Chapter 22 Cynthia
Cynthia
June in Maine rarely reached temperatures above the midseventies, but the sun was strong and there she was, dressed in a sensible skirt and cotton blouse she worried would stick to her sweat-slicked torso before she even made it halfway to the Maine Chance Farm.
Her nerves were jangling. Surely it was worth showing up somewhat worse for wear if it meant she would arrive before another, more qualified candidate.
From somewhere behind her, she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching.
She stepped down into the soft shoulder of the road, looking with regret at the way the powdery dust settled on her newly polished shoes.
She looked over her shoulder as the car roared into view.
It slowed to a crawl and then stopped completely.
There was no other traffic, and the driver leaned towards the passenger side and waved.
“Need a ride?” the man asked.
The car was large, late model, and immaculately clean.
She had never seen a more respectable-looking vehicle in all her life.
The man behind the wheel, however, had something of a rakish look about him.
His dark hair waved as if it refused to bend to the ministrations of Brylcreem and a comb.
His dark eyes crinkled in a smile as he leaned a little closer.
On the seat next to him sat a cap like one generally worn by a chauffeur in the movies.
She glanced into the back seat, where a dark-colored suit jacket was neatly spread across it.
Her mother had always cautioned her against taking rides from strangers, but she seemed to be ignoring most things her mother had said lately.
Besides, she was likely in far more danger of sweating through her outfit than suffering at the hands of some madman in a fancy car.
“I wouldn’t say that I need one, but if you’re going in the right direction, I’d appreciate a lift,” she said, bending over slightly.
“Where’re you headed?” he asked.
“The Maine Chance Farm,” she said. “Do you know it?”
He nodded and smiled. “It just so happens that I’m one of the chauffeurs who works there. But I didn’t have a pretty young woman like you on my schedule for pickup,” he said.
She wasn’t sure what to make of his compliment. It suddenly made her feel less sure about accepting a ride. He seemed to realize he had behaved with an overly familiar attitude and rearranged his features into a more serious look.
“I’m not registered as one of the guests. I’m actually headed there to ask about a job,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down.
The expression on his face pricked at her small measure of confidence.
Then he cracked another wide smile and moved the chauffeur’s cap towards him.
He patted the seat and grabbed the door handle, pushing the heavy door open with a well-tanned hand.
“Hop in. Old Mother Hubbard is my boss. You can pick my brain for tips on the way.”
That did it. She slid into the seat and pulled the door firmly shut before she could change her mind.
She crossed her ankles and smoothed a few wrinkles out of her skirt with her slightly sweaty palms. He checked the rearview mirror, gave her a reassuring grin, and pulled back onto the roadway.
The breeze coming in through the open window quickly cooled the trickle of sweat that was running down the back of her neck, and she was grateful for the ride.
Not so assured that she did not leave one hand close to the door handle in case she needed to throw herself from the vehicle, but grateful nonetheless.
“I’m Calvin,” he said, turning towards her with a slightly raised dark eyebrow.
“Cynthia. I appreciate the ride. It’s farther from town than I expected.”
“What’s the job that you’re applying for?” he asked. “One of the technicians?”
She shook her head, not quite sure what sort of technician he was referring to but certain she wasn’t it. “I was told that she was looking for a maid to replace an employee who did not work out.”
“You don’t look like a maid. You’re not local, are you?” he asked. “I’m sure I would’ve remembered seeing you around.”
Once again, her stomach fluttered with nerves. What exactly did a maid look like? Was she overdressed? Could that be why she’d been turned away everywhere she had applied? Calvin’s tone had given nothing away on that front. Nor had his frank appraising look. She squirmed slightly in her seat.
“No, I’m not local. I’m here visiting with the Mayhews, who spend summers at their cottage on the lake. Why don’t you think I look like a maid?”
He reached over and lifted her left hand. “Your nails are in too good of shape and your skin is too smooth.”
“Do you think that the housekeeper will think I’m unqualified based on my appearance?” she asked.
Calvin shrugged and dropped her hand gently into her lap. “Whether she does or whether she doesn’t, I happen to know that Iris is in a tizzy about being down by one maid. Even a girl like you just might have a shot. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up too much if I were you.”
“My hopes are already up. I really need this job.”
“What does a girl who spends the summer living with people who have a cottage on the lake need with a job?” Calvin asked.
Even though she was grateful to him for providing her with a ride, she wasn’t quite sure she owed him an explanation about her finances.
The fewer people who knew the whole story, the better, as far as she was concerned.
She simply wanted to fit in with the others, do a good job, and get paid for it.
“Why does someone like you need a job as a chauffeur?” she asked.
“I was at loose ends when I left the navy, and because I’ve worked here every summer since I was fifteen, I came back while I consider my future,” he said.
Cynthia noticed he tightened his hands around the steering wheel as he mentioned his military service.
Still, she would rather talk about his situation than her own.
“I would hope that there would be a lot of positions on the coast for a man with military experience,” she said.
“There certainly are plenty of those sorts of jobs. Bath Iron Works is hiring, as well as several more local boatyards. But since I served on an aircraft carrier, I’ve had enough time at sea to last me a lifetime.
I don’t even like to go out on the lake,” he said, thrusting his thumb towards the water that stretched out on the other side of the road.
Any more questions would probably seem rude. And she wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of a potential coworker. She decided to change the subject.
“Do you have any suggestions on how to get on the housekeeper’s good side? Anything I should avoid?”
He loosened his grip on the wheel and flashed her another broad smile. “Iris appreciates hard workers. Experience isn’t as important as being on time and doing what you’re told. If you can do that, I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”
Cynthia hadn’t been making a habit of doing what she was told very much lately, but then again, she hadn’t been getting paid for her compliance.
Besides, although she wasn’t entirely in lockstep with her parents’ worldview, she had been raised to value a good day’s work, whatever form it took.
Her mother might not have wanted her to grow up to be a maid, but she had been relentless in schooling her daughter on the finer aspects of housekeeping, and as far as Cynthia could see, they were one and the same.
One of the reasons her mother was so set on Cynthia marrying into a family wealthier than hers was so that Cynthia could hire help to maintain the same housekeeping standards women were encouraged to aspire to.
Cynthia’s mother was up before dawn, scrubbing and polishing and fiddling with every little detail in her home.
Nothing was ever the least bit out of place nor likely to invite criticism of her efforts.
Not that Cynthia’s father seemed to take much notice or even value what it was that she did all day.
In fact, he had remarked on that very thing more than once a week throughout Cynthia’s childhood.
Most days when he arrived home from his job at a local insurance company, he would ask what it was she had spent all day doing while he crunched numbers and made sales calls.
Perhaps it was no surprise she wanted something more for her daughter.
“I can be on time, and I do know how to work hard.”
Calvin turned right and onto a gently curving gravel drive.
He slowed the car, and Cynthia was able to take in the sweeping view before her.
Rolling green lawns, their emerald surfaces broken up by lush beds of blooming flowers flanking either side of the driveway.
In the middle distance, she could see what appeared to be carefully tended fruit trees.
Before long, a large understated yet impressive building came into view.
The main building was made up of at least two stories, plus a tall attic, if not a full third floor, as well as a one-story wing on either side, each attached to the main building at an angle.
The structure looked rather like a boomerang.
Striped awnings and more beds of cheerful flowers brought color to the building’s facade.
Calvin rolled to a stop and cut the engine.
He shifted in his seat and looked her straight in the eye.
“This is where I’ll leave you off. I’ve got to park the car in the garage at the far end of the property.
If there’s one thing we don’t do here, it’s make a big show of the practical underbelly of how things run.
You might be just what Iris is looking for.
If anyone spots you in the wrong place, they’d never guess that you were one of the maids.
I’d come round and open the door for you, but I think that might make you look like you were too good for the job. ”
Cynthia wrapped her smooth fingers around the door handle and tugged.
She stepped out onto the gravel driveway, hearing the crunch of it beneath her feet.
She closed the door as quietly as she could manage and leaned in through the open window once more.
“Thanks for the ride. I really do appreciate it. And for all of the tips.”
Calvin reached for his chauffeur’s cap and settled it firmly on his head. “Good luck. I’m rooting for you. I’d like to see you around.”
With that, he threw the car into reverse and headed back down the driveway.
As she turned towards the building, she considered the irony of her situation.
For the past two years, she had felt like everyone at the college would discover that she didn’t really belong there.
Everyone else came from a far wealthier background than she did, and she felt as though she were trying to hide her modest background from them.
Now that she was able to admit that she needed a job, she was told that she looked too wealthy for any such thing.
Perhaps the housekeeper would have a far different assessment of her than Calvin had.
All she could do was hope so. She squared her shoulders and smoothed her skirt once more.
She looked down at her shoes and pulled a handkerchief from her handbag.
Crouching down, she gave her shoes a quick buff before tucking the soiled piece of cloth back into the bottom of her bag and removing a pair of gloves.
She slid her hands into them, tugging at the wrists.
She’d never be more prepared than she was at that moment, she told herself without truly believing it.
Before she could change her mind, she stepped towards the large door centered between two long bay windows.