The Optimist's Daughter

After her father retired, he moved everything from his office to the home library. Laurel looks at all the books, which appear to have been left unmolested, and thinks that “for every book there, she had heard their voices, father’s and mother’s” (118). Laurel dusts all the books, including the McKelva family bible, the Gibbon, the set of Dickens and Nicholas Nickleby, which doesn’t have a back on it.

In the cabinets, she finds her father’s papers from his days as mayor of Mount Salus. His law books remain on the shelves, and a dedication he made at the opening of the new school is there as well. She notices the “bursting” folder containing all the papers having to do with the flood that destroyed the McKelvas’ home on the river: “It was jammed with the work he had done on floods and flood control” (119-20). As Laurel looks it all over, she thinks that “this town deserved him no more than Fay deserved him” (120).

Laurel remembers how Dr. Courtland told her that night in the recovery room that he owed his career and schooling to her father. She never knew this. She also thinks about how her father was never well off until he retired. Then he came into some oil money from a little piece of land he owned. Laurel remembers that he wrote her then and invited her and a friend to “knock off” and go see England and Scotland using some of the money. She looks at her father’s desk, remembering a picture of her mother that used to be there. It is gone now, but there is a photo of her and her husband, Philip, “running down the steps of the Mt. Salus Presbyterian Church after their wedding” (121). She muses about her married life, how wonderful it was, a marriage of “magical ease—of brevity and conclusion, and all belonging to Chicago, not here” (121).

She notices that something has spilled: vermillion drops, perhaps of nail polish. It is “as if Fay had walked her fingers over the desk from where she’d sat perched on its corner, doing her nails” (122). When Laurel looks in the top drawer of the desk, she finds it empty. She knows her father’s important papers are locked in the safe and that Major Bullock is now in charge of them. She thinks about her mother, who wrote her father every day they were separated during their marriage. Her father often made business trips, and her mother, usually with Lauren, spent a month each year in West Virginia, “up home” with her mother’s family of origin.

None of the letters are there, and Laurel knows it’s because her father never kept them; he always dropped letters into the wastebasket after reading them. Laurel realizes there is nothing of her mother in that desk or in her father’s library. She removes the last of the nail polish off the desk. This is the end of Saturday, the first day she is at her old home by herself. 

On Sunday evening, Laurel and the bridesmaids have just finished dinner and are having drinks. All the bridesmaids (with the exception of Laurel’s best friend, Tish, who is divorced) are married with children heading for college or jobs. They all live in the “new” section of Mount Salus in homes they built themselves. They reminisce about the wedding and the parties they had for Laurel when she was married. When Tish asks Laurel what kind of dancer her husband, Phil, was, she answers in typical fashion, with one word: “Firm” (125).

They also talk about Laurel’s father and mother, whom they call Mac and Becky. Laurel is reminded of a beautiful, extravagant dress that her father bought her mother. Becky couldn’t stand it but wore it to the necessary occasions for which it would be appropriate. They are all shocked that Laurel’s father came home with, and married, Fay. Tish tells the group that her mother, Mrs. Tennyson, offered to give a reception for Fay when she arrived, but Fay turned it down. Fay said, “That kind of thing was for Becky” (126). Everyone laughs when they tease about the Judge, and Laurel takes offense. Tish calms her down and promises they aren’t laughing; they are there to mourn with her. After a while, the bridesmaids all leave Tish’s house, promising to come the following morning to take Laurel to the airport. Laurel remains behind, just as a storm moves in.

Mrs. Tennyson and Major Bullock, despite the late hour, come to kiss Laurel goodbye. Mrs. Tennyson tells Laurel she is glad “there’s nobody else for you to lose, dear” (127). They offer to drive her back to the house that now belongs to Fay, but Laurel says she would rather walk. The rain is pouring down, and Major Bullock insists on escorting her. He sings to her on the way home.

When Laurel arrives, she finds “something wrong.” A chimney swift is flying around the house. Laurel is frantic, running around the house, turning all the lights on. She wonders about the bird: “It could not get in here. But had it been in already?” (129). Laurel makes her way to her parents’ room, the first time she’s gone inside since waking up Fay on the morning of the funeral. She slams the door to her parents’ room, and once she’s safely inside, the bird flies against the door. She wonders what danger she is in. She realizes she feels no pity for Fay but ponders who she can tell about Fay’s abuse to her father—the abuse that led to his death.

The bird flails against the door, so Laurel backs away into the small sewing room adjacent to her parents’ bedroom. She remembers the room as always firelit and warm. She sits on the chair near the sewing machine and notices the date, 1817, on the lamp, built from cherry wood taken from the McKelvas’ place years and years ago. Laurel realizes she might have hesitated opening her father’s desk drawer, but she does not hesitate to open the cabinet doors of the sewing room where her mother kept her papers and knickknacks.

Laurel finds a bundle of love letters her father gave to her mother whenever they were apart. She also finds a small polished stone—a river stone from “up home” where her mother grew up—“given shape by many strokes from a penknife” (136). Her mother’s initials were carved into it; it was made by her father. She also finds a snapshot book with many pictures, including one of her mother wearing a beautiful white blouse that she sewed herself and loved. Laurel remembers her summers with her mother in her mother’s childhood land in West Virginia. West Virginia, where both Becky’s parents were from, was a land of new things for Laurel as a child, and she remembers how delighted and frightened she was every time she visited. She remembers riding in a boat to her mother’s childhood home and how the “bird dogs went steaking” through the unplanted grass and the “valley was dyed blue” under the mountains (139).

Laurel also remembers her terror of the carrier pigeons as they ate, sticking their bills down each other’s throats, vomiting and eating it up again. When her mother’s mother died, Laurel remembers a loud discussion between her parents wherein her mother blamed herself for not being at her mother’s side. Her father tried to exonerate her mother, but it didn’t work; her mother grieved hard. She remembers the story of her mother having to take her sick father all the way to Baltimore for an operation. His appendix had burst. When the doctor asked Becky to contact a relative, she replied, “But, I don’t know anybody in Baltimore, sir” (143). Her mother’s father died, and Laurel thinks that neither of them was able to save their father. Laurel realizes after remembering this story that even if her mother didn’t know anyone in Baltimore, at least her mother “had known herself” (144).

Following these ruminations, Laurel revisits the slow, five-year agony of watching her mother struggle with a debilitating illness before finally dying. Laurel was recently widowed at the time, and she “reproached her mother” for giving in to the emotions that came with the illness (145)—the outbursts and the weeping and the pain. Laurel remembers giving her mother her McGuffey’s Fifth Reader so that her mother could read The Cataract of Lodore. She realizes that her mother didn’t get the kind of comfort and love from her husband that she needed. Laurel, again, considers her father as a “man of great delicacy” (146). She understands that his self-proclaimed optimism was his greatest source of pain because too often things did not go the way he’d hoped with his wife. When bad news arrived, her father ignored the reality. In these cases, he “simply put on his hat and went speechless out of the house […]” (146).

One day, during her mother’s illness, Laurel heard her mother say to her father, “Why did I marry a coward” and then take his hand “to help him bear it” (148). Eventually her mother lost her eyesight, and she asked for the preacher, but the preacher disappointed her, as if he knew nothing about her or God. Laurel heard her father promise her mother he would take her up home soon, and Laurel knew it was an empty promise. Eventually her mother had a stroke, and shortly after, she died. Laurel stands now, in her mother’s room, and remembers what it was like to be a witness to such a powerful event. Laurel realizes that in her need right then in that moment, she “would have been willing to wish her mother and father dragged back to any torment of living because that torment was something they had known together, through each other” (150).

Laurel’s thoughts travel to her father. She considers the event of his second marriage and the recent image of her father lying in his bed in the hospital. She knows that “as he lay without moving in the hospital he had concentrated utterly on time passing” (151). She realizes that both of his wives had worn him out. While the storm rages outside, the chimney swift flies around somewhere in the house. Laurel remembers when Fay called Laurel her “rival.” She then reads more letters that once belonged to her mother, letters from her family “up home.” Laurel finds a note about her in her grandmother’s letter. Her grandmother says she would like to send Laurel a cup of sugar and allow the pigeons to eat out of her hand. Laurel is suddenly overwhelmed by grief. She thinks about her husband and weeps. She can’t understand why she has endured so much grief. 

When Laurel arrives, she finds “something wrong.” A chimney swift is flying around the house. Laurel is frantic, running around the house, turning all the lights on. She wonders about the bird: “It could not get in here. But had it been in already?” (129). Laurel makes her way to her parents’ room, the first time she’s gone inside since waking up Fay on the morning of the funeral. She slams the door to her parents’ room, and once she’s safely inside, the bird flies against the door. She wonders what danger she is in. She realizes she feels no pity for Fay but ponders who she can tell about Fay’s abuse to her father—the abuse that led to his death.

The bird flails against the door, so Laurel backs away into the small sewing room adjacent to her parents’ bedroom. She remembers the room as always firelit and warm. She sits on the chair near the sewing machine and notices the date, 1817, on the lamp, built from cherry wood taken from the McKelvas’ place years and years ago. Laurel realizes she might have hesitated opening her father’s desk drawer, but she does not hesitate to open the cabinet doors of the sewing room where her mother kept her papers and knickknacks.

Laurel finds a bundle of love letters her father gave to her mother whenever they were apart. She also finds a small polished stone—a river stone from “up home” where her mother grew up—“given shape by many strokes from a penknife” (136). Her mother’s initials were carved into it; it was made by her father. She also finds a snapshot book with many pictures, including one of her mother wearing a beautiful white blouse that she sewed herself and loved. Laurel remembers her summers with her mother in her mother’s childhood land in West Virginia. West Virginia, where both Becky’s parents were from, was a land of new things for Laurel as a child, and she remembers how delighted and frightened she was every time she visited. She remembers riding in a boat to her mother’s childhood home and how the “bird dogs went steaking” through the unplanted grass and the “valley was dyed blue” under the mountains (139).

Laurel also remembers her terror of the carrier pigeons as they ate, sticking their bills down each other’s throats, vomiting and eating it up again. When her mother’s mother died, Laurel remembers a loud discussion between her parents wherein her mother blamed herself for not being at her mother’s side. Her father tried to exonerate her mother, but it didn’t work; her mother grieved hard. She remembers the story of her mother having to take her sick father all the way to Baltimore for an operation. His appendix had burst. When the doctor asked Becky to contact a relative, she replied, “But, I don’t know anybody in Baltimore, sir” (143). Her mother’s father died, and Laurel thinks that neither of them was able to save their father. Laurel realizes after remembering this story that even if her mother didn’t know anyone in Baltimore, at least her mother “had known herself” (144).

Following these ruminations, Laurel revisits the slow, five-year agony of watching her mother struggle with a debilitating illness before finally dying. Laurel was recently widowed at the time, and she “reproached her mother” for giving in to the emotions that came with the illness (145)—the outbursts and the weeping and the pain. Laurel remembers giving her mother her McGuffey’s Fifth Reader so that her mother could read The Cataract of Lodore. She realizes that her mother didn’t get the kind of comfort and love from her husband that she needed. Laurel, again, considers her father as a “man of great delicacy” (146). She understands that his self-proclaimed optimism was his greatest source of pain because too often things did not go the way he’d hoped with his wife. When bad news arrived, her father ignored the reality. In these cases, he “simply put on his hat and went speechless out of the house […]” (146).

One day, during her mother’s illness, Laurel heard her mother say to her father, “Why did I marry a coward” and then take his hand “to help him bear it” (148). Eventually her mother lost her eyesight, and she asked for the preacher, but the preacher disappointed her, as if he knew nothing about her or God. Laurel heard her father promise her mother he would take her up home soon, and Laurel knew it was an empty promise. Eventually her mother had a stroke, and shortly after, she died. Laurel stands now, in her mother’s room, and remembers what it was like to be a witness to such a powerful event. Laurel realizes that in her need right then in that moment, she “would have been willing to wish her mother and father dragged back to any torment of living because that torment was something they had known together, through each other” (150).

Laurel’s thoughts travel to her father. She considers the event of his second marriage and the recent image of her father lying in his bed in the hospital. She knows that “as he lay without moving in the hospital he had concentrated utterly on time passing” (151). She realizes that both of his wives had worn him out. While the storm rages outside, the chimney swift flies around somewhere in the house. Laurel remembers when Fay called Laurel her “rival.” She then reads more letters that once belonged to her mother, letters from her family “up home.” Laurel finds a note about her in her grandmother’s letter. Her grandmother says she would like to send Laurel a cup of sugar and allow the pigeons to eat out of her hand. Laurel is suddenly overwhelmed by grief. She thinks about her husband and weeps. She can’t understand why she has endured so much grief.