I glanced at Cassie. There was no way to tell from her bland expression what she expected me to say.
“He seems very nice,” I said, “and very interested in our stores.” That pleased Cassie.
“Your sister has been advocating a promotion for him. I guess I’ll have to give it some serious thought. How are things going with thi
s Mrs. Underwood?”
This time, Cassie knew I was looking to her for help.
“The jury is still out on that, Daddy,” she replied for me.
“Um,” he said. “Well, we’ll do what’s best,” he concluded, and went into the den for his after-dinner brandy.
Cassie nodded at me, which was her stamp of approval, before she followed Daddy into the den.
The days that followed seemed to run into each other until one became indistinguishable from the other. Cassie and Daddy were very busy with what Cassie called a full restructuring of our chain of stores. Sometimes, the two of them were so occupied that I was told to eat dinner without them. Aside from Mrs. Underwood, who was never the same since Cassie criticized her, I had nearly complete days without anyone else speaking to me. I watched a lot of television, ate junk food out of boredom, and slept a lot. After three weeks, I noticed I had gained some weight. My face looked bloated, and some of my jeans felt tighter at the waist. Neither Cassie nor Daddy noticed, or if either did, neither said a word. Even Mrs. Underwood didn’t mention anything, but at this point, she wasn’t looking at me as much as she was looking through me. At least, that was the way I felt.
She became far more mechanical, dictating my work, explaining things almost as if she were speaking into a tape recorder and not to me, and made little comments about the work I completed. I had the sense that she was afraid to give me a compliment now, afraid that Cassie might jump down her throat for praising work that was not really exceptional. On a few occasions, while I was working on a math problem or completing pages in a workbook, she looked as if she was falling asleep.
Finally, one day, she paused and said, “I really don’t understand why you’re not enrolled in either a public school or a private school, Semantha. You’re not an invalid or homebound by any illness. Don’t you miss being with other kids your age? Doing school activities, clubs, teams?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Then why …” She held her hands up.
I gave her Cassie’s stock explanation, but she shook her head.
“First, you shouldn’t be running away from difficulties. You should be facing them and solving them. Hiding in your home like this is no solution. Second, I’m sure that’s all a bit of an exaggeration. I don’t want to sound like I’m diminishing your family’s tragedy, but there are many, many young people your age who have suffered similar things but don’t hide out.
“Listen,” she said, getting softer in her tone, “I’m giving you advice that takes money out of my pocket, but I have to confess that I’m beginning to feel somewhat guilty about it. I don’t like taking advantage of people, especially young people. What do you do here all day after our lessons? Do you have any friends visit? Because I’ve never heard mention of any.”
“No, no one.”
She shook her head. “And your father approves of this?”
I shrugged. How was I to explain to someone who wasn’t a member of our family how Daddy was so attentive to Cassie’s wishes and ideas? How was I to tell her that my sister, only a few years older than I, had stepped so completely into my mother’s shoes, at least when it came to parenting? My father was an important and influential businessman in the state. He was on a first-name basis with senators and congressmen, as well as the governor, but when it came down to my education and even Cassie’s, he seemed incapable of opposing her.
Mrs. Underwood shook her head. “I think it’s time I had a conversation with him,” she muttered. “I don’t want you to think I don’t like you. It’s nothing like that, Semantha, but I’ve been in education all my life, and I have always placed the interests and needs of students ahead of my own. You’re doing the work I assign, but you’re only going through the motions. You’re not inspired by anything. You don’t show any special interest in any one subject, as you might if you were in a classroom with a good teacher. But,” she said, ending her little speech, “these are things I should be telling your father and not you.”
I didn’t say she shouldn’t. Everything she had told me made sense and was what I believed in my heart, anyway. Besides, I was beginning to get cabin fever. Except for the grounds workers, I didn’t see another person. My longest walk was to go down the driveway to get the mail. Twice I asked Cassie why Porter hadn’t returned or why she wasn’t going out on another date. The first time, she ignored me completely. The second time, she said she was simply too busy right now. I didn’t follow with the next question, but it was on my lips. How can you be too busy to take a few hours out of a week and enjoy yourself?
Because Mrs. Underwood didn’t say any more on the subject, I assumed she was just talking about doing something but never would or had, but two days later, before Cassie followed Daddy to the office, she came into the kitchen while I was cleaning up after breakfast and told me Mrs. Underwood would no longer be my tutor.
“What?”
“Just what I said. Mrs. Underwood is finished here, Semantha.”
“But she gave me assignments for today.”
“We paid her off late yesterday afternoon. She had the tenacity, the nerve, to go to your father and tell him everything I had suggested we do for now was dreadfully wrong. Daddy called me in, and I had it out with her right in front of him. He saw what a weak, insecure, stupid woman she was after all.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” she continued. “I think she jumped at this job, this opportunity, because somewhere in that rotting brain of hers, she fantasized about winning Daddy.”
“Winning Daddy? What do you mean?”
“Christmas trees, Semantha. She’s a widow. Daddy is a recent widower and a tremendous catch for any woman.”
“Mrs. Underwood? But she’s … isn’t she older than him?”