“Just cream, please.”
“I didn’t mean to take up your whole day off,” Henrietta said to Maxine while Patty went to a back room. She tried to get a glimpse of herself, certain she looked ridiculous, sitting there with that stuff in her hair, but Patty had swiveled it away from the mirror.
“I consider this a challenge.”
“A challenge?”
Patty came back with three mugs clenched in her hands. “Cream and extra sugar for yours, sweetie,” she said, handing Maxine one of the cups. “Henrietta.”
She checked Henrietta’s hair and sat down. “Did I hear something about a challenge?”
“Henrietta has presented me with one,” Maxine said, surveying Henrietta up and down. “You take care of the hair, Patty. I’ll take care of the rest.”
By the time Maxine drove back to the house late that afternoon, Henrietta was exhausted. Maxine helped her carry her bags inside.
“Where do you want these?”
“In the bedroom, please.”
Maxine returned to the living room a moment later where Henrietta was staring wide-eyed at her reflection.
“I feel like a clown, some kind of impostor.”
“You look wonderful.” Maxine laid a reassuring hand in her shoulder as they both gazed into the mirror. “Now you leave everything just as it is. Remember, Henrietta,” she tapped a fingernail against one of the crutches, “Ryn sees you, not these.”
She glanced at her watch. “She’ll be home soon.” She gave Henrietta a quick kiss on the cheek. “We’ll see you both tomorrow night. Sandy’s making something special for your birthday, so come hungry.”
She backed out of the driveway with a wave. Henrietta went to the sofa to sit and wait. Nervously, she kept running her hands over her hair. Though it was even shorter than she was accustomed to, it felt wonderfully soft and full.
Not content to stop at her hair, Patty had insisted on giving her a facial as well. Though Henrietta had drawn the line at makeup, she had allowed Patty to apply a moisturizer that made her skin feel like silk.
In the bedroom were bags of new clothing unlike anything Henrietta had ever worn.
“Are you sure you want to wear these again?” the woman at the boutique had asked, disdainfully holding up Henrietta’s suit and blouse.
“I’m sure.”
The hair was change enough for one day, Henrietta thought. Her heart raced when she saw Meryn saunter down the street and turn into the drive. She is so beautiful, so graceful.
She held her breath as the front door opened and Meryn entered.
“Hi, Hank.”
“Hello.”
It took a second for Meryn to notice. When she did, it was almost comical, how she froze mid-step.
“Wow. Henrietta. You look wonderful.”
Henrietta’s breath hitched. “Really?”
Meryn’s answer was in her gaze. She lowered her backpack and came to sit beside Henrietta on the couch. “What prompted this?”
“Maxine.”
Meryn laughed and raised a hand to softly touch Henrietta’s hair. “Well, I need to remember to thank Maxine.” She angled her head. “Do you like it?”
Henrietta searched Meryn’s eyes. “I do now.”
Ryn stood in the kitchen, shuffling all of the pieces of paper spread on the counter: Bonnie’s instructions for heating the ham and making a glaze, her mom’s recipe for green beans sautéed with shallots, the list of what everyone else was bringing.
From the village, she heard the church bells chiming.
“Ready?” she called toward the back of the house, checking that her shirt was still neatly tucked in.
Henrietta’s crutches and braces announced her arrival.
Ryn gaped for a moment. “Look at you.”
Henrietta stood there in flowing slacks of deep blue, with a tunic top in a flowered print of blues and greens.
“Henrietta…”
“It’s not too much?” Henrietta’s cheeks were very pink. She started to turn around. “I should change.”
“No.” Ryn went to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You look fantastic.”
“I feel like a fool.”
“You shouldn’t. Maxine again?”
Henrietta nodded, a tortured expression on her face. “I can’t do this. Everyone will stare.”
“Yes, they will, but they’ll be staring in envy.” Ryn scanned Henrietta up and down. “How’s it feel?”
Henrietta couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “It’s wonderful. I haven’t worn anything but skirts and those awful heavy nylon hose in forever. These cotton hose are so light and comfortable. Of course, they probably won’t last as long.”
“So they don’t last as long.” Ryn guided Henrietta toward the garage. “Who cares? Life is too short to be uncomfortable if you don’t have to be.”
Henrietta cast her a sidelong glance. “That’s your philosophy on everything, isn’t it?”
Ryn grinned at her. “Pretty much. Can I drive?”
Henrietta got into the passenger seat of the Chrysler and waited until Ryn had managed to back out of the garage—using the hand controls—without hitting anything before saying, “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”
“Yeah. They’re kind of fun. But the pedals are still safer for me.”
“At least our garage is all in one piece.”
Ryn smiled at the pronoun. Checking for oncoming traffic at the end of the drive, she said, “Thanks again for letting me put the Democratic signs up in the yard.”
Henrietta voice was hard as she said, “Every person turning in at the club will see them.”
“Are you sorry?”
“About resigning from there?”
Ryn nodded.
“Not at all. I’m only sorry it took me so long to do it.”
“But that was your social circle for a long, long time.” Ryn felt a stab of guilt at not having told Henrietta that St. Aloysius was interviewing for the history department. She’d updated her CV and sent it out to some of the surrounding SUNY campuses, wondering if she could do the commute on a daily basis. She couldn’t bear the thought of not being here.
Henrietta scoffed. “Too long. And I like my new social circle so much better.”
Part of that new social circle was waiting for them at the packed campus chapel, as Franny and the others had saved space in their pew. It warmed Ryn’s heart to hear the whispered compliments they all offered Henrietta. She knew how self-conscious she’d feel if she suddenly had to wear a dress—she coughed to cover a snort at the thought—and figured it must be about the same for Henrietta. It was a few minutes before she realized Tamara wasn’t with them.
The Easter celebration was joyous—riots of flowers filled the chapel, people sang enthusiastically. When Mass was over, Franny, Steph, and Roberta walked them out.
“We’ll be there inside half an hour,” Steph called as they peeled off in the opposite direction.
Back home, Ryn hurried to change into jeans and a T-shirt, but she took the precaution of calling to Henrietta, “Don’t you dare change.”
Sandy and Maxine arrived just as the nuns were pulling into the driveway. They all introduced themselves to one another, so they were a noisy bunch as they entered the house.
In the kitchen, Ryn was happy to yield control to the others and even happier listening to all the compliments Henrietta was paid. Roberta slid a pan of sweet potatoes into the oven next to the ham to warm up.
Maxine and Sandy had brought a hummingbird cake decorated beautifully with sugared violets.
In the midst of the noise and the laughter, she watched Henrietta talking to Stephanie about something. Henrietta glanced over and caught her eye. For a few seconds, everyone else faded away and there was only Henrietta.
“She looks beautiful,” murmured a low voice in Ryn’s ear.
Ryn jumped to find Franny standing beside her. “Yeah, she does.”
She
peered quizzically up at Franny. “Where’s Tamara?”
“She hasn’t been hanging out with us as much lately.” Franny hesitated, carefully avoiding Ryn’s gaze. “I think she met someone.”
“Oh.” Ryn was kind of relieved. And curious. “How do you feel about that?”
Franny shrugged. “It’s not my place to feel any way about it. If she wants to be with someone, she should. She wouldn’t be happy with us if that’s where her heart is.”
“Don’t you folks recruit?”
Franny chortled. “I thought that was the main complaint about your people.”
Ryn grinned. “I suppose. You know how subversive we are.”
Franny nudged her, pointing her chin at Henrietta. “Your newest recruit?”
Ryn gave her a sly look. “Maybe.”
“Time to eat,” Sandy said, carrying the platter of ham to the table.
As dishes were passed around the table, Ryn kept checking to see if Henrietta had enough food, but she needn’t have worried. Between Maxine on one side and Stephanie on the other, they handled the heavy bowls and platters, making sure Henrietta got a bit of everything that came by.
Roberta offered grace. Listening to the heartfelt prayer, Ryn found herself choking up. This gathering of women, the love and companionship at this table—it was all more than she could have wished for when she came to this little village last August.
Henrietta laughed at something Sandy said.
So much more, Ryn thought as she dug into her sweet potatoes.
After dinner, everyone was so stuffed that they opted to walk down to the pond before having dessert. Ryn, anticipating this, had gone down the day before to make sure the path was clear of all branches and leaves, anything that could impede Henrietta. She’d uncovered and cleaned the chairs so Henrietta could have a place to sit and rest once she was down there. She’d even laid wood in the fire pit, just in case.
“What a beautiful place,” Sandy said. “Why didn’t we ever come out to this pond before we met you?”
“Most people don’t really know about this pond,” Henrietta said a little breathlessly.
The trees were only just starting to bud. A few early flowers pushed through the loam at the bases of the trees and along the pond’s bank. The April sun glinted off the water. A family of ducks, two adults and six fuzzy ducklings, paddled along the far shore near the dock where the rowboat bobbed gently.
Maxine pointed. “Do they know about the famous boat?”
Ryn colored. “I don’t think so.”
“What’s the story?” Roberta asked.
“Let Henrietta tell it,” Sandy said with an evil-looking grin.
Henrietta, like a queen ensconced on her throne, regaled the others with the tale of Ryn’s misadventures that day.
They hooted and laughed. Ryn nodded, her lips pursed.
“You really enjoy telling that story, don’t you?”
Henrietta looked up at her, her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing. “I do. It was the funniest thing I’d seen in a very long time.”
For long seconds, she and Ryn stared at each other.
“And,” Henrietta added, “it was one of the best days of my life.”
Chapter 21
The birdfeeders swung wildly as birds flittered about, vying for access to the seeds, spilling many in the process. Several had figured out that they only had to wait below, hopping around to snatch the bounty falling to the ground.
Henrietta sketched, making quick splashes of color from an old set of watercolors. She’d work out the details of composition later, fine-tuning the color mixes.
Her art exhibit at the library was over, all the unsold paintings back in her studio. But most of them were going to be part of the exhibit in Albany. Mr. Taylor had been in regular contact, as he would be curating the show. He wanted to come to Bluemont again next month to finalize their selections.
Henrietta’s pencil hovered above her pad as she sat, lost in thought. And amazement. The changes in her life these last months were beyond anything she could have dreamt for herself. As much as she had felt her world shrinking, imprisoning her inside walls of her own making—was that just this past autumn?—it now seemed her horizons were limitless. With Meryn at her side, with new friends who were wonderfully open and non-judgmental, it seemed anything was possible.
She touched a hand to the lavender geometric pattern on her sleeve. Strange, how she’d gravitated toward these vibrant colors and patterns—“so garish,” said a voice inside her head that sounded a lot like Genevieve Talbert. But she loved them.
The changes, she knew, were as much internal as they were external. It was like a kind of metamorphosis. For decades, she’d been confined, like a seed trapped inside a husk that wouldn’t break open to let it germinate. Everything about her—the drab colors she’d worn, the lack of any kind of ornamentation—now felt like part of the shell she’d kept closed in an effort to protect herself.
Then Meryn had come into her life. She couldn’t help smiling at the mere thought of that girl. The tornado had become a nutcracker—and my savior. She knew Meryn would say Henrietta had saved herself, but it wasn’t true. She never would have been brave enough to force that shell open on her own. She wasn’t that tough. But Meryn was. Despite everything she’d dealt with at the college this year, she was unfailingly kind and optimistic. Henrietta knew her own reaction would have been to withdraw further, to shut people out even more. But Meryn just turned things around, reached for others. She was like nectar to hummingbirds. Everyone was drawn to her.
“And this is why you are a painter, not a writer,” she said aloud, laughing at her sentimentality.
But… she reached for a fresh sheet of paper, her pencil flying over it.
The light gradually shifted, and she realized it was almost two o’clock. She’d been working for hours. Getting stiffly to her feet, she felt odd. Her legs were heavier than usual. She gripped her crutches and turned toward the kitchen.
With a cry, she toppled over, landing on one crutch when it tangled around her arm. She lay there a moment, struggling to breathe. When her initial panic subsided, she gingerly tried moving. All of her limbs worked, and nothing seemed to be broken. She fumbled for her stool and grasped a lower rung. Her leg braces wouldn’t allow her legs to bend at the proper angles to get her feet underneath her. She had to push herself up, straight-legged, until she could grip her countertop to steady herself.
She stood there, panting, her whole body trembling. When she thought she was stable, she bent over, keeping one hand on her stool, to retrieve first one crutch and then the other. She made her way to the kitchen where she collapsed into a chair.
For several minutes, she sat, letting her heart and breathing slow. Pulling her sleeve up, she saw the start of a nasty bruise around her forearm.
“That was stupid of you,” she muttered. “Too long without eating. Got to be more careful.”
Ryn smiled when she realized her class should have ended four minutes ago, but none of the students had begun the passive signals she typically got: the closing of books and shoving them into backpacks, the pointed glances at the clock, the restless sliding of backsides half off the edges of their seats as the students prepared to bolt.
“Okay, we’ll pick up this discussion of Justice Sandra Day O’Connor on Friday. Read. Be prepared to discuss. Go.”
When the first students opened the door, she saw that Jerry Talbert and Father Croson stood with a third man in the corridor where they’d apparently been watching the class. Another applicant.
She’d already been introduced to two: a younger guy about her age from Seattle and a middle-aged man from… she couldn’t remember where. Apparently Talbert was so desperate to have the history department reeking again of testosterone that women candidates weren’t even being interviewed.
That’s not fair, she reminded herself, turning her back on them to pack up her notes. She had no idea who had applied. There weren’t many wome
n in this field, period. Much less those who wanted to come to a rinky-dink village and a tiny campus like this one. But I want to be here.
That’s what burned her more than anything. If she were ready to leave, if she didn’t want so desperately to stay, she wouldn’t give two figs whom Talbert interviewed. Of course, most of why she wanted to remain had nothing to do with the college. She couldn’t contemplate leaving Henrietta, and she also couldn’t envision Henrietta ever leaving Bluemont. If only something else would open up within commuting distance of this place.
None of the SUNY campuses in Binghamton, Cortland, or Oswego had posted openings, but she’d sent query letters out to all of the central New York college history department heads to see if they anticipated any openings they might not have advertised yet.
“But you don’t even know that you won’t have a job here next year,” Beverly had said, her eyes misting.
Ryn had shrugged. “I haven’t been offered a contract for next year. Finals are in two weeks. I can’t wait. I’m probably already too late to get something for next year.”
“Have you told Miss Cochran?” Beverly had asked.
“No.” That omission nagged at Ryn. It wasn’t fair not to tell Henrietta, but she kept putting it off, hoping something would happen, some miracle that would keep her employed here, let her make this village her home for good.
But, she mused as she locked her office, she was going to enjoy every minute she had here while she could. Walking across campus, she was still surprised at how late everything was in this part of New York. Back home, the crabapple and cherry trees, the dogwoods and redbud—it all would have been in full bloom by now, and the non-flowering trees would have been fully leafed out. But here, the first week of May was still early. Tender buds swelled on the flowering trees, tiny leaves fluttered from maples and oaks and elms.
She took it all in as she strolled home, waving to a few people she knew. When she got to the house, Bud was just packing up. Judging from the amount of leaves and other debris loaded into the back of his pick-up, he’d had a productive day.
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