The Empty Mantle

May 17^th, 1930
Cleaned Mrs. Hanover’s home again today. Second time. Big house–good, the extra money certainly helps. Edgar’s prospects looking dismal. Stockyards not hiring him back yet, laying more good men with families off. Took streetcar from Archer to Diversey instead of walking—feet hurt so bad and heels wearing already. The devil take the expense!

May 18^th, 1930
Mrs. Jensen has a party this Saturday--will be time away from children, but will be enough to get Paulie his shoes. Mary Beth will just have to wait. Mrs. Hanover asked if I could do more than just her floors, “Why sure Mrs. Hanover, anything you’d like,” I said to her. Just to think a few years back I had my own woman to come in and help with the cleaning. Maybe Edgar can find accounting work somewhere else. He’s just sitting in that chair more and more.

May 19^th, 1930
Edgar said Frank Edwards hung himself–why, what a thing to do! And leaving Betts to fend for herself and those children. He didn’t have to go doing that. Good things come to those who wait, mother said. Mrs. Hanover had me dust her parlor knick-knacks in addition to the floors and the additional general cleaning. Beautiful things.

May 20^th, 1930
Mrs. Hanover’s collections of figurines are the loveliest things. She told me her husband buys them for her; a few are gifts she’s received on her birthdays and on their anniversary. Behind their glass case they appear so protected, safe. Mrs. Hanover is quite a lady–her mother was French and her father English. She’s very dignified. Mr. Hanover does something in finance. A car comes for him in the mornings to take him to his office. He must be one of the lucky ones. Edgar never shaved today.

May 21^st, 1930
Mrs. Hanover speaks French fluently. She had two ladies over for a tea while I was there. I’d already finished the parlor. My favorite figurine in the cabinet is one of a young woman, in a lavender colored gown. The little statues just gleam–their little porcelain faces so sweet. Mary Beth has a cold and Paulie got in a fight on his way home from school. I wish I was like Greta Garbo–elegant and beyond all things common. Edgar did not shave again.

June 25^th, 1930
It’s been over a month, dear diary, since I last took a pen to your waiting pages. A crisis I have endured! Edgar and his cousin Wallace ventured west to look for work. Edgar said he couldn’t take the waiting and would find a better place for us. He says California is where we will find “our happiness.” Oh how I wish mother and father were still alive! I feel so alone and out of sorts–the women whom I clean for have such self-assuredness. They seem to have no frown upon their brow, nor need for want. Just to have a pretty thing to grace my mantle, or a new silk scarf. I long for a collection of breakable little beauties like Mrs. Hanover’s figurines. They speak of her refinement, her good-breeding. I wish with all my might that when I wake tomorrow I am Mrs. Hanover and she in my place.

June 26^th, 1930
No word yet from Edgar. At Mrs. Hanover’s today I took extra care cleaning the lavender- gowned statue. I picture her pretty little smile on my mantle. How beautiful I thought she would look! Just a little “pretty”–a little fine-thing of my own. Paulie cries at night for his father and Mary Beth has become quite sullen. Supper tonight was a ham-bone broth with mushy peas. The children asked for bread.

June 27^th, 1930
Am so tired today! I looked in the mirror and saw new gray hairs at my temple. Shoes are nearly worn. Took the bus again, but I cannot afford the expense–shame on me. No word from Edgar.

June 28^th, 1930
Mrs. Hanover’s statue collection numbers at thirty-six–thirty-six! She barely pays them any attention. I look up now at my mantle, bare, save for the little note from Edgar. Oh my dearest diary–I confess–yes, I confess I fear I do not love him! His words were sparing: “Wallace and I arrived at Lincoln, Nebraska–will rest up from hitching for a day or two–will contact again soon.” Oh my dearest diary, he didn’t even send his love, and it wouldn’t have cost a nickel!

June 29^th, 1930
I did it and I do not care. Mrs. Hanover, with all her tufted pillows, fresh flowers and silken scarves–I did it and I don’t care. Today the heel broke off my left shoe as I walked to her three-story stone fortress of comfort. Three stories of beautiful things protecting her from insignificance. When I arrived a few minutes late (due to my shoe!) she didn’t even listen to me when I answered her inquiry as to my tardiness. She only said, “you know, Estelle, being timely is important in a domestic’s letter of reference.” What, was she threatening to dismiss me? I had no shoes, no husband, bones for mine and my children’s supper and the woman who I cleaned (oh daddy, I miss you!) for was talking to me as if I were an immigrant! I wanted it then. Yes, I knew then and there, yes that was the moment that I knew I’d do it. When I opened the glass cabinet to dust the figurines I admired so, I felt they occupied a beautiful little world on those thick wooden oak shelves. I wanted that world. I wanted to bring a tiny piece of that gleaming porcelain, gold leaf paint and lavender color into mine–to put it on my mantle. I put the little figurine I’d admired so into my apron pocket, surrounded her with the spent cotton rags. I dizzied with anticipation, dear diary, to get home, here, to place her on my mantle, to see such a fine thing in my home.

August 12^th, 1930
Edgar is in California! Wallace too–God’s speed they find work and send for us. A cold Chicago winter I do not wish to endure. Mrs. Hanover looks at me strangely as of late. I’ve thought of quitting, but I need the money so! I wonder if she’s taken count of her little collection. Perhaps the lavender-gowned figurine was a special one and she’s noticed it was missing? The children are excited that their father is in California. They think he’s dining with movie stars. When I pass by the mantle in the living room the little figurine seems to glare at me. I still so love her fineness, her gleaming appearance above the fireplace. The landlord asked for last months rent again.

August 30^th, 1930
Edgar has secured a position in Los Angeles in an accounting firm as an entry clerk. He says it will take two-months to raise the bus fair for us–but there is an end in sight! I dream of never being cold and fresh oranges and strawberries to eat! The children will wear smiles again. I have lost two of my clients. Their husband’s have been let from their employment. Mrs. Hanover watches me closely as I wax her wooden floors.

September 8^th, 1930
Of all the things! Mrs. Hanover has dismissed me! But my dearest diary, not due to her suspicions of my thievery (thievery? I hadn’t truly thought of it that way) but to her husband’s firm which could hold out no longer and closed. When I went to clean today, she had a man there from an auction house evaluating her possessions. I heard Mr. Hanover telling the auctioneer, “ruined, ruined¾would you believe? After seventeen years at the firm, and it’s all gone.”

September 30^th, 1930
Dearest Diary, forgive my shaky penmanship. I write this as we travel by bus westward, leaving the gray of Chicago behind for good. Eight out of my ten households for which I cleaned fell onto bitter hard times. Edgar was sending us money, which I put away into a biscuit jar for our tickets, but with my dwindling number of houses to clean I was frantic. Every evening as the children and I ate our meager supper, the statue on the mantle smirked at me. I feel she was ridiculing me for wanting her. She no longer brought me the joy I had found during those dismal days when I’d first placed her in that place of honor in the apartment. I scooped her into my pocket three days ago and made off to the little antiques shop on Monroe Street. The man at the counter raised a questioning eyebrow at me, taking in my worn cloth coat, but I left with enough cash in hand to put with the biscuit-can money and purchase our tickets. I think, dearest diary that I am on my way to something. I still have doubts of my love for Edgar, we were just children ourselves when we married–but I think I’ve learned to look deeper for value, perhaps. I look out now, my dearest confidante, to the greening fields I see. I think if our new apartment has a fireplace with a mantle, that contentment may be found now if it remains bare. I’ll write more when we arrive.