Last Summer at Maine Chance

Chapter 1 Cynthia

Cynthia

It beggared belief that the ordinary-looking man in front of her held her future in his hands.

Nothing in the slope of his slim shoulders or the tilt of his head, only thinly covered in graying hair, suggested the outsize influence he wielded in his chosen field.

But one way or another, she needed an answer.

Cynthia raised her fist and rapped on the sturdy wooden doorframe.

Professor Avery glanced up from a stack of papers on his large oak desk and waved her in.

Even from the doorway, she could see bright-red ink scrawled across the uppermost sheet on the pile.

An enormous D+ was circled at the top of the page.

Her heart thudded as she stepped closer, silently assuring herself that the grade surely could not belong to her.

“Close the door, please, Miss Proctor,” he said as he gestured to the chair opposite his desk before riffling through the stacks in front of him.

Cynthia smoothed her skirt and lowered herself into the chair.

“You must be wondering why I wanted to see you,” he said, leaning back heavily in his seat.

She had thought of little else since she discovered a note from the professor in her mailbox at the women’s dormitory, requesting she appear at his office the next day.

“Considering you were somewhat involved in the research, I thought it only right to let you to know before you head off for the summer that the article has been accepted for publication by the American Economic Review.”

Researching and writing the article had been a great deal of extra work over the past two semesters, but she had enjoyed every minute of it.

When the professor had asked for a volunteer to assist with his paper on the projected economic impact of the planned Maine Turnpike expansion on tourism, she had been both surprised and delighted to have been chosen for the role.

What had started out as a way to prove that she could hold her own in a major dominated by male students had turned into a passion project.

During the spring semester, she had skipped out on dances, sporting events, and even an occasional lucrative babysitting job in order to devote herself to the research.

She found herself engrossed in the details, like the bold decision to fund the nation’s second superhighway project through bonds instead of public funds, and the innovative and controversial use of asphalt instead of concrete as the paving material.

While such things might not make every girl’s imagination soar, Cynthia had found the information provided fertile ground for her own theories of how promising Maine’s economic future could be.

Boot factories, textile mills, and even commercial fishing might someday fail, but she could not imagine a day would come when the beauty of her home state would not draw throngs of visitors, at least in the warm months.

Professor Avery had encouraged her to do the grunt work of reading studies and interpreting the data as well as to write the majority of the actual article.

She hadn’t minded, though. Not only was the project engrossing, but she was also betting that her work would put her in the running for a paid job as a research assistant to Professor Avery.

It was a prestigious post, and one that she needed, financially, if she was to continue her studies.

She was all the more pleased that she had a subscription to the magazine and would be able to see the fruits of her labor, and her own name in print.

“That’s wonderful news. I’m delighted to have been involved in something so successful. I hope to be able to assist you in your upcoming projects,” she said.

“Duly noted,” he said, looking pointedly at the pile of papers still requiring his attention. He flicked his glance back to her face. “Is there something else?”

Cynthia pressed her hands against her thighs, damp wicking through the light cotton of her skirt. It was now or never. After all, she was due to leave campus the following day.

“I wondered if you have come to a decision about the research-assistant job?”

He looked up as if surprised by the question. “The paid position for next year?”

“Yes. I applied for it when the job first posted several weeks ago, and I hoped to hear something before I left for the summer.”

“The position has been filled,” he said, picking up his red pen and tapping it on the desk between them.

Her stomach clenched. “May I ask by whom?”

“I don’t suppose he will mind if I share his name. I am told on good authority that being selected to assist me is something students are proud to claim, as I am sure you can attest.” He smiled at her. “Ronald Dryden was given the job.”

She had no firsthand knowledge of Ronald’s bank balance, but if his wardrobe, late-model car, and the trips he reported taking with his family were anything to go by, the stipend from a researcher job would have little impact upon it.

What she did know firsthand, from attending several economics classes with him, was that he was a lackluster scholar at best. He often arrived late for class, contributed little of value to discussions, and was ready with excuses when it came to his responsibilities on group assignments.

“I must admit that I am surprised to hear this. I had thought that my work on the article would put me ahead in the running,” she said.

He dropped his pen back onto the desk and leaned forward, propping his elbows on its cluttered surface.

“Surprised? Come, come, now. You’re much too bright to think an opportunity like that would be wasted on a coed when there are young men like Ronald, who will actually be able to make use of the experience in a career.”

“Are you saying that you don’t believe I will be able to make a career in this field myself?” Didn’t the publication of an article she had researched and written prove she had promise?

Professor Avery’s gray eyebrows lifted. “I hardly think it likely. You are a woman, after all. Given your commendable grasp of economic theory, you must admit that women are a poor investment.”

Cynthia stiffened as though she had been slapped.

An unwelcome lump formed in her throat. How foolish she had been to think that she would be the exception to the rule.

Sadly, no female student at Barlow College had ever been awarded a paid position as a researcher.

Heck, they had only begun to allow female-student admittance to the college during the early years of the Depression.

Still, she had held out hope that somehow there would be a solution to her predicament.

It had been vanishingly unlikely that she would receive a scholarship to attend in the first place.

She had buried herself in her studies, forcing the notion that she might not be in a position to complete her degree from her mind, telling herself she had beaten the odds so far.

The expression on her professor’s face told her that her luck had run out.

Still, she couldn’t risk confronting him or complaining.

Careers had been launched by a recommendation from Professor Avery, although she was pretty sure, so far, he’d only recommended men.

As a woman in the field of economics, she needed every advantage she could get.

“Are there any other sources of funding that you know of?” she asked. “Is there a paid post for another professor, or even in a different department?”

He removed his glasses and buffed the lenses with a clean handkerchief. Cynthia recognized the gesture as one that preceded an announcement that the majority of the class had performed poorly on an exam. Slowly, he slipped the glasses back on his face and shook his head again.

“Anything of that sort has been assigned months ago. And again, any positions would have been awarded to male students rather than coeds, regardless of their qualifications.”

“So there is nothing available that could help me fund the next two years of my studies?” she asked. “If I don’t find something, I’ll be forced to withdraw from Barlow.”

“Nothing comes to mind. But I have every confidence that a clever girl like you will figure something out.” His gaze moved over her shoulder towards the door.

She glanced behind her and spotted a student from her microeconomics class hovering in the hallway.

Her financial woes were not something she wished to discuss with anyone other than her intimates.

Most of her fellow students would not have any idea what it was like to rely on financial aid to pay for their college experience.

Barlow had a few scholarship students, to be sure, but the vast majority of her classmates came from wealthy families who had never had to wonder how their bills would be paid.

She nodded as if she agreed with his assessment of her resourcefulness and slipped out the door without another word.

She didn’t trust herself to speak. A tirade of angry words jostled on the tip of her tongue.

Nothing in the study of economics had taught her that women were a poor investment.

Her legs wobbled with rage as she moved down the hallway.

Her gaze ran over posters and flyers announcing trips to Europe, seaside cottage rentals, and language lessons.

Everything listed involved spending money, and lots of it.

Nothing whatsoever mentioned a way to earn any.

Cynthia hadn’t arrived at college with an intention to study economics.

In fact, she had thought she might study English, with an eye towards a career in journalism.

The romantic notion of being a star reporter at a bustling newspaper appealed to her.

But when a scheduling challenge led her adviser to suggest she register for Introduction to Economics in her freshman year, her plans took an entirely new tack.

To her surprise, the study of economics provided her with an unexpected lens on the world.

So much of life had always felt so tumultuous.

No one who had spent much of their childhood witnessing the chaos of a World War would discount the value of predictability.

But her studies had shown her that it just might be possible to explain human behavior, and even the way people made decisions that led to their actions.

She found that economics provided a practical way to combine her aptitude for mathematics with her interest in history, politics, and psychology.

Before that introductory class had ended, she was utterly smitten.

Now the chance to make a career of it seemed to be slipping out of her reach.

The lump returned to her throat as she meandered past the stately brick library where she had spent so many hours lost in her studies over the past two years.

The weather had turned exceptionally fine after a bitterly cold, snowy Maine winter, and students sat in small groups scattered about the velvety lawn surrounding the building.

As she passed by, their easy laughter left her feeling even more isolated.

A surge of determination filled her chest. After all the work she had done to be admitted to Barlow in the first place, she was not going to concede defeat so easily.

As the professor had said, a girl like her could surely think of something, couldn’t she?

She picked up the pace as she turned in the direction of the women’s dormitory.