Chapter 42 Cynthia
Cynthia
The invitation from Glenn was still on her mind as she bent over the taps in Geraldine’s tub, a buffing cloth clutched in her fist. Without warning, a shadow fell across the gleaming white floor tiles.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Iris’s sensible brown Oxford shoes and sturdy ankles encased in thick stockings. Cynthia jumped to her feet.
“Do you need me for something?” she asked.
“You have a visitor waiting for you in the staff house sitting room,” Iris said. “I expect you back to work in fifteen minutes.”
“A visitor? For me?” Cynthia’s stomach clenched. She was not expecting anyone. “Do you know who it is?”
“She claims to be your mother. She seemed none too pleased when she asked for your whereabouts.”
With that, Iris turned on her heel and strode out of the room, swiping her finger along the top of a table near the bathroom door as she passed to check for dust.
* * *
The staff house seemed both dreadfully far away and much too close as Cynthia made her way between the second floor of the Arden House and the sitting room, where her mother lay in wait.
Even the sounds of the birds singing sweetly in the trees could not bolster her mood as she considered what she would say.
All she could imagine was that Mrs. Mayhew must have informed her of her whereabouts.
How else would her mother know where to find her?
When Mrs. Putnam had been so dismissive of Mrs. Mayhew, Cynthia had suspected something would go awry.
Pauline’s mother was not a woman to take being put in her place lightly.
She seemed to think she was the sort of woman whose place was wherever she decided it would be.
She pulled open the screen door of the staff house, holding her breath and hoping it would not squeak on its hinges.
Once again, Miss Arden’s extreme attention to detail was something to be grateful for.
The door swung silently, and Cynthia entered on tiptoe.
Moving quietly along the short hallway, she was able to catch a glimpse of her mother seated at the very edge of an overstuffed wingback chair.
Her legs were crossed neatly at the ankles, and she clutched her small handbag tightly in her gloved hands.
Cynthia could see that her mother was wearing her best hat and that her shoes had been freshly shined.
She took a breath and crossed the threshold into the room.
Her mother shot to her feet and took a step towards her.
She scrutinized her daughter’s appearance, her eyes lingering on the feather duster tucked into Cynthia’s uniform apron.
Cynthia was appalled to see that tears shone in her mother’s eyes, threatening to spill over.
They were not a family given to displays of emotion, neither positive nor negative, and seeing her mother struggling not to cry caused a tight knot to gather in Cynthia’s stomach.
“I came here because I heard from Mrs. Mayhew the unbelievable and disturbing story that you have been spending the summer functioning as an artist model. I worried being involved with an artsy set would give you bohemian notions. It would kill your father if you turned into some sort of a beatnik.” Her mother paused to take a breath.
“But now I see things are far, far worse. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to hear from a stranger what your own daughter is up to? And now to find that you lied to me again and again simply compounds that embarrassment.”
Cynthia fought back the urge to let out a deep sigh.
She doubted very much that anything would kill her father.
As far as she’d been able to ascertain, the man was entirely bulletproof.
And she doubted very much he had even heard the term beatnik.
If he did, he probably would assume it was some sort of root-vegetable soup favored by the Communists.
“I never meant to upset you, Mother,” Cynthia said, taking a step towards her. Her mother held up a gloved hand like a crossing guard, stopping Cynthia in her tracks.
“Meant to or not, you’ve done a great deal more than upset me. You’ve disgraced me. But what upsets me most is that you have lied to me about where you’ve been all this time.”
“I didn’t mean for this to hurt you. I never meant for you to find out.”
“Is that supposed to make it better?”
“I suppose I thought that what you didn’t know wouldn’t cause you pain,” Cynthia said.
“But whatever possessed you to hire yourself out as a common servant? Did you go off to that hoity-toity college so that you could end up working as a maid?” she asked, her voice becoming tighter with each syllable that passed between her lips.
“No, of course not. But that college is why I’m here. The college didn’t renew my scholarship.”
“That’s just as well. We expected you to be married by this summer, not planning on returning for a third year of an education no woman needs,” her mother said. Gone were the shimmer of tears, replaced by two bright spots of high color on her cheeks.
Cynthia felt anger bubbling up in her chest. Why was it that her own mother felt that she, along with every other woman, did not need an education?
“I’m sorry you feel I’ve failed. I was trying to get things back on track. I don’t want to have to leave school, and I thought if I earned the tuition money myself, I’d be able to return in the fall,” she said.
“The only place you’re returning is home with me today,” her mother said.
“I suggest you toddle off to wherever you stowed your possessions and gather them up. You are returning with me by the afternoon train, or you need not return at all. But you had best hurry. I need to be back before your father gets home. He’ll expect his dinner on the table by five thirty come hell or high water.
And you are not to mention a word of this escapade to him, mind you.
I can’t begin to think what he would say if he knew what you’d been up to. ”
The knot in Cynthia’s stomach grew tighter.
Not only did she have no desire to return home and give up her dream of earning the money for the fall tuition, but she also couldn’t imagine leaving Iris in the lurch or Mrs. Putnam without her muse.
She had made commitments, and she had no intention of dishonoring them.
And besides, there was Calvin to consider.
She had to convince her mother to allow her to stay.
She reached out and took her mother’s hands in her own.
“Do you remember the job you had while Father was in the service?” she asked.
The tension in her mother’s face softened ever so slightly “Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with my desire to get my degree.” She squeezed her mother’s hands.
“I remember that job, too, and how energized you were every day when you headed off to work. I can recall you mentioning funny stories about your coworkers, things you had accomplished that day, and even the pride you took in bringing home a pay packet.”
“I suppose you were old enough to remember all that.”
“I was also old enough to remember how sad you were when Father made you give it up when he got home.”
Her mother shrugged. “It wasn’t just because of him. The factory let most of the women go once the men returned. They needed the jobs, and we didn’t.”
“Which women did they keep on?”
“The bookkeepers and secretaries.”
“So, the ones with specialized education?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Her mother let out a small sigh.
“That’s why I want to complete my education. I don’t want to give anyone a reason to easily dismiss me from anything, let alone a position that brings me as much joy as yours did before it was snatched away.”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to be a wife and mother like me?”
“I’m not saying that at all. You’ve always been a wonderful mother. You just weren’t any less good at it when you had a job you enjoyed. Having watched you over the years, I know that, for me, the probability of happiness depends on having a career I love as well as a family if I wish.”
Her mother tugged her hands away and crossed her arms over her chest and looked her in the face. Cynthia willed herself not to flinch under her scrutiny.
“You’re absolutely determined to do this, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
Her mother pulled her tightly to her chest.
“So, may I stay?” Cynthia asked.
She kissed her cheek before releasing her. “For now. But not a word of this to your father or anyone else back home. Do you understand?”
“Absolutely, I do. And thank you, Mother. I won’t let you down.”