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Murder of Convenience

By Linda Shenton Matchett

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ship cast off. Lorraine said the president spoke for a bit and then a woman dressed in a fur cape and rather ornate hat broke a bottle on the bow. I would have loved to have seen the ten-thousand ton ship slide down the rails with a screech. Can you imagine the splash and the noise?”
“Lorraine’s parents have plenty of money. People of our station don’t mingle with laborers. Why on earth would they allow her to take a job, especially at a shipyard?” Mother shuddered then motioned for Bernice, the housekeeper, to begin clearing the dinner dishes. A young maid assisted with the task. “Rest assured, Geneva; you will never have to seek employment.”
“She’s doing her part for the war effort.” Geneva folded her napkin and laid it on the Irish lace tablecloth. “I’d like to consider doing something as well. There are numerous opportunities. I just have to find the right one.”
“Nonsense.” Father set down his glass with a thunk and crossed his arms. “There are tasks you can do here such as rolling bandages.”
“But the more important work is performed outside the home.” Geneva spoke through gritted teeth.
“You can’t see, Geneva. Who is going to hire you?” Despite her mother’s soft voice, the words sliced through Geneva’s heart.
Bernice gasped, then reddened. She ducked her head and continued to collect dinnerware.
Father frowned and raised his hand in a dismissive wave. “You may finish clearing later, Bernice.”
The housekeeper and maid scuttled across the Persian rug into the kitchen, the swinging door flapping several times before it settled to a close.
“Are you telling me I have no value to the war effort with my diminished sight? Perhaps no value to anyone? I have extreme tunnel vision, but my eyesight isn’t gone yet. The doctor said it could be years before I lose it entirely.” Geneva swallowed the lump in her throat. “If you won’t let me get a job, perhaps I’ll seek volunteer work.”
“Don’t be disrespectful. You’re oversensitive.” His voice low, Father leaned toward Geneva. “Your mother did not mean you have no worth. Of course you have value, but you have limitations. And you must learn to live within them. It will be easier for you, if you do.”
“I’m not willing to accept a sheltered, handicapped existence. There are plenty of blind people who lead productive lives, such as Helen Keller.”
Mother reached across the table and covered Geneva’s clenched fists with one hand. “We’re simply trying to do what’s best for you. Can’t you understand? Miss Keller is not our responsibility. You are.” She removed her hand, but the cloying scent of her lavender perfume clung to Geneva’s skin.
Geneva dropped her fists into her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms. Maybe the physical pain would distract her from her parents’ well-intentioned, yet unkind words.
Silence filled the room. It stretched on for several minutes before Father cleared his throat and took a deep draught from his glass of water. Mother’s silver spoon clinked against the rim of her delicate teacup as she stirred milk into the presumably tepid liquid.
Her parents would never let her out on her own. She was trapped.
A distant knocked sounded on the front door. Muted voices filtered into the room from the foyer. A moment later, Bernice appeared in the doorway with a small, cream-colored envelope.
“Yes, Bernice?” Mother asked.
“This was just delivered by a messenger. It’s for Miss Geneva.”
“For me?” Geneva’s voice came out as a squeak. “I’m not expecting anything.”
Bernice entered the room and hesitated, the envelope held in the air like a truce flag.
Gesturing to the housekeeper, Mother held out her hand. “You may bring it to me.”
It would be futile to remind Mother the letter wasn’t addressed to her. Geneva clamped her lips closed.
Bernice laid the missive on the table near Mother, then backed out of the room, her footsteps fading toward the back of the house.
Mother slit the envelope with a manicured fingernail and withdrew an embossed card. After reading it, she sighed and passed it to Geneva. “It’s an invitation to Evelyn Dangerfield’s engagement party. How her parents can allow this wedding is beyond me. The young man has no credentials whatsoever. Still, I suppose we’ll have to attend, even though I don’t approve of her choice of groom.”
“Perhaps he has some redeeming characteristics we’re unaware of.” Father shrugged. “There must be advantage in it for the Dangerfields for them to approve the match. Nick Dangerfield is no fool.”
“Be that as it may, everyone will approve of our selection for Geneva.” Mother tapped the empty envelope on the table in a staccato rhythm. “The timing of Evelyn’s announcement is unfortunate. I had planned to disclose Geneva’s engagement immediately following the Independence Day celebrations. We might need to consider waiting until the end of July.”
Geneva bolted upright in the chair. “What? What engagement? To whom?” A chill swept over her body. “What are you talking about? I’m not engaged.”
“Your father and I haven’t completed the arrangements yet, but we’ve agreed to Thurgood Mayfield’s request for your hand in marriage.”
“You’ve agreed? What about me? I haven’t agreed to anything, especially marriage to a man I barely know.” Geneva shoved back her chair and stood. “When were you going to tell me about your plan to foist me off on him like an unwanted puppy?”
“It’s for the best, sweetie.” Mother smiled. “We wanted to surprise you.”
“Surprise me? That’s an understatement.” Geneva folded her arms. She sounded like a parrot repeating her mother’s words. Shaking her head, she sucked in a deep breath then exhaled. “I’m sure you mean well, Mother, but you and Father must cancel your arrangements. I will not marry Thurgood. Nothing you say will change my mind. That’s final.”
“What’s final is you’ll do what you’re told. We won’t always be around to take care of you.” Father steepled his fingers. “Thurgood has the money and the connections to support you.”
“I know little to nothing about this man, let alone love him.”
“Love will come over time. Your father and I barely knew each other when our parents arranged our marriage.” Mother patted her coiffed hair. “See how well that turned out? We adore each other now.”
“An arranged marriage is fine for you, but I will not succumb to your schemes. Say what you will about my limitations and my need to be taken care of, but you’re wrong. I don’t need a husband, and I’ll prove it to you.” Geneva blinked back the tears threatening to spill. “I will find a job and somewhere else to live. I’ll no longer be a burden to you.”
Mother’s lower lip trembled. “Oh, dear. You’re not a burden.”
“You will not seek employment.” Father’s face darkened. “I forbid it.”
Geneva strode toward the doorway, praying she wouldn’t stumble over an unseen obstacle. If she tripped, she’d prove her Mother and Father correct. She turned back to her parents. “I’m twenty-three years old, Father. You can’t forbid me to do anything. I’ll be out of the house by the end of the week.”
“I hope you understand what you’re doing, young lady. You won’t get a penny from us. You’ll be sorry when this little lark backfires, and you must return home.” Father’s voice followed her into the hall and up the stairs as she headed to her bedroom.
She choked back a sob. What had she done?

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