Invisible, as Music

by Caren J. Werlinger

  Aside from the cobwebs and dust, everything down here seemed okay. The basement was dry, if musty. There were old buckets and mops and brooms against the wall at the base of the stairs. A few card tables, their legs folded, were propped against the adjacent wall, along with about a dozen wooden folding chairs—presumably used during those bridge games Bonnie had told her about. The harsh light from the three bare bulbs threw shadows everywhere as she moved around.

  There were boxes stacked randomly. She leaned over to see if they were labeled at all. She had to keep shifting to get out of the way of the light. Nothing seemed to be marked as to the contents. She opened one box and found bundles of old bank statements. Others held what appeared to be ledgers from Mr. Cochran’s construction business. But no Christmas ornaments.

  Ryn sneezed at the dust she was raising. Swiping her sleeve across her face, she moved to another grouping of boxes. A Christmas wreath! But it was in pretty bad shape, the bow attached to it crinkled and faded. She set that box aside and opened another. Here, wrapped in newspaper, were ornaments. It was like a scavenger hunt. If she could only find a tree stand, she’d go buy a tree.

  She shuffled boxes, finding plenty of ornaments, a set of Christmas dishes, old wrapping paper, and, at last, a tree stand. One box teetered and fell over with a clink of glass, its flaps bursting open and some of its contents spilling onto the basement floor.

  “Oh, please don’t be anything valuable,” she whispered.

  Ryn squatted down to pick everything up. Inside were two small lamps of pink crystal in the shape of a lady wearing an old-fashioned gown, with the parasols the lampshades. The broken glass was, luckily, only one of the light bulbs. She set them aside, and stood the box upright to peek inside. Books, a couple of dolls, stuffed animals. She was looking at the contents of Henrietta’s room when she was a girl. Ryn was sure of it.

  She went to get one of the chairs and unfolded it next to the box. Sitting down, she pulled out handfuls of old books: Nancy Drew, Cherry Ames, The Bobbsey Twins. All original first editions.

  Peering into the box, she saw another bundle, tied with a green ribbon. It was a collection of envelopes.

  She glanced at the address on the first envelope, figuring it was more of Mr. Cochran’s old business correspondence, and was startled to see Una Marsden with an address in London, written in what was unmistakably Henrietta’s handwriting—shaky and more juvenile, but still hers.

  Curious, Ryn tugged on the ribbon. When it fell away, the yellowed envelopes lay in her lap. Turning one of them over, her hunch was confirmed when she saw the return address. It must have been the house the Cochrans lived in before Henrietta’s father built this one. Ryn recognized the name of the street, just around the corner from Mrs. Middleston’s. Flipping through the envelopes, she saw that they all had uncancelled stamps and no postmark. They’d never been mailed.

  One envelope, though, was addressed in a different hand to Bryce and Marla Cochran, from a Wilhelmina Marsden in Boston. Feeling slightly guilty, Ryn cast a glance upward, but this envelope was already open. She gently prized out the yellowed paper inside.

  Dear Marla and Bryce,

  I write with tragic news. Despite the best efforts of the doctors here, Una died yesterday. They said there was nothing more to be done. Her lungs shut down, and even the iron lung could not resuscitate her.

  They said that, had she shown symptoms as soon as Henrietta did, and had we sought medical care more urgently, she might have recovered. As it is, you may have been fortunate to note Henrietta’s onset of symptoms so quickly, though, you may now be left with a cripple who will require care for the rest of her life. So, perhaps Una was the more fortunate after all.

  I have cabled my brother and his wife, but they do not wish to have Una’s body brought back to England amidst all the turmoil there. I am to bring her home to Bluemont for burial.

  You may decide for yourselves what to tell Henrietta, but my own thought is that she is so fragile at this time, that this shock may well cause a severe setback for her, and that she ought not be told. Let her think Una returned to England, and let her keep her happy memories.

  We shall return within the week.

  Best,

  Wilhelmina

  Ryn sat, staring at the letter, one hand pressed to her chest. She jumped at the click of crutches from the top of the basement stairs.

  “Meryn? Have you found anything down there?”

  It was a moment before Ryn could say, “Yes. I found some ornaments and a tree stand. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  Carefully, she folded the letter back into its envelope. Placing it with the others, she tied the ribbon back in place and tucked the bundle inside her shirt.

  The mailman gave the doorbell a short ring, his usual signal to Henrietta. She was in the middle of dabbling with some watercolors added to her bird sketches, trying to see the effect. The little birds hopped around so quickly that it was hard to see their colors accurately. They were like flying sketches. She’d found a book on birds on the bookcase in the living room—probably something her parents had purchased—and the colored photos helped her somewhat but, as she sat back and scrutinized the watercolor paper, she realized she liked her indistinct splashes of color better. They gave the feeling of movement rather than something stationary that made the birds look like something a taxidermist had gotten hold of.

  She rinsed her brushes and closed up her paints. Making her way out to the living room, she paused at the sight of the eight-foot-tall Christmas tree occupying the place in front of the picture window. Meryn had insisted on the biggest tree that would fit and still allow room for a star at the top.

  It was rather festive, she had to admit. She hadn’t set up a tree or any other Christmas decorations since the year her mother had been so ill. A stroke, followed by pneumonia, had thankfully taken her mother quickly. If she had lingered, needing care following the stroke, Henrietta hadn’t been sure how she would have managed, limited as she was.

  Life was forever altered after that. Though Henrietta had been in her forties at that time, it still left her feeling very much an orphan. No parents, no siblings, no cousins anywhere nearby. She thought her father might have family near Saranac Lake, but had no idea if they still lived there. And if they did, so what? She could hardly contact them at that point, alone and crippled, if not destitute.

  No, Henrietta had determined to be frugal with her resources and stay as independent as she could, remaining in this house, even if it meant having to bring in someone to live with her.

  But none of her other companions had insisted on decorating the house. Of course, none of them had been quite like Meryn. Just the thought of the girl brought a small smile to Henrietta’s face.

  When she opened the door, she was startled by the large wreath hanging on it. She still hadn’t gotten used to it. Out on the front porch, Meryn had also hung a garland around the storm door, lit by a string of lights. Inside, another garland of pine lay over the fireplace mantel. When Henrietta had tried to repay her for what she’d spent, Meryn had refused, insisting this was her home, too, and she wanted to do it.

  Bonnie, of course, was delighted. “It’s about time this house was properly done up.” She had found some old Christmas albums inside the stereo console, and played them while she was cleaning. Henrietta had found herself humming some of the carols while she worked in the studio.

  The bridge gatherings were always suspended during this season, as people were busy with their own holiday preparations. Besides, the club was typically booked to capacity, hosting many luncheons as holiday parties for employees of the club members who owned businesses in town.

  Henrietta had always felt rather cut off during this period when everyone else was busily running about, preparing for Christmas. With no one to exchange gifts with, other than Bonnie, she had no need to shop. She usually spent Christmas and New Year waiting for them to pass. This year was different in so many ways.

  The
other thing out of the ordinary this year had been her appointment with Dr. McCourt.

  “Are you ill? Have you caught cold?” the nurse had asked when Henrietta called. Colds were always a serious business for Henrietta.

  When she assured the nurse it wasn’t that, but some strange sensations in her chest, they had worked her in that very afternoon.

  After listening to her heart and lungs and doing a thorough exam, Dr. McCourt had pronounced her fit. “I don’t know what’s causing these flutterings you describe,” he said. “But you’ve never looked better. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

  His advice had set her mind at ease, though the sensations had continued. They weren’t altogether unpleasant and, now that she knew they weren’t a signal of an impending heart attack, she could pay them less attention.

  She retrieved her mail. The usual bills, several Christmas catalogs, and two envelopes that looked like cards—one for Meryn and… one for her. She smiled when she saw the return address.

  Maybe this card from her family would cheer Meryn up. She’d been unusually moody and quiet the last few days. It only lasted for moments, and then she seemed to snap out of it. A couple of times, Henrietta had caught Meryn watching her with a somber expression.

  I will not have her feeling sorry for me, Henrietta told herself firmly. The girl would go home for Christmas—“You need to be with your family for Christmas,” she’d insisted when Meryn cajoled and wheedled, “and I need to be here.” Henrietta planned to pass the holidays as she always did, painting and reading.

  But the more festive air in the house this year had also stirred up more memories—of childhood Christmases full of joy and laughter and song when her mother used to play the piano with people gathered round. Una, when she was living here with her aunt during the war years, had had a lovely voice. Henrietta thought she sounded like an angel.

  Sometimes, she had sung just for Henrietta, Till the End of Time.

  They thought they had till the end of time. At fifteen, with their whole lives stretching before them, the war half a world away, they had talked of going to college together, living together, staying together always. They knew it couldn’t happen. Una would have to go home to England someday, but…

  “Foolishness,” Henrietta muttered to the empty house.

  Chapter 11

  The campus was full again after Thanksgiving, but there was a definite buzz in the air, with only a couple of weeks left before finals and the end of the semester. The quad had been festooned with lights, and the large fir tree in the middle was strung with ribbons and more lights.

  As Ryn walked to her classes, she kept an eye out for Tamara, her heart skipping a little at the memory of their last meeting.

  It wasn’t until mid-week that she saw her, walking toward the chapel at noontime with Roberta and the others. She jogged through the light snow that covered the grass and caught up with them.

  “Good Thanksgiving?” she asked.

  “Hi!” Franny said. “Yeah, ours was good. It’s always nice to get back to the motherhouse. How about yours?”

  Ryn nodded, her face warming at the look on Tamara’s face. “My family drove up from Pennsylvania to surprise me. It was great to see them.” She pointed toward the chapel. “Mind if I join you?”

  She fell in beside Tam. “How’s Cuba?”

  Tamara shrugged. “Same as always. Mom had to work the holiday at the hospital, so it was just my brother and me most of the weekend. I’m glad to be back.”

  Inside, Ryn shuffled into the same pew with them. She set her backpack in the corner and shrugged out of her new jacket. When she sat next to Tamara, she was acutely aware of the pressure of Tam’s thigh against her own. She didn’t pay much attention to the Mass. From the corner of her eye, she watched Tamara’s hand, lying on her thigh, just inches away. She wished like crazy she could reach out to hold it but, here in church, with the nuns sitting on Tamara’s other side… Probably not a good idea. But Tam seemed to have the same thought. At one point, she shifted her hand over, her pinky brushing against Ryn’s hand on her own leg.

  When Mass was over, Ryn reluctantly gathered her things and accompanied them back outside.

  “Will we see you and Henrietta here on Sunday?” Roberta asked.

  Ryn frowned at the snow. “I don’t know. This might be too hard for Henrietta to walk in. I’ll have to see.”

  “Give her our best,” Steph said as they headed toward their next class.

  Ryn gave a last wave to Tam before retracing her steps across campus to Rayburn Hall. Up on the second floor, she peeked into the main office, but Beverly wasn’t at her desk. She walked down the corridor toward her office and almost plowed into Beverly, nearly hidden behind a tottering stack of books.

  “What are you doing? Here, let me.” Ryn took the books from her.

  “Thank you,” Beverly panted, shaking her arms.

  “What are all these?”

  They walked toward Beverly’s office.

  “They’re for Professor Geary. He asked me to look up some things for him.”

  Ryn halted in her tracks. “Geary. What kind of things?”

  Beverly’s cheeks were scarlet. “For the new class.”

  “For—” Ryn stared at her. “Do you want to do this?”

  “No, but—”

  Ryn turned on her heel.

  “Where are you going?” Beverly asked.

  Ryn didn’t respond. She stomped down the corridor to Geary’s office. The door was closed but not latched. She kicked it open. He jumped.

  Without ceremony, she dumped the books on the empty desk.

  “Do you own work. Beverly is not your TA. You wanted this course; you got it.”

  She slammed the door behind her. In her office, she found Beverly waiting for her, wringing her hands nervously.

  “What did he say? Oh, dear. What if he—”

  “Retirement, remember?” Ryn set her backpack on her desk and turned to Beverly. “You can retire, and I’m not going to have a job anyway. Kind of freeing, isn’t it?”

  Beverly gave a nervous titter. “Yes, it is.”

  Ryn took her hand. “Would you mind making us both a cup of tea? I think we deserve it.”

  Beverly trotted away, and Ryn sat with a grim smile. Freeing indeed.

  Mostly silent meals had been the norm in the Cochran house for many years. Henrietta’s companions had often had other employment that took them from the house for breakfast and lunch, so that she had been accustomed to eating those meals alone. Dinners, though, had typically been eaten with the live-in, who had either cooked or warmed up something Bonnie had left. Even then, conversation had usually been sparse.

  But all of that had changed with Meryn’s arrival. Even if she had to leave early for campus, she typically laid out the bread and butter next to the toaster, often with a little note. Henrietta had never admitted—even to herself—how much she’d come to look forward to those bits of paper with just a few cheerful words. And dinners were livelier than they’d been in years. Meryn wasn’t content to just sit and eat. She wanted to discuss the news, especially the political news. She was genuinely interested in what Henrietta thought, what she had done during the day, and talked freely about her students and her frustrations with her colleagues.

  So it was concerning to Henrietta to watch the girl sit at the table, poking her fork into her stew, pushing chunks of carrot about without speaking. She’d been like this ever since Thanksgiving weekend.

  “Are things going well with your classes?”

  “Hmm?” Meryn looked up. “Oh, yes. They’re all buckling down now that finals are coming up soon. Too late for some of them, I’m afraid.”

  She returned to eating, frowning a little as she did.

  Henrietta cast about for something else to say. “Have you seen the nuns?”

  “Yes. I ran into them on campus a couple of days ago. They asked if we’d be coming to Mass on Sunday, but…” Meryn shrugged apologe
tically. “With the snow now, I don’t know how easily you’d be able to get there.”

  “That’s true.” Henrietta thought. “Would you like to invite them here?”

  Meryn’s head snapped up. “Here?”

  “We talked about it when we were at their house. It seems we ought to reciprocate.”

  A slow smile spread across Meryn’s face. “I’ll ask them. You sure you won’t mind having the house full of people?”

  Henrietta felt her own insides warm, but curtly said, “If I weren’t sure, I wouldn’t have offered.”

  The girl chuckled. Henrietta’s brusqueness never seemed to faze her.

  “Okay, Hank. I’ll ask them.”

  They finished dinner, and Henrietta helped clear the table. She went out to the sofa while Meryn washed the dishes. Over the drone of the weatherman, predicting heavier snow over the next two days, she heard the girl on the telephone.

  It was hard to remember the panic, the loneliness of those nights after Amanda had left. She kept telling herself they would come again. Someday, Meryn would leave, and it would be just as hard to find someone new. But for now, she was happier than she’d been in a long time.

  When Meryn came into the living room, she plopped onto the floor to watch the news, waiting until the commercial to say, “They accepted. Sunday at noon. Steph is going to bring her grandmother’s strudel.”

  “I’ll telephone the market and ask them to deliver extra bread and eggs.”

  “No need.” Meryn twisted around to look up at her. “I’ll stop and pick up what we don’t have.”

  For a moment, the girl just looked at her with that ridiculously happy expression on her face. When she turned back to the TV, Henrietta absently rubbed her chest.

  The heavier snow did come. Ryn thought about driving, but she’d first have to dig Nelly out, and she didn’t really have time.

  “I’ll clean you off this afternoon,” she promised, giving the car a pat on her way by.