“Let’s go back and eat.”
Everyone chipped in to do something. Sandy helped prepare the garlic bread while Ryn got the water boiling for the spaghetti. Out in the dining room—cleared of all of Ryn’s books and notes—Maxine helped Henrietta set the table.
With the pasta cooked and strained, and all the bowls and platters on the table, they sat.
“So, Henrietta,” Sandy asked as she uncorked the wine they’d brought and poured for all of them. “Where is your art exhibit going next?”
“To Albany,” Ryn answered for her. “That gallery rep who came to the library has arranged a show there in June.”
“Henrietta, that’s wonderful,” Maxine said, raising her glass. “To a successful show.”
They drank to that.
The bowl of pasta circulated around the table, followed by the sauce.
“While we’re making toasts,” Henrietta said, “I have an announcement to make.”
Ryn, spooning a few meatballs onto her plate, glanced from Henrietta to Sandy and Maxine, but they appeared to be as clueless as she was.
“I resigned my membership at the country club today.”
A stunned silence greeted her words. To Ryn’s surprise, Maxine was the first to react.
“Oh, Henrietta, no,” she said, looking stricken. “That’s not what I meant. I feel horrible.”
“Don’t.” Henrietta said firmly.
“Henrietta,” Ryn said, “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”
Henrietta took a sip of her wine before saying, “For months, I’ve been questioning why I have settled for such a limited circle of… I used to consider them my friends. I put up with the gossip and the vicious pleasure they take in cutting others down, though I would like to think I didn’t participate. Still, I was a miserable person inside, miserable to be around.”
She glanced in Ryn’s direction. “When I met you, it was as if someone held a mirror up. And I didn’t like what I saw.”
“I’m sorry,” Ryn muttered.
“No.” Henrietta’s hand twitched in Ryn’s direction, but then she caught herself and pulled back. “You are the kindest, most genuine person I’ve ever known.”
Ryn sat, stunned, by Henrietta’s words. It was so unlike her to be this demonstrative, especially in front of others. She was even more shocked when Henrietta did take her hand.
“You’ve been a truer friend to me in the months you’ve been here than any of them in the decades I’ve known them.”
She released Ryn’s hand and turned to Maxine. “And when you pointed out what I’d been too blind to see—how blatantly racist and bigoted they are—I just can’t be part of that any longer. Even if I don’t feel the same way, by being a member there, paying dues every month, I sanction that bigotry. So, I wrote a letter explaining all of that, and met with the club manager today to deliver the letter.”
Heaving a deep breath, she said, “And I feel so much lighter. Better. And I’m starving. Let’s eat before everything gets cold.”
Sandy raised her glass. “That does deserve another toast.”
“Hank, I’m proud of you.” Ryn fought the urge to throw her arms around Henrietta.
“This is delicious,” Maxine said.
Ryn noticed with some relief that both Maxine and Sandy had helped themselves to meatballs. No need to worry so much about the menu for future dinners. She had a feeling she and Henrietta would be spending a lot of time with them.
When the evening ended, Maxine and Sandy hugged both Henrietta and Ryn good night.
Ryn stood beside Henrietta on the front porch, waving them off. Back inside, she locked the door.
“That was such a nice evening,” she said.
“I like them both, very much,” Henrietta agreed.
“Hank,” Ryn said, stepping close to Henrietta. “I don’t mean to sound patronizing in any way, but I really am proud of the stand you took with the club.”
She wrapped her arms around Henrietta, careful not to knock her off-balance. She felt Henrietta’s hands tentatively reach up to hold her in return. For a long moment, they stood like that. When Ryn drew away, she searched Henrietta’s eyes.
“Good night.” She lightly stroked her fingers along Henrietta’s cheek.
As they walked to the hallway and turned in opposite directions, Ryn said over her shoulder, “And it was, too, our first date.”
Henrietta lay in the dark for a long time, unable to fall asleep.
“I should have told her,” she whispered. “Should have told her it was because of her, because of the things Genevieve was saying about her.”
Even so, she hadn’t spoken up, hadn’t defended Meryn, or gays in general.
That includes me.
Henrietta was slowly coming to accept that that label applied to her. It was still an adjustment, one made easier by having friends like Maxine and Sandy.
The genuineness and camaraderie around the table this evening had felt more real than the kind of guarded, stilted interactions she’d become accustomed to with the country club set. It had been like that with the young nuns, too, she realized. Maybe the club people were the aberration; maybe other people were kind and thoughtful and caring as a matter of course.
Her social circle had been so limited for nearly her entire life. If she and Una hadn’t gotten sick, if they’d escaped to the city as they’d planned, her life would have been so different. A part of her wished mightily that she could have lived that life… but then I would never have met Meryn.
That was a sobering thought.
When sleep did come, it came with bad dreams—Una took her by the hand, dragging her to the pond despite Henrietta’s warnings that they shouldn’t go in. Una jumped in anyhow, urging Henrietta to join her. But when she did, Una was gone, and it was Meryn who was splashing in the pond. Meryn’s voice changed. She was floundering, calling for help. Henrietta was unable to get to her. No matter how hard she swam, Meryn was beyond her reach. She called and called for help. Genevieve Talbert and some of the other women stood on the dock, pointing and laughing. Henrietta treaded water, begging them to throw a life preserver to Meryn, but Genevieve and the others just turned and walked away.
“Henrietta,” called Meryn.
She tried again to get to her.
“Henrietta.”
Warm hands grasped her arm, shaking her gently. She woke to find Meryn leaning over the bed.
“What…?”
“You were having a nightmare,” Meryn said. “You were crying and moaning in your sleep. I couldn’t wake you.”
Henrietta wiped at the tears that dampened her face and hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Let me get you some water.”
Meryn went into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a glass. Henrietta struggled to sit up a bit. Meryn wrapped an arm around her to help support her shoulders as she sipped the cold water.
With a nod, she handed the glass back and lay down. “Thank you.”
Meryn set the glass on the nightstand. “What were you dreaming about?”
Henrietta took a shuddering breath. “The pond.” She decided not to elaborate.
Meryn sat on the side of the bed, smoothing Henrietta’s hair from her forehead. She laid her hand on Henrietta’s arm. “You’re trembling. Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep again?”
Henrietta stared up at her in the dim light. She wanted that more than anything, but—
Meryn got up, and Henrietta’s heart sank. Meryn walked around to the other side of the bed, stretching out on top of the covers. Henrietta lay stiffly. Meryn scooted closer, slipping an arm under Henrietta’s shoulders to pull her near.
“There,” she said softly. “Close your eyes. I’ve got you.”
Henrietta’s muscles were tense.
“Is this hurting you?”
“No.”
“Relax.” Meryn’s free hand cradled Henrietta’s cheek. Henrietta let herself nestle into Meryn’s shoulder
, felt Meryn’s warm breath on her hair.
She was sure she’d never be able to fall asleep, but the tension slowly left her shoulders. Her breathing deepened and she felt herself sinking, but this time she sank into warmth and softness, never-ending softness.
When she woke next, daylight was streaming in between the curtains and she was alone. Turning her head, she sniffed. Lingering on the pillow was Meryn’s clean scent. If it hadn’t been for that, Henrietta was sure she’d have thought she dreamt the entire thing.
She turned into the pillow, breathing deeply and holding tight to the memory of the thing she’d been certain she’d never know.
She held me.
Chapter 20
Spring arrived in full force the second week of April. Early flowers—Ryn didn’t really know all their names beyond the daffodils—burst into bloom in a riot of color in flowerbeds all over campus, as well as in Henrietta’s yard. She supposed Bud must have planted a lot of things last fall.
With the warmth and sunshine came a restlessness, an itch to be outdoors, to get rid of the heavy coats and hats, to strip down to T-shirts and maybe even shorts, though that was pushing it a bit. And it wasn’t just the students. Ryn felt just as twitchy. She actually held a class outside, her students sitting on the grass of the quad as they argued about the role of the WASPs. Predictably, the women all felt that their role, even though they flew non-combat missions, contributed to the war effort, maybe even shortening the duration, while the men countered that they were nothing more than glorified taxi-drivers, ferrying planes around the country while the male pilots did all the serious work. The women shot back that they did a lot more than that, challenging the guys to fly a plane trailing a target for gunnery practice and see if they came back without having wet themselves. Ryn let them debate. She was happy that they were engaged enough to have an opinion.
On the periphery of the quad, standing in the dappled shadows of one of the trees, stood Tamara. It was harder for Ryn to concentrate with her there. When she dismissed the students, Tam hadn’t moved. Taking it as a sign that she wanted to talk, Ryn zipped her backpack and sauntered over to the tree.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Tamara’s eyes were searching as she scoured Ryn’s face. “Looked like they were going to fight for a few minutes.”
Ryn grinned. “They feel pretty passionate about the topic. Makes me happy.”
“None of my classes get us fired up like that.” Tamara shrugged. “Kind of makes me wish I could have taken one of your classes.”
Ryn didn’t respond to that, certain that her silent thank God would not go over well. Instead, she asked, “How is your semester going?”
“Okay.” Tamara kicked at a tuft of grass. “More than halfway over. Finals will be here before we know it.”
“Yeah.” Ryn tilted her head. “Have you decided about entering?”
“Kind of.” Tamara glanced around, but they were alone. “You really don’t… There’s nothing between us?”
Ryn had been half-expecting a question like this. “Tam, there can’t be,” she said as gently as possible. “I want you to be happy. If that means joining the order, great. I think Roberta and Franny and Steph are fantastic. But if that means taking another path, maybe with another woman, I hope you find someone who can love you the way you deserve. But it won’t be me.”
Tamara’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s Henrietta, isn’t it?”
Ryn stared at her. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I have eyes.” Tamara swiped a hand across her eyes and focused on something on the other side of the quad. “I saw the way she looks at you. And you at her. I don’t get it. She’s so old. And she’s—”
“Careful, Tamara.” Ryn’s voice was cold. “I’d like to stay friends with you.”
Tamara’s mouth gaped at the warning. She backed up a step. “Fine. See you around.”
Ryn turned on her heel and walked to Rayburn hall. She refused to look back and see if Tamara was still there. She’d been caught off-guard by Tam’s comment about Henrietta—and my reaction to it.
She was rarely moved to anger that quickly, but she wasn’t going to tolerate anyone putting Henrietta down. Hank had had to deal with people doing that to her her entire life.
She paused as she climbed the stairs. Every time she remembered that night last week, holding Henrietta after her bad dream, it filled her with so much tenderness, so much protectiveness, it took her breath away.
It wasn’t sexual at all, she’d reminded herself. Why are you so wrapped up in this?
But she was. Even if she couldn’t explain it.
She was about to stop in to say hi to Beverly, but she saw that Talbert was in his office, standing at the window. He turned to her with an inscrutable expression, a lit cigarette in his hand. She quickly continued down the hall, almost going to her old broom closet until she remembered that wasn’t her office anymore.
Taped to the pebbled glass of her door was a folded piece of paper. When she unfolded it, she saw it was a flyer for the upcoming meeting of the Democratic group in town. At the bottom was scrawled,
Hope to see you there. Bring Henrietta.
Franny
Ryn pulled her notes out of her backpack and swapped a different set for her afternoon classes. It was a few minutes before she heard familiar staccato footsteps in the corridor.
“Come on in.”
Beverly entered and shut the door. “He was watching you. Outside. Teaching your class.”
“Really?” Ryn dropped into her chair and nudged the other with her foot. “Did he say anything?”
Beverly shook her head and sat.
“Then what’s the matter?” Ryn gasped. “You’re not retiring for real, are you?”
“No.” Beverly swatted at her. “At least, not yet.” She wrung her hands in a gesture that Ryn knew only too well.
“Tell me.”
“Well, Father Croson has received applications for this department. He brought the curricula vitae to Dr. Talbert. I’ve been asked to type up letters asking four of them to come for interviews.”
Ryn sat back. “Huh. For my position? Or Geary’s? Or both?”
Beverly looked miserable. “I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Ryn said with a deep sigh. “Good to know. I guess I’d better get serious about looking for something else.”
“Oh, Meryn,” but Beverly’s voice caught. Huge tears shimmered behind her glasses.
Ryn leaned forward and took her hand. “Bev, I’d never have gotten through this year without you. Your friendship. Your tea.”
Beverly gave her a watery smile. “You bought most of the tea.”
“But you made it. And that made it special.”
That did it. Beverly heaved a sob and jumped to her feet. She hurried from the office, but the sound of her crying echoed in the corridor as Ryn stared out the window where it was still a beautiful spring day.
“Oh, well.” She stood and swung her backpack over one shoulder. “If my next class is up for it, we’re going outside.”
Maxine pulled into a parking space. Henrietta sat in the passenger seat, her hand gripping the door handle. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
Turning the ignition off, Maxine said soothingly, “It is. It really is.” She unclicked her seatbelt. “Patty’s waiting for us. She came in specially for this. No one else will be there.”
Henrietta felt as if she were being led to a guillotine as she got out. She followed Maxine into a charming clapboard shop a block removed from Main Street.
“I can’t believe I’ve lived in this village my entire life, and I’ve never noticed this place.”
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Maxine held the door for her.
Inside, a smiling woman with impossibly red hair was waiting to greet them. “Hello, Maxine. And you must be Henrietta.”
“Yes.”
“Henrietta, Patty is the best hairdresser around. Sandy’s be
en going to her since we moved here. She can even do my hair.” Maxine pushed at her heavy curls.
Henrietta glanced at her. “But I’ve been going to—”
“Mmm hmm,” Patty interrupted. “I can see exactly who you’ve been going to.”
Henrietta felt like a zoo specimen as Patty and Maxine spoke over her.
“She’s nervous.”
“I can see why.” Patty’s fingers sifted through Henrietta’s hair. “It’s like straw. She’s probably never used a conditioner. And these ends! I only know one person in town who cuts hair like this.”
“Like a signature?”
Patty laughed. “I can spot it anywhere.”
As a matter of fact, Henrietta had been going to the same salon all of her adult life. The long hair she’d had as a girl—the hair Una used to run her fingers through—had been shorn when she got sick. The polio nurses had enough to do with bathing and caring for dozens of patients. Grooming hair wasn’t a priority. So hers had been nearly shaved. Her mother had cried almost as hard about that as she had at the braces when Henrietta came home.
“Well, there’s no sense in having pretty hair now,” her mother had bemoaned. “No boy will ever want to marry you.”
She’d let Henrietta’s hair grow until the uneven ends had to be trimmed and then taken her to her hairdresser. “Keep it practical, Justine.”
Straight bangs, sides and back just down to her jawline. Easy to wash and dry, just run a comb through and be done with it. That’s as much thought as Henrietta had given to her hair in decades. When Justine had passed the salon to her daughter, Paula, nothing had changed.
As she lay back at the sink—Patty made sure her neck was comfortably padded—those thoughts ran through her head while Patty shampooed her hair with something that was thick and smelled wonderfully tropical. When she began massaging Henrietta’s scalp, she nearly put her to sleep.
“Now,” Patty said, gently wrapping Henrietta’s head in a towel and leading her to a swiveling chair in front of a mirror. She fastened a drape around her neck. “I’m going to let this conditioner work for at least fifteen minutes.” She removed the towel and squirted some thick goo into Henrietta’s hair and worked it in. “In the meantime, how about some coffee? Cream? Sugar?”
Invisible, as Music Page 28