“No.” Meryn set her pencil down and reached over to place a hand on Henrietta’s arm. “No, Henrietta. That’s not it. I’m sorry if that’s what I made you think.”
She withdrew her hand—though Henrietta immediately wished she’d put it back—and turned to the window.
“I’ve never been much of a believer in confession as a way of lifting things off your conscience, and I haven’t wanted to burden you more than I already have with things from work, but…”
When she faced Henrietta again, her eyes were hard as stone. “Remember the girl I roomed with at Mrs. Middleston’s? Vanessa?”
Henrietta thought. “The one your colleague was… seeing.”
Meryn nodded. “She came to me during finals week.”
The entire story came tumbling out. Henrietta struggled to keep up, not because Meryn’s explanation was difficult to follow, but because she was incredulous that something so sordid could happen, at St. Aloysius, right under Jerry Talbert’s nose.
When Meryn told her about finding the girl’s mother packing up her things and why, Henrietta wanted to reach out and comfort her, but she didn’t know how.
“I told her mother I wouldn’t tell anyone about the pills, so keep this between us, will you?” She leaned forward, her elbows braced on her knees. “I feel guilty. Responsible.” Meryn’s voice had a hitch in it.
“Why should you feel guilty?” Henrietta demanded. “As you said, if you hadn’t taken her, she would have found another way. You tried to warn her against him, but she wouldn’t listen. What that man did is wrong, but you are no more responsible for the girl’s choices than I am.”
Meryn nodded again, her head still bowed under the weight of something. “There’s more,” she said softly. “Something I should have told you right away, but I didn’t know how.”
Henrietta’s heart raced in fear at whatever it was, but she composed herself and said, “Just tell me.”
“Not here.” Meryn raised her head. “I need to take you. We’ll need your car and wheelchair.”
“What on earth for?”
Meryn stood and held a hand out for Henrietta’s pad and pencils. “You’ll see in a few minutes. And dress warmly.”
A short while later, Henrietta sat in the passenger seat of her Chrysler, bewildered as Meryn drove through the village.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” Meryn’s voice was tight, clipped. That worried Henrietta more than anything.
When they pulled into the cemetery, she was more puzzled than ever. Meryn wound her way along the paths normally reserved for the maintenance crew.
“I want to get us as close as possible.”
“As close to what as possible?”
But Meryn didn’t reply. She braked to a stop and opened the rear door to retrieve the wheelchair.
“Why do I need this?” Henrietta asked, holding to the car door for support as she got out.
“It’s too far for you to walk. And if we wait and get more snow, we can’t even do it in your chair.”
Henrietta grudgingly lowered herself to the chair and allowed Meryn to push her through the cemetery, winding amongst the headstones and statues. The turf was rough, with tufts of grass and fallen sticks, and she was jostled a good bit. She couldn’t suppress a small groan.
“Sorry,” Meryn said.
Familiar names flashed by, carved into granite and limestone—names of people Henrietta had grown up with, her parents’ friends and business contacts.
They neared a small stone in white granite, almost hidden among the larger, more ornate grave markers surrounding it. Meryn slowed and repositioned the chair to face it. The polished stone was carved with one name—Marsden.
Meryn squatted beside her, pulling something out of her jacket pocket. “I found these, when I was looking for the Christmas decorations.”
She set the bundle in Henrietta’s lap and walked away.
With her heart thudding painfully in her chest, Henrietta picked up the ribbon-bound parcel and turned it over.
Chapter 13
Ryn was glad she’d waited. Not that Henrietta let her in; not that she shared what she must be feeling or thinking after learning what happened to Una after all these years. And certainly not that Henrietta was suddenly a puddle of emotion. In fact, she was just the opposite, but Ryn had expected that. She’d prepared herself for the curtness, the sharp words, the coldness emanating from Henrietta whenever they were in the same room.
But she was still convinced she’d made the right decision in waiting until she could be here at the house with her for a few days. Shaken by the news of Vanessa’s suicide attempt, Ryn was so glad she hadn’t given Henrietta the letters and then left her here alone. Not that Henrietta was likely to hurt herself, Ryn thought. She’d been through so much and was much tougher than most people realized, but Ryn also knew her well enough to know that the armor had chinks, had weak spots. And Una was definitely one of them. What they’d been to each other, Ryn could only guess, but she thought her guess was a good one. Henrietta had been in love with Una. Of that, she was pretty sure. And she figured it was likely Una was the only person Henrietta Cochran had ever been in love with.
So she ignored the barbs and the chill and the attempts to keep her at a distance. She brought Henrietta cups of fresh coffee as she worked in the studio, leaving them without a word. She read or drew or played her guitar quietly in her room, but always with the door propped open a bit so that she could hear Henrietta moving around.
On Wednesday, she asked Bonnie to keep an eye on Henrietta, saying only that she’d been a little under the weather.
She took advantage of Bonnie’s company to get to campus and check her office. There were the expected start-of-term announcements waiting in her box. But Beverly was what she most wanted.
“Meryn, how are you?” Beverly said, jumping up to give her a hug.
“I’m okay.” Ryn nodded toward the dark office behind her. “Has he been in?”
“Only now and again.”
Beverly quickly made two cups of tea.
“What about Geary?”
“No sign of him,” Beverly said. “I heard…” She went to the corridor, but it was empty. She shut the office door anyway and handed Ryn a hot mug. “I heard from Evelyn Mills in the president’s office—we used to work together in admissions, so she’s been here as long as I have—anyway, I heard that the Feldman girl isn’t returning. Her mother is very upset about something, and told Evelyn that she wanted to speak to Father Croson.”
Beverly’s eyes were huge behind her glasses as she shared this news.
“Has he called her?” Ryn sipped her tea.
“I don’t think so, not yet.” Beverly eyed Ryn over her mug. “Isn’t that the girl… Professor Geary—”
“Yes.” Ryn’s voice was hard. “If they don’t do something about him—”
“Tenure makes that almost impossible.”
“I know.” And because she did know it, Ryn’s heart sank. “I keep hoping something will happen to get him fired, or he’ll get a job offer somewhere else, and he’ll be out of our hair for good.”
Beverly shook her head. “No such luck.”
They talked about Christmas—Beverly was wearing a new sweater her husband had given her, and Ryn shared some stories about her visit home. She thanked Beverly for the tea.
Outside, she considered driving by Tamara’s apartment. What for? Even if Tam was back in town, even if she weren’t planning on entering the order, even if she might like Ryn enough to explore whatever might be there—“She’s a student,” Ryn reminded herself harshly. She would not be another Bradley Geary.
She went back to the house. Bonnie was just taking a roasted chicken out of the oven.
“How is she?” Meryn asked as she entered the kitchen.
“Pricklier than a porcupine.” Bonnie set the pan on the stovetop. “I’d give her as much room as you can.”
She pointed to
the refrigerator. “I’ve got a tray of rolls in there. Put them in the oven at 350 for twelve minutes when you’re ready for dinner.”
“Bonnie, thanks so much. You’re wonderful. I don’t know what I’d do without you and Beverly.”
“Oh, go on.” But Bonnie pulled her into a hug. “You’ve been good for her. Whether she knows it or not.”
She got her coat and purse. Ryn waved her off and closed the door. No matter what Bonnie said, she felt this wasn’t the time to give Henrietta more room. Squaring her shoulders, she went to the studio.
Henrietta didn’t bother to look around at the sound of footsteps. “Your check is on the desk.”
“She got it,” Ryn said. “She said she’ll see you next week.”
Henrietta stiffened but her brush kept laying out wispy outlines of what Ryn recognized as Owasco Lake.
Ryn pulled out a chair and sat. For several minutes, Henrietta kept painting, ignoring her. When it became apparent that Ryn wasn’t going to leave, Henrietta lowered her brush.
“What?”
The word lashed like a whip. Ryn took a deep breath.
“We need to talk.”
“No. We don’t.”
“Henrietta, I think I’m right that there is no one else you know, probably no one else you’ve ever known, who could understand what you felt for Una better than I can. When we talked…” She got up and stood behind Henrietta. Reaching over her shoulder, she pointed to the canvas. “The day we went to the lake and you told me about Una, I could hear the love in your voice. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, but mine is still alive.”
She dared to take a step nearer and laid a gentle hand on Henrietta’s shoulder. She felt the muscles tense.
“For almost forty years, you believed Una was alive, somewhere in England. Now you know she isn’t. That she got sick at the same time you did. You lived, and she didn’t. I can’t really know what that’s like, but I am here for you.”
For long seconds, they remained like that, Ryn standing behind Henrietta with a hand on her shoulder. At last, Henrietta partially turned her head.
“When I got back, Wilhelmina Marsden had sold her house and moved. My parents said she went to California, but I don’t know now if that’s true. She was my last link to Una, and she was gone.”
Ryn’s heart ached.
“All this time,” Henrietta murmured, “I’ve pictured Una, alive and married, with grandchildren by now. It hurt to think she didn’t feel the same way about me, didn’t want to correspond and never answered my letters. But I saw her healthy and happy. And now—”
Henrietta’s voice hitched and her head bowed. Ryn moved closer and wrapped her arms around Henrietta from behind. She was surprised when Henrietta didn’t shake her off or pull away. She didn’t dare squeeze too tightly. Holding Henrietta was like holding a bird, so fragile and delicate.
Ryn rested her cheek against Henrietta’s head. “I’m sorry.”
It was a relief to Henrietta when the college’s classes resumed. Meryn hadn’t exactly hovered, but she hadn’t wanted to leave the house for more than an hour or so. Only Henrietta needed space, distance—anything to try and forget the feel of Meryn’s arms around her. No one had held her like that since before she got polio. She and Una used to lie in each other’s arms, and her parents had hugged her when she was young, but afterward, she’d been so sick and weak, only the therapists and doctors and nurses had touched her—clinically, painfully. She still cringed, all these years later, at the memory of the pain.
Henrietta had long ago accepted that she would never know a lover’s touch or embrace. She knew Meryn hadn’t meant it that way. Even in the privacy of her own mind, Henrietta couldn’t let her imagination go beyond a kindly hug, but at moments—“moments of weakness,” she told herself harshly—she found herself craving that touch, wishing Meryn would hold her again.
This left Henrietta no choice but to avoid Meryn as much as she could, so she’d spent the last few days of the semester break painting madly, isolating herself in her studio. When the girl asked for a lesson, Henrietta set her tasks to work on alone.
But, no matter what she did, the blasted girl seemed to know, without being told, that Henrietta wasn’t sleeping well. She’d brought Henrietta one of her herbal teas last evening, knocking on the bedroom door where Henrietta had retreated for the night, trying to read until she was tired enough to drift off.
“This will help,” Meryn had said, looking at her with those knowing eyes, except she couldn’t know. Couldn’t know Henrietta’s disturbed sleep wasn’t from the usual fear of being helpless without her braces, trapped in the house at night, a fear she had many nights, even when she wasn’t alone. But she was far from alone. She didn’t tell the girl this, but the nights were altogether too crowded—one dream after another, some of Una, some of Meryn, some of them together.
In her dreams, she was at Una’s funeral—she hoped there had been a funeral, mourners who got to do what Henrietta never had, say good-bye. Sometimes, Meryn was standing beside her, a comforting arm wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her close to that warmth.
She longed to get things back on an even keel, to feel she was in control again, and yet… “You know we love you,” Una had said in one of the most vivid dreams last night.
“We both love you.” Meryn’s dark eyes had bored into her, taking her breath.
Henrietta closed her eyes. “Just stop. The girl is thirty years your junior. And Una is dead. Just stop this.”
She might not be able to control her dreams, but there was something she could control. At least she could try. She went to her desk and flipped through her address book. Finding the number she sought, she picked up the phone.
Within the hour, she heard a car pull into the driveway. Before the doorbell could ring, she opened the door.
“Leonard.”
Father Leonard Croson opened the storm door and stepped inside. “Henrietta.” He gave her a warm handshake. “I was surprised to get your call. What can I do for you?”
He face was jovial and his tone light, but his eyes probed her face curiously.
“Hang your coat up. I’ve made some fresh coffee.”
He left his coat and scarf on the hall tree and followed her into the kitchen. She poured, and he carried two cups and saucers to the table, where a plate of Bonnie’s pumpkin bread sat.
Henrietta let the suspense build as she cut slices of bread for each of them. She pushed the butter toward Leonard. He waved her off, patting his chest.
“Doc says I have to lower my cholesterol. But I will eat the bread. I’m not a martyr.”
Chuckling at his own joke, he cut into the bread with a fork. “So…”
“As I’m sure you’re aware,” Henrietta began, “when my father passed, his will stipulated that this house and all of his assets passed to me to take care of both me and my mother. And upon my death, his wish was that any unspent assets be bequeathed to the college in thanks for providing me with a degree.”
Leonard Croson nodded slowly. “I am aware of that. Has something happened to change things?”
Henrietta didn’t answer immediately, taking a bite of her bread and a sip of coffee to wash it down. “That depends.”
Leonard paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “On what?”
Henrietta set her fork down. “Have you spoken to a woman named Feldman?”
Leonard’s face flushed. “What about her?”
“Did she tell you what happened to her daughter? What she tried to do?”
He sat back, eyeing her warily. “What do you know about it?”
“I know why the girl, Vanessa, did it. One of your faculty got her pregnant.”
“Jesus.” Leonard closed his eyes.
“I don’t think he’ll help you.”
He opened his eyes. “How do you know this?”
“That’s neither here nor there. The point is, he got her pregnant. And then he gave her cash to go, on
her own, and get an abortion.”
“Oh, God.” He pushed up from the table and paced the kitchen, wringing his soft, pudgy hands. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. And that is why this poor girl tried to kill herself. I have no idea how much was heartache over this man treating her so callously or how much was a feeling of guilt over the abortion. Leonard, you have to do something about him.”
He sat back down. “Who is it?”
“A history professor named—”
“Bradley Geary.”
“I see you’re familiar with him.”
Leonard wiped beads of sweat from his face. “He’s tenured. There’s nothing—” He stopped and stared hard at Henrietta. “Who else knows about this?”
“Only a couple of people,” Henrietta said, lifting her coffee cup. “So far.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that, tenure or no, you must find a way to get rid of this predator. If you don’t, I can promise you, word is going to get out. Not just here in Bluemont—and you know how fast salacious stories spread in a small town—but I’m sure the papers in Syracuse and Rochester and Buffalo would love to get their hands on this story. If that happens, I imagine the archdiocese will be calling.”
His face seemed to swell alarmingly. It looked to Henrietta as if his clerical collar were choking him.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Leonard, this girl’s life nearly ended in tragedy. As it is, she will carry this with her forever. And that man is responsible. I will do whatever needs to be done to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She let that sink in for a moment before adding, “And then there’s the matter of my will, which may change if things aren’t worked out the way they should be.”
His nostrils flared as he pushed up from his chair again.
“Not hungry?” Henrietta asked innocently.
“Lost my appetite,” he snapped. “Good day, Henrietta.”
She sat and listened to him wrestling with the hall tree in the foyer. A few seconds later, the front door slammed and an engine roared out of the driveway.
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