Invisible, as Music

by Caren J. Werlinger

  “Hi, yourself.”

  Henrietta knew she would never see anything that made her happier than Meryn’s smiling face.

  “You did all these?” Meryn set her backpack down and leafed through the stack of envelopes.

  “They still need to be sealed, and I am not about to give my tongue a paper cut for Walter Mondale.”

  But Meryn wasn’t put off by her grumpy tone. She grinned. “I’ll seal them with a sponge. Wouldn’t want you to sacrifice any body parts.” She gave Henrietta’s shoulder a squeeze. “Be right back.”

  She disappeared into her room to change her clothes. “What would you like for dinner?”

  Henrietta thought for a moment. “How about omelettes?”

  “Sounds good. Do you want coffee?”

  “I’ll make that if you’ll do the eggs.”

  “Deal.”

  They went to the kitchen, working around each other in a choreography that had become routine.

  “Andy and his wife invited us to their house for dinner this weekend.” Meryn glanced over from the stove, where she was pouring the scrambled egg mixture into a pan.

  Sometimes, it seemed to Henrietta as if her world kept getting bigger and bigger. It was hard to remember when she’d felt she was surrounded by walls that were closing her in.

  “We don’t have to,” Meryn added quickly.

  “They’re nice people,” Henrietta said. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  Meryn placed her hands on Henrietta’s shoulders, forcing her to look at her. “Are you sure? I don’t want to ask you to do something you don’t want to.”

  Henrietta placed a hand on Meryn’s cheek. “As long as I’m with you, it’s where I want to be.”

  The semester was flying by so fast, Ryn sometimes wondered if she’d been sleepwalking through parts of it. Mid-terms were over after a marathon session of grading. Part of what made it feel so chaotic was the fact that she was spending nearly every spare minute volunteering for the Mondale/Ferraro campaign: going door-to-door every weekend, helping with the telephone calls during the week, pushing her students to vote—“remember those women who fought for your right to vote? Don’t waste it!” she reminded them after they’d studied the suffrage movement.

  It made her proud that so many of the young women on campus had been energized by Ferraro’s nomination. She knew the men rolled their eyes, but she encouraged the women. A small gaggle of them followed her out of the classroom at the end of lecture.

  They accompanied her across the quad to the steps of Rayburn Hall, all making plans to go together to the student union tomorrow to vote for the first time. She waved them off before climbing the stairs, where Beverly was waiting for her, holding a small cardboard box.

  “Your fan club left you?”

  “They’re not—” But she stopped when she saw the mischievous gleam in Beverly’s eyes. “Very funny.”

  Beverly shrugged, accompanying her down the corridor to her office. “You’re one of the most popular instructors on campus.”

  Even if it was true, Ryn didn’t like to think about it. She was pretty sure there were a couple of baby dykes in her classes, and she was being extra careful not to give them any encouragement of a personal nature. Geary’s example was always fresh in her mind.

  “What’s up?” she asked when Beverly followed her into the office and closed the door. “And what’s in the box?”

  Beverly’s expression sobered. “I don’t know what’s in it,” she said, holding the box out, “but it’s from Mrs. Feldman. For you.”

  “Vanessa’s mother?” Ryn heart pounded as she took it and set it on her desk. Her hands were trembling so badly that Beverly took the scissors from her to slit open the packing tape. Together they opened the flaps and peeled apart the tissue paper inside.

  “Oh.” Ryn put her hand over her mouth when she saw Piglet lying there.

  “There’s a note,” Beverly said gently.

  Ryn blinked hard and shook her head.

  Beverly opened the note and read,

  “Professor Fleming, I hope you won’t think this is foolish, but I wanted you to have one of Vanessa’s animals. As you can probably guess, she is gone. No matter how many therapists and doctors we took her to, she was never again the happy girl we used to know. You were the only one she spoke of fondly from her time at St. Aloysius.

  “I so regret forcing her to go there. She must have been so lonely. But I’m happy she had you for a friend. Please accept this in remembrance of our girl.”

  Beverly folded the note. “Meryn, I’m so sorry.”

  Ryn couldn’t see through her tears. “She was so beautiful.”

  Beverly reached up to pat her shoulder as she cried. “There, there. You helped get some justice for her from that awful man.” She rubbed Ryn’s back.

  When Ryn’s tears slowed, she wiped her eyes. “It’s so unfair.”

  “Many things in life aren’t fair,” Beverly said. “But we must push on.”

  Ryn nodded, tucking Piglet back into the box and packing the box into her bag.

  “You go home now.” Beverly helped her with her jacket. “There’s nothing here that needs doing today.”

  Ryn zipped her jacket, embarrassed by her red eyes as she left the building. She walked quickly, preoccupied with thoughts of Vanessa. When she got home, she went straight to her room. She opened the box and gently placed Piglet on her dresser. Behind her, she heard Henrietta’s crutches.

  “I thought I heard you come in.”

  When Ryn didn’t turn around, Henrietta asked, “What’s wrong?”

  But Ryn’s throat closed up as more tears filled her eyes. She dropped onto the side of the bed. Henrietta came in and sat beside her.

  When her eyes lit on the stuffed Piglet sitting there, she said quietly, “That girl? The one from the boarding house?”

  Ryn could only nod. Turning to Henrietta, she buried her face in her neck while Henrietta held her, rocking her.

  When Ryn’s tears slowed, Henrietta released her. “Stay here. Play your guitar.”

  “I can’t right now.”

  Henrietta stood. “You need your music now. Just as I’d need to paint.” She bent to kiss the top of Ryn’s head.

  She closed the door on her way out. Ryn opened her guitar case and sat on her bed. Staring at Piglet, she played for Vanessa.

  The results were predictable. Meryn had sat glued to the television as the election tallies came in. Henrietta had known Reagan would win, but even she wasn’t prepared for such a landslide.

  The extent of Meryn’s depression had been alarming. She’d been sleeping in her room, hardly eating, barely speaking for the entire week. Henrietta saw her for only a few minutes each morning and evening. She knew part of it was the news of Vanessa’s suicide. For Meryn, it was all tied together with her having poured so much of herself into the campaign and feeling as if she’d somehow let Vanessa down. Meryn took everything so personally. This was one time Henrietta was glad not to feel so passionately about such things.

  Henrietta let her go until Friday morning. “Enough of this,” she snapped as Meryn moved silently around the kitchen before she left for campus. “We’ve already lived through four years of this administration. Four more years won’t be terrible.”

  “It’s not just that,” Meryn said heatedly. “This country is over two hundred years old, and we’ve never had a woman in the White House. Except as First Lady.”

  “Of course we haven’t.”

  Meryn turned to glare at her.

  “Do you honestly think the men—the rich, white men—who control things are going to let go that easily?” Henrietta scoffed. “Did you think the first time a woman was nominated, she was just going to skate in? I thought you taught about the suffrage movement in that history class of yours.”

  “I do,” Meryn said in a stung tone. “You know I do.”

  “Then you also know how long they fought just to get the vote. How many times did they try and fail
to get that amendment passed? And that’s just the vote. What about the Equal Rights Amendment? When was it first introduced?”

  Meryn looked slightly abashed. “1923.”

  Henrietta simply folded her arms.

  The teakettle whistled. Meryn turned her back and poured hot water for her tea.

  “And I know it’s not just the election,” Henrietta said.

  Meryn carried her cup and a plate of toast to the table. “It’s just not fair.”

  “Neither is polio,” Henrietta said flatly.

  Meryn could only stare. Henrietta poured her own coffee, and Meryn brought the cup to the table for her.

  “Henrietta, I didn’t mean to compare—”

  “I know that,” Henrietta cut in.

  Henrietta’s heart ached for the hurt in Meryn’s eyes. “I’ve had my moments of wondering ‘why me?’” she admitted as she sat down. “Why did Una have to die? Or Vanessa? There are no answers to these questions, Meryn. And you’ll drive yourself mad if you continue to ask.”

  She reached for Meryn’s hand, wondering if she’d pushed too far. But Meryn raised her hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against it for a moment.

  “You’re right,” Meryn said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Henrietta said. “Just don’t allow yourself to be defeated. The loftier your goals, the longer you’re going to have to fight to achieve them.”

  She spooned up some cereal. “You’ve had this week to sulk.”

  Meryn’s head snapped up at the use of that word.

  “If you feel this strongly, then do something. Start getting involved for the next election in two years. But for God’s sake, stop moping about.”

  Her scolding had the desired effect as Meryn’s mouth twitched into a grin.

  “By the way,” Henrietta continued, “we’re having company tomorrow night for a cookout down at the pond.”

  “We are?”

  “We are.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  Henrietta shrugged. “Maybe I just need to be around people who will actually speak.”

  Meryn gave a sheepish chuckle. “Have I been that bad?”

  “Yes, you have.” Henrietta smiled grudgingly. “It’s nice to hear you laugh.”

  “I’ll be better. I promise.” Meryn finished her toast and gulped her tea.

  “Go on with you.”

  Meryn washed her dishes quickly and stopped to squeeze Henrietta’s shoulder. “See you tonight. Love you, Hank.”

  Henrietta listened to her retreating footsteps and the sound of the front door closing. She closed her eyes and touched her lips to the back of her hand, to the place Meryn’s soft lips had so recently touched.

  “I love you, Ryn,” she murmured.

  The pond rang with laughter late Saturday afternoon. Ryn rowed Andy’s two kids, Mike and Kelsey, around in the old boat. At the landing, Franny and Roberta tended the fire burning in the stone pit. The old card tables and folding chairs from the basement had been dusted off and brought down to the landing. One of the tables was loaded with bowls filled with pasta salad and potato salad and baked beans and Bonnie’s homemade bread.

  Bonnie and Beverly were there with their husbands, while Steph helped Sandy and Charlene set out stacks of paper plates and cups and utensils. Gordon and Andy carried down coolers filled with ice and drinks. Maxine accompanied Henrietta down the path, carrying a platter of hamburgers and chicken to cook on the iron grate that had been laid over the fire.

  Up in the kitchen, a big pot of shrimp gumbo was bubbling on the stove, waiting to be brought down.

  Ryn rowed up onto the bank. Mike got out to tie the boat to a tree and then steadied it for his sister. Ryn stood in the wobbly craft, wondering if she was going to fall into the pond again before clambering ashore herself.

  “What can I help with?”

  Franny handed her a folding knife and pointed to a stack of long, green branches lying next to the fire. “Sharpen those for hotdogs. We’ll use them later for marshmallows.”

  Bonnie and Beverly sent their husbands up to retrieve the pot of gumbo and bring it down while Steph and Roberta got the burgers and dogs cooking.

  The fire snapped and crackled as the afternoon faded to evening and the eating frenzy gradually slowed.

  “More potato salad?” Bonnie asked Henrietta.

  Henrietta shook her head, placing a hand on her stomach. “I’m so full, I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  “Until the s’mores are ready,” Franny teased.

  “Those are different,” Henrietta said with an indignant sniff.

  “This was so much fun,” Ryn said, pulling another blackened hotdog off a stick.

  “Happy Birthday, Meryn,” Beverly said.

  Ryn lowered her hotdog and looked around. “What?”

  “We celebrating you, you goof,” Roberta said. “Your birthday.”

  “Really?” Ryn grinned. “But it’s not for a couple of weeks yet.”

  “We’ll be in Uniontown with your family for your actual birthday,” Henrietta said.

  “And we have to leave next weekend,” Steph said apologetically.

  “So we decided to do this early.” Maxine held up her drink. “How old?”

  Ryn wrinkled her nose. “Twenty-five.”

  “A tyke,” Andy said.

  “A quarter-century,” Ryn said.

  Franny held up her drink as well. “To Ryn. Happy Birthday.”

  The others drank to her and then broke into a chorus of “Happy Birthday.”

  Ryn met Henrietta’s eye, and her heart caught in her throat. She did this for me. They all did. There were still pangs of regret when she thought of Vanessa, and the defeat of the campaign burned in her gut. She looked around. But this, this is here, now. This is real.

  Hours later, after the fire had burned to ashes and everyone had left, Ryn went to Henrietta.

  “Thank you. What a great night.”

  “There’s one more thing.”

  Henrietta led the way into the studio. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, lighting their path to one of the easels with a draped canvas.

  “Turn on that lamp, would you?”

  Puzzled, Ryn did as Henrietta asked, clicking on a gooseneck lamp that was aimed at the canvas.

  “Now, lift the drape.”

  Ryn hesitated. “What—”

  “Just do it.”

  When she pulled the cloth free, her mouth dropped open. “Oh, Henrietta,” she murmured, staring at the finished scene.

  She was in the boat, on a pond that reflected the clouds and the trees. But what really caught her attention was the figure on the landing, watching her—no crutches, no braces. She tried to think of something to say, but words wouldn’t come. Her hand fumbled for Henrietta’s.

  For long minutes, they stood side by side.

  “Thank you,” she whispered at last.

  “It’s not realistic,” Henrietta said.

  “It’s perfect.” Ryn turned to her. “Just as I see you.”

  Henrietta’s face was red. Ryn bent her head and gently touched her lips to Henrietta’s.

  Reaching for the lamp, she clicked it off, leaving them bathed in moonlight again. Down below, the pond glimmered, a silver disc.

  “I wish we had a quarter-century together,” Henrietta said.

  “We may.” Ryn wrapped an arm around Henrietta’s shoulders.

  “You know that’s unlikely. By the time you’re fifty, I’d be over eighty, and—”

  “Hush.”

  “I’m not being morbid,” Henrietta insisted. “I want to spend every moment of the rest of my life with you, no matter how long that may be.”

  Ryn sighed. “Me, too.”

  “You scared me this past week,” Henrietta said quietly. “It was as if the light inside you, it just snuffed out.”

  Ryn suddenly thought of the candles that day in the chapel. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just didn’t kno
w what to do with all of that weight. It felt like…” She gazed down at the pond. “It felt like it was pulling me under.”

  Henrietta looked at her. “You didn’t turn to me, Meryn. I’ll be here for you, just as you have been for me. Don’t ever let anyone or anything do that to you again. You don’t know, you have no idea,” she added fervently, “how much joy, how much light you have brought. Not just to me, but to everyone who knows you.”

  Ryn didn’t know what to say. She could only squeeze Henrietta a little more tightly.

  Henrietta nodded toward the pond. “That gathering tonight? All those people? The only thing they all have in common is you. You are the light that drew them together.”

  Henrietta leaned her head against Ryn’s shoulder. “Promise me you won’t ever let that go out.”

  Ryn pressed her cheek to Henrietta’s head. It was a moment before words would come. “I promise.”

  Epilogue

  November 9, 2016

  Blue light from the television flickered over the living room. With it muted, the only sound in the room was the soft sobbing coming from several of the people scattered in the chairs and on the floor. Phones pinged, but no one seemed to notice.

  Ryn sat, stone-faced. Not crying. Not speaking. Her eyes glazed, unfocused.

  On the screen, election returns popped up, rotating through states as they updated their vote counts. No one needed sound any longer. The impossible had happened.

  “But how?” whispered one young woman.

  They all turned to her, looking for answers she didn’t have.

  “Turn it off,” she said hoarsely.

  Someone clicked the TV off. She stood, rubbing her eyes.

  “Dr. Fleming?” asked another young man. “What now?”

  She looked down at them, all those young faces looking to her for reassurance. “It’s almost dawn. Stretch out. Get some sleep. Then we get started.”

  The students glanced at one another.

  “Get started with what?” asked one.

  “With fighting that bastard with everything we have.” She smiled grimly. “Don’t worry. People will not take this without protesting. They’ll start organizing immediately. And we’ll be there with them.”

  Tearful eyes looked doubtful.