In 1762, a young woman wrote, “I often run over in my mind the many disadvantages that accrue to our sex from an alliance with the other [a man] but the thought of being doomed to live alone I can’t yet reconcile.”
It is true that most, if not all, 18th-century women wanted to be married. The question is why? When a woman said, “I do,” she lost all individual rights.
In 18th-century New England, there were only two legal positions possible for women: feme covert and feme sole. Both defined a woman’s status in relationship to men.
Feme sole, the woman alone, was an unmarried woman: a spinster, divorcee or widow. If the woman alone was a spinster, the position could be precarious or even harrowing. If she had no husband to provide a home and sustenance, she was dependent upon some other man — a father, uncle, brother or brother-in-law — for a roof over her head. Since it was assumed that all women wished to be married, the spinster might also be subjected to scorn or pity.
If she could rise above the social stigma, it seemed better legally to be a spinster. There was no legal bar to a single woman owning property. However, only sons inherited, so there was scant opportunity for her to accumulate property. If unmarried, she could hold a job and keep her wages. However, when one looked more closely, a spinster’s rights were not actually improved.
“A single woman of good repute could exercise a lawful trade or employment” only with the approval of a parent, guardian and/or town selectman. Other men substituted for a husband in granting rights and permissions.
A widow was in a much different position. Given the right circumstances, she could assume some of her husband’s rights after his death. Key among those: she could inherit and own his property.
The divorcee was below the spinster and beneath contempt.
A married woman was a feme covert: that is, covered by her husband. To be covered meant to be protected but, unfortunately, covered was closer to smothered. Mostly a wife was protected from having any rights at all. The wife’s opinions and desires were not considered — “the perfect marriage was one mind and two bodies.” The last contract she could legally sign was her marriage contract. She could not conduct business or own property separate from her husband. A wife disappeared into marriage.
“The legal being and existence of a wife is incorporated into that of her husband under whose protection and cover” she was supposed to live.
Marriage was a risky proposition; a woman’s health and welfare, not to mention her social position, depended upon a good choice. The consequences of a bad choice were potentially harmful. If her husband were shiftless, profligate, intemperate or disloyal, there was little she could do to keep body and soul together. A poor decision could leave a woman and her children unprotected, cold and hungry.
A goodwife in Vermont sought ownership of the family cow. Goodwife was an ordinary title of respect granted a married woman, and it was often shortened to Goody. For this 18th-century Vermont goody, control of the cow was a matter of life and death. A cow was a profit center. Milk, cream and cheese could be fed to her children or sold or bartered for other needs. Her husband was an alcoholic capable of trading all milk and cheese for drink, leaving her and her children hungry.
There were scant grounds for divorce if the husband objected. There was little chance for court-ordered support, and no recourse if he disserted. There was no avenue for her to claim ownership of the cow.
The goodwife decided to go to court to gain ownership of the cow. It was unheard of. A married woman had no standing under the law. No woman was expected or permitted to stand and speak in public. Under the law, a wife had no right to own property separate from her husband. Nonetheless, she went.
She claimed the rights of “substitute husband.” It was a status generally granted to wives for the limited period when a husband was away on business, especially away at sea. A sailor could be away a year, and for that period, he was incapable of taking care of the family, paying bills, transacting business or controlling assets. The wife was granted those rights. The Vermont goody claimed her husband’s alcoholism rendered him incapable.
Ostensibly, this is a series about distinguished women. In what way was this woman distinguished?
When the goodwife from Vermont fought her husband for possession of the cow, she was not challenging a thousand years of feme covert. She did not mean to tear down a pillar of the law. She was no feminist. She was not looking over her shoulder to see if she were starting a movement. Pure and simple: the Vermont goody wanted the cow. In a world built on barter, dairy products were currency. For the wife of an alcoholic, control of the cow represented survival. For her husband, it was milk for whiskey. If she lost control of it and he drank the profits, she and her children could starve, simple as that.
This nameless woman — so many women were nameless before the 19th century — won her case. In her time, she controlled a cow. Looking back, we see she took a step toward changing the world.
Looking back, we commend her courage and understand how her actions altered institutions and challenged ideas even when she was blissfully unaware and probably pointedly uninterested in social change. Her motivations were limited and practical. And yet the harder the road people are made to travel, the fewer rights granted and the less given, the more often the supposedly least among us rise to be worthy of our regard.
