Belles on their Toes

to keep going, and that would mean Mother would have to make an adjustment.
    We thought we'd better start preparing her, in advance, for the adjustment. We knew that many women in their sixties had had years of experience in taking things easy. They played bridge, they talked about movies and their friends, or they sat on rockers with cats on their laps.
    Mother didn't know how to do any of those things, but we thought perhaps we could help her learn.
    There was something else that all of us took into consideration, but hesitated to put into words. Suppose Mother should want to keep working, but as she got older the job and lecture offers should become less and less frequent. There was a rule at Purdue that faculty members had to retire when they reached seventy. That wasn't too many years in the future.
    The Council appointed Ernestine to talk with Mother about moving in with one of us. If we could get Mother to do that—to forget about the idea that she might be imposing on someone—she would become interested in helping to raise another generation. Then Jane's graduation would be just another incident.
    But when Ernestine put the proposition up to Mother the next day, she might as well have saved her breath.
    "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, dear," said Mother. "But I couldn't do that."
    "Of course you can do it," Ernestine told her. "There's no use being stubborn."
    Mother may have thought that was the pot calling the kettle black, but she realized the intentions were good, anyway.
    "As long as Bob and Jane are in college," she said, "I want them to know that we—just they and I—have our own home. That's something that all of you other children had, and I think it's important for them. For me, too."
    "How about when they're out of college and married?" Ernestine asked.
    "I've been thinking about that. And I don't know. Your father's mother lived with us for quite a few years after we were married. I was fond of her, and I think she was of me. But I don't think either of us really liked the situation. I don't know."
    So Mother continued to live alone, except when Bob and Jane were home on vacation. And we were still worried about her.
    World War II came, then. Five of the boys were in it, and overseas. Mother was older, suddenly, and sometimes she was tired.
    She wrote each of the boys every day, and waited mornings for the mailman before she went into New York. She never talked about the war or how battles were going. Telegrams made her nervous; she held them up to the light before she opened them.
    There were new demands on her time. We could see there wouldn't be any question about her not being busy as long as the war lasted. She was working with the War Manpower Commission. The government was using her studies on motions of the disabled, to help rehabilitate amputees. War industries wanted the latest time-saving techniques. Many of the graduates of her Motion Study Courses, which she had discontinued some years before when the engineering jobs started to come in, had important production jobs, and sought her out for consultation.
    Walt Disney made a training film, in Technicolor, of the process chart.
    She journeyed to Providence to help christen a Liberty ship named for Dad. She went to Chapel Hill for Bob's graduation. Finally the day arrived when she boarded a train to Ann Arbor, for Jane's.
    That was a special occasion for Mother. She rode in a lower berth. From that time on, when the space was available, she rode in lowers.
    She and Anne sat together with the spectators when Jane received her diploma. It should have been a happy occasion, because it symbolized the fulfillment of something Mother had promised herself. But when Anne thought about the sacrifices Mother had made to keep that promise, a lump settled in her throat.
    Mother's youngest, handsome with her mortar-board cocked debonairly over one ear, bounded nonchalantly across the stage. She took the hand of the man who presented it—possibly giving the hand a parting squeeze—and rejoined the class.
    Anne dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Jane doesn't appreciate what Mother's done for her," she thought. "None of us appreciate it. I didn't appreciate it at the time, either. I thought I did, but I didn't, really."
    Jane turned around in her seat, spotted them, and waved the diploma triumphantly aloft.
    "I guess Dad would be proud," Anne said, turning to Mother.
    Mother didn't answer. Her eyes were closed. Her face, in