--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Hafen, Annie W. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 21 number: 8 published: 1918-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Hafen, Annie W., \"Marian's Profession,\" *Improvement Era* 21, no. 8 (June 1918): 676–681." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2108unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2108unse start_page: 676 end_page: 681 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1918-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2108unse publication_year: 1918 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1918, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Marian’s Profession — Marian's Profession By Annie W. Hafen "Mother, mother," I called excitedly, "come to the window! Look! Isn't that Charlie Sainsbury steering a baby carriage? If that isn't the latest! who is the pretty little woman by his side? Ah, his wife, of course. Well, Charlie looks perfectly happy in spite of everything. Umm! Just think where I might have been if," I stopped short, as I turned to mother with a mock-serious look. "If you hadn't been such a conceited madcap as to think you'd ever get a better offer than Charlie gave you," mother chided playfully. "Truly now, aren't you sorry that you gave him up?" She added as she wistfully watched the happy family out of sight. "Sorry, mother? How could I be when I have things so pleasant here at home? If I had married I'd have been a jaded old woman before now. Babies, dishwashing, cooking, all those — wrinkle-makers. I'm thankful I'm free from such. Daddy and you are so good to me, our home is so cozy, and it's great to be a business woman with a salary of my own." I puffed out my cheeks in a manly manner and strided across the room. Mother began protesting. "No, mother dear, I wouldn't trade places with anybody. Just think! I had spent four years preparing for my profession; then Charlie bobbed up and asked me to marry him before I had even practiced a day. If I hadn't been blessed with plenty of — common sense, think where I'd be now, married and sunk into oblivion. As it is, you know, everybody says I am a success a success." "Yes, Marian, you are a success in your line, and father and I are proud of you. But your life, girl, will never be so full as when you are mistress of a home of your own, with a strong, good man to lean upon, and sweet, healthy babes to care for. Surely you intend to marry, some day!" "Perhaps, mother mine," I said consolingly as I slipped my arm around her, "perhaps, some day I shall. When Prince Charming comes along, then watch out. He will be sincere and strong-willed like father. He will be tender and thoughtful like '"This story received first place in the Era story contest for March, 1918 " MARIAN'S PROFESSION 677 you, mother. He will be clean morally. He will not live entirely in a business world with his wife pigeon-holed in some little country cottage. No indeed, he'll respect woman's rights, I tell you. He will give to the woman that he marries the privilege of following her profession instead of caging her up as a cook and bottlewasher and floor sweeper and baby tender and — Mother held her hand up in protest. A curious smile crept round her mouth. "Marian, girl, there are no men like that." Well, in less than a year I found my Prince Charming; 01 rather, he found me. I was wandering around on the old hill back of our home making verses for the Literary Society. This hill was a source of inspiration to me. I loved it. Seated on its old lava rocks I had often tried to express myself in writing. On this particular afternoon, when my office hours were over I called at home for the tiny lunch mother had prepared. Then I made for the hill to be gone until dark. As the sun was sinking and my brain was burning with emotional thoughts, I heard steps. Glancing up, I saw a trim looking stranger coming up the dugway, only a few feet from me. I dropped my eyes and turned to my writing. I had hopes that I should not be noticed, but as the steps approached, I could feel the eyes of the stranger upon me. Then I heard a voice, half breathing, half exclaiming: "Marian Morrison!" I turned and stared at the man standing before me. He was well built, broad-shouldered, not extremely tall. His features — were clean cut. His eyes well I struck his eyes, they held me. In their deep gray depths there was a serious,almost sad expression. Where had I seen those eyes before? As I gazed puzzled, his face broke into a smile. In a flash I recognized my childhood schoolmate. "Why, Jimmy Bowen," I cried, as I stretched forth my hand to be clasped in his manly palm. "I'd never have known you, if you hadn't smiled. You have changed so!" And then, oh then, I did the worst a girl could do at such time. I blushed. Even my ears burned. I didn't know why. Per- — haps it was because I had called him Jimmy a rather undignified name for so learned a man. He didn't seem shocked, however. He merely grinned as if he were pleased about something. Then he looked down at me so intently that I'm sure he could even see my shoe tacks, I felt eo confused. To cover my embarrassment I just jumbled thoughts together and talked and talked. I said it was good to be at home again, I supposed, after so long — an absence; that I we were all pleased to see him back; that his mother must be very proud of him because of his wonderful ! — 678 IMPROVEMENT ERA success; that he seemed very much improved — his freckles were gone,and his hair was shinier and didn't stand up as it used to. He laughed heartily and interrupted me long enough to say he felt about the same. "Are you as bashful and afraidb'of girls as you used to be?" I questioned as I made room for him on the rock beside me. "I confess, I'm still afraid of them, but in spite of my fears I have grown to enjoy their company immensely," he said as he seated himself. There were so many things to talk about. Pasts, presents, and futures were all interesting. Never before had I conversed with anyone who so sincerely sympathized with my views. It was such a pleasure to talk, and to be understood; and oh, he was so full of interesting things! He sanctioned woman's rights and advocated her higher education. "Every woman should have a profession," he said, "a profession in which she can best express herself." Time flies on wings of lightning, on a misty moonlight night; especially you are away up on an old romantic hill if that's fairly gilded with memories, and you are listening to the deep melodious voice of a sad-eyed young man. There is so much to say and so much you want to hear said Finally, we shook off the moonbeam's spell and rose and clambered down the hill towards home. As he bade me good night at my gate, a little thrill crept through my being. "What a wonderful personality!" I breathed as I reluctantly entered the house. I tarried long as I prepared for night. Was I in a trance? I sat before the dressing table taking down my hair. One by one the hairpins slowly clattered into the tray. Some thing about this man stirred me to new life. His mere presence gave me keen enjoyment. Was I to find my ideals realized in this old childhood playmate, this schoolboy? "Homegrown boys are safest," grandmother had said. He was homegrown and yet was novel and interesting as a stranger. I smiled happily, contentedly, as I crept into bed. I was sure my Prince Charming had come at last for I felt the man even in my dreams. At the breakfast table next morning I was raving about Jimmy Bowen; how wonderfully he had developed during his years of absence; what a fine specimen of manhood he was; how modern in thought; how broad in views; how Mother narrowed her eyes and smiled across the table at and lovers cannot see," she suggested. father. "For love is blind MARIAN'S PROFESSION 679 "I must learn from him which profession I should follow to best express myself," I thought, as Jim and I climbed the hill on his last evening in Barton. Many pleasant strolls we had had together during his visit. He had been home a month. It was moontime again. The same big yellow faced moon that had shone on us the night of our first meeting was beaming down as brightly as it had done on that memorable night. Neither felt much inclined to talk. All was still save the thud, thud, thud, of our feet and the occasional dry rattle of the loosened pebbles that bounced down the hill. We came upon the giant old rock chair. There we sat and gazed upon the sleepy little village below. It's twinkling lights seemed far away. Ah! such a night as it was! The shining lava rocks that lay in comfusion about us caught the wandering moonbeams and hurled them back with dazzling brightness. Finally Jim spoke. By his voice I knew the spirit of the night was upon him. "Oh, Marian," he cried, "woman means much to me now. At last I have come to feel and know just how she enriches — man's life, and all all—because I have discovered my pearl of great price."Here he stopped and seemed unable to continue. As he sat with his eyes half shut and his hands clasped over his bended knee, I wondered what weighty problem was before him. I sat waiting. "There was a time," he mooned,"when I was indifferent to all women except my mother. That was when I was struggling to fulfil an ambitious boyhood dream. Early in life I knew what I wanted to be. I let nothing turn me from my purpose. Ah, I have worked, I have hoped. I have prayed, and at last my dream is about to be realized. A few more long, hard strokes and I shall be out of the turbulent waters; and then, when I get to sailing smoothly I want to have a home —a home that shall be a haven in which I can anchor at night, from which all business cares shall be barred. And in that home I want a certain woman to be my companion. If I dared to believe that this noble woman is not indifferent to my love, and is willing to wait it— — may be years till I can give her the home I want her to have, I should be very happy. If I but dared! Ah truly, I am selfish to expect this of any woman. But Marian," he cried suddenly, facing me, "are you satisfied with your profession? Do you live when you sit clicking that lifeless machine all day long? Do you feel a development as the days go by? Do you glory in your work and get joy from its results? Do you? Tell me!" "No," I faltered half choked with disappointment. Oh why, after launching out so beautifully into a proposal, should he switch off onto the common place subject of professions? With — 680 IMPROVEMENT ERA his sweet sincerity he had broken down my reserve, and I was all ready to throw my heart at his feet and tell him I should be willing to wait months, years if necessary; but he spoiled all by asking that untimely question about professions. However, womanlike, I smothered my disappointment and talked quite calmly of common things. I told him I didn't specially live in my profession, but that I made good money and that was the big aim of most people; that I had not thought much about the expressing of one's self in one's work; that I hardly knew what I could do better; that "Do better!" he cried, "Why I can tell you of a wonderful profession that you could excel in. In it you could better the race; you could serve your community; you would influence generations yet to come; and besides, you would develop in your work. Can't you guess what it could be?" he asked with a queer smile on his lips. I mentioned school teaching, missionary work, nursing, but he shook his head. "No," he said, pressing my hand and looking deep, deep into my eyes, "It is the profession of motherhood." One month had passed since James Bowen had returned to his work. I sat by the window trying to answer his letter. My mind seemed a perfect blank. "Oh," I cried, springing up, as I dropped the blotter on my tablet and pounded it vigorously. "I can't write. To the hill for some inspiration." Out I danced into the cool of the evening. I turned my face towards the west. The old black monarch seemed to call to me "Come," and up its rocky path I climbed. '"Tis sweet to live," I breathed, "and 'tis sweet to love," I sighed, as I thrilled with that one sweet energy that makes this world worth living in. All my thoughts were of the man who had awakened me to new life. At last I reached the old rock chair. I blushed as I remembered that on this very hill I had promised that man that some day, some future day, I should be his home-maker. Would those days of waiting be long, long, weary ones, I wondered? Could I so use them that I should grow and not be worn and weary in the waiting? Ah yes, I could prepare a beautiful trousseau. I could earn and save more money that I might buy things for our new home. And then, then at last when he should come to claim me, I should not go empty handed. As I sat thrilled with joyful anticipation, the disturbing question came upon me suddenly: "Should I be qualified to follow my new profession?" It had taken four years of special training to prepare to be a busines woman and now I had the MARIAN'S PROFESSION 681 audacity to think that I could step into the profession of Motherhood without any preparation at all. Surely I should be a failure. A swift resolve took possession of me. Darkness was gathering. I bounced down the hill and rushed through the gate like a whirlwind. Mother was in the doorway. I swept her into the house and danced her about. "Mother, mother. I'm going to school, to college." Her face fell. "I must, mother, it is my duty. Goodbye to the office and it3 grind. I'm going to prepare for a better profession." "A better profession? Why Marian, what are you talking about? Have you and Jim decided not to marry after all? Or why do you want to learn a new profession? What profession, girl?" "It isn't new, mother. It's as old as the hills. Women used to accept it as if it were just a common ordinary job. But now it's at a more efficient stage and is called a profession— Mother Eve's profession, the profession of Maternity." Mother stared. "How queer!" She said, but smiled approvingly. Four years passed. With my coveted sheep-skin tucked under my arm and a million new ideas tucked under my hat, I, Marian Morrison, B.S., humbly returned to my little home town. But I was not alone. Someone who seemed very proud of me, and of whom I was very proud, graced the triumphant homeward journey. "Now, dearie, tell me all you know," Jim said, tapping his forehead teasingly. We settled comfortably in the cushions of the little buzzing auto that carried us from the station back to Barton. It seemed dreadfully hard to talk. I could not think clearly. I had spent four years in the study of Home Economics. I had learned to cook scientifically and to sew. I had taken all I could concerning the child, his development, his needs, and how to satisfy his needs. I had studied biology to understand cell life; physiology, to know the workings of the body; hygiene, to learn the rules of health; dietetics, to grasp the science of preserving life by proper feeding; psychology, to help me to comprehend the wonderful unfolding of little minds nursing, houseplanning, ; and oh so many other helpful subjects; but still when I tried to reveal to Jim just what I had learned my mind seemed very vacant. But Jim was kind and considerate. He did not press me to exploit my knowledge. He merely closed his eyes, sighed contentedly and slipped his arm around my waist to prevent losing me in the roomy seat. Our considerate chauffeur looked straight ahead and made no jarring remarks about the weather; so I too