Cynthia's Confessions. A Free Novelette

Cynthia's Confessions

A Novelette

By Alison Lawrence

***

Alison Lawrence 2023

Cynthia's Confessions is a fictional work and no resemblance to real people, living or dead is intended.

Bible Quotation from:

Cover photo by: Debby Hudson. Unsplash.

***

Dedication:

To my aunts.

***

Prologue

1938. Wynberg, Cape Town

A brilliantly coloured chameleon swayed as he clung to the grapevine which grew in the untidy garden. A bed of tall hollyhocks and asters also vied for Cynthia's attention as she sat writing in the shade of the vine. The slender, dark-haired ten year old wrote conscientiously in the cheap exercise book which served as a diary. She wasn't afraid of the chameleon and decided to do a quick sketch of him once she'd finished writing.

Quiet moments like these were a rare treat for Cynthia. Her mother had taken the other six children up the road to visit her sister. Cynthia had eagerly offered to stay home and keep an eye on the stew. Knowing that it would bubble on just fine on its own, Cynthia had slipped out to the garden. Now, she wrote about school, and her best friend, Priscilla. About the assortment of sweets they'd bought on their way home and how she longed to go see the bioscope's latest offering. With money being so tight, she'd have to give up sweets if that were to happen.

After a while, she remembered the stew and tucked her book and pen into her apron pocket. Back in the kitchen, she gave the contents of the pot a quick stir. Although young, she was quite capable in the kitchen: her tired mother's helper. The O' Neill's were a large Irish Catholic family. Just prior to the turn of the century, grandfather Tom O' Neill had ventured forth from Dublin to far away Cape Town. A builder by trade, he'd been attracted by work opportunities in the prospering colony. He'd settled in Wynberg where he'd brought up his ten children. Paul, his eldest son,had married Anna; and Cynthia was their eldest child. They lived next door to his aging parents. There was a little gate in the old hedge between the houses which made it easier for Paul and Anna to check up on the elderly couple. Cynthia was often sent over bearing soup or bread. She'd leave as quickly as she could after sitting with her somber grandparents for the expected time. Grandfather's religious pictures looked on while he grilled her on her catechism. Dutifully, Cynthia went through the motions. She'd never tell her grandparents or her parents, but she had no interest in their religion. Her head was full of words and ideas. As she stirred the stew whilst waiting for her family to return, dreams of a brilliant future as a famous writer simmered in her thoughts.

***

Journal Entry

1 January 1944

Dear Diary,

Happy New Year! Fancy saying that to a book! Well, it's a brand new one and I'll be turning sixteen in a few weeks. I have high hopes of being treated like the young woman I am, but I guess that's all they are: high hopes. I would have liked to have slept in this morning, but there was mass as usual, and you don't get to skip that unless you're dying. Many folks have high hopes that the war will end soon. I do too. It will be nice to have more goods to choose from. Talking about mass, I had to go to confession yesterday so that I could partake of Communion today. I still don't get it, but I have to go along with everyone's wishes and set a good example for the younger ones. That's what grandfather says. Daddy and Mommy too. Grandmother doesn't say much. She just nods her head when Grandfather instructs me. Anyway, I guess the guilt is getting to me. I wasn't going to say anything, but once I was in the confession box and the priest asked me the dreaded question, I blurted out that I wasn't interested in church or confession or anything. I even confessed about wanting to further my education and become a writer. The old priest was kind. He made me say my prayers of course and said I would settle down eventually. Funny how confession doesn't help. I didn't feel any less guilty about living a lie, but apparently, I'm forgiven. I imagine I'll just have to keep up the pretense until I leave home, and I plan to do that as soon as possible.

Yours,

Cynthia.

***

Chapter One

"Come on, C, open your presents. We want cake." Duncan, one of the twins prodded.

James, the other twin, banged his fork on the table. "Yes, hurry up, C."

Cynthia laughed good-naturedly, but took her time. It was her special day and she was going to enjoy it. Everyone had squeezed in around the worn kitchen table, Grandfather and Grandmother too, who were both in their eighties now.

"Leave her be," scolded Mrs. O' Neill, as she placed the teapot on the table. "It's your sister's birthday."

"Well, what have you got?" Asked Sara eagerly. At thirteen, she was the sister nearest to Cynthia and they were close.

Cynthia lifted an attractive notebook from its wrappings and smiled happily. Her eyes met her mother's across the table. "Thank you Mommy. I'll treasure it."

She opened a lumpy package next. The children had pooled their money and bought sweets which they knew she loved. Moved, she got up to give them each a hug, even though the twins protested. John, who was eleven, an artistic and quiet boy, shyly gave her a card he had made himself. Sylvia and Maria, eight and six respectively, gave her drawings. Cynthia praised and thanked her younger siblings. Grandfather cleared his throat, then wished her in his formal way before handing her a package. She smiled when she saw what it contained: a volume of poems by a famous Catholic poet. She appreciated her grandparents' thoughtful gift. She kissed both wrinkled cheeks and truthfully told them she would enjoy the poems very much indeed. Their faces softened, then turned to look at Paul O' Neill, who had risen from the table.He took a small item from his pocket. "From me, Cynthia." His eyes smiled fondly at her as he waited for her to open it. "To go with Mommy's gift, you know."

Cynthia gasped softly. "A fountain pen. It's beautiful, Daddy. Thank you." Cynthia was quick to throw her arms about him. She might not always agree with her Dad, but she loved him.

"You can use it to write some poems like the ones in the book I gave you." Said Grandfather, spoiling the moment a little.

"Time for cake." Announced Mrs O' Reilly. The twins banged their forks again, and they, along with all the children, let out a cheer. Sara insisted that Cynthia stay seated and proceeded to help her mother serve the cake and tea.

***

Cynthia reached for her apron after her birthday supper, intending to protect the pretty shirtwaist she'd put on so she could help wash dishes, but her mother suggested she go put her feet up. She didn't argue. Her Dad's fish and chip shop, where she now worked full time, had been very busy. Her feet were sore and it would be nice to try out her new pen or read a few poems. Not wanting to be rude though, she listened to the radio with her father and the twins in the sitting room first. The dark wood furniture and religious pictures gave the room a sober air, yet the worn carpet and cushions spoke of many childhood games and moments lost in the pages of a book.

"The Germans are losing ground to the Allies. Thank the Lord." Mr O' Neill smiled tiredly at his daughter. "Good News on your birthday at least." He reached out to change the station, but Cynthia stopped him. "Carry on listening, Daddy. I'm going to try out my pen." She rose, then hugging him goodnight, went to the room she shared with her sisters. The room was spacious and held two large beds; one of which she shared with her sister Sara. Enjoying the few peaceful moments at her disposal, she removed the bobby pins from her hair and rested her head against the headboard. She relaxed for a few moments. She'd truly enjoyed the day. She was a working woman of sixteen now. She planned to start night school soon: a secretarial course would certainly help her in her goal of becoming a published author. Her eyes were drawn to the framed print on the wall. It was of a large angel walking beside a little girl along a tree lined path. She wondered whether angels were real. Were they busy watching over the allies as they fought on the ground and in the skies? And were they watching over her and her budding dreams? She picked up her new pen and recovered a notebook from its hiding spot under the bed. Though tired, her fingers itched to start on the next chapter of her book and writing with her new birthday pen would make a lovely end to the day.

***

Journal Entry

March 1944

Dear Diary,

I've had to set aside my story for a bit while I attend night school. I've enjoyed meeting the other girls though, and typing is fun: at least I think it is. I'm not so keen on shorthand though, but I'm going to do my best. Bernice, a new friend, suggested I should try for a job at Woolworths when I'm through with the course. Apparently, they are hiring. I'm seriously considering it. I'm getting tired of smelling like fish and chips! On Saturday night, some of the girls will be going to the bioscope and I'm going with. I think I'll invite Priscilla to go along too. I only see her at the fish and chip shop since I started working. Bernice is probably going to be my other best friend. (That's silly, I know.) Anyway, she's coloured. I don't know why people, including myself, label one another according to skin tone. I'm labeled white, and yet my skin tends more towards olive and my hair is dark. If you ask me, it's silly. I'm so glad that Wynberg is such a friendly place. Other parts of the country aren't so friendly though, with discrimination being the norm. Dad says the government should do more for the black people otherwise we could have war on our hands and everyone has had enough of that.

At confession I had to think of some small sins to confess. Amongst others, I told about the cigarette I tried to smoke. I'm not sure if it's a sin, though. Smoking seems quite popular amongst the girls. Of course, I had to confess to missing mass a couple of times. I do wish I could move out, but that would cost too much of course. Not to mention that mommy needs my help. I just wish they wouldn't insist that I attend confession and mass. I do believe in God, but I can't help thinking that all these rituals are a waste of time. Oh dear, another thing I'll need to confess. Well, anyway, I'd best sign off now and get some sleep.

Yours,

Cynthia

***

Chapter Two

May 1945

"The Germans have surrendered unconditionally." The radio announcer's usually calm voice sounded victorious to Cynthia's ears. "War is at an end!" He exclaimed. Thanks be to God."

"Amen, amen." Mr O' Reilly crossed himself and the rest of the family followed suit before erupting in shouts of joy and animated talk. Sounds of celebration could already be heard in the streets, and Duncan and James, now nearly sixteen, excused themselves to join their friends. The younger children, excepting John, who was still listening to the radio, stood at the windows to get a view of the street. Mrs O' Reilly got up to make tea. "You lot had better stay inside. It's going to get raucous out there and that's for sure."

"Can't say as I blame folks for feeling excited though." Mr O' Reilly commented. "Best news we've had in a long time."

"Sure is." Agreed Cynthia. She planned to slip out herself. Perhaps Bernice and Priscilla would be celebrating too. She'd been working as an office girl at Woolworths since the beginning of the year and had begun to feel truly grown up. She had enough money left after paying board and lodging to afford pretty dresses, lipstick and bioscope tickets. Some of her money still went on notebooks and pens though, for she was still working on her novel, as she now called it.

***

Cynthia told her parents she was going to visit her friend Bernice. They nodded their approval, but warned her to take care.

As she strolled along, she greeted a dozen or more cheering neighbours. When she passed Priscilla's house, she saw that an impromptu party was going on on the verandah. Dance music played from the sitting room through an open window and Cynthia spied her friend's bouncing blonde curls as she danced with her boyfriend, Sam. When she saw Cynthia, she twirled and ran down the steps to greet her. "I'm so glad you're here," she bubbled. "Isn't it just marvelous! The nasty war is over and our boys can come home." She grabbed Cynthia's hand and pulled her up the steps. "Did your parents say you could join in with the celebrations?"

"Not exactly. They think I'm visiting Bernice."

"They really should give you more freedom, C. You're a working woman and eighteen next year. Come and meet Freddy. He's a darling. One of Sam's friends."

Priscilla frequently introduced Cynthia to boys. She had high hopes of Sam being her forever man and was hoping her best friend would find the right man too. That's if she would get out more and stop writing for a while.

Cynthia followed Priscilla obligingly. She knew her friend meant well, and she guessed it was high time she had some fun and it was a special occasion after all.

"Freddy," Priscilla sparkled,"this is my best friend Cynthia. I told you about her, remember?"

"You sure did." Freddy smiled broadly at Priscilla, but the twinkle in his eyes was definitely meant for Cynthia.

"Well, toodle-doo, you too. I'm off to dance." Priscilla slipped away quickly, back to Sam's waiting arms, confident that she'd done her friend a huge favour.

"Ah, my favourite song." Freddy grinned. "And you're just in time."

Before Cynthia knew what was happening, Freddy had her dancing to the popular swing tune. She knew the moves well and Freddy whistled appreciatively. "Where did you learn those moves?" He pulled her close for a moment and Cynthia found herself looking into his friendly eyes: brown like her own. She relaxed. "Oh, my friends and I practice whenever we get a chance. My favourite's the samba."

"Carmen Miranda fan, huh? Well, I'd say you beat her in the looks and talent department."

Cynthia blushed, but smiled, accepting the compliment. Freddy's own dancing was pretty impressive. It was clear he wasn't dancing the swing like someone who was drunk, just making up the moves as he went. No, Freddy was definitely talented. And good-looking too, Cynthia decided. Caught up in the romance and excitement of the moment, she put aside thoughts of her parents' strict expectations of her. Anyway, Freddy was clearly a nice boy who enjoyed dancing. And dancing wasn't a sin, she reasoned. More friends arrived, and soon the party spilled onto the street. Someone produced a few bottles of sparkling wine. Freddy brought her a glass, and together they toasted the end of the war. Cynthia had only tasted the drink once before. It tickled her nose and wasn't to her liking, but she sure felt sophisticated standing close to Freddy and getting swept along in the historical moment.

"Care for a stroll?" Asked Freddy.

Cynthia agreed quickly. She was keen to spend time alone with Freddy and get to know him a little. "As long as we walk away from my house. My parents think I'm visiting my friend Bernice."

" Well, I'm sure glad you made it. Lead the way ma'am." Feddy took her by the hand and drew her to the steps. Priscilla, seeing them leave together, smiled widely and winked before turning back to Sam.

Freddy kept Cynthia's hand in his own, slowing his steps to match hers.

"So, tell me all about your sweet self." Freddy encouraged. "Then, to be completely fair, I'll tell you all about me."

"All right. But it's quite uninteresting." Freddy assured her it couldn't possibly be that, and listened attentively as she told him about her family, her job and even about her dream of becoming a writer.

"What's your book about?" He questioned.

"Oh, it's a mystery. A bit like an Agatha Christie story, you know."

"I could tell you have brains." He grinned. "Beautiful and smart." Freddy led her to a bench beneath a spreading tree and they watched the festivities. It was late afternoon now, and Cynthia knew she'd best go home soon. The family had eaten their main meal at lunchtime, but they'd still expect her for tea. "How about you Freddy?" She felt quite comfortable asking, almost as though she'd known him for some time.

"Well, I turned twenty-one last year. I'm an apprentice with the railways. Learning to be a fitter. Or who knows? Maybe I'll be an engineer one day and get to see the country."

"I adore traveling by train." Enthused Cynthia. "Especially to Simonstown. I love watching the sea."

"Perhaps we can go on our next date? To the beach that is. Just you and I." He took her hand in his again and her heart nearly stopped beating.

"Sounds wonderful." Was all she could manage."I'd best get home now though." She hated to have to come back to reality, but she didn't want to risk not being able to see Freddy again either.

"May I walk you home?"

"Thanks Freddy, but it's best if you don't. My parents are a bit strict." She added, apologetically.

"How will I contact you? About our date?" His eyes held hers and she knew what she must say. "You can get a message to me through Priscilla, if that's OK."

Freddy grinned. "That will do just fine." They parted reluctantly and Freddy stood watching her as she made her way along the sidewalk. Cynthia floated home. She didn't have much experience with young men, but Freddy had awakened her heart. It occurred to her too, that having a young man of her own, could only help her to write romantic scenes, something she'd struggled with before. As she opened her gate though, she realized that it would be vital to keep Freddy secret from her parents. She knew without a doubt that they would forbid her to see him again.

***

Journal Entry

Dear Diary,

All I can say is, Freddy is a dreamboat! Who would have thought I would have such a romantic day. Actually, it is a momentous occasion: the war has ended, and I, dare I say it, am in love! And he wants to see me again! Of course,it must be a secret for the moment. I'm hoping Daddy and Mommy will come around eventually. At some point, they will be forced to realise that I am all grown up. Imagine! I could be a married woman next year if I wanted to be. Lots of other girls marry at eighteen. I will have a sweet little house, and write while Freddy is at work, then stop just in time to cook his supper. It's so fun to dream. All I know is, Freddy could be the one. Who knows? Maybe Priscilla and I can have a double wedding! Do girls have to confess that their heart is flopping around over a boy? Will I need to tell the priest about the dancing and the sparkling wine? Now I feel silly. But that's what diaries are for.

Yours,

Cynthia

***

Chapter Three

"Freddy says to meet him at Wynberg station at two on Saturday." Priscilla squealed. "I just knew the two of you were made for each other."

Cynthia's heart did a little fluttery dance as she sat on Priscilla's bed."What shall I wear?" She asked numbly.

Priscilla rattled off instructions."Well, it's too cool for swimming; but wear your prettiest dress with a cardigan. That should do. And be sure to wear a scarf, otherwise your hair will end up looking like a wind-blown bush. And wear sandals."

Cynthia nodded obediently. "What should I tell my parents?"

"You could say that you're going to the beach with friends." Priscilla knew Cynthia hated to lie. This way, she'd be coming close to the truth.

"That should work. And I don't have confession this week. As long as I do my chores before I go, it should be fine."

"Great." Priscilla squealed once more. "And maybe one day, we can go on a double date. You and Freddy and Sam and I."

"I'd like that," said Cynthia, meaning it. But first, she wanted to have Freddy all to herself. She had no idea how she was going to make it until Saturday, which was still several days off.

***

When she sat down on the station bench to wait for Freddy, Cynthia's stomach churned. Outwardly, she looked every inch the confident young woman: Her glossy dark curls peeked out from under a silk scarf and she'd painted her lips bright red to match the poppies on her dress. Inwardly, though, her nerves had the upper hand. However, when Freddy arrived a few moments later, they vanished. His cheerful manner put her at her ease at once. He wore a casual outfit and a jaunty hat and whistled when he saw Cynthia.

"Prettiest dame on the platform." He declared appreciatively.

"And you are very dashing Freddy." Cynthia imagined what a heroine of a romance might say. Freddy took her arm and led her to the train. He showed her to a seat which would afford them a view of the ocean. They were going to travel to the end of the line at Simonstown. Instead of taking the opposite seat, Freddy sat close beside her and held her hand as though he'd always known her. He put her completely at her ease by chatting about his week and asking about hers. He even remembered to enquire how her book was coming along. As they travelled past Muizenberg towards Kalk Bay, they spoke less, simply admiring the sparkling ocean and drinking in the holiday atmosphere. It seemed as though everyone they saw wore a happy smile. The war was over and hope lay ahead. At Simonstown, they enjoyed a cream tea at a small café and watched sailors enjoying their leave. For Cynthia, it was like a mini holiday. They went to the beach afterwards and had a grand time walking near the waves and lying in the sun. She enjoyed Freddy's company more and more with each moment they spent together. She loved that he didn't try his luck, but only held her hand. She did wonder though, whether she'd experience her first kiss that day. Her experience consisted only of what her friends had told her and the antics of the silver screen. Now her heart yearned for Freddy to be the one to give her her first kiss.

They were sitting quietly on their towels, watching the gentle waves roll in. Freddy's face looked more serious than it had all day. "Cynthia, would you think me strange if I ask you to be my girl? I know we hardly know each other, but I'm crazy about you already." He studied her face, waiting for her answer. Cynthia's heart soared. It was the best day ever. She didn't have to think, it was a no-brainer. Freddy was perfect, and her dreams were coming true. "Yes, Freddy. I'd love to be your girl." She couldn't help giggling shyly. Freddy let out a whoop before kissing her gently. It wasn't a Hollywood kiss, but to Cynthia, it couldn't have been more romantic.

***

Journal Entry

July 1945

Dear Diary,

Freddy and I have been going steady for two months now. I don't think Daddy and Mommy suspect anything yet. Priscilla and Bernice have been so good about covering for me. Priscilla is plotting a double wedding for next year. O, I do hope her dream comes true! It is my dearest wish to marry Freddy. He is perfect: so funny, a great dancer and such a gentleman. The weather's been too dreary and cold for the beach, but we have been to see "Thrill of a Romance" which stars Van Johnson and Esther Williams. It was just so terribly romantic: sitting in the bioscope with Freddie. The best has been the dances where Freddie and I show off our dance moves to each other. I doubt very much that Daddy would approve of me dancing the samba with a boy; but we are going to be married one day, so I guess it's OK. Freddie sends notes to me via Priscilla. I treasure each one and can't wait for our next date. Freddie has also truly inspired my writing: I am nearing the end of my book! I do feel that it makes for better reading with the romantic bits. Detective Sandra Bailey now has a love interest! (As do I.) Now for sadder news, Daddy had to take Grandfather to the infirmary today. His heart is failing and he won't be with us much longer. I do love him and will miss him when he is no longer with us. I will make sure to go to confession and to mass this week specially for him.

Yours, Cynthia

Journal Entry

August 1945

Dear Diary,

Poor Grandfather passed away this week. I'd just been to confession, so I felt a bit better. It is going to be especially hard on Grandmother. She is becoming so frail herself and they were together for so long. Mommy said she is so glad that I am still living at home, seeing as that Grandmother is going to be needing more help and company. I almost told her that I'm not planning to stay for much longer. I have prospects of a promotion too. The big boss apparently sees potential in me and wants me for his secretary. Miss Ellis is leaving as she is getting married soon. Well, I'll take the position if it's offered to me, but I doubt I'll be in it for long: not if Freddy proposes! It's odd to feel so happy on one hand, yet so sad on the other. The funeral is to be on Monday. I wonder too, why I feel so guilty about my relationship with Freddy: it's not like we've been bad. Yet at confession, I found myself admitting to those feelings. I confessed to dancing, and having the odd drink. Also, that my parents don't yet know about Freddy. I suppose it's because I've been brought up strictly.Dancing and parties have always been frowned upon. At least once I am married, I can move out from under this cloud of guilt and obligation. How happy I will be, married to Freddy! I spoke to Freddy about religion on our last date. He knows I'm Catholic, but doesn't have any problems with that. His family is Protestant, although they don't go to church. He has been throwing some hints, so I feel sure he'll propose soon.

Yours,

Cynthia

***

Chapter Four

November came, and along with it, perfect weather for picnics at Wynberg Park. Freddy made the delightful suggestion that they go there on a date. His eyes seemed to twinkle more brightly than usual as they sat in Priscilla's sitting room. Cynthia happily agreed, and with Priscilla's help, packed a picnic lunch. They strolled together under the trees and stopped to feed the ducks before selecting a private spot to eat their lunch. Freddy stole more kisses than usual and seemed a little nervous. When they'd finished eating, he suggested they walk by the pond, then once they'd walked a little way, he led her to a bench in a quiet spot. Freddy made her sit, but he didn't. Instead, he went down on one knee, and nearly caused Cynthia to die of happiness when he proposed. He slipped a pretty ring that had been his grandmother's on her finger."Cynthia, will you be mine forever? We won't be rich, but we'll be happy. Please say yes."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes." Cynthia was in his arms,and her tears were wetting his shoulder." We're young, but we'll be so happy."

"Shall we marry just after your birthday then?" He grinned.

"On it, if you like." Laughed Cynthia. "But best talk to Priscilla first. She wants a double wedding. She and Sam are tying the knot soon."

"Sounds like fun," he agreed." But first, I must see your Dad. Do things properly."

Cynthia's happiness diminished for the first time that day, but she brightened quickly.

"Of course. I'm sure they're going to love you Freddy, nearly as much as I do. I'll pave the way for you and tell them about us first though."

"Good." Freddy kissed her then, not caring who saw. Cynthia was his fiancé now. "Soon we'll be husband and wife. I've spoken to my parents already. They are going to let us rent the cottage on their property at first. As soon as I'm qualified, we'll get our own place. How does that sound?"

"Just wonderful Freddy. I can't wait." For the first time since they'd started dating, Freddy walked Cynthia right up to her parent's front gate and kissed her once more for the world to see.

***

"Cynthia, don't you think it's time you told us about the young man you've been seeing?" Cynthia's parents were sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for her it seemed. Her father took the lead in questioning her, whilst her mother sat quiet and pale beside him.

"Were you planning on telling us daughter, or were you just going to keep sneaking around?" Cynthia's eyes widened, and her father sighed. "Your mother and I have been hearing from people that you've been seen out and about with a young man."

"Who is he?" Her mother spoke finally. "Is he Catholic?" Cynthia paled, but strengthened her resolve and sat down beside her parents. She wasn't about to act like a child, and she wasn't going to allow anything to dim her happiness.

"No he isn't Mommy, but he doesn't mind me being one. In fact, his name is Freddy Taylor, and he proposed to me today." She announced triumphantly. "Look Mommy, he gave me his grandmother's ring. Isn't that sweet?" She placed her hand before them on the table and the ring glittered as proof that she was telling her parents the truth. Cynthia's mother rose to make tea, which was her usual response in stressful times. Cynthia waited for congratulations, but none came. "Tell the young man he'll need to meet with the priest. And us. Perhaps something can be worked out." Her father said finally. "It's a great pity he's not Catholic, and I can only say it's for the best that your grandfather didn't live to see this day. The other matter, is that your timing is very bad. As you know, we're counting on you to help your mother with Granny." Cynthia felt relieved that her father hadn't forbidden her to marry Freddy."I'll let Freddy know, Daddy. He was planning to see you anyway. Perhaps I could still come over and help Mommy with Granny after I'm married."

"Where will you live?"Asked her mother. "Does this Freddy earn enough to support you?"

Cynthia hastened to explain Freddy's plan and added that she would be living only a few streets away. Seemingly appeased, Mrs O' Reilly turned her attention back to her teapot."Well, perhaps it could work." The rest of the family appeared in the kitchen for tea, and the conversation ended. Cynthia escaped to the garden as soon as she could and sat in her girlhood spot beneath the grapevine. She needed to process the events of the day, especially Freddy's beautiful proposal.

Journal Entry

Dear Diary,

I'm still struggling to believe it! I'm an engaged woman, and nothing can dampen my excitement. It was a perfect day. The park was the most romantic spot Freddy could have chosen. One day, I shall use his proposal in a book. I know exactly how the beloved one feels now that I have felt so enraptured myself. Even Daddy and Mommy couldn't spoil my day. Actually, I feel relieved now that our relationship is out in the open. Maybe I'll feel less guilty. It was all so clandestine. I do wonder though, what Freddy will say about meeting the priest, him not being Catholic. Oh, I do hope that it will all work out. I could write so much more, but I simply have to run and tell the girls!

Yours,

Cynthia

***

Chapter Five

The priest was kind, but firm. Because Cynthia was Catholic, they would have to be married in the Catholic church. Freddy would not be forced to become Catholic himself, but he would need to solemnly promise that any children resulting from their union would be brought up Catholic. Cynthia's parents smiled encouragingly at the young couple. To them, what the priest said made perfect sense, and they would happily embrace Freddy if he agreed to these terms. Cynthia's expression was hopeful. What the priest had said didn't sound too bad. At least Freddy wouldn't have to convert; and he wasn't interested in religion anyway, so he probably wouldn't mind if she shouldered their children's religious training herself. Freddy nodded respectfully, but remained quiet.

The priest regarded them all soberly. "It is important to remember that the chief purpose of marriage is for procreation. It is a sin to hinder what God intended."He added soberly. "Children are a blessing from the Lord." Cynthia blushed and looked down at her lap. She had no idea what Freddy was thinking. Thankfully, the meeting ended and the priest invited them to meet with him once they'd made their decision. Freddy joined Cynthia and her family for tea, but excused himself fairly quickly. He told Cynthia that he had a lot to think about, but that he was sure they could work something out. For the first time since they'd met, Freddy appeared distant and Cynthia hoped that the cheerful fellow she'd fallen in love with wouldn't stay away for long.

***

"It's like this C," explained Freddy, his eyes hopeful. They were walking along Main Road, where Cynthia planned to shop for material."My parents want me to get married in their church. They've always been suspicious of Catholics." Cynthia stopped walking and stared at him. "Does that mean you're suspicious of me too?"

"Of course not C. Your religion never mattered to me. It's just that they'd be helping us a lot." He looked at the ground then, unable to meet her gaze. "Actually, they said that if we get married in your church, the deal on the cottage is off."

"That's unfair."Cynthia couldn't believe things were unraveling so quickly. She knew her parents would never agree to Freddy's parents' demand.

"To be honest C, I wasn't too happy with what the priest said the other night either. We're too young to be saddled with a bunch of kids. I was thinking we could start a family one day, but not yet, and maybe just one or two would be more than enough. I know you come from a big family, but surely you don't want to get old and fat before your time."His eyes pleaded with Cynthia and he reached for her hand as he'd done many times before, but this time her hand came up and slapped him on the cheek and she disappeared into the throng of shoppers before he could stop her.

***

Journal Entry

Christmas 1945

Dear Diary,

It's Christmas Day. We went to Midnight Mass as usual, but there is no joy for me now. There will be no wedding, and I may as well resign myself to being Mr. Anderson's secretary for a long time. I was so naive wasn't I? I used to believe that if someone truly loved you, they'd lay down their life for you, or at least fight for you. I don't believe that anymore. Life is not a fairytale and people show you the side they want you to see. Most stories, even my own book, have unhappy endings. The only bright spot for me is that with Freddy gone, I can spend more time on my writing. I'm already planning a sequel and have used up a whole notebook on my outline and notes already. At confession, I confessed the unforgiveness I feel towards Freddy and his parents. Priscilla says that I'm being too hard on him. She tried to convince me to apologize to him and elope, but she can dream on.

Yours,

Cynthia

***

Chapter Six

Journal Entry

January 1947

Well, here I am, nearly nineteen and taking up writing in a journal again. I've dropped the "Dear Diary" bit though. I'm all grown up now. Wiser too. A brand new year lies ahead. Hopefully it will be a better one. I have spent a full year mourning what could have been. Priscilla and Sam were married last year. Sometimes I look at them and think: that could have been me. I catch glimpses of Freddy around town now and then. We were civil to one another at Priscilla's wedding, but that was all. Priscilla thought it best to tell me that he's going steady with someone else. I told her I couldn't care less: which wasn't true. I cried my eyes out. But it's over now. I've cried way too many tears over Freddy. Life must continue. I'm proud of my typing speed: Mr Anderson says I'm a keeper. Which is good, seeing as I'll probably never marry. Poor old Granny died in the middle of last year. It was an extremely cold winter, and she got pneumonia. We miss her, despite her staunch ways. I'm working on my second mystery now and plan to send my first manuscript to a publisher soon. Duncan and James joined the navy. They look terribly handsome in their uniforms. Mommy worries that they'll pick up all sorts of bad habits and bemoans the fact that the navy is full of drinkers. The youngest four are still attending school. I'm helping pay for Sara and John's fees. I don't want them to leave too soon. John hopes to win a scholarship to art school, and Sara dreams of being a teacher. Daddy's shop is as popular as ever. Come to think of it, Daddy is popular too. He has friends of all races, and it's not unusual to find a group of them playing cards or dominoes at our kitchen table. Dad says he fears for the country's future and that segregation and discrimination won't solve any problems. I agree.

***

Cynthia glanced up and saw Henry Frey, one of Woolworth's younger managers standing in front of her desk. He was likeable and handsome, although too religious for her taste. He handed her a pamphlet. "We're having some tent meetings at Muizenberg over the weekend. There'll be a bunch of young folk there Cynthia. Why not give it a go?" Henry was very open about his faith and he'd invited Cynthia to meetings before, but she'd always turned him down politely, telling him that she was Catholic. "Catholics need the Gospel too." He'd always respond with a smile. She studied the pamphlet he'd given her this time. "A Love That Lays Its Life Down," was the title emblazoned at the top. Beneath was a list of times and names of speakers. "Thanks Mr Frey. I'll think about it." Something about the title pulled at her heart. Could such a love exist? Freddy's type of love certainly didn't qualify. "My phone number's on the pamphlet. Let me know if you need a lift." Cynthia thanked him, then turned back to the circular she was busy typing. Later, as she walked home, she pondered the pamphlet once more. Aside from the interesting title, the investigative side of her was interested in finding out what these Evangelistic meetings were all about.

***

At first, Cynthia began to doubt her sanity as she sat on a wooden folding chair in a crowded tent. She hadn't bothered Mr Frey for a lift, opting instead to travel by taxi to the seaside suburb of Muizenberg. The meeting was opened in prayer, and then a trio of women sang some hymns. Cynthia enjoyed listening to their pure voices and to the meaningful lyrics. It was refreshing to hear English being sung in a church service after all the Latin she'd been exposed to. She listened attentively to the speaker. He spoke with a passion unfamiliar to her. "The Bible says that we have all sinned: nobody is good."He emphasized that people are saved by grace, through faith and not by works. He then went on to explain the meaning of the title of the meetings. "The love of Jesus is a love that lays itself down. He died so that you might be saved. When He suffered on that dreadful cross, He bore your sin, so that you might escape hell. This is the kind of love that I proclaim to you tonight." The evangelist pleaded with the crowd. "I assure you, that He is no longer on the cross. The tomb lies empty: for He conquered death that we might live forever with Him." Cynthia thought of the crosses in her church. They all depicted Jesus nailed to the cross. She couldn't remember seeing a plain one. The evangelist continued: "Jesus is God. He loves you so much that He laid down His life for you. Repent of your sin tonight. Accept this great gift and be saved. Remember: good people don't go to heaven, but saved people do. No ritual, religion or good work will get you there. Only the blood of Jesus." Cynthia listened carefully to his words and to the words of his closing prayer. She watched for a while as several people went forward for counseling, then slipped out of the tent. She would certainly think about what she'd heard. Perhaps she'd even return for the following day's meeting. A love like that which had been described was certainly worth finding.

***

Journal Entry

Daddy and Mommy would probably not approve of this evening's outing, even though it was a church gathering with no alcohol or dancing. I just told them I was going to a meeting. I have never heard any of the things the evangelist said before; neither have I ever heard a man of the cloth speak with such passion and authority. When he spoke of the love of God, my heart yearned to know such love: does that kind of love even exist? Perhaps I should retrieve the family Bible and see whether what he said is true. Of course, I've been taught about God and His Son Jesus, but only in a vague way which shrouded them in mystery. The teachings I've had through my youth have been mainly about the Catholic Church and its beliefs. I've been taught that one needs to confess one's sins to God through a priest. The evangelist spoke of repenting directly to God. It is all so different to what I'm used to. I've always been told that being faithful to the church and being good will save you; but this man says that no one can be saved by works. Are we all lost then? I have so many questions. Perhaps I will attend the rest of the meetings.

Journal Entry

I have been to each of the meetings. Something irresistible seemed to draw me each time. Daddy and Mommy were puzzled, but I assured them that the meetings were extremely respectable. With each message, my understanding has grown. I know now that I am a sinner. Even as a child, I somehow understood this, and it explains the guilt I felt each time I went to confession. I see now too, that no amount of church attendance, giving and penance will save me: only Jesus Christ can do that. As I was growing up, I questioned the value of the church's rituals and went along with everything out of duty, as I have still been doing up until now. Now my yearning heart finally understands that God's love is so indescribably vast: vast enough that He would die for my sins. The love of a man can never compare to the love that I have felt over these last few days. I spoke with the evangelist and a lady counselor and they answered my questions. I am saved now, and I will spend eternity with my precious Lord when I die. After the first meeting, I found the family Bible in the cupboard and have been looking up the verses in the booklet which I was given. One of the verses speaks so much to me, given the many confessions that I have been to:

"If you confess with your mouth 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved."

***

Epilogue

January 1951

Cynthia ended the paragraph she was writing and sighed happily. She prayed that the little book would draw young people to God and encourage them to give Him their lives, no matter the cost. She enjoyed the view through her window for a few moments: petunias and pansies made a cheerful show in her garden. Then rising, she went to check on little Ben, who was napping in his cot. Henry would be home soon. Her heart felt warm as she thought of the special man God had given her. Their marriage was blossoming under God's loving care and they were sharing His love with others through ministry. It had been costly to leave the church of her youth and her family's beliefs, but she knew that her parents' hearts had begun to soften. Long gone were the days of the confessional. Neither did she need to confess her sins to a diary. For the rest of her life, Cynthia would confess: Jesus is Lord!

The End

***

Pencil in His Hand: A Mother's Journal of Poems, Thoughts, and Stories.

Search This Blog