by Lynn Austin
“This is where Rick grew up. He was going to leave all of this for me.”
Cynthia swallowed the lump in her throat and squeezed Eleanor’s hand. “He loved you, Ellie. He really, truly loved you.”
As she stood on the sidewalk, trying to decide what to do next, Cyn-thia heard a car engine start up somewhere behind the house. The motor revved a few times; then the car came into sight, backing slowly down the long drive. It was an older model sedan—new cars hadn’t been made since the war began—and Cynthia suddenly decided to flag down the driver and ask if he could direct them. She had her arm raised halfway when she suddenly froze. The driver looked exactly like Rick!
Cynthia blinked, certain that she was imagining things. It must be Rick’s brother—but Rick didn’t have a brother! She couldn’t believe her eyes. Then Eleanor saw him, too.
“Rick…” she whispered. Eleanor’s knees buckled as if she’d seen a ghost, and she collapsed in a faint on the sidewalk. Cynthia bent to help her, then looked up again in time to see the driver clearly.
It was Rick Trent. He was alive! And he was a dirty, rotten liar.
“Rick!” Cynthia shouted. He hadn’t noticed them as he’d backed into the street, and he was starting to drive away. “Rick, help me!” she shouted.
His eyes went wide when he saw who it was. The car screeched to a halt, then backed up.
Cynthia crouched down to cradle Eleanor’s head, lifting it off the pavement. Rick got out of the car and came toward them, walking as if in slow motion. His face was as white as Eleanor’s.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“What are you doing here, you monster? You’re supposed to be dead! We came to find your grave!” She reached out with her free hand and started punching his legs. “How could you do this to her? How could you?” Rick backed away. Eleanor moaned as she started coming around.
“Is she okay?” Rick asked.
“Of course she’s not okay! She thinks she saw a ghost. You’re supposed to be dead!”
Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open. She looked up and her eyes met his. “Is it really you?” she murmured. Rick nodded and squatted beside her. In the next instant Eleanor sat up and threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him backward with the force of her embrace. “Oh, Rick, you’re alive! You’re alive! I must be dreaming!”
“You’re not. I—”
“The army made a terrible mistake! They told me you were dead!
That’s why I stopped writing to you. Rick! Oh, Rick!” She buried her face in his chest, hugging him, weeping.
Rick’s eyes remained dry. Cynthia could tell by the look on his face that the army hadn’t made a mistake. Rick had deliberately let Eleanor believe that he was dead. He’d deceived her. They were man and wife, and he’d taken the coward’s way out and ditched her. Cynthia was angry enough to kill him.
“How could you do such a terrible thing?” she raged. “Eleanor is your wife! I watched you marry her! I heard you vow to spend the rest of your life with her!”
Rick glanced around nervously as a car drove past. “Shh… Not out here, Cynthia. Let’s go inside.”
They helped Eleanor to her feet, but she was so badly shaken she could barely walk. It took both of them to help her up the driveway to the front door of Rick’s house. “Wait out here, Cynthia,” he ordered. “Give us some time alone.” His manner was as cocky and self-assured as on the night Cynthia first met him.
“Nothing doing, you creep! I’m not leaving Eleanor. You have no idea what she’s been through since she learned you were dead. She nearly died of grief!”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry, he sounded angry. The apology wasn’t for all the pain he’d caused Eleanor; he was sorry he’d gotten caught.
He glared at Cynthia, then reluctantly led them into the living room.
“It’s okay, Rick,” Eleanor murmured as she leaned against him. “We’ve found each other again and that’s all that matters.”
He helped Eleanor sit down on the couch, then hurried away saying, “I’ll get you some water.”
Cynthia was only dimly aware of the magnificent room, decorated with antiques and fine oil paintings and oriental rugs. Classical music played softly in the background. The anger that pounded through her made the room seem unusually bright.
“Rick’s alive. …” Eleanor whispered. “Oh, thank God! Thank God!”
He returned with a glass of water—and with a man who was an older version of himself, equally handsome, equally arrogant. Rick handed Eleanor the glass, and she took a tiny sip before setting it down. Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped it.
“Eleanor, this is my father,” Rick said.
She looked up at Rick and smiled. “Good. We’ll tell him together, darling.”
Cynthia’s stomach made a sickening turn. Eleanor was in too much shock to read the cold, hard expression on Rick’s face. She was imagining that they would confront his father with the truth about their marriage then walk out, arm in arm, to live the rest of their life together. But Cynthia knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“You filthy, lying coward,” she breathed.
“Stay out of this, Cynthia.”
“You expect me to sit here and watch you kill her a second time? Never!”
“What’s going on, Richard?” his father asked. “Who are these people?”
Eleanor had recovered enough to extend her hand to him, the confident, poised Eleanor that Cynthia remembered from their first day at the factory. “Hello, Mr. Trent. I’m glad we finally get to meet. I’m Rick’s wife, Eleanor.” Her pale face looked radiant, triumphant. Mr. Trent glared at Rick, then at Eleanor. Cynthia felt as if she might vomit, certain of what was to come.
“I know all about you, Miss Bartlett,” Mr. Trent said. “What are you doing here?”
“The army made a terrible mistake. I was told that Rick had died during the war. I came to Albany to see his grave, and instead… I’ve found my husband again!” Tears filled her eyes as she smiled up at Rick. “It’s like a dream or… or a miracle. Tell him, Rick. Tell him how we were married two years ago, before you were shipped overseas.”
“I know all about your so-called marriage. My son is the one who made a mistake, Miss Bartlett, in the heat of the moment. Youthful passions often fly out of control in wartime when life seems uncertain. But the war is over now, and it’s time for cooler heads to prevail. A lifetime decision such as a marriage should be made using logic and reason.”
Cynthia’s vision blurred as she saw where this conversation was leading. “You horrible, monstrous man!” she spat.
Eleanor seemed unruffled by his words. “You’re wrong, Mr. Trent. Rick and I love each other. Our marriage vows were for a lifetime.” She reached to take his limp hand as he stood over her. She seemed blind to the coldness in Rick’s eyes, but Cynthia saw it. His allegiance was to his father, not Eleanor.
“Richard had the marriage annulled several months ago,” Mr. Trent continued. “We tried to send you a copy, but it was returned without a forwarding address.”
Eleanor shook her head. “Why would he have it annulled? We’re man and wife. Don’t let him do this to us, Rick. You were going to stand up to him, remember? Tell him the truth. Tell him that we love each other, that we’re man and wife.”
Rick said nothing. Cynthia hated him for the coward that he was.
“My son had the marriage annulled, Miss Bartlett, because you married him under false pretenses. You knew all about him and what he stood to inherit, but you lied to him about yourself. Had he known the truth about your family background, he never would have made such a foolish decision. Fortunately, our lawyer has convinced a judge that you are an unscrupulous woman who tricked Richard into a hasty marriage for his money.”
“That’s a lie!” Cynthia shouted.
Eleanor’s face went from shock to disbelief as she turned to Rick. “Is that what you think, Rick?”
He didn’t reply. He ke
pt his gaze fixed on his father, allowing him to speak for him. The older man’s voice raised in volume as he spoke each word with cold, bitter anger.
“We looked into your background—and your mother’s—Miss Bartlett.
The judge and the church authorities agreed that, since there was no child involved, the three-day marriage could be annulled.”
Eleanor looked up at Rick. “You said you loved me,” she said quietly. Her calm control frightened Cynthia more than tears or anger would have. “You told me you hated your father, hated the way he always manipulated you, like he’s doing right now. Say something, Rick.”
He cleared his throat. “You didn’t tell me the truth about yourself, Eleanor.”
“You never asked about my family or I would have. Besides, I never dreamed that it would matter to you. You said you loved me for who I was, the same way I loved you. We agreed that nothing else mattered.”
“Well, it does matter. We’re no longer married, Eleanor.”
“Can you honestly stand there and tell me you never loved me?”
“I thought I did… at the time. But you never told me the truth about your parents, and—”
“What difference does it make? They have nothing to do with us or with the future we planned. We used to talk about values and what was really important in life, remember?”
“Family is important, too. My grandfather started this company. My father has worked hard to make sure he had something to pass along to me. I’m his only son. How can I throw that all away? Especially when you lied to me.”
“This has nothing to do with my family, does it? It’s about money. It’s always about money. That’s what you don’t want to give up, isn’t it? He threatened to cut you off if you stayed married to me.”
Rick didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His face spoke the truth. Cynthia glanced at Eleanor in alarm. She was slowly comprehending the terrible truth that the man she loved had betrayed her. The shock of it would probably devastate her more than his supposed death had. Eleanor’s cool, calm facade began to slip as she struggled for composure. Cynthia could feel her body trembling uncontrollably. She took Eleanor’s arm and pulled her to her feet. More than anything else, Eleanor would hate to break down in front of Rick and his father.
“Let’s go, Eleanor. We were right all along—Rick Trent is dead. He must be, because he stinks just like a corpse!”
No one spoke as Cynthia helped Eleanor to the door, the classical music still tinkling pleasantly in the background. When Cynthia noticed Rick following them to his car at the end of the driveway, it took every ounce of restraint she possessed to keep from punching him.
“You no-good, rotten coward!” she shouted. “Oh! It’s a good thing I don’t curse or I’d tell you exactly what you are! How could you lie to her and let her think you were dead? You loved her, Rick. I know you did.”
“I thought it would be kinder to let her think I died. She would mourn for a while but—”
“But she’d never find out what a louse you really are, right? She’d think you died loving her rather than discovering the truth that you threw her aside for your daddy’s money.”
“It’s not that simple, Cynthia.”
“What a cowardly thing to do! You don’t deserve Eleanor. She’s too good for scum like you!” Rick climbed into his car and slammed the door, peeling out of the driveway, tires squealing.
Neither woman spoke as Cynthia led Eleanor back through the quiet neighborhood to the city bus stop. It seemed to take forever to ride across town to the bus station in rush hour traffic. The next bus to Bensenville didn’t leave for another two hours, and it would be well after midnight by the time they got home.
Cynthia didn’t know what to say as they sat side by side on the hard wooden bench, surrounded by cigarette smoke and diesel fumes. But she had to try.
“Eleanor—”
“Don’t say anything, Cynthia, please. I don’t want to talk right now.”
Eleanor’s heart had broken in two when she’d learned that Rick had died, but at least she’d had an enemy to blame for his death, an enemy that ultimately had been beaten and destroyed. This was so much worse. This time her heart had been shattered beyond repair, and the damage had been deliberate. This time the enemy was the man she loved—and Cynthia feared that he had destroyed her.
A week after they returned to Riverside, the mailman delivered a thick, registered letter addressed to Eleanor Bartlett. As soon as Eleanor saw Rick’s name on the return address, she handed it to Cynthia.
“Send it back. Whatever it is, I don’t want it.” She turned away and stood with her back to Cynthia, staring through the window. Tears blurred Cynthia’s vision as she ripped open the envelope and pulled out an officiallooking document, complete with the seal of New York State. The marriage between Eleanor Bartlett and Richard Trent III had been officially annulled. Included in the envelope was a pile of U.S. Government War Bonds—five thousand dollars worth—and a note from Rick.
Eleanor, I never meant to hurt you. Please accept this money along with my sincere apologies, and use it to further your education.
Rick
For a long moment, Cynthia was afraid to speak. “Rick sent the official paperwork and some money,” she finally said.
“I don’t want his guilt money. Send it back.”
“I think you should keep it, Ellie. He owes you at least that much. You can use it to start all over again, and—”
“There’s no such thing as starting over,” Eleanor said in a hollow voice. “That’s just a myth. We can never escape our past. It follows us wherever we go. All of the things our parents did, and their parents did before them—they follow us and we can’t escape.”
The despair in Eleanor’s voice alarmed Cynthia. She recalled how Mr. Trent had used something from Eleanor’s past as an excuse to annul their marriage, but Cynthia couldn’t imagine any past so bad that it didn’t deserve a second chance. Eleanor never talked about her family, and Cynthia wasn’t about to pry, but she needed to convince Eleanor to keep the money. Rick owed her much, much more.
“Ellie, don’t give Rick power over you to ruin your life this way. He’s a cowardly liar who used any excuse he could dream up to get his hands on his father’s money. You really can start all over again—I did. I got away from my small-town life, thanks to your help. You can start again, too.”
Eleanor didn’t respond. Cynthia exhaled and tried again.
“Look, Rick did a terrible thing to you, and I know that he hurt you very deeply. But take the money, Ellie. You can use it to go to college and have that career you always wanted. You deserve it.”
Eleanor turned to face her, hollow-eyed, despondent. A dead woman.
“No… I don’t deserve anything.”
Chapter
19
RIVERSIDE, NEW YORK— 1946
Cynthia studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pleased with what she saw. Her blond hair, pulled back in an elegant French twist, shone like white gold in the light. Her makeup was as fresh and flawless as a movie star’s, and her new black cocktail dress was sure to turn heads— worth every penny she had spent on it.
She glanced at her watch. It was still too early to go downstairs and wait for her date. She had agreed to meet him in front of the Valley Food Market, unwilling to have him climb the rickety stairs to her apartment and see where she was living. It might spoil his image of her as a highclass woman.
Cynthia switched off the bathroom light and carried her high heels out to the living room. No sense putting them on until the last minute. She was searching for a notepad and a pencil to scribble a note to Eleanor when she heard footsteps slowly tromping up the stairs, then a key turning in the lock. She looked up in surprise when Eleanor came through the door.
“You’re home early. I was just writing you a note.”
“Yeah, the diner was slow tonight and I’m exhausted. I gave my tables to one of the other waitresses and came home.” She
sank down on the sofa as if her legs couldn’t possibly hold her for another moment, then stretched out on her back. Cynthia was about to ask how she could be so tired after working only three hours on a slow night, but Eleanor spoke first.
“Where are you going all dressed up? I never saw that dress before.”
“It’s brand-new. How do I look?” She paced a few steps and made a slow turn, like a runway model.
“Like a million dollars. You’ve turned into a real class act, Cynthia.
Although I can’t imagine any man here in Riverside who’s worthy of such an elegant-looking date. Who’s the lucky guy?”
Cynthia hesitated, afraid to tell her. She hadn’t discussed her social life with Eleanor since they’d argued over Eleanor’s refusal to go out on dates.
Eleanor had deliberately asked for the Friday and Saturday night shifts at the diner and was usually working when Cynthia went out and sleeping when she arrived home.
“He’s just a guy I met at work,” she said, glancing at her watch again.
“Come on… Tell me all about him.” Eleanor smiled, but it lacked warmth. “You’re way overdressed for any of those jerks on the assembly line. Is it one of the salesmen?”
“No. … It’s my boss.”
“Your boss! Wow, that’s news. I didn’t know that bosses were allowed to date their secretaries.”
“There’s no law against it,” Cynthia said, smiling shyly. She couldn’t help smiling when she thought about Howard. “We’ve gone out for coffee and to the movies a few times, and we always have a lot of laughs. We talk about everything under the sun. But this is a step up, and I’m hoping it will be the turning point in our relationship. He’s taking me to a dinner dance at his country club.”
“Whoa! His country club?” Eleanor’s smile vanished. “Are you out of your mind?”
“No—why?”
Eleanor pulled herself upright on the couch, frowning angrily. “Who is this guy? Tell me his name.”