“Time for dessert. Bread pudding.” Maxine rose, but Sandy pushed her back down.
“Stay here, sweetie. I’ll get it.”
“Let me help you,” Meryn said. She took Henrietta’s plate along with her own into the kitchen.
“So,” Maxine said, angling her head. “Meryn seems like a nice young woman. How long have you been together?”
Henrietta choked and sputtered on the wine she’d just swallowed. Maxine jumped up to help her, but Henrietta waved her back down.
“I’m not,” she gasped when she could speak. “We’re not… together.”
“I’m so sorry.” Maxine looked mortified. “We just assumed… You’re so natural together.”
Henrietta took a gulp of water, her eyes still streaming as she contemplated how to respond. The answer suddenly came to her. “I’m flattered you would think so. But I doubt she—”
“Here we are,” Sandy said, sailing back into the dining room with two bowls of warm bread pudding.
Meryn followed with two more.
“What did we miss?” Sandy asked, her sharp eyes taking in the expressions on Henrietta and Maxine’s faces.
“Nothing.” Maxine accepted a bowl. “Thank you, honey.”
Meryn, too, was clearly perplexed.
“Tell us how you two met,” Sandy suggested.
“Maybe they don’t want to talk about—” Maxine started to say.
“Why wouldn’t they?” Sandy asked.
Henrietta hid a smile as Maxine tried in vain to catch Sandy’s eye and give her some kind of warning. “It had to do with a snake and a rowboat.”
Ryn sat at a table at the small pizza place she used to go to a lot when she first arrived in Bluemont and needed to escape Mrs. Middleston’s boarding house. She hadn’t needed to find out of the way places like this in months, not since moving in with Henrietta. But with today being Bonnie’s cleaning day and the campus pretty much closed down for spring break, she’d needed to find somewhere else to work.
Only her mind was on everything but her work. She propped her forehead on her hand, staring at her notes without seeing them, wondering again what had happened between Henrietta and Maxine. Something had definitely been exchanged between the two of them, but Henrietta had insisted she was imagining things. Except Ryn didn’t think so. A few times, she’d caught Henrietta watching her with an odd expression—softer, more wistful than she typically wore.
When they’d returned home last evening, Henrietta had been unusually quiet, even for her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
Henrietta hadn’t answered immediately. “I’m fine. It’s just… I suppose I’ve never been around a lesbian couple.”
“Did it bother you?” Ryn had asked, more curious than she would admit.
“No,” Henrietta had said quickly, but her voice sounded strange as she said, “I like them both. This evening gave me a lot to think about.”
Inside, when Ryn had taken her coat for her, her hand had accidentally clasped Henrietta’s. They’d stood like that for what seemed a long time, staring into each other’s eyes. Ryn had nearly caressed Henrietta’s cheek—God, I almost kissed her, she thought now, closing her eyes.
But Henrietta… Henrietta had looked almost as if she was expecting to be kissed, as if she wanted to be kissed. It had been Ryn who cleared her throat, who backed away with a murmured “good night.”
With a groan, she slapped her notebook shut. “This is pointless.”
She practically threw her notes into her backpack and zipped it shut. Outside, a cold drizzle had begun under a solidly gray sky that matched her mood. Luckily, she’d driven and didn’t have to walk in this.
Bonnie was just getting her coat and purse when Ryn came in.
“Don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Bonnie whispered, “but she’s in a mood. Don’t you mind if she snaps at you. There’s a pot roast in the oven. Timer’s on. Should last you a few days.”
“Thank you, Bonnie.”
Bonnie gave her arm a motherly pat as she left. Since there was no sign of Henrietta in the living room or kitchen, Ryn figured she must be in the studio. She went to her room to deposit her backpack. The oven timer indicated the roast had another fifteen minutes.
She debated whether to risk entering the lion’s den. Peering around the door, she saw Henrietta perched on her stool in front of the easel. Ryn stood, studying her—the angles of her face, the rigidity of her posture, the severity of her simple haircut—all so different from Ashley and Tamara. So why do I prefer this?
Her attention shifted to the canvas, where there was a rough outline of…
“The rowboat?” Ryn stepped fully into the studio. “Is that me?”
Henrietta stiffened. “Our conversation last evening got me remembering.”
Ryn stepped closer, careful to keep her hands in her pockets. “I suppose it was rather comical.”
The corner of Henrietta’s mouth twitched. “It was certainly a unique meeting.”
“It wasn’t actually our first meeting,” Ryn reminded her.
Henrietta half-turned. “No. You were very kind. Coming to help me.”
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Ryn hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “Bonnie’s roast is about done. I’ll get it out of the oven while you clean up in here.”
When they were seated at the table fifteen minutes later, Henrietta asked, “Did you get a lot accomplished today?”
“Not as much as I should have.”
“Why is that?”
Ryn glanced up at Henrietta and then back to her plate. “Um, just having to rewrite a lot of Geary’s notes, I suppose.”
They ate a bit in the quiet kitchen.
“This is good,” Ryn said, trying to fill the silence.
“Mmmhmm.”
“Bonnie said you weren’t in a great mood today. Anything wrong?”
Henrietta speared a carrot with her fork, breaking it into smaller pieces. “Not wrong, exactly.”
“What, then?” Ryn reached for her glass, noticing the way Henrietta seemed to avoid looking at her.
“Last evening, when Maxine and I were talking, while you and Sandy were getting dessert, she assumed…”
Ryn paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. “Assumed what?”
Henrietta’s cheeks were flushed, and she kept her eyes downcast. “She assumed we’re a couple.”
The silence in the kitchen thickened, the ticking of the wall clock the only sound until finally Ryn forced herself to speak.
“What did you say?”
Henrietta laughed, but it sounded forced. “I assured her we’re not.”
“Oh.” Ryn couldn’t decide if she was relieved or hurt by that.
“What a notion.”
“Yeah.” Ryn’s stomach twisted.
“I mean, you’re young and vibrant and—”
“Henrietta—”
“It’s a ridiculous thing to even think about.” Henrietta frowned. “I assured her we’re not a couple.”
“You said that.”
Henrietta looked up, met Ryn’s gaze at last. What Ryn saw there hit her like a fist to the gut—the tenderness, the hope and fear. It only lasted a second, and then the wall slammed down.
Henrietta lowered her gaze again, and her voice when she spoke was flat. “Yes, well, I set her straight. She apologized. That’s the end of that.”
Ryn forced herself to finish her meal, though her appetite was gone. She cleared the dishes and put the leftovers away while Henrietta went to the living room. Flicking off the kitchen light, Ryn stood there in the dark, something writhing inside her, fighting to get out.
“I need some air,” she announced. “Going for a walk. Don’t wait up. I’ll be sure to lock up when I get back.”
She grabbed her jacket and left before Henrietta could say anything. Outside, the tree branches gleamed wetly in the shifting moonlight as clouds scudded through the sky. Her b
reath puffed out before her in the cold, damp night. The only sound was the steady rhythm of her heels pounding into the pavement as she strode down the road toward the village. She tried to make sense of the feelings churning around inside her, but it was like trying to ride out a tornado. Everything kept circling round and round.
With most of the students still gone, the village streets were quiet, only a few cars out, their headlights trying to pierce the mists. She had no idea if Tam was in town, but that wasn’t who she wanted now anyway. She found herself standing in front of the nuns’ house. Lights glowed inside, but she wrestled with whether to knock or just go away. Almost against her will, she found herself climbing the porch steps. At the first knock, the door opened and Stephanie pulled her inside.
“How are you? We haven’t seen you for ages.”
Roberta came out from the kitchen and Franny from upstairs.
“I didn’t know if y’uns would be back yet,” Ryn said awkwardly.
“We all have mid-terms to study for,” Roberta said. “So we spent a couple days at the motherhouse and then came back early. How are you?”
“Fine.” Ryn’s eyes darted toward Franny, and she suddenly felt foolish for coming here. What the hell were three nuns going to do or say to make this better? “I shouldn’t have just barged in like this.”
“Don’t be silly. Come on in,” Steph said. “There’s cake in the—”
“Steph,” Roberta cut in, glancing to where Franny stood on the second step from the bottom. “I don’t think Ryn’s here for a social call.”
“What do you—” Stephanie followed Roberta’s gaze to Franny and then back to Ryn. “Oh. Ohhh.”
Taking Roberta’s hint, she gave Ryn’s hand a squeeze and then followed Roberta up the stairs. Franny descended the last couple of steps.
“Tea?”
She led the way into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Ryn took her jacket off and dropped into a chair. Franny didn’t ask any questions as she cut two slices of chocolate cake and placed a couple of teabags into mugs.
“Damp night for a walk.”
“Yeah,” Ryn agreed. She reached for her jacket and stood. “Listen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“I think we’ve already established that you should have,” Franny cut in. She took the jacket from Ryn and hung it over the back of a chair. “Besides, I already cut the cake. I can’t eat two pieces. If you don’t eat it, Steph will, but she shouldn’t. So stay put.”
When she finally sat down in an adjacent chair and placed a steaming mug in front of Ryn, she simply said, “Eat.”
Ryn did as she was told. The cake really was delicious, but it was hard to swallow past the lump in her throat. She ate half the cake and then pushed the plate away, cradling her mug in hands that wouldn’t warm.
Franny waited.
“Henrietta,” Ryn began, “when she was young, before she got sick, she loved a girl. Una. So it’s not like she’s straight, but…”
She pressed her fist to her mouth. She really didn’t want to cry in front of Franny, who still said nothing.
“I don’t know how to love her.” Immediately, she raked her hand through her hair. “Shit, I sound like that song from Jesus Christ, Superstar.”
Franny gave her a tiny smile. “You’re not so far wrong.” She slid her plate aside and leaned her elbows on the table.
“You told me,” Ryn said, “that day in the library, that there are lots of kinds of love.”
Franny nodded. “There are. And no one kind is better than another. If you love Henrietta and she loves you—”
Ryn shoved to her feet. “That’s the problem, though. We met another lesbian couple, had dinner with them. They assumed we’re a couple, but Henrietta swore we’re not, so I don’t know how she feels about me. And I don’t know what to do with it if she does love me. I don’t know—”
She paused, pressing her fingers hard against her eyes. “I just don’t know.”
“That’s a very healthy place to be,” Franny said. She reached for Ryn’s arm and tugged her back down to her chair. “Not knowing leaves you open to things you might not consider otherwise. Right now, you’re probably wondering if you can be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back, at least not in that same way.”
Ryn wiped at her eyes. “What do you do with that?”
Franny gave her a wry grin. “You’ve come to the experts.” She took a sip of her tea. “Religious life is often a damned slog, dedicating yourself to this being, this idea—it doesn’t have physical form; a lot of people say it doesn’t even exist; it doesn’t offer the physical comfort you’d get from loving another person. So why do we do it?”
Ryn stared at her.
“Because this kind of love, this bone-deep love, won’t leave you alone.” The grin slid from Franny’s face.
“Real love should be hard. People who make it sound easy are wrong. It requires sacrifice and compromise and work. Love that comes easy is love that probably only goes skin-deep and isn’t going to last. Real love digs deep and hooks you. It won’t let you walk away, even when you want to, even when it seems it’s giving you nothing back.”
She leaned forward again and grasped Ryn’s arm. “That’s the thing. The kind of love we’re talking about isn’t dependent on getting something back. It’s there no matter what. Even if Henrietta never loves you the same way, you’ll always love her.”
“But…”
She let Ryn’s arm go and angled her head. “But what about sex?”
Ryn felt her face heat up. “I just never pictured myself in a relationship without it.”
“How do you know it won’t be there?” Franny waved a hand. “And whether it is or isn’t, that doesn’t define a relationship. A lot of relationships, marriages even, aren’t based on sex.”
Ryn frowned at her cup. “I need to talk to her.”
Franny stood and reached for Ryn’s jacket, holding it out to her. She pulled Ryn into a hard hug. “Yeah. You do.”
Henrietta pushed up from the sofa for the tenth time. She kept trying to read or watch some television, but it was no use. Meryn had never just left like this.
But she was hurt. The look in her eyes…
Henrietta opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch. The street was empty and dark.
“I’m just trying to protect her,” she whispered to the night.
Maybe she doesn’t need protecting. Doesn’t want it.
That was too much to hope for. Leaving that possibility open was more than Henrietta was willing to risk. She couldn’t even envisage what a relationship with Meryn might look like.
She shivered and went back inside. She opened the drapes over the picture window and turned off the lamp so she could sit on the sofa and keep watch. So she saw as Meryn walked down the road and turned into the driveway.
The key turned quietly in the lock, and Meryn stepped into the foyer, pushing the door shut and flipping the locks.
“Meryn.”
The girl jumped. “Damn. Henrietta, you scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Meryn hung her jacket up and slipped out of her boots. “I didn’t mean to worry you. You didn’t need to stay up.”
Henrietta leaned toward the lamp.
“Don’t.” Meryn padded across the living room to her chair, her outline visible against the picture window. “I want to talk with you, and it’ll be easier in the dark.”
Henrietta’s heart thudded against her brace. She and Una used to talk in the dark all the time, but she had a dreadful feeling this wasn’t going to be like that.
“Henrietta,” Meryn said, “you have known from the beginning that I’m a lesbian. As we’ve gotten to know each other, as you shared your past with me, you’ve kind of described yourself the same way.”
Henrietta remembered the night she’d said that. Leave it to Meryn to have heard it and to remember it.
“I know, when
you and Maxine spoke, and she assumed we’re a couple, that that probably shocked you. And maybe insulted you.”
It seemed to Henrietta that Meryn was breathing hard for someone who was sitting still.
“I’m not good at hiding my feelings, Henrietta. I… I just want you to know, that I… I do love you.”
Henrietta was certain she’d misheard.
“I don’t know how you’ll feel about that. And I know you may not feel the same,” Meryn continued quickly before Henrietta could respond.
She couldn’t sit any longer, and began to pace back and forth, her shadow moving across the picture window as if it were a movie screen.
“I don’t have any expectations. And I don’t want anything to change between us, but, of course, this may change everything. I realize you’ve got a certain position in this town, certain expectations and obligations, and, if you want me to leave, I will. But, you’ve changed my life. I just couldn’t continue being around you and not tell you how I feel.”
She stopped moving and speaking at last, standing there, silhouetted against the faint light from outside. Henrietta couldn’t tell if she was facing her or the street.
A war raged inside Henrietta—her heart leapt with a joy it hadn’t known in nearly four decades, but her mind sternly demanded that she do the right thing.
“You can’t,” she heard herself say.
“Can’t what?”
“You can’t…” Henrietta couldn’t say the words aloud. “You can’t be tied to me that way. You’re too young, too beaut—too full of promise. You have your entire life to live, and it can’t be anchored down by me.”
“Henrietta, age doesn’t matter—”
“Poppycock,” Henrietta snapped. “You’ve read enough novels to know that that’s an argument only the younger person makes, never the older. I’m more than twice your age. I’m older than your parents. By the time you’re my age, I’ll be in my eighties, if I live that long. Your career is just beginning. Your whole life is just beginning. You shouldn’t be trapped in this village forever, and I don’t see myself leaving. This cannot be.”
To her consternation, Meryn heaved a sigh that sounded like relief as she sat back down in her chair.
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