She reached out and took Henrietta’s hand in hers. Henrietta stared down at them—her ugly ape-like hand, clasped in Meryn’s warm, soft grasp. She longed to press that warmth to her cheek.
“Do you think Una knew?” Meryn whispered. “When she wrote that poem to you?”
“I don’t know.” It was hard to draw breath. “She sometimes seemed to see things.”
“I wish I could have known her.”
Henrietta couldn’t help smiling. “She would have liked you.”
“But she loved you.”
Meryn shifted to lean over the couch and pressed her lips to Henrietta’s cheek. She lingered there a moment and then stood, her fingers slowly sliding out of Henrietta’s.
There was a tremor in Meryn’s voice as she said, “I’m done for the night. Going to bed.” She turned but then stopped. “Good night.”
Henrietta couldn’t speak. She listened to the sound of Meryn’s bedroom door closing. And pressed her hand to her cheek.
In the bedroom, Ryn lay fully clothed on top of her bed. Tears ran from her eyes into her hair.
When she’d glanced up and seen Henrietta, her eyes closed, her face looking so defenseless with whatever she was thinking about, it had twisted something inside Ryn, wrenching her heart. This was the girl in the photo, the one who should have had a happy life, a life with love and intimacy and laughter.
Without her even being aware, she’d suddenly found herself there, sitting next to Henrietta, wanting to give her those things.
“How do I stop this?” she whispered in the dark.
Chapter 18
Over spring break, your assignment is to read up on Carrie Chapman Catt. I want three thousand words on her contribution to women’s suffrage.”
Ryn’s instructions were greeted with a few groans.
“I have it on good authority that there will be a quiz the first day back,” she added, and several of the students grinned.
“This class is so much better now,” she heard one of them say as they packed up their books and notes.
Her heart lifted. As hard as it had been, picking up the slack after Geary’s mysterious disappearance, all the hours of work were worth it for comments like that. Teaching six classes, with all the peripheral work that went into prepping and grading, was just about killing her. Luckily, Talbert had excused her from the scholarship committee, so all she had to do was teach and meet with her advisees.
And figure out how to deal with Henrietta.
As she packed up and left her classroom, she thought about that. It wasn’t exactly Henrietta she needed to figure out, it was her own feelings. Neither of them had spoken of that evening, but something had shifted. Small glances, a slightly different tone of voice, anticipating little things like the passing of the salt.
But the conversation felt forced, both of them deliberately keeping to light topics of no importance. Ryn had no idea if Henrietta was upset by Ryn’s encroachment into her space—you kissed her. She could not for the life of her explain why or how that had happened. It just had.
Taking the rear stairwell—she’d been avoiding Talbert at all costs—she saw Beverly’s head peek around the corner. She must have been waiting for Ryn, because she immediately came trotting to her office.
“News?” Ryn asked.
“Perhaps.” Beverly pushed the office door shut. “Dr. Talbert got a phone call from a dean at a college in South Carolina.”
Ryn straightened from where she was rearranging things in her backpack. “South Carolina? You think Geary’s applying for a position down there?”
“I can’t think of any other reason.” Beverly wrung her hands and blinked at Ryn through her glasses. “Unless you…?”
“No. I admit, I’ve been thinking about where else I would apply if I had to, but Talbert hasn’t said anything about getting rid of me, so I’m on hold.”
“Oh, I’m glad.” Beverly patted her arm. “You’ve been a breath of fresh air around here.”
“Thanks. Plans for the break?”
“Anthony and I are going to have Billy for the week. Donna and William are going to a conference his work is holding in New York.”
Ryn grinned. “You’ll be exhausted. And love every minute.”
“I will.” Beverly patted her shoulder. “You try and get some rest. You’ve been working so hard.”
“That’s not likely this semester. But, if I’m still around next year, this will all pay off. First time teaching a class is always hardest. Is Talbert advertising for a third faculty member in the department?”
Beverly lowered her voice. “Not yet. I overheard him saying on the phone that Professor Geary’s position isn’t officially vacant yet.”
“Of course not. That would be too easy.”
She zipped her jacket and swung her backpack over her shoulders. “Enjoy your break.”
“You, too.” Beverly pulled the office door shut for her and walked with her down the corridor. “And try to get some rest.”
Ryn waved to a few students as she crossed campus. Lots of suitcases and duffels were being tossed into cars as they all got out of Bluemont for the week. Ryn felt a bit of nostalgia for the spring breaks she and Ashley had spent in Nags Head, days on the beach, getting way too much sun, nights spent making love without having to worry about roommates walking in on them. Oh, how she missed the feel of Ashley’s hands on her. It was a physical ache.
For a brief moment, she thought about calling on Tamara, but “don’t be an idiot,” she mumbled to herself. “That would be a monumental mistake. For all the wrong reasons.”
The air was still chilly for mid-March, but the snow was melting, mostly gray piles of it where it had been plowed or shoveled. She was so ready for this winter to be over. She kicked at the edges of the snow piles as she walked, her mood sinking deeper and deeper, so that she was thoroughly pissed-off by the time she opened the front door.
“Meryn?” Henrietta’s voice called from the direction of the studio.
Ryn closed her eyes for a second. Toeing off her shoes, she dropped her backpack in her room and went to the studio. “What?”
Henrietta was at the sink, cleaning brushes. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Just tired.” She went to the easel. “Hank, these cardinals are beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Henrietta turned around, drying her hands. “It’s been a while since you did any painting.”
Ryn scoffed. “I’ll never be as good as you.”
“Does that matter?”
“It shouldn’t, but I’ll just stick to walls for the time being.”
“You picked out the color you want?”
“I think the blue I showed you. I’ll get the paint tomorrow.”
Henrietta peered at her more closely. “What’s wrong?”
“Told you. Just tired.”
“Do you want to have dinner at the club tonight?”
“Oh.” Ryn leaned against the counter. “I think not. If we ran into the Talberts, I might not behave myself.”
Henrietta smiled. “I know what you mean. Genevieve was particularly vicious at bridge yesterday. I was so glad to be at a different table.” She hung up her smock and slid her arms into her crutches. “How about fish fry?”
Ryn brightened at that. “That sounds much better. I’ll go change.”
A few minutes later, feeling more comfortable in jeans and sneaks and a flannel shirt, Ryn drove them to JT’s. Henrietta sat at an empty table while Ryn went to place their orders.
The woman at the counter shouted their order to the cooks in the back and filled two cups with Coke.
“Sorry,” Ryn said when she set the cups on the table. “Their drink choices are kind of limited here.”
“Henrietta!”
They both turned to see Sandy and Maxine standing there.
“How are you both?” Sandy asked, her curious eyes flicking from Henrietta to Ryn and back again.
“We’re doing well,” Henrietta s
aid. “Just thought we’d enjoy the best fish fry in town.”
“Exactly,” Maxine said with a big smile. “Though it doesn’t come close to a Cajun fish fry.”
“Won’t you join us?” Ryn asked.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Sandy asked. “We don’t mean to barge in on your dinner.”
“Please.” Henrietta waved toward the two empty seats.
“Be right back.” Sandy went to the counter while Maxine sat, arranging the folds of her linen tunic.
“You’re from Louisiana?” Ryn asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Maxine said. “New Orleans. Born and bred.”
Her flawless mahogany skin was highlighted by the rich colors of the woven headband she wore—purple and indigo and russet.
“What brought you north?”
Ryn followed Maxine’s gaze to where Sandy was paying for their dinners.
“Love and money. Sandy grew up in Lake Placid and missed being up north. The library had an opening, and Sandy wanted to try owning her own art store. After twenty years, Bluemont has become home.”
Sandy returned to the table and handed Maxine her drink. Ryn felt her mood lighten.
“A few people have inquired after buying some of your paintings, Henrietta,” Maxine said. “I told them you hadn’t set prices on any.”
“Oh,” Henrietta stammered, “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”
“That would be tough,” Sandy said. “You don’t want to undervalue your work by giving it away, but charging what it’s worth, here in the village, will probably give you a reputation for being uppity.”
Henrietta chuckled. “I think I already have that reputation.”
Ryn snorted her agreement, causing Henrietta to turn to her with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry.” Ryn cleared her throat. “You’ve sold several through galleries. You could charge the same price they paid.”
“There’s an idea.” Maxine nodded. “You think about it and let me know.”
The woman who’d taken their orders brought a large tray to the table, passing out baskets of fish and fries.
Maxine turned her gaze to Ryn. “We got so little chance to talk at the opening. What do you do, Meryn?”
Ryn swallowed. “I teach history. At the college.”
“She’s brilliant,” Henrietta put in.
“I’m sure she is,” Maxine agreed with a small smile, picking up her fish. “And are you artistic as well?”
“No.” Ryn shook her head.
“She’s learning,” Henrietta said. “But she’s very musical. Guitar.”
“Really?” Sandy leaned forward, also glancing back and forth between Ryn and Henrietta. “We’d love to hear you play sometime.”
It was Ryn’s turn to blush and stammer. “As for painting, I’ll confine that to walls.”
“Murals?” Sandy asked with a tilt of her head.
Ryn laughed. “No. New paint color in the bedroom. That’s my project for spring break.”
“Do you need help?” Sandy asked.
“You mean it?”
“Sure. I close the store at noon tomorrow. I’ll come over and lend a hand.”
“And I’m off tomorrow,” Maxine said. “I can help.”
“Wow, that’s really nice of you,” Ryn said. “Between us, we can probably get it all done in a day. Thanks.”
“What are you working on now, Henrietta?” Sandy asked.
Ryn let Henrietta talk while she basked in the unexpected glow of realizing she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought.
Henrietta reached into her closet and tossed another suit onto her bed to join the three others there. Another dark wool suit to join the tweeds. Custom tailored to accommodate her back brace—long-wearing, durable, sensible.
“And ugly,” Henrietta muttered.
Ever since she’d come home from the polio hospital—“oh, I so hoped you wouldn’t need those awful things,” her mother had moaned when she saw the braces—she’d been dressed basically the same way. But she was beginning to feel as confined by her clothing as she was by her prosthetics.
On Saturday, when Sandy and Maxine had arrived to help with the painting, she’d been envious of Sandy and Meryn’s jeans and Maxine’s loose-fitting pants, even if they reminded Henrietta a bit of hippie pants. She’d spent the day mostly staying out of their way.
She’d had food delivered from the club again. “The least I can do is feed you,” she’d said when they protested.
Henrietta had come to inspect the room, and had to admit the blue-gray color Meryn had chosen was restful. “I had this room painted after my mother passed and never thought about it again. I’m sorry I didn’t offer.”
“No problem, Hank. But I like this.” Meryn, splattered with paint, had proudly regarded what they’d accomplished. “I cannot thank you both enough. It would have taken me a few days on my own.”
“Our pleasure,” Sandy said. “You had all the hard work done—the furniture moved, taping off the windows and doors.”
“We should have you both over for dinner,” Maxine had said as they ate.
“That’s a great idea,” Sandy had agreed. “How about Tuesday?”
Plans had been made and, so, Henrietta found herself grumbling now as she picked an outfit.
“I can hear you,” came Meryn’s voice from the hall. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Henrietta said as she got her skirt zipped. She yanked the bedroom door open and stared enviously at the faded jeans and comfortable-looking sweater Meryn wore.
“You okay?”
Henrietta didn’t answer immediately. She walked out toward the breezeway to the garage. “You all look like normal human beings in the 1980s, and I look like a mannequin in a store window. From the 40s.”
Meryn placed a hand on Henrietta’s shoulder before she helped her on with her coat. “No, you are like an icon of classic fashion that never goes out of style. My only nod to fashion that never goes out of style is my tennies.” She held up a foot. “Converse will never go out of style.”
Henrietta chuckled in spite of herself.
“Really,” Meryn said, reaching around Henrietta’s shoulders from behind as she adjusted the coat’s drape. “You look…”
For a moment, Henrietta thought Meryn was going to hold her, that she might wrap her arms around her from behind, but she stepped back.
“You look great.” Meryn reached around her to get the door. “Shall we?”
She held the car door and swept her arm dramatically. “Milady.”
Henrietta swallowed her disappointment as she got in.
Meryn retrieved a couple of bottles of wine from the refrigerator and laid them in the back seat.
“Why didn’t you tell me they were a couple?” she asked as she backed out of the garage.
“A—what? Who?”
Meryn paused at the end of the driveway. “Sandy and Maxine. Why didn’t you tell me they’re together?”
Henrietta frowned. “You mean…?”
Meryn laughed. “You really didn’t know?” She shifted gears and drove toward the village.
“No.” Henrietta thought. “I’ve been buying supplies from Sandy for twenty years, but I suppose I never really got to know her personally.”
“Don’t feel bad.” Meryn glanced over. “They’ve probably learned to hide it well. I didn’t pick up on any vibes at your art opening, either.”
The house was all one level, to Henrietta’s immense relief, with only two steps up to the front porch.
Maxine was waiting to greet them as Meryn, cradling the wine in her arm, took one crutch so Henrietta could use the handrail to help pull herself up.
“Welcome.” Maxine took Henrietta’s coat for her.
“Your house is beautiful,” Henrietta said, taking in the eclectic mix of art—African, Caribbean, ocean landscapes with dunes and surf.
She enviously eyed Maxine’s flowing pants, a knee-length kind of vest over a blouse of vibrant t
urquoise. She was like a walking painting.
“I really like your outfit.”
“Thank you,” Maxine said, flashing a brilliant smile. A slinky brindled cat with yellow eyes meowed from the back of the chair near the foyer. “I hope you’re not allergic to cats.”
“No. I’m just rarely around animals.”
“This is Cassatt.” Maxine stroked the cat. “Shall we open a bottle of that wine?”
Sandy was at the stove when they all walked into the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry.”
Henrietta couldn’t recall later much of the dinner conversation. She spent most of her time in fascinated observation of Sandy and Maxine’s connection with each other—the small touches and smiles they shared—and with watching Meryn as she interacted with them and the cat, which had taken an immediate liking to her, curling around her ankles and lying at her feet, asking to be rubbed. Meryn was always open and friendly—indeed, that had been one of the first things Henrietta had noticed about her—but there was an extra sense of ease around the table that evening.
The three of them clearly shared the same political views as they discussed the need to get Reagan voted out of office. Henrietta mostly stayed quiet, listening to the passion in their voices. She’d never felt that strongly about anything, at least not once she’d gotten sick. It seemed to her now that her world had shrunk as it turned inward. Her physical needs had consumed her family’s lives after she’d come home, through the post-war years. Her father built the house for her; her parents had rearranged their lives around her doctors’ appointments and further rehab. Even once she was stable physically, her world hadn’t expanded to take in things like the plight of the poor or human rights abuses or the injustice of tax cuts that only benefitted the wealthy. Sandy and Maxine volunteered one Wednesday a month at a food pantry in Cortland. She couldn’t help but compare these women to the ones from the club she called her friends.
“Are you okay, Hank?”
She caught the quick glance Maxine exchanged with Sandy when Meryn laid a concerned hand on her arm. “Yes.” She drew her arm away. “This lentil soup is delicious. So is the cornbread.”
Sandy smiled. “I’m glad you like it. It’s Maxine’s grandmother’s recipe.”
Invisible, as Music Page 25