a testament to the danger of secrets and the hope we place in future generations. I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Jeanne McWilliams Blasberg, Eden and The Nine

Dont Put the Boats Away is a richly detailed family saga of the Suttons post-WWII livesand a wonderful sequel to Ames Sheldons first novel Eleanors Wars. Amess knack for period authenticity is paired with a keen portrayal of the inner lives of major characters that transcend common narratives of 50s, 60s, and 70s America. Complex relationships, dedication to music, science, and family loyalty, and the haunting legacy of war even on privileged families make this a compelling read.

Barbara Stark-Nemon, Even in Darkness and Hard Cider

Sheldon shows us that, although the sea of life is filled with waves of change and raging riptides, if we surround ourselves with the people and things we love, the voyage is not so treacherous.

Minnesota Monthly

For my mother, my sister, and my daughterremarkable women scientists.

S he doesnt know exactly where shes going, but right now that doesnt trouble her. This is the start of the next stage of her life. Harriet Suttonwhos always been called Harry by her familyputs 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.

Im sorry, sir. Ive just come from New York City. I guess Im 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.

Its all those soldiers returning home from the war.

Thats right. They were pretty raucous. I guess its understandable after what theyve 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, thats it. Youre new to Madison?

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

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

Youre nice to say that. Disarmed by his friendliness, she says, I cant 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, Ive heard that if we hadnt 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 shes worked as a nurses aide in an Army hospital on Staten Island.

We all did our part.

Ill say! Harriet had become much stronger working on their Victory Farm.

He signals a turn. Almost there now.

That afternoon, standing outside Dr. Blackwells 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.

Im 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?

Im twenty-six.

Why start a masters program at your age?

She lifts her chin. I spent the war years running my familys 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.

Id 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 fathers company when the time comes.

Shaking his head, Dr. Blackwell declares, Thatll never happen.

She sits up straighter. Why not?

Youre a woman.

So what?

What kind of company?

Clenching her right hand into a fist, she says, Its a chemical company! Im 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. Shed 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 dont know why you women bother with graduate school. After getting your degree, you just marry and leave the field.

Coolly she replies, Thats 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 womens college.