Trials of Cynthia Green

Trials of Cynthia Greenfield © 2010 by SheaRyhai

Unexpected Confession

Celeste’s first brilliant move, which had taken an hour for me to prepare, was an outdoor picnic. Rushing through the back door, and down the red brick walk way, I saw them already wandering towards the willow tree. A breeze carried the soft tones of their conversation towards me, as I became keenly aware of that familiar feeling of alienation.

Offering James a seat at the white marble table, Celeste glanced over her shoulder in my direction with an impatient expression.

Right, the picnic basket…

I darted back inside to the kitchen. Lunch was neatly laid out on the counter, and Mrs. Plum, our neighbor from two farms down, was pouring out a fresh pitcher of iced tea.

“Are you sure you want all of this in a basket? It would be much simpler to carry it out on trays,” Mrs. Plus asked, eyeing the wide spread with worry. Examining the bowl of chilled pudding, the tuna sandwiches cut into little triangles with no crusts, a plate of coconut cookies dribbled with chocolate, another bowl of cottage cheese mixed with diced up peaches, and plate of small freshly cooked chicken legs: I felt she was right.

“Celeste says it has to come in the picnic basket,” I explained, resigned to carry out the love-possessed diva’s wishes for today at least.

“Well then,” Mrs. Plum pursed her lips, and began covering each bowl with matching lids. “Heavy items in first, then the chicken, sandwiches, and cookies.” She layered them inside, and shut the lid’s laced with ribbons. “I’ll carry out the tea for you.”

“Thank you,” I breathed, lifting the basket from the counter and moving hastily to the back door.

They appeared to be in deep conversation. By deep, I mean James was talking, and Celeste was leaning intently towards him with a practiced look of fascination. The moment lasted until James saw myself and Mrs. Plum approaching with lunch.

“Miss Cynthia, let me carry that for you,” he called, jogging towards me and seizing the basket before I could protest.

“I think I can manage the last two yards,” I commented dryly, not relinquishing my grip.

“It certainly smells delicious. I shall be indebted to your cooking, Miss Cynthia. At least allow me to do some of the work by carrying it for you,” he protested reasonably.

What was with this sudden change…

Perhaps my addled brain had been too engrossed with thoughts of college to realize before; but when Celeste had told me James liked smart girls, it never crossed my mind that she could be talking - about me?

My shock allowed James the opportunity to tug the basket free. He smiled, a dimple appearing beneath those confident dark brown eyes, and returned to the table.

“What a fine gentleman,” Mrs. Plum whispered to me with a knowing smile, before carrying her pitcher of tea over to the table.

What a fine mess, I amended, not missing the icy stare fixed on me from Celeste. With a deep sigh, I went to join them, tugging my chair closer to Miss Celeste - and further from her James.

- * - * - * - * -

After our little picnic, which involved watching Celeste’s failure to hand feed James “her” tuna sandwiches, we moved on to the next step of the plan.

Horseback riding…

With relief I waved after them, safely on the other side of the fence. Content to watch as Celeste and James took off at a leisurely stride through our neighbor’s field atop the two chestnut mares Mr. Cooper had kindly loaned to us for the day. From what I could tell, Celeste was a natural, but then I remembered Henry commenting that she had taken riding lessons when she was eleven.

I remained behind for two very important reasons. One, this was part of Celeste’s plan to show James how terribly boring a ‘smart girl’ is; two, I was as capable of riding as Celeste was reciting Plato.

When they were a safe distance away I settled down to continue reading Middle Palaeolithic Archaeology. The book was like a treasure hunt, not only was I beginning to find the details of African cultures mildly interesting; but Henry’s side notes of personal finds, or pondering questions - brought back memories of his visits. With nothing but the chill autumn wind, warm sunlight, and the occasional sonnet of passing birds: it was easy to recall the contentment I had felt listening to his voice droning on with such passion.

I had become so engrossed in the drawling and account of Acheulean stone techniques developed by these primitive early humans, used to make stone tipped spears; that I did not near the rapidly approaching hove beats until the mare was practically upon me. Throwing myself off the hay stack, I lay paralyzed in the grass and damp earth, listening as the horse landed with a thud on the other side of the fence.

It was then I realized in my haste to avoid being trampled, I had buried Henry’s book beneath me, page down, into the mud. Holding back an angry blast of curses, I tried to carefully pry it free, only to hear the heart wrenching tear of parchment. Don’t do this, please don’t ruin it. With gritted teeth, I slipped my fingers underneath, prying the page free from the moist earth, and carefully lifted the book.

I flipped it over, staring at the clumps of mud covering Henry’s drawings and notes.

It’s not ruined, I told myself, trying to calm the panic rising in my chest. It just needs to be cleaned up.

Remembering the napkins in the picnic basket, I rose unsteadily to my feet, suddenly conscious of Celeste giggling from her mare on the other side of the fence.

More thudding hove beats came from behind, but I refused to budge as James pulled up beside me.

“Celeste, that was incredibly reckless,” James snapped, sounding rather like an adult criticizing a child. “Are you alright Miss Cynthia?”

Something between a laugh and a scream bubbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it back.

“I’m fine.” Jaw clenched, I walked determinedly to the gate, not wanting to risk further damage to the book by climbing over the fence again. Behind me James dismounted and followed, leading his mare by the reigns.

“Are you sure you’re alright, you’re covered in mud,” he pressed, catching up and walking beside me. From this vantage point, he saw the book. “I’m so sorry Cynthia, is it ruined?”

“Trust Cynthia to act ridiculous over a book,” Celeste laughed, trailing behind us, still mounted, from the other side of the fence.

“I can buy you another copy,” James offered. I whirled around, bathing them both glares of fury.

“No! You can’t!” I snapped, not caring anymore about Celeste’s ridiculous plans. “And this isn’t just a book. This is Henry’s book. This is the only piece of him I have left.”

Celeste’s usual indifferent smile faded, her lips moved wordless in stunned surprise. I didn’t bother looking at James, but trudge on angrily to the gate, leaving it open behind me as I raced to the picnic basket and snatched up the napkins inside.

I had overreacted again. Lamenting from my seat at the base of the willow tree, I carefully wiped the mud and dampness from each page, cringing as Henry’s pencil markings fade with each stroke. What was wrong with me? Never before had I acted so irrationally. I was used to being bullied and I more than understood the world was unfair and unkind. Only since Henry’s funeral…

A warm tear slid down from the corner of my eye, along the slope of my nose, slowing near the brim of my lip. Brushing it aside, I raised the book gently to my chest, still opened so it could dry.

“Middle Palaeolithic Archaeology,” James read aloud, walking towards me. “You’re reading about archaeology now?”

“Why not?” I shot back defensively. “You think a woman can’t become an archaeologist?”

“I didn’t mean that, I just didn’t know you had any interest-”

“I don’t recall you ever asking, you seem most occupied with trying to cheat you’re way past my scores,” I snorted. Pushing against the tree, I stood up to leave.

“Must you always be so damn irritating?”

Inwardly pleased at this invitation to lash out at him again, I turned to return the insult, but stammered to a halt at his charming smile. It was different from the one he’d given me at the door. It was honest, open, as if he were sharing something with me. I didn’t like it…

“There you are.” Celeste appeared, now dressed in a sporty shirt and skirt. She walked over to me, planting a sisterly kiss on my cheek. “I’ll say I’m sorry a thousand times if it will make you feel better.”

This day is just full of surprises…

“No, no-” I shook my head, more to shake free from the inward confusion about James than Celeste’s behavior. “I’m fine.”

“Excellent. Because we still have one more event to try before releasing James,” Celeste cooed, revealing the three tennis rackets she had been holding behind her back.

“Of course.” I resigned myself to another hour of torture at least as she passed out our weapons.

The tennis court was part of the property when Celete’s uncle bought it ten years ago. Surrounded by a tall hedge that blocked sight of the neighboring field, and the woods adjoining, it was a private enough space for any humiliation. In this case, my utter failure at tennis.

After a match with Celeste, that could not end fast enough for me to relinquish my spot to James, I slouched my way off the court to the single bench where three glasses of water waited.

“You’re really terrible at sports,” James commented, handing me a towel.

“I just don’t see the point in hitting something back and forth over a fence,” I returned reasonably. He smirked, shook his head, and went to play.

My answer came watching them, both experienced players, both equally determined to prove their skill. Perhaps it’s like a mating dance? I pondered, recalling a page I’d read from Henry’s book. The male and female pair up to prove their capability before marriage through demonstration of athleticism and physical labor.

By the end of the round, I was ready to admit I envied them. How can to people play so fiercely but hardly break a sweat?

“How about I give Cynthia a few pointers,” James suggested as he shook hands with the victorious Celeste over the fence.

“That would probably be fruitless,” Celeste giggled. I smirked at her attempt to use that word. “But I’m sure she’d appreciate you trying.”

“What do you think, Cynthia?” James asked, arms spread, inviting me to join him.

“I think we both know this will end badly.” I was getting rather tired of the little progress I’d seen between Celeste and James. If proving to him how terrible I am, even if it makes me look like a complete idiot…

“Maybe you just need the right tutor,” James suggested in a tone that caught Celeste’s attention quickly.

On second thought…

“You’re probably better off having a rematch with Celeste,” I stammered, rising from the bench. “I’ll go get us some more ice water.”

“No, I insist you try with me before giving up,” James protested, taking my arm and pulling me onto the court. “Celeste can beat me another time. It makes more sense to help the weaker player then the stronger one.”

I turned to Celeste, pleading with her to get me out of this. She was staring at us both with an almost lost expression, like that of a child suddenly realizing the tooth fairy wasn’t real. Then she smiled sadly at me, before tossing her rack to James.

“I’ll get us some water,” she called with forced cheer, and headed out through the opening of in the hedge towards home.

For the first time in my life, I felt guilty.

“We’ll start with the basics,” James released my arm, standing shoulder to shoulder with me. “First foot work and balance.” I copied his movements, mind blank of anything but Celeste’s expression. A heavy feeling that something was just, just wrong, overpowered all other senses.

“You want to swing from your hips like this,” James moved behind me, one hand on my wrist holding the racket, the other on my left hip. “The swing should propel forward like this.” He stepped closer, chest against my back, arm along my arm, voice brushing against my ear.

“Stop!” I pulled away from him, and hurled the racket at the fence. “I don’t want to learn tennis.”

“Alright-” his voice sounded amused, and it irritated me.

“How can you be so dense?” I demanded whirling around to face him. “I didn’t invite you here, Celeste did. How can you not see that she cares about you deeply? And between the two of us, it’s more than clear she’s the better option for you. She’s what your family would expect. Good family, good social skills, good looks-”

“For someone with so much intelligence, you can be pretty blind, Cynthia,” James cut me off abruptly. “I have absolutely no interest in Celeste. I’ve tried to make that as apparent as I can without being cruel.”

“She’s the only one interested in you, so why wouldn’t you want her?” I shot back frustrated.

“Really?” James stepped closer, his expressions serious. “She’s the only one? If you didn’t want me here why send me an invitation from you both? Why not just let Celeste send it for herself as she has before.”

“She’s- what-”

“I know I’ve done everything but treat you right up till now, but if you can look past the foolish boy I was three years ago,” James continued determinedly.

He sounded so sincere and genuine and - Oh god, no.