Chapter 13 Cynthia
Cynthia
Cynthia had not expected to spend any of her summer babysitting.
Still, she could hardly refuse, and she was here to make money, anyhow.
It had been more than generous of the Mayhews to have her to stay.
That said, she couldn’t help but feel that if she were not an insurance agent’s daughter, she would not have been asked to perform such a task.
In less time than she would have thought possible, she had managed to wriggle the children into their bathing suits and had collected an old wicker picnic hamper filled to the brim with sandwiches, slabs of cake, and bottles of lemonade from the Mayhews’ cook.
After a thorough search of the boathouse, she and the children located a red metal pail and two sand shovels.
Mrs. Mayhew handed Cynthia a large plaid blanket that had probably once served as a bedspread and practically pushed them out the door.
Cynthia glanced back over her shoulder as they reached the bottom of the porch steps, but Mrs. Mayhew had already retreated into the depths of the house.
Patsy and Freddie raced ahead, and Cynthia hurried to keep up, encumbered as she was by the blanket, bucket, and hamper.
She wouldn’t like to admit it, but she did not feel entirely comfortable at the water’s edge.
At least, not comfortable enough to allow the children to get too far ahead of her.
Visions of Freddie floating face down in the lake swam before her eyes as she strove to close the gap between them.
The children had no such concerns about their own safety and sprinted pell-mell towards the water.
Freddie had stripped off his shirt and waded up to his knees before she could even put down her load.
Her heart slowed to a normal speed as Freddie began splashing in the shallows rather than venturing farther out into the lake.
Cynthia unfolded the blanket and shook it, watching it flutter and spread as it descended towards the dry sand at her feet.
Patsy helped her place small piles of stones on each corner of the blanket before joining her brother.
Cynthia slipped her gaze over the view before her.
Speedboats tore up and down the center of the lake, some pulling water-skiers behind them.
As far as the eye could see, clusters of sunbathers lay sprawled out on stretches of sand or along the lengths of wooden docks like so many seals basking in the sun.
As she straightened, she suddenly became aware that a few of them had focused their gaze upon her.
She turned her attention back to the children, who were calling for her to join them.
Self-consciously, she slipped out of her bathing suit cover-up and folded it neatly, placing it in the center of the blanket before picking her way across the hot sand and stepping into the water.
The weight from passing motorboats sent ripples of water cascading up over her ankles.
It was still early enough in the season that the water was thrillingly chilled.
It had been only a few weeks since newspapers had announced ice-out in all the lakes throughout the state of Maine.
Perhaps that would have been enough time for a small lake to warm up, but it certainly had little effect on a body of water the size of Long Pond.
She took a few steps towards the children and felt the unsettling ooze of half-decayed leaves squish between her toes.
She winced as Freddie slapped his small hands against the surface of the lake, splashing her with water.
A shock ran through her body as droplets landed on her arms and legs.
Much of the next hour was spent teaching each of the children to float on their backs, in turn.
Cynthia could remember days at the beach playing with her brother.
It seemed forever ago. Finally, Cynthia announced she was too cold to stay in a moment longer.
She had been attempting to coax the children out for the last several minutes, citing the fact that each of them had blue lips and goose bumps covering their bodies, but it was not until she reminded them of the picnic hamper—and the promise of chocolate cake covered in a layer of thick white frosting for dessert—that she was able to convince the two to head for the shore to warm up.
As the children sat shivering, their teeth chattering loudly as they hunkered beneath their gaily striped towels, Cynthia knelt on the beach blanket and pulled out a packet of cheese sandwiches.
She handed half of one to each of the children before peeling back the paper on one of her own.
Taking a bite, she turned back towards the lake once more.
She hugged her knees with her arms, convinced that the warmth of the sun would dry her off far more quickly than any towel.
The children downed their food ravenously, making entire sandwiches, pickles, and huge wedges of cake disappear as though they were performing a magic trick.
Despite their begging to return to the water, Cynthia insisted they wait at least half an hour and handed them each a shovel.
Before long, they were engrossed in the construction of a sandcastle and moat.
Out on the lake, a speedboat filled with young people whizzed past, and a boy with dark curls turned towards her and waved.
Cynthia waved back, and she felt a momentary squeeze of loneliness as their boat sped away.
She had hardly had time to chide herself before the boat turned back around and headed towards her once more.
As they came alongside the Mayhews’ picnic blanket, the boat driver cut the engine, and the dark-haired boy beckoned Cynthia towards them.
She got to her feet and moved to the water’s edge.
“Aren’t those some of the Mayhew brood?” the boy asked, cupping his hands around his mouth so that his words could be heard across the yards of windswept lake separating them.
Cynthia nodded. “Yes, they’re Freddie and Patsy,” she said.
“You must be Cynthia,” the boy said. “Pauline’s roommate.”
“That’s right,” Cynthia called back, feeling shy and awkward as she stood shivering in her new bathing suit in front of a group of strangers.
The young man reminded her very much of Pauline, who always seemed so self-assured.
He appeared to be just as impetuous as her too.
Without any warning, he dove off the side of the boat and began swimming towards shore with long, graceful strokes.
Cynthia had never quite mastered anything besides the breaststroke, and watching his body slipping through the water, expertly exhibiting the proper form for an Australian crawl, impressed her.
The motorboat shot away, passing the dock it had launched from, and made its way well down from the lake before he lowered his feet to the lake bottom and strode onto the shore.
“I’m Glenn Bradford.” Glenn looked her up and down appraisingly.
Once again, she wished her bathing suit covered more of her figure.
“I expect Pauline has mentioned me,” he said as he ran his hands through his hair and squeezed out some of the lake water.
It splashed down onto the sand, disappearing between the thirsty grains.
So, this was the boy Pauline had been so eager for her to meet.
Her friend was disappointed when Glenn hadn’t been at the lake to greet them on that first day on Long Pond.
Before she could respond, Glenn lowered himself onto the picnic blanket and stretched out as if he had been invited to stay.
Cynthia could see that he was one of those boys who took the fact that he was welcome anywhere he chose to turn up for granted.
Cynthia felt a wave of discomfort wash over her as she resumed her place on the blanket.
She wished she were more like Pauline when it came to situations like this one.
Hers was the sort of attitude her mother had always wanted her to cultivate.
And Glenn was just the sort of boy she wanted her daughter to marry.
“Will you be here for the whole summer?” Glenn asked, shielding his eyes with his hand and watching the children for a moment before turning his blue-eyed gaze back to Cynthia.
“I hope to be.”
“What is there to stop you?” Glenn asked.
Cynthia hesitated and then decided there was no reason not to tell the truth.
“My mother may wish for me to return home. And I wouldn’t want to wear out my welcome with the Mayhews.”
Glenn leaned back on his elbows and looked her in the eyes. “Where’s home?”
“South Berwick.”
“Never heard of it. Is it in Maine?”
Cynthia was taken aback. If Glenn’s family had a place on the lake, he ought to have heard of South Berwick. Even if he was unfamiliar with Berwick Academy, surely he should know of Sarah Orne Jewett, the town’s most celebrated resident. Perhaps he wasn’t much of a reader.
“Yes. It’s in the southern part of the state, near Wells and Kittery. Do you live on the lake year-round?”
Glenn arched a neat black eyebrow. “Heaven forbid. It’s bad enough that my parents make me visit family here for a few weeks every summer. Our home’s in Massachusetts. Luckily for me, I don’t spend too much time there either.”
“Are you a college student?” Cynthia asked.
“That’s right. This fall I’ll be a junior.”
“We’re in the same year,” she said.
“Really?” His eyes widened in surprise. “I would have guessed that you were older than me.”
Patsy scrambled to her feet and raced closer to the lake, a pail in hand. Cynthia kept her attention on the little girl until she returned to the castle and poured an entire bucketful of water into the moat.
“I must just have one of those faces,” Cynthia said. But she didn’t believe her own words. Her mother had spent countless hours chiding her for behaving so seriously. She would never attract a husband unless she presented herself in a more carefree way.
Glenn rolled onto his side and smiled. “I expect you just need a bit more fun. I don’t suppose those two are the best of company.” He tipped his head towards the children. Cynthia was mercifully spared the need for a response. “Do you have a steady boyfriend?”
Cynthia shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
“Even with all the men available at Barlow?”
“You sound like my mother,” she said, hoping her tone was more lighthearted than she felt.
“That was forward of me. Please say that I haven’t offended you.”
“You haven’t. It’s just that I haven’t had much time for dating while I’ve been away at school.”
“Ahh, I see. You’re one of those studious types.”
Cynthia felt a sudden urge to be someone—anyone—else.
She longed to be the sort of girl who flopped onto other people’s beach blankets without any feeling of intrusiveness and knew how to effortlessly encourage attention from the right sort of boy.
But the truth was, she knew she was neither of those things.
Still, she was loath to admit it to a virtual stranger, no matter how friendly.
“I prefer to think of myself as particular,” she said, hoping her tone was self-assured rather than defensive. “In fact, I have a good feeling about the prospect of meeting someone here at the lake.”
Glenn winked at her. “Maybe you already have.” With that, he stretched out on the blanket and closed his eyes, as if he meant to stay indefinitely.