Chapter 29 Iris
Iris
Iris had not dreaded a conversation with her mother so much in years.
Still, there would be no better time. The guests were all at the fashion show under Erma’s watchful eye.
She told her feet to hurry as she made her way from her room to the staff house across the fields and along a path worn into the ground by decades of folks cutting through the vast estate and onto points in the neighboring properties.
Her heart squeezed in her chest as she noted familiar landmarks at every turn.
Although it had been more than twenty years since her parents had reluctantly sold their farm to Miss Arden, a small part of her still felt as though it were hers.
Besides her mother, who remembered every flowering shrub and towering maple as well as she?
A raven’s rookery swayed in a tall pine above her head, just as it had when she was a small girl, right near the sharp bend that overlooked the lake.
The old stone wall where she had hidden childish treasures and then later notes for her sweetheart ran a few yards distant from the path.
Even the blackberry thicket near the old farmhouse was familiar and comforting.
As she considered being away from them for months at a time, her feet slowed even more.
Her family was not the only one to sell, of course.
In the depths of the Depression, when there seemed to be no end in sight, many families had been relieved to take Miss Arden up on her offer of buying them out.
Iris’s parents had not wished to do so, the farm having been in the family for generations, but in the end, they could see no other way.
Miss Arden suggested a price that seemed like one they could not refuse, and her father had been offered a job as a farmhand at a cousin’s place in New Hampshire.
There was room for Iris and her mother to accompany him, so the matter was easily resolved.
At least, it had seemed that way, until Iris decided to take a job working as a maid at the Maine Chance Farm.
When she told her parents, they both looked as though they had been slapped.
Her mother had asked how she could shame them by working for pay on their own property.
Her father had been rendered speechless and left the room.
But Iris was seventeen, old enough to know her own mind.
Besides, it was only for the summer, she’d told them, and she would be glad to be able to contribute to the household budget in whatever small way she could manage.
Their leave-taking had been a somber one, and although she knew her parents both loved her, they were not particularly inclined to express such things—at least, not to Iris herself.
On occasion, she had overheard one of her parents saying something complimentary about her grades in school or even her looks.
But to compliment a child outright was tantamount to spoiling them, something they could never be accused of doing.
They were no more inclined to express affection upon leave-taking, especially one that had been so unnecessary in the first place.
As Iris had thought about it in the years that followed, she often chided herself for having made their pain all the more egregious by refusing to accompany them.
She knew it had broken both their hearts to leave Mount Vernon behind, and separating from their daughter in addition was a bridge too far.
They hadn’t even turned around to wave goodbye as a friendly neighbor gave them a ride to the nearest train station.
The time passed and things changed. Iris’s parents both found their way back to town only three short years after leaving it.
An elderly spinster cousin of her mother’s had left them a small but sturdy house that bordered the Arden estate in her will when she died.
Relieved of the burden of paying rent, her parents found their feet more quickly than they might have otherwise.
As she approached the house, she wondered what sort of the mood she would find her mother in.
Some evenings when she returned home to check on her before Frances arrived for the night, Orla had prepared a large meal and an elaborately set table.
Other times, she was still in her pajamas and appeared slightly confused about why Iris was there or, on occasion, even who she was.
Having a rational discussion with her about something as important as accepting a job across the country would not have ever proven easy.
But under the current circumstances, it would likely be impossible.
She mounted the stairs and pulled open the squeaky screen door and found her mother sitting in her Canadian rocker, nestled next to the fireplace in the parlor, a crochet hook and ball of yarn sitting idly in her lap.
The windows were open, and the sounds of birds calling to each other to return to the nest filled the air.
A mosquito had slipped into the room and buzzed about.
Iris surreptitiously evaluated her mother’s appearance.
She was wearing one of her favorite housedresses, but her feet were tucked into carpet slippers, as though she had not ventured out at any point during the day.
A small blob of something that appeared to have spattered onto her dress suggested she had once again forgotten to don an apron before cooking.
Orla looked up from her lap at the sound of Iris’s footfalls.
“You’re late tonight,” her mother said. “In case you’re hungry, there’s a casserole in the oven keeping warm.”
Iris exhaled, feeling tension ease from her body. Orla’s voice sounded faintly chiding and altogether coherent. Perhaps she had not been crocheting because the arthritis in her hands was acting up, not that she couldn’t remember how to do so.
Iris crossed the room and sat back on the floral-print sofa.
Her mother had recovered that same piece of furniture at least three times that Iris could recall.
Perhaps if things went well with her job, she might be able to afford to replace it entirely.
A spring in the seat beneath her worked its way into her backside, as it had done for years.
“Thank you, but I’ve already eaten,” she said.
Orla sniffed. “I suppose my cooking isn’t good enough for you now that you’re used to the finer things up at the estate.”
Iris’s shoulders relaxed. Before her mother had started to behave so oddly, she would have found such a comment provoking. Now it was a source of relief. Orla sounded like her usual self—at least, the usual self she had been before the peculiarities started cropping up.
“You know that’s not it. It’s just that part of my compensation is room and board. It would be like taking a pay cut not to take advantage of it. You know I love your cooking,” Iris said.
Orla pursed her lips and began toying with the half-finished granny square in her lap. “You never worked this late before you took over for Alice,” she said.
“I’m still learning the ropes, Mother,” Iris said. “Besides, there is a lot going on today that I had not expected.”
“Is that so? What kind of goings-on?” Orla asked.
Iris would not have called her mother a gossip, exactly, just that she preferred to be well-informed, especially on the day-to-day affairs of her daughter’s life.
Not that Iris had an awful lot of juicy gossip to share with her.
She made a habit of not mentioning anything besides the most glowing praise for things happening at the Maine Chance Farm and, as her mother had pointed out so often over the years, had very little personal life of her own to divulge.
Iris had often thought her mother might have benefited from a career of her own outside the home, but her father would not have stood for it.
It was a point of pride that he could provide for his family even under the direst of circumstances.
Iris thought there was more to it than just the financial side of things.
If she were truly to be honest with herself, the notion of taking on the challenge of year-round work at Miss Arden’s exacting standards, and in an entirely new location, lit her up inside.
Maybe that was the real reason she dreaded mentioning it: Somehow it seemed selfish.
“Something entirely surprising that I need to discuss with you,” Iris said.
There must have been something in Iris’s tone that caught Orla’s attention. She dropped her needlework back into her lap and clasped her hands together. Even in the lowering light, Iris could see her mother squeezing one hand with the other as if willing herself not to wring them.
“What is it, then? You haven’t lost your job, have you?”
She shook her head. “No nothing like that. Quite the opposite, actually. I’ve been offered a promotion of sorts.”
A flicker of uncertainty flashed across Orla’s face. Iris’s stomach clenched. It was the look of confusion she always wore when she was trying not to show that she did not understand what was going on around her.
“I know about your promotion. Poor Alice, God rest her soul, has been gone for a bit now. You don’t think I’d forget a thing like that do you?” Orla jutted her chin out defiantly and glowered as if daring Iris to disagree that all her marbles were quite properly in their jar.
“Of course I would expect you to remember something so important. This is something in addition,” Iris said.
Orla let out a braying laugh. “What’s above the housekeeper? Has Miss Arden decided to simply give you the place?” she asked. “What a fine thing that would be.”
This was not going as well as Iris would have hoped.
Although she could not, in any truth, say it was going as badly as she had feared.
It was just that she never liked it when her mother spoke disparagingly of the estate, or of Miss Arden personally.
Iris felt she owed her employer a great deal, and beyond that she admired her.
How many women could claim to have built an empire the size of Miss Arden’s?
Rumor had it that she was from modest enough means that it was even more remarkable.
No, Iris did not like to hear her mother speak of her that way at all.
Her irritation forced the difficult words from her lips.
“There is actually one position between mine and hers that has been offered to me. She called this afternoon and proposed that I take over the position of housekeeper in a full-time capacity,” Iris said.
She searched her mother’s face for signs of understanding.
Instead, that terrible look of bafflement passed across her features once more.
“But they close down the estate at the end of the summer. Why would she possibly need you to be there year-round?”
“The position would not keep me in Maine year-round, Mother. She’s asked me to take over the running of the Maine Chance Farm in Arizona for the upcoming season.”
“Arizona? You can’t possibly be considering it,” Orla said. Her voice had risen an octave, and her eyes had widened.
“I’m afraid I must. We could really use the money.”
“We’ve always managed before. What’s changed?” Orla asked, that look of confusion remaining firmly stamped on her face.
“We’ve always just barely managed to squeak by, and this would give us the chance to have a little breathing room.
We can make the necessary repairs to the house, and perhaps even have a few extras we have never been able to afford before,” Iris said.
There was no need to tell her that the bulk of the extras would most likely be Orla’s care.
“I’m sure we can figure out how to put on a new roof and see to the problems with the leach field without needing to go to such an extreme. Something always comes up,” Orla said.
“It’s not just that. Miss Arden is looking to consolidate the position. If I’m not the one to take it, it’s my understanding she will replace me with someone who is willing to work at both properties,” Iris said. “Then we really will be facing money troubles.”
“I never did like that woman,” Orla said. “Why would you ever get tangled up with her?” Orla jabbed her crochet hook through the ball of yarn and flung it into the open work basket on the floor beside her chair. She pushed herself to her feet. “She’s trying to take you away from me.”
“You must know that isn’t true. And it really is a wonderful opportunity,” Iris said, standing and offering her mother an arm to lean on. Orla shook her off and stopped at the foot of the stairs.
“It is a wonderful opportunity for you to leave me with no one but Frances to check on me. I’m going up to bed. And I don’t need your help getting there. Anyhow, it seems I need to get used to your absence since you’re planning to abandon me.”
Iris watched in silence as her mother hoisted herself up one stair at a time, leaning heavily on the rail. What in the world was she going to do? Her mother’s reaction left her feeling awash with guilt, especially since, even considering the cost to Orla, she’d give almost anything to go.