The Mapletown Mothers Book Club

Mrs. Lilah Lewis laid out flat atop the bench of her Pilates Reformer machine (second row, third in from the left). It was the same spot you could find her every weekday morning from eight to nine. Pilates at the country club was not an event she would easily miss. After all, there wasn’t much more to do in Mapletown. The country club, where most social events took place, strictly required references (with the right last names) for acceptance. Luckily, Mr. Lewis was well connected and likeable. In order to secure his wife a social life, he had greased the fingers of the right husbands.

“You’ll be at book club tomorrow, right?” Lilah asked Mrs. Rosie Simmons who was working out on the adjacent machine.

“Of course I will honey, one does not simply decline an invitation to the Mapletown Mothers Book Club.” Mrs. Simmons struggled against her resistance band as she opened and closed her legs, toes pointed straight up to the ceiling.

Every month, on the second Tuesday of that month, the Mapletown Mothers Book Club congregates in one of its members' houses. In March, the calling fell upon Mrs. Heather Maryweather, one of the group’s most well-to-do members. The event was highly anticipated by all.

“Oh, well, of course. I thought Mrs. Maryweather would be at Pilates today, and I was going to ask if I should bring something—” Lilah started.

“Well aren’t you just the sweetest sugar in the bowl!” Mrs. Simmons drawled, tracing circles in the air with her legs, her heels gracing the bench before swinging back around to finish the circle with practiced ease. “Mrs. Maryweather will have everything sorted out, don’t you fret.”

If Lilah had been among different company, she would have believed that Mrs. Rosie Simmons was mocking her. But women really did speak to each other with a sort of dripping sugary sweetness here in Mapletown. Rule number one: educated women always referred to each other as Miss, Ms, or Mrs. An acknowledgement of respect for their state in life.

“Right, I’m sure she will. I just want to make a good impression, that’s all. I’m told I will be the first new member in quite a few years.” Lilah attempted to match the rhythm of Mrs. Simmons’ leg circles. Despite being twenty years her junior, she couldn’t quite keep up.

“Thirteen.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s been thirteen years since we’ve had a new member, sugar plum.”

The class transitioned to sit ups. Their instructor held her arms out, a resistance band stretched between her two fists, and counted down from fifty. Lilah paused for a swig of water; abdominals were her weakest muscle group.

“Exactly, I’m certainly honored.”

It was unusual for people to simply move to Mapletown. 1321 Wishing Well Lane (yes, the streets really were named like that in Mapletown), had been a private listing. The Lewis’ had been the only couple granted a showing. When they had first arrived in the neighborhood, they were often mistaken for tourists; and in the eight and a half months they had lived there, they had not seen even one house come up for sale.

When Lilah had decided to throw a housewarming party to meet some of their new neighbors, it was then that she learned they weren't your average suburban families. Many boasted long lines of politicians, lobbyists, and bankers, going back generations.

“Good work ladies, we’re finished for today. I will see you all tomorrow.”

Wiping her sweat with a towel and waving good-bye to her friends, Lilah hurried out of the club. She exchanged her ticket with the valet who pulled her white suburban up front.

Lilah had a busy day ahead of her. Highlights at 11:00, mani/pedi at 1:00, grocery pick up 2:30, school pick up 2:45, dinner (pot-roast with buttered pees), bathtime, bedtime.

Lilah wanted to be well rested and presentable for tomorrow’s meeting. Pilates class and dinner parties were one thing, but an invitation to the MMBC meant that she had finally broken through the Mapletown glass ceiling.

***

Lilah teetered up the cobblestone driveway towards the cheery yellow brick colonial mansion wearing her newest pair of Jimmy Choo's. She paired them with a tweed boat-neck Chanel dress that flattered her slim frame. Within the tote bag on her arm, she carried a notebook and pen; along with her heavily annotated copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince, assigned reading for this month. In her other hand, she carried a homemade apple pie; choosing to ignore Mrs. Simmons advice.

Just as Lilah began to reach for the doorbell, the imposing floor to ceiling solid wood door swung open with a flourish.

“Mrs. Lewis. We’ve been expecting you. Right this way.” The smartly dressed butler gestured towards her tote bag and apple pie. “Let us take those for you.”

“Oh, that’s all right thanks, I’ll probably need them.” She interjected, but he had already handed the bag and the pie to another gentleman in waiting.

Lilah followed the butler through the grand entryway, through two sets of double doors, past the formal sitting room, the piano room, until they stopped in front of a final set of white French doors.

“Everyone is waiting.” He gestured towards the doors before walking off briskly, leaving Lilah to wonder why he had neglected to announce her entrance, as butlers often did.

Hesitating, she gripped the gold metal door handle. She knew most of these ladies from the country club, her children’s private school, church. There’s nothing to be nervous about, Lilah thought as she swung open the door and was met with thirty pairs of eyes staring back at her from behind elaborately decorated venetian masks. The women stood in unison as she entered the room.

“Welcome to my home Mrs. Lewis. Please, come in. Don’t be shy now.” She recognized her host as Mrs. Maryweather, who stood at the head of the table. There were fifteen seats on one side of the table, and fifteen seats on the other. Mrs. Maryweather gestured towards the lone vacant chair to her right.

“Goodness, did I misread the invitation? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know we had a theme this month.” Lilah could feel her face reddening with embarrassment. She had re-read that invitation a dozen times, how could she have missed it?

Mrs. Maryweather picked up a small silver triangle from the table and tapped it three times. The sound rang out assertively in the silent room. The other women at the table took their seats. Not knowing what else to do, Lilah followed their lead.

“Lilah Lewis, please stand.” Lilah stood up just as quickly as she had sat down. “We have been observing you Mrs. Lewis, for quite a few years. It is not mere chance which brought you to Mapletown, but a sequence of strategic interventions. We have eagerly awaited this day!” The ladies at the table offered encouraging smiles and nods.

“After the death of Mrs. McArthur, the woman who originally lived in your house, we were left without a daughter to take her place. As is custom, we searched beyond Mapletown’s borders for the best and brightest who would become her replacement. That’s how we came to know about you, Mrs. Lewis. Political science degree, Editor of the Yale Daily News, four summers interning at the white house under our previous press secretary. You’re quite an impressive woman. The last eight months of up-close observations has only proven this further.”

Lilah smiled sheepishly at the masks staring back at her, how did they know all of this about her? What did they mean she wasn't here by chance? It had been a while since she thought about life before becoming a housewife.

Mr Lewis' career as a pharmaceutical lobbyist had taken off shortly after the birth of their second child three years ago. Lilah agreed that it would be best for her to dedicate herself to the home and the children, since money was no longer an issue. She found herself satisfied. She had lost the motivation to return to the cutthroat world of global politics. The couple craved a quiet suburban life for their kids. Her husband's colleagues, one being Mr. Maryweather, had first suggested the move to Mapletown.

“Mrs. Lewis, every woman at this table decided to put aside their ambitious pursuits to focus on being wives, and mothers.” The other women nodded in agreement. “But we want our influence to reach farther than the walls of our homes. It is for housewives like us that the MMBC was established, almost 120 years ago. United, we plan. We plan, you see, the future of not only Mapletown, but of this great country. We are the wives of some of the most powerful men in the nation. When important people look at us, they only see our masks. Sweet, docile, meek. They can’t understand. Our femininity doesn’t debilitate us, no, it is our greatest weapon!” A chorus of “hear, hears” rang out from the crowd.

“In Mapletown the saying rings true: Behind every great man, is a great woman.” The room burst into applause.

“Mrs. Lewis, we want to invite you into our cause. We share intel. Secrets overheard at dinner parties, political functions, military balls. We fly under the radar, wallflowers. Watching. Listening. Then we strategize. Our collective voices whispering in the right ears, united by a shared vision for the future of this country.”

Mrs. Maryweather snaps her fingers twice, and Lilah recognizes Rosie Simmons from Pilates stand and retrieve a red pillow from the top drawer of the China cabinet. An ornately decorated venetian mask rests upon the satin fabric. She walks over to stand beside Lilah, the pillow resting on her outstretched hands.

“If you choose to accept our invitation, and all the power that comes with it, you will become privy to a wealth of highly classified information. Can you keep this secret from everyone in your life, as generations of housewives have done before you? Anonymity is the key to our success. Can you commit to the life of the mask?”

Lilah looked around the room at all her fellow housewives. She realized in that moment that although they were all wearing venetian masks, it was in this room that she finally saw their truest identities.

“My lips are sealed.”