Page 7 of A Mind of Her Own

The undertakers took Paul Peterson’s body from his home the morning he died. Alex sat with him for a little while before they came, with the terrible déjà vu of her grandmother’s death. She didn’t know her grandfather as well, but she loved him and had come to know him better since she arrived eight months before. She’d had a chance to hear his philosophies of life, and enjoy his company after she came to live with him. It made his passing all the more painful for her. At eighteen, she had lost everyone she had ever loved, due to the war, her mother’s illness as a result, and the Spanish flu.

The ground was too frozen for him to be buried, so the undertakers would keep his body until the weather allowed them to put him in the ground, at the family plot in the Beardstown cemetery. He would be buried next to his wife, and near his parents. There was a small memorial marker for his daughter and son-in-law, who were buried in France.

Following the rules born of the pandemic, only ten people were allowed to attend the church service at the local Presbyterian church, which he hadn’t attended in years, though the minister knew him well. Miriam had been a member of the congregation but Paul never had been. Paul had as little interest in religion as he did in medicine, for himself. He was a down-to-earth realist and pragmatist, who was actively engaged in the present, with no thought of the afterlife. Alex had been baptized Catholic because her father was, but her father was no more interested in religion than her grandfather was. Tristan believed in science, and Paul believed in life on earth, good men and bad men, and being honorable and honest while you were alive. Victoria was more religious than her husband and father, and had shared her faith with her daughter, so Alex took some comfort in praying for all the family members she had lost. She and Marie-Thérèse had gone to church often. Alex had a full range of beliefs to choose from, which helped her now.

The managing editor of the newspaper, Josiah Webster, was one of the ten people at the church service, and so was Paul’s lawyer and boyhood friend, who had been one of the last people to see him. His housekeeper, Alice, who had been loyal to him and Miriam for years, the assistant publisher of the Courier, Alex, his only grandchild, and five men who had been his friends since his school days and still lived in Beardstown were there too. In normal times, nearly the entire town would have attended Paul’s funeral, too many to fit in the church, with people who had come from Chicago who knew and respected him, but that was no longer possible in the face of the pandemic. The handful of people sitting spaced apart in the church all wore masks, as did the minister. Paul had considered cremation, but thought it would upset his granddaughter because she was Catholic, so in deference to her, he had decided against it. Cremation was forbidden by the Catholic church. He had no thoughts about heaven or hell or purgatory, or what would come next. He was only interested in the people he loved while he was with them on earth, and providing for them as best he could afterward.

Alex looked dazed at the brief church service, and politely thanked everyone for coming. She and Alice were the only women there. There had never been another woman in Paul’s life after his wife. He had remained faithful to her memory. For all his worldly modern interests and points of view, he had lived by his traditional, old-fashioned values and principles. Work had been his religion, and family. He wasn’t interested in worldly possessions or amassing a great fortune. He had a nice house and property and some family heirlooms, but he was never interested in showing off, and had put most of what he earned back into the business. He died shortly before his seventy-first birthday, and would probably have lived a great deal longer, were it not for the Spanish flu, which had cut so many lives short, in addition to the staggering losses in the war.

—

Alex left a message at her advisor’s office at the university, to inform them that her grandfather had died, and that she would not return before the Christmas break and would make up for the work in January. She had family business to attend to.

That proved to be truer than she realized. Paul’s attorney, John Kelly, gave her three days’ grace when he saw how devastated she looked at the funeral. He hadn’t understood how attached she was to Paul, or how much grief she’d suffered. He came to see her four days after her grandfather died, and she looked shaken and pale. She seemed traumatized, but was respectful and serious and paid attention to what he said. Everything he told her came as a surprise. Paul had made some very clearly defined decisions on his deathbed, and had signed all the necessary documents to enforce it. Everything was in order. Paul wasn’t a man who left important things to chance, or open to interpretation. He had been crystal clear with his attorney and entirely lucid when he altered his will.

He had left everything to Alex—his house and its contents, his newspaper, and his money. He didn’t have an enormous fortune, but he had a very respectable amount of money, which would serve her well for a very long time. She wasn’t an heiress to a great inheritance, but she was a woman of means now. Added to what her father and grandmother had left her, and the apartment she still owned in France, she had a considerable amount of money to keep her safe and protect her. And even more, if she sold the paper one day, or Paul’s home and property.

He had intended for the newspaper to be sold when he died, and to leave her the proceeds of the sale. But having met her and knowing her well now, and given what he believed her capable of eventually, with education and experience, he thought she could run the paper one day. Not for a long time, and she needed to learn from the very experienced people he had left in place to run it, with bequests to them as well, in acknowledgment of the valuable services they provided. But he felt sure that in a decade or so, Alex would be able to run the paper if she chose to, or sell it wisely if she preferred. He left it up to her, and he hoped it would give her as much pleasure and satisfaction as it had given him. He thought her a very capable young woman, who with time and age could run The Beardstown Courier as well as any man, or as well as he had himself. The attorney pointed out to her that it was a great tribute to her.

“Your grandfather had great faith in you. He wanted Josiah to continue running it for as long as possible, and for you to learn from him. He didn’t expect you to work at the paper now. He wanted you to continue your education, travel, maybe work at another newspaper to gain experience. He thought you might want to live in New York for a few years after college. He didn’t expect you to get tied down here for quite some time. In fact he hoped you wouldn’t. The paper is in good hands now with the people who work for him. He didn’t want you to shoulder it just yet. He wanted you to have a broader life experience first,” he explained. Alex nodded, feeling dazed. It was hard to fully understand all that she owned now, and the possibilities she had for the future. Her grandfather had left her room to make her own decisions. Nothing he had given her was conditional. If she wanted to, she could sell everything at any time, and never see Beardstown again. It was not only a generous legacy, but he had thought it all out carefully, and addressed it in detail in his will.

“I’m very grateful,” Alex said in a choked voice. She was also stunned and confused. She owned a newspaper now, which she didn’t have to run, but could one day, and she owned a home, if she wanted to live there, now or later. He had protected and provided for her in every possible way. She couldn’t have wished for more, except that she would have preferred to have him alive, and own none of it herself, and have him enjoying the fruit of his labors for many years. She had wanted nothing from him, except his love.

“Nothing will change for now,” John Kelly added. “He very strongly wanted you to continue your education.” At her age, she could very easily have decided to go crazy, indulge herself, and spend it all, and the lawyer had been afraid of that, as someone so young, but her grandfather knew her better. The attorney could see now that she was a solid young woman, with a good head on her shoulders, and Paul had said proudly, with a smile, that Alex had a mind of her own. Her mind was racing, considering what she should do now.

“Can I still work at the paper in the summer?” she asked in an awestruck voice.

“You can do whatever you like, Miss Bouvier,” the lawyer said respectfully. “You own The Beardstown Courier . You can work there whenever you want. He just didn’t want you to try running it too soon, until you’re ready. He said you’re a very talented writer,” John Kelly said admiringly. He had grown up in Beardstown too. He had studied in Chicago, gone to law school at Princeton, and come back to his hometown. It wasn’t just a town of backward farmers—there were educated people there.

“I’d like to work at the paper in the summer like I did last year,” she said softly. She seemed very meek to John, but she was shaken to her core by what she had just inherited. It was a lot to deal with for a girl of eighteen, but her grandfather had left it to her in the best possible way. He had great faith in her, and trusted her completely, more than she felt she deserved. And he was so clear in his thinking that he had been able to set it up quickly and efficiently before he died, according to his wishes. The minute he realized how sick he was and what could happen, he called Kelly.

The attorney left her to think about it, after he had explained it all to her, and gave her a copy of the will that she could examine on her own.

—

Alex wasn’t able to do any studying during the Christmas break—she was too distracted by everything that had happened, and by trying to figure out her future. She wasn’t as sure as her grandfather that she would be capable of running the paper one day, but she did want to learn in detail, from the people running it now, what she’d need to know to take it over one day. It would be a mammoth task, and she didn’t know how a man would feel, if she married, about having a wife who owned a newspaper and ran it. A husband might make her sell it, and she didn’t want to, and hoped she would never have to.

She didn’t celebrate Christmas at all. Her heart wasn’t in it. Before the holiday, she had a meeting with Josiah Webster and the associate editor, Walter Strong, to assure them that she didn’t intend to make any changes now, nor to work there for a long, long time. They were grateful for the reassurance, and that she didn’t want to sell the paper. They loved it, not quite as much as Paul had, but nearly.

Josiah couldn’t imagine a woman running it, and thought it would be too much for her. He was the same age as Paul but not as modern in his thinking. Paul thought she could do a good job of it one day, as long as she didn’t try to take it over too quickly. He had made that clear in his will.

“I’d like to work at the paper next summer,” she said simply. “Like last year, as an intern.” Josiah smiled at the thought that their new owner was a teenager who would be their errand girl, but it was all she wanted for now. And to continue to write the column she had started, the way her grandfather had suggested, on women’s issues. Paul had wanted more fresh blood in their management, and Alex was certainly that. She was barely out of the schoolroom. Josiah hoped she wouldn’t rush it, but she didn’t seem inclined to. The men left the meeting with a lot to think about, and so did Alex.

—

She finished her papers for school three days before she went back to Chicago. It had been a brutally sad, lonely holiday for her without her grandfather. She had come to love him so much, and they had made such wonderful plans that would never happen now. She was grateful for the months she had had with him, and felt his absence acutely.

She looked thinner and very serious when she went back to Chicago. She said that her grandfather had died, to explain her absence, but she said nothing about the inheritance to anyone. The contents of the will were confidential, and no one at the newspaper knew about them either, only the two men who ran it, and would continue to do so. There were no visible changes, except in ownership, and future changes would depend on what Alex did and decided.

She turned in her papers at the university, and was given a makeup exam for the test she had missed. Everything was being disrupted due to the Spanish flu—schools, offices, businesses, colleges, everyone’s social lives and plans. And families, as the main breadwinners died and women were faced with figuring out how to support their families, or men were faced with bringing up children as widowers. Between the impact of the pandemic, and broken men returning from the war, traumatized by their experiences and most without jobs, it was a sober time for the country. In contrast, the economy had been boosted by the war.

Men were combing the country for jobs, and some women were as well. They had been forced to function without the help of men for four years of war in Europe, and a year and a half in the States. So many of the men were so damaged from what they had seen and done, and what had been done to them, in battle, the male population was greatly reduced and seemed dangerously unstable, and millions of people were dying from the Spanish flu, which impacted the economy. Many businesses were closed, or understaffed, and failing.

—

Alex struggled every day with her grief over losing her grandfather, and in February, two months after his death, she had an unexpected opportunity. The professor of a literature class she was taking said that a friend of his who worked for a major newspaper was looking for summer interns to work at the paper, and he had thought of her since she had frequently expressed her interest in journalism.

She was surprised when he asked her. “In Chicago?” she inquired, and he shook his head. That was the hitch.

“In New York.” It was at The New York World, a very popular newspaper with a strong voice. Her grandfather had read it often, just to keep abreast of the competition. It had a circulation of a million readers.

“I don’t know anyone in New York,” she said, about to thank him and say no.

“You can always stay at a women’s hotel, you’d be safe there.” He knew it wouldn’t be inexpensive, but there were many such hotels, so women could travel and visit the city safely, as she had when she arrived from Europe alone, and had spent a night in New York. They were safer than ordinary hotels, with no men staying there. “It’s not a paid position—internships usually aren’t—but it would be great experience, if you’re serious about working for a newspaper one day.” He had no idea that she already owned one. But it sounded like the kind of job her grandfather had wanted her to have, to broaden her exposure. And she’d loved New York when she was there.

“It sounds interesting. Can I think about it? I already have a summer internship lined up, but this sounds better and more exciting.”

“It’s a great paper,” he said, which she knew. “I can wait a few days to tell him,” he said easily, and she thanked him for considering her and suggesting it.

She wrestled with the idea for two days, and finally couldn’t resist it. It could be a lot of fun, and hard work, and she had a feeling her grandfather would think it a good idea and would want her to go. She could have a summer internship at her own paper any time, but a chance to have one at a New York paper with such a high circulation might not come again.

She thanked her professor for the opportunity, and told him she would be open to it, and he replied that he would give her name to his friend and a strong recommendation.

A week later, The New York World offered her the summer internship and she accepted. She booked a room for two months at the Martha Washington, where she had stayed before. It was even conveniently located for her job, which was from the first of July to the first of September. It even gave her a month at home in June before she had to report for work.

Josiah Webster said they would be sorry not to see her at the Courier that summer, but hoped she would enjoy a brief stint in New York. He didn’t say that he wouldn’t have wanted his own daughter alone in New York for a summer, but Alex was an independent young woman, and her circumstances were different—she had no family supervision now.

Alex was excited at the prospect of her summer internship. They had two openings, the one they had given her and another for a male student, and had chosen a young man from Harvard. Their accepting her for the summer job was a distinct honor for her.

She could hardly wait for July, and it gave her something to look forward to, as she recovered slowly from the loss of her grandfather, and completed her first year at the University of Chicago with excellent grades. She missed being able to share her thoughts and observations with her grandfather, and she had valued his advice. She was going to have to figure things out for herself now. The summer internship in New York was the first step into the future that lay ahead of her.

—

Alex was startled in May when a fellow student, a boy from her English Lit class, congratulated her on the internship in New York. She hadn’t made many close friends that year, except Yoko, her roommate in the dorm, and she had left school in March, when her father died of the Spanish flu in San Francisco. She had gone home to console her mother, and it wasn’t clear whether or not she was coming back. Alex had been alone in her dorm room ever since. She had no friends so far among the male students. She was too shy to talk to them and everyone’s fears about the flu made dating complicated and unappealing.

The boy who spoke to her about the internship was tall and athletic-looking, blond and handsome. He had heard about her summer job from the instructor who had suggested her for it. The boy’s name was Albert Smith. All she knew about him was that his father was a famous architect, which he had mentioned once in class. She had noticed that he seemed to have a lot of friends and was gregarious. He had glanced at her before, but had never spoken to her. She was surprised when he stopped to talk to her as they left class. It was sunny and warm and spring had finally reached Chicago.

“You’re going to have a great time in New York this summer,” he said enviously. “I would have loved it, but your grades are better than mine.”

“Not always,” she said modestly. “And Mr. Kravits knows I want to be a writer and study journalism.”

“I want to be an architect like my dad,” he admitted.

“That’s why he didn’t suggest you for it,” she said pleasantly, as they walked down the hall together. She had a break in classes until that afternoon. Albert was the first boy who had taken an interest in her and approached her. She was unaware of her looks, and surprised when boys spoke to her. With their blond hair, she and Albert looked somewhat alike, except he was much taller.

“Are you from Chicago?” he asked her. They had been in the same lit class for four months without speaking before.

“Beardstown,” she said, and he smiled.

“Did you grow up on a farm?” He looked a little supercilious as he said it.

“No. I grew up in Paris. I came here a year ago to live with my grandfather. He ran a newspaper, hence the internship,” she said succinctly. He had noticed both her slight accent and the past tense.

“He doesn’t run the paper anymore? Did he retire?” He was curious about her now—she looked pretty and animated when they talked. She was normally quiet and kept to herself after class.

“He died in December, of the flu,” she said simply, and he looked awkward.

“I’m sorry. Would you like to have lunch?” It was a peace offering to make up for his faux pas. She had plenty of time before her next class and she accepted.

They went to a sandwich shop near the university, which she’d been to before. They both ordered sandwiches and lemonade and sat down. He was very good-looking and seemed nice.

By the end of lunch, she knew he had two sisters and a brother, he was the youngest, and they had a house on the lake. They spent summers in Maine and he liked to play tennis and sail. She could tell from the way he was dressed, and from talking to him, that his family had money. He said they had been to Europe several times before the war. He was twenty and both his sisters were married. His brother was in law school at Columbia. His pedigree was clearly above reproach. She didn’t find him exciting, just handsome, and he was having trouble figuring her out. She lived in a hick town in an agricultural community, but had grown up in Paris. Her grandfather ran a newspaper. She didn’t talk about her debut or give any of the clear signals that would have suggested a fancy aristocratic background, and yet she seemed very dignified and sophisticated, and very bright. And she had gotten a prize internship in New York. He wondered if she was the daughter or granddaughter of anyone important. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t sure. Alex could sense where he was going with his questions. He asked if she was going back to Paris now that the war was over. He assumed she had come to the States to escape the war.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“What does your father do in Paris?” he asked more bluntly.

“He was a doctor, and my mother was a nurse. She worked for him. They died in the war. My mother grew up in Beardstown—that’s why I came here to live with her father.”

“I’m sorry, that’s awful about your parents. I got drafted but I had scarlet fever when I was five, and I have a heart murmur. It doesn’t bother me, but it kept me out of the war. I’m glad. I didn’t want to go to war. My brother got drafted too, but my father talked to some people he knew, and he got sent to Washington to work for a congressman. He loved it, and after that he went to law school when the war ended.” It was obvious that he was well connected, very smooth, and seemed to have led a charmed life compared to her experience during the war.

“My parents worked at a field hospital at the front lines.” She really didn’t want to talk about the war, but she had nothing else in common with him. More than anything, he seemed spoiled and boring. He was intrigued by her, and the little he knew about her. Most of all, he was taken with her looks, but her life story sounded intriguing, and unfortunate, given the parents and grandfather she’d lost to the flu and the war.

They had run out of things to say to each other by the end of lunch. She wished him a good summer, and he wished her a good time in New York.

She thought about him afterward. There had been no important boy in her life since Julien three years before. She was only nineteen now, and she knew that other girls her age were desperate to get married, and some already were, in the rural communities like Beardstown, and some even had children by the time they were her age. She couldn’t imagine it. There was so much she wanted to do, and to learn, about writing and newspapers and life.

With so many men lost in the war, the competition to meet boys like Albert would be fierce. He was healthy, whole, handsome, and undamaged, he hadn’t lost his sight to nerve gas, nor would he be screaming in the night from nightmares about what he’d seen in the trenches and on the battlefields. He hadn’t been wounded, or killed anyone. But Alex couldn’t see herself with someone like him. She’d rather be alone, and with everything her grandfather had left her, she didn’t have to marry, if she didn’t want to. He had given her freedom, protection, and independence for as long as she wanted it. Maybe forever. Forever sounded perfect to her for now. She had never been in love, despite kissing Julien at sixteen and Phillip Baxter at eighteen on the ship. They were boys. For the moment, there was so much she wanted to do, and she didn’t want a man who would interfere or disapprove or tell her what to do. She was free, and she liked it that way. Her grandfather had given her the greatest gift, the freedom to live the life she wanted, whenever she figured out what that was.