Henrietta: Horse Diver

Present Day:

You are talking to a twenty-five year old who still doesn't feel like she's found her place in the work force, so the chance to write myself into a career is intriguing.

I used to spend hours a day tumbling and flipping around in the grass in my front yard. I was a book smart child, so the subject of my future career came up often. When asked the question: "What are you going to do when you grow up?" many people expected me to know my answer. Instead, I'd almost always reply with, "I don't know." This annoyed my mother who used to say, "Well, you have to do something more than just tumble around in the grass, girl. Life is work."

She was right; I'm not a gymnast. I'm not the horse trainer, or the Olympic swimmer, or the starlet, or the wealthy college graduate that I thought I'd be either. But Henrietta (my favorite name), me in a past life, got to be all of those things at once. This is our story.

***

1927:

"Henny, dear?" Auntie Ida had asked her what she wanted to do now that college was over. The question had come with the childlike eagerness that was Auntie Ida.

"Hmm?" She had heard the question, but the inside of her brain, no matter which recessed fold she searched, turned up empty. Wanting to use her degree and actually knowing how to use it were two different things. It was better to keep her feelings of doubt to herself. Her feigned inattentiveness, toward her aunt, served to keep the eyes of her scornful grandmother, sitting daintily across the parlor, from burning through her. While the glare didn't actually burn, she wished it would; anything to melt away the excessively high neckline of the dress her grandmother had insisted she wear.

"It's embarrassing enough that Ivor allowed her to attend Vassar. What man is going to want a wife who thinks she is smarter than him? She received perfectly good schooling with the best private teacher privilege can buy. And the time we spent on those etiquette classes, for her to return in such a state! Ezra Rhodes would've married her at the drop of a hat. Now, Virginia Patrick, of all girls, has snapped him up while Henrietta had her head in the books, somewhere in Poughkeepsie!"

The "state" Henrietta had returned in, was merely the standard in fashionable clothing for the 1920's modern woman, but her grandmother, who thankfully had moved away from corsets, still clung to the notion: to show skin was a sin.

"Mother, hush! I think it's lovely Henrietta received such a formal education. Times are changing and all. Anyway, you would've loved to have the same opportunity. Darling Henny, don't listen to her. She has forgotten what it is like to be young, but she does have a point. You don't actually expect that you will work, do you?" Her aunt was a mix of traditional and progressive views that sometimes seemed to clash. The question stung, which was rare coming from her generally tender aunt.

Henny couldn't speak because of Ida's endless stream of consciousness. She stared expectantly, politely waiting for her aunt to go on, but mostly not wanting to have her grandmother start in on her again.

"Ezra Rhodes is not the only suitor whose eye you hold. Oliver Whitney was just-"

"Yes, what a lovely idea! A Whitney is just as prestigious as a Rhodes," her grandmother interrupted, as if she had just received a new life. "A Whitney!" Consuelo Vanderbilt, stalked across the room, placing her hands on Henrietta's face. "You're lucky you're still very pretty, even with that lopped hair cut, maybe we can spin this in a positive light after all..."

Henrietta rolled her eyes, at the pages of her book, as her grandmother exited the parlor, planning her wedding to a man she may have met, but never held a conversation with.

Auntie Ida's small feet flitted across the parlor to Henrietta's chair. Sitting on the hassock at her feet, Auntie Ida also held her face. She mused, "Henny, you can come with me to Atlantic City for the summer. You did love it as a girl." Before she could protest, Auntie Ida carried on, "New York will still be here when you return... and so will Oliver Whitney."

***

She hadn't wanted to come with her aunt, and she longed for the newly remodeled Marble House of Newport, Rhode Island, where she could lounge lazily before returning to New York, in the fall. The largest home in the prestigious, New England town beckoned to her. Just because she wanted to work, did not mean that the luxury of her upbringing did not appeal to her. Her grandmother had wanted her to travel to Marble House so they could spend the summer deciding "which bachelor was suitable for a debutante of her status." That was the deciding factor. She would do anything to avoid the crushing weight of Consuelo Vanderbilt's unobtainable, high standards. With the reminder that her grandmother had been forced to marry the Duke of Marlborough, her ex-grandfather, she felt dread at the thought of any marriage, especially one as unhappy as Grandma Consuelo's.

It was the 1920s, she'd just have to stand up to her grandmother once and for all, if anything or anyone important ever came along. Her aunt's servant alerted her to midday meal, and she waltzed down the grand staircase of the tasteful, Atlantic City summer home.

After a large lunch, thanks to her aunt, who had always been more comforted by food than fashion, Henny insisted that she be allowed to walk off the excess along the pier. The freedom from Consuelo's watchful gaze was not something she took in vain.

The pier bustled, as it always did in the summer time, and it took her back to her youth. Even then, visits to her Auntie Ida had been her only respite from her unrelenting upbringing as a Vanderbilt. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and when forced to choose between raising his daughter in England or New York, Lord Ivor Spencer-Churchill, left England to raise his daughter with the help of his mother, Consuelo, and his sister, Ida.

College, which she thought would have given her a clear indication of her life's path, did not inspire her to find her calling. Her grandmother had also kept a close eye on her, visiting regularly. Chaperones had watched every move closely, reporting to the dean, and even to parents when any girl misbehaved. Furthermore, men were able to live in dormitories and walk to their classes, while her strictly female college held life and school all in the same building. To "wander around campus, and be allowed that kind of freedom, would only bring a girl's virtue into question." She had rolled her eyes at her grandmother's words that day too. Her prim and proper life had carried on. Still, she managed to fall in love with the risqué practices of some of the other women in her college: the girls who called themselves flappers. Winning many battles with her grandmother, she forced her way from corset culture into Coco Chanel couture. Her clothes reflected her attitude toward life. They were daring yet tasteful, and classy but playful. Being a young, wealthy, and beautiful socialite, her dress and actions were the talk of New York.

Lost in thought about her future, as she traipsed along the pier, she accepted a paper that a nearly naked, young woman placed in her hand. That caught her attention. Before she could question her, the woman moved past her in a swimsuit that was fashionable, albeit revealing. Looking down to the flier, a photo of the same young woman, falling from the sky on horseback, took up the left hand of the page. Along the right hand side, in large type it read: THE GREAT CARVER SHOW! Below the large type, details with the date and location were typed underneath.

***

The show had officially moved itself to Atlantic City, and according to the announcer was, "here to stay." Henny sat in the crowd, just three days after receiving the flier. A few bystanders recognized her, so she sat with the stature of the daughter of a Lord and that of a Vanderbilt woman. The announcer, William Doc Carver, explained that brave, talented women would be jumping their horses from heights up to sixty feet into the twelve-foot deep pool, below.

With every leap off of the platform, Henny's heart leapt too. In their movements there was confidence, mastery, art, and grace. All of the things “useless” things that had been drilled inside her were being put to use by these women. They had the spotlight, the awe, and the adoration of everyone who watched. This appealed to her. It was her.

Sonora Webster, the final performer reached the highest platform, twenty feet above the other jumpers. The buckskin horse tossed his mane impatiently and Sonora, whose beauty showed even from a distance, waved at the crowd from above. Henny had already forgotten to breathe the entire show, but now, she was aware that her thumping heart was begging for oxygen. She relaxed her pursed lips, sucking in air selfishly.

The announcer explain how Oaky, Sonora's horse, had his own style of jumping, as had all the other horses. Dixie would peer over the edge before backing up to get a running leap. Rose took her time, eyeing the sky. Other horses had their quirks, but before she could finish her long inhale, the horse was flinging himself and his rider over the edge of the platform and bounding through the air, with the woman flying behind him. It was akin to Pegasus: the flying horse of myth, majestically entering the waters of his kin. It was second nature.

At the end of the show, a gentleman passing out fliers had handed one to her. She had looked down at yet another a piece of paper that would change her life. She read the words, "Wanted: Attractive young woman who can swim and dive; likes horses; desires to travel".

***

Henny's feet, not her brain, propelled her to the tryouts the following week. Her time on the Vassar synchronized swimming team, had been useful, though she was sure this particular argument in it's favor would upset her grandmother just as much as joining the team had upset her.

Tryouts, overall, were easy. She could swim, ride and dive. She had no fear of heights, and her careful upbringing had ensured she was "fit" enough to meet the requirements. The real work started once she began training, a secret she was keeping from everyone, except for her aunt, who only knew a portion of the truth.

"That's nice, dear. You'll return to New York with such glorious tales," Auntie Ida had said. Auntie Ida just thought she was riding horses and spending her days at the club pool; technically she wasn't lying. Henny had failed to mention the job part, the jumping into the pool part, and the part of wanting to do it permanently if her father permitted... She had no intentions of losing her inheritance for a job.

The black gelding, ridden by Henny, was a five-year-old, owned by Doc Carver's daughter, Lenora. Rookie, as they called him, was attentive and smart, but she had never trained a horse before. She'd grown up riding, as had all affluent young socialites, in New York. But dressage was a far cry from jumping off of a platform with a half ton animal. Rookie still had a while or so before he'd be diving off of any platforms, but then again so did she. Also a rookie, she learned with alongside the inquisitive gelding. She no longer synchronized her movements with other women. She was synchronizing herself with the horse. On land and in the water, she found every which way she could fall, splash, jump, and land. She rode hours each day, practicing sometimes on more experienced horses. Doc Carver approved of her synchronized swimmer routine, and suggested she continue it, to maintain her "attractiveness" like the ad required.

***

"In you go," Sonora said, after a few weeks, and handed her the reins to Oaky.

"Oh I don't know if I'm allowed to-"

"You work here don't you?" Sonora had asked.

"Yes, I-"

"Off the fifteen foot platform then, come on."

Up until now, Henny had only ridden the horses from a few feet drop into the pool. This would actually be considered jumping.

"Remember, tucked tight like we've practiced. Oaky isn't like Rose. He won't sit up their watching the seagulls go by. Once the rope is moved, you're gone. It's a good thing. Gives you no time to think."

Henny allowed Oaky to get used to her weight as they made their way up to the platform. She was aware that her knees trembled, but the rope was released and Oaky leapt, legs outstretched, angled toward the pool. She leaned forward, trying to make herself aerodynamic with his body, but they plunged into the water before she could tell if she was doing anything right.

Water flooded all of her senses, which were already heightened. Joy, so overwhelming, bubbled up inside her like the bubbles of their impact. She burst through the surface, Oaky easily breaking it with her and her joy broke through her too as she let out an excited squeal. Then, she sank back under the water, letting the joy sink too, back into her skin.

For the first time, she was acutely aware of the lack of clothing she was wearing . Vassar's swim clothes had not been so revealing. She reveled in the touch of water, uninhibited on her skin. This was the freedom that women everywhere were fighting for. Her "lopped" hair spilled water as she broke the surface, releasing with it the doubt of her place in this world.

Grandmother and father were just going to have to be okay with this.