Invisible, as Music Page 9

  She tried to picture Henrietta as a girl, but found it difficult to erase the rather severe haircut, the frown lines on her face, the hard edge of her jaw.

  Henrietta sat back to assess her work and glanced over to catch Ryn watching her. “I’m sorry. You must be starving.”

  “I’m fine. We can eat whenever you’re at a good stopping point.”

  “I can stop now.”

  Ryn got to her feet. “Mind if I look?”

  Henrietta turned the easel a bit.

  “Hank, that’s gorgeous.” Ryn dropped a hand to Henrietta’s shoulder. “Even these places that are just a few sketchy brush stokes, you’ve captured the scene perfectly. How do you do that?”

  Henrietta busied herself wiping her brushes clean on a cloth. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the years. Trial and error.”

  “Would you teach me?”

  Henrietta paused as she capped her acrylics. “Teach you?”

  “Yes.” Ryn gestured toward the canvas. “Teach me to paint.”

  “If you like.”

  “I would. And I am starving. Ready to eat?”

  Henrietta started to take down the canvas and easel.

  “Leave them,” Ryn suggested. “You might want to work a little more after lunch. And people can enjoy what you’ve done so far.”

  Their table was near a window so that they still had a view of the lake. Phyllis brought them fresh mugs of coffee and tea and took their orders.

  “Did you do this with your other companions?” Ryn wondered.

  “Do what?”

  “Take trips like this.”

  “No.”

  Ryn leaned her elbows on the table, cradling her tea in her chilled hands. “Why not?”

  “I usually prefer to paint alone, and…”

  Ryn waited.

  “They preferred not to be with me more than they had to be.” Henrietta kept her eyes focused on the view outside the window as she spoke.

  Ryn started to protest that she was certain that wasn’t true, but she wasn’t so sure. “Well, I’m glad you asked me to come along.”

  Henrietta didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Ryn began to wonder if she would have preferred to be alone this time as well.

  “You’re different.”

  Ryn snorted. “I’m not sure how to take that, but I’ll grant I’m different.”

  “No, I didn’t mean—” Henrietta fumbled for words. “You’re easy to be with.”

  “Thanks.” Down on the lake, multiple boats were out, including what looked like a tour boat. Ryn nodded in that direction. “Have you ever done one of those?”

  “When I was a girl. My parents used to bring us here.”

  “Us?”

  There it was again, the shadow that dropped like a curtain over Henrietta’s face.

  “When I was growing up, there was a girl, Una. Her aunt lived in Bluemont. Una used to come visit from England for the summers, and then, during the war, she was sent to stay, to get her out of London.”

  Ryn watched Henrietta’s face carefully, the way she kept her eyes lowered. This was thin ice. “You were close?”

  Henrietta nodded. “She was my best friend.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Henrietta sat back as Phyllis brought their sandwiches. “Thank you, Phyllis.”

  It seemed Henrietta wasn’t going to answer the question as they began to eat. Ryn hesitated but then prompted, “Una?”

  “I don’t know what happened to her.” Henrietta’s face was a stony mask. “We went swimming in the pond. I got sick a few days later. It was nearly a year before I got home. Una was gone. I wrote several times, but never got an answer. My mother said it was probably for the best.”

  Ryn’s heart ached for her, for the pain so evident in her clipped words, but one didn’t simply hug Henrietta Cochran. Even an expression of sympathy wouldn’t, she was sure, be welcome. Ryn was just beginning to see the myriad layers of armor Henrietta had donned in an effort to protect herself.

  “This chicken salad is great,” Ryn said. “Think we could talk Phyllis into giving us her recipe?”

  Henrietta seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the change of topic. “I can ask her.”

  “If you can get it, I’ll make it for us.”

  They both turned their attention to the scene below as they ate. All around them, the dining room was filled with a pleasant buzz of conversation. Out on the porch, people did stop to admire Henrietta’s canvas.

  “What you told me…” Henrietta began, “…that first day…”

  Ryn frowned, trying to make sense of this cryptic comment. “The day I fell in the pond?”

  “No.” Henrietta carefully kept her eyes on the lake. “The day we met to discuss your living-in with me. When you told me you’d heard I was difficult…”

  Her voice trailed off. Ryn waited, but no more came. “Yes?” she prodded. “We talked about a lot of things.”

  Henrietta’s cheeks colored, but she couldn’t seem to meet Ryn’s eyes. “We talked about how opinionated you were. You said you didn’t mind difficult if I didn’t mind…”

  Ryn smiled. “That I’m a lesbian.”

  “Shhh.” Henrietta glanced around.

  Ryn leaned a little closer. “I don’t think anyone is listening to us. What about it?”

  Henrietta’s mouth seemed to have trouble forming the words she obviously wanted to ask. “Is there… anyone? You never bring anyone to the house.”

  “Oh.” Ryn sat back in her chair. It was her turn to stare at the trees, but she could feel Henrietta’s eyes boring into her. “There was someone. In school. But we both knew we were headed in different directions with our careers and… I haven’t heard from her.”

  Phyllis appeared at that moment with two plates filled with enormous pieces of apple pie.

  “I’m sorry,” Henrietta murmured after she left.

  Ryn nodded. The pie, though it was delicious, tasted just a little bitter in her mouth.

  They finished eating and went back out to the porch, but Henrietta packed up.

  “I think I’m ready to go home.”

  Ryn didn’t argue. The ride back to Bluemont was silent except for the music, but even that wasn’t the comfort it usually was. Funny how much space ghosts can occupy.

  Chapter 7

  Whatever Ryn thought the nuns’ house might look like, she didn’t expect a perfectly ordinary bungalow with a big Buffalo Bills flag hanging from the porch. Before she could even climb the porch steps, Roberta came out to greet her. At least, Ryn thought it was Roberta. It was hard to be certain that this brunette in jeans and a Binghamton Patriots sweatshirt was the same person who had been in a dress and veil on Friday, but the moment she spoke, Ryn was sure.

  “We’re so glad you could make it.” Roberta jogged down the steps to take her by the elbow and lead her into the house.

  Francine, taller than anyone one else in the room, greeted her. “We were hoping you’d come.”

  Without her veil to tame it, her bushy brown hair was an unruly nest.

  Ryn held up a ceramic dish. “I made some potato salad.”

  “That sounds great,” said Tamara, appearing at Ryn’s elbow. “Bring it into the kitchen.”

  The table and counters were packed with bowls and platters overflowing with food, stacks of paper plates and plastic utensils. On the floor was a large washtub filled with ice and—Ryn almost choked—cans of beer and soda.

  Tamara grinned at the look on her face. “What were you expecting? Communion wine?”

  She took the bowl from Ryn, letting her fingers linger a bit longer than necessary when they made contact, and then found space for the bowl in the packed refrigerator.

  “Want something to drink?” Tamara asked.

  Ryn bent over the tub and chose a Dr. Pepper. “What?” she asked at the look on Tamara’s face.

  “Nothing,” Tamara said with a wry smile. “Not a beer drinker? Or you don’t trust y
ourself to drink around nuns?”

  “I’ve never been a beer drinker. But the nun thing is a little… weird.”

  Tamara chose a Rolling Rock and popped the top. “Nuns are normal people.”

  Ryn followed her out back where hamburgers and hotdogs were sizzling on a grill and a football was being tossed around the yard. She had to admit, this looked like any other gathering of lesbians she might have attended in Pittsburgh, but then caught herself. Just because there weren’t any men, she supposed she shouldn’t assume they were all lesbians. Can lesbians be nuns anyway?

  “Where do you live?” Francine asked from where she was flipping the burgers.

  “Out near the country club.”

  “Do you rent a place out there?” Tamara asked.

  Ryn shook her head. “I stay with a woman who needs a little help around the house. It works out for both of us.”

  The football came flying in their direction. Tamara caught it and dragged Ryn into the circle.

  “What do you teach?” Stephanie asked, throwing a perfect spiral.

  “History.” Ryn tossed the ball to someone she didn’t know but whose face looked familiar, probably from campus. “Mostly freshman seminar classes. What are y’uns studying?”

  “Education for Roberta, Franny, and me,” Steph answered. “Our order is mostly a teaching or nursing order. If we’d wanted to go into nursing, we’d have been sent to SUNY.”

  Ryn watched Tamara pass the ball, stepping into it and throwing a bullet. “What about you?”

  “I’m majoring in business.”

  Steph laughed. “Not for much longer.”

  Ryn was about to ask more questions, but Francine called out that the burgers and dogs were ready, and everyone headed inside.

  A few minutes later, Ryn was crowded into the smallish living room along with about seven other women, cradling a plate loaded with food as she sat cross-legged on the floor.

  As Buffalo kicked off against the Dolphins, Roberta leaned near and said, “Our motherhouse is near Buffalo. We probably should have asked if you’re a Miami fan.”

  Ryn wiped a bit of mustard from the corner of her mouth. “Grew up outside Pittsburgh and went to Pitt. What do you think?”

  There was sudden silence. Roberta made the sign of the cross over Ryn’s head. “We forgive you.”

  Ryn’s snort was muffled by the howl of laughter from around the room. She sat back against the couch between two sets of legs, enjoying the ribbing and the jokes. Except for the noticeable lack of swearing, this really was like any other gathering she might have attended in Pittsburgh. That ache she’d been carrying around—the empty place only women could fill—it began to ease a bit. Over on her right, Tamara caught her eye and smiled. Basking in the warmth of it all, Ryn relaxed and drank it in.

  Henrietta pointed with a crutch. “Could you cut back those roses, too?”

  Bud had just finished raking up the leaves that had fallen from the maple and elm trees in the front yard. The trees were only about half-done, but Bud didn’t like to let the downed leaves sit on the grass too long.

  Henrietta had joined him to do their fall survey of the yard, deciding which bushes to trim, which trees to prune. He’d picked up a case of bulbs to plant for the spring, and had a trailer of mulch to lay over the flower beds to protect them through the coming winter.

  She enjoyed the scent of leaves in the air, the cool air and the still-warm October sun. It wouldn’t be much longer, and she’d be ready to hibernate. It seemed the last few years, she’d felt the cold more acutely.

  “Not enough exercise. You need to keep your blood circulating,” Dr. McCourt said sternly, but he didn’t understand how scary it was to walk outside when the pavement was snowy or icy. One bad fall, and she’d be in bed for weeks. Every time something happened—like the cold that threatened to turn into bronchitis last year—it took longer for her to recover, and it seemed to sap more of her strength.

  But lately she was walking more, moving more. And she was pleasantly surprised to find that the more she pushed herself, the less winded she was. Even Bud was surprised when she accompanied him down the path to the pond to see what had to be cleaned up down there. She needed to catch her breath a few minutes before she could talk with him, but it was definitely an improvement.

  As he bent to pick up an armful of fallen sticks and branches, she had a thought.

  “Could you build me a place to have a fire in?”

  “Down here?” He dropped the sticks beyond the edge of the stone landing and looked around. “Sure.”

  He stepped into the underbrush and started digging up random stones. “There’s plenty of rock here. I’ll make you a nice, safe fire pit. Nothing too big, now.”

  “No. Just enough to enjoy on a cool evening, maybe roast some marshmallows.”

  His eyes reflected his surprise, but he just tipped his grimy cap and nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Henrietta left him there to begin planning the fire pit while she made her way back up the trail to the house. The fire pit would be a nice surprise for Meryn. She felt an unfamiliar sensation in her chest and stopped to rub at her breastbone for a few seconds before going on to her studio.

  The painting she’d started at the lake was nearly done—one of her best, though she hadn’t voiced that thought to anyone else. She tilted her head as she studied it. Yes, just a few little touch-ups here and there. This would be one to show a gallery the next time a rep came to call. Maybe a series of these…

  She was distracted by noise from out front. She went through to the garage, which was open for Bud to come and go as needed. From the front yard came the sound of laughter. Making her way down the driveway, she stopped, her mouth open.

  An abandoned backpack was sitting in the driveway next to the Hornet, and Meryn was lying in the pile of leaves, flinging them into the air as her arms and legs flew about.

  Henrietta walked out to where she could stare down at her.

  “Oh, hi.” Meryn sat up, bits of leaves clinging to her hair and sweater. She picked up handfuls of leaves and tossed them into the air. “It was just too tempting. Couldn’t help myself.”

  “So I see.”

  She clambered out of the leaf pile, sweeping her hands down her sleeves and pant legs to clean them. Henrietta couldn’t help chuckling.

  Meryn craned her neck over her shoulder, trying to see her behind. “Could you do my back?”

  Henrietta hesitated a moment, and then plucked leaves from Meryn’s back, brushing her hands over her shoulders. She reached up to pull a few crumbled leaves from her dark hair.

  “Thanks.” Meryn gave her a crooked grin. “Guess I should clean up my mess.” She reached for Bud’s rake and gathered the leaves into a neat pile again. “Gosh, that was fun. Haven’t done that for a long time.”

  “Me, either.” But instead of echoing Meryn’s note of wistfulness, Henrietta’s voice rang with bitterness.

  Meryn retrieved her backpack and followed her inside. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What would you like for dinner?”

  But Henrietta walked straight back to her room without answering. She closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, pressing a hand to her chest and wondering if something could be wrong with her heart.

  She jumped at a faint tapping on the door.

  “Henrietta? Are you okay?”

  “I… I told you I’m fine. I’m just not hungry.”

  “Okay.”

  Henrietta closed her eyes against the hurt tone of the girl’s voice.

  “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll warm something up or scramble you some eggs. Whatever sounds good, all right?”

  But Henrietta couldn’t answer. She moved to her bed and collapsed onto it. She looked at her hands, feeling again the warmth of Meryn’s back, the sweep of her shoulders, the softness of her hair. Struggling to hold back her sobs, she pressed both hands to her mouth as she rocked. Dar
kness fell, but she didn’t turn a light on. She curled up on her side, staring at her hands.

  “Good job, everybody,” Ryn said to her class as she dismissed them. “Enjoy your fall break, but remember to study. The midterm exam will be that Wednesday we come back.”

  A few groans greeted this reminder, but most of the students grinned and gave her a wave as they bolted from the classroom to begin a long weekend. She didn’t blame them. She herself was looking forward to a couple of days off. It wouldn’t be a complete break, as she had some assignments to grade, but still.

  She was feeling the itch to go somewhere, do something. Maybe another trip to Syracuse… Distracted, she plowed into someone as she descended the stairs and turned the corner onto the stairwell landing.

  “Sorry.”

  When she looked up, Tamara’s face was inches from her own.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Ryn said, clutching at her notebook to keep it from hitting the floor.

  “Imagine running into you.”

  “Literally.” Ryn’s heart lifted at the smile on Tamara’s face. “What are you doing here?”

  Tamara pointed up the stairs. “Last class of the week. Can’t wait for the weekend.”

  “I know what you mean.” Ryn stepped aside to let Tamara continue on her way. “Are you doing anything? This weekend?”

  “Nothing set in stone.” Tamara’s eyes met hers. “What did you have in mind?”

  Ryn shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just wanted to get out of town. Go for a drive. Interested?”

  Tamara’s smile widened. “Definitely interested. Tomorrow?”

  Ryn nodded, suddenly too tongue-tied to speak.

  “Give me your hand.”

  “Excuse me?” Ryn blinked stupidly.

  Tamara clicked a pen. “Give me your hand.” She held Ryn’s left hand in hers and wrote on her palm. “My address.”

  “You realize I now will not be able to wash this hand until I pick you up tomorrow.”

  Tamara released her hand slowly, letting it slide from her fingers. “I’m sure you’ll manage somehow. What time?”