When the Music Ends (The Winter Rose Chronicles) (9 page)

******

On Monday after school, Erin drove to The University of the Lakes,
the small public institution that served their community. She parked outside
the music department and hurried across the parking lot to get out of a
bone-chilling drizzle that had appeared out of nowhere earlier in the day, and
was lingering depressingly over the town. She headed down the covered outdoor
walkway with its pebble studded concrete floor and ceiling, riddled with
pigeons and the mess of their presence, even this late in the fall. The chilly
birds made unhappy cooing noises as she passed them. Wrinkling her nose at the
birdy aroma, she hurried to a small hallway of offices and knocked on the open
doorway of room 212.

Dr. Abrams, who played with Erin in the symphony, looked up from his
desk where he was melting the glue on a loosened clarinet key pad with a
cigarette lighter. The department’s wounded instrument lay on his desk
awaiting the operation. The little flame flicked out as the professor looked
up.

"Well, well, well, Erin James," the music department
chair said in the booming voice that more than matched the tuba he played,
"What can I do for you today?"

"Hi, Dr. Abrams," she said softly, "I was
wondering if you can tell me more about your music program here."

"Here? I’ve never heard that you wanted to go here.
Didn’t you get into that conservatory?"

"I haven’t heard, yet. It’s awfully far
away."

"Homebody, are you? Well what about State? That’s only a
few hours’ drive away."

"I’m not sure I’m able to go anywhere. What about
the program here? Do you have a double reed performance major?"

"We don’t have any performance majors. Only music
education."

"And that would qualify me to do what? Teach high school
band?"

"Actually, most people have to start with middle
school."

"I don’t think I really want to be a school teacher. I
would like to have some private students someday, but not a whole band program.
And mostly I just want to play. Isn’t there any way this can work
out?"

"I suppose… you could major in independent studies in
music. That might work, but I have to tell you, we’re not well set up for
it. Our woodwind lady isn’t a double reed expert. She’s more into
clarinet and sax." He thought for a moment. "Listen, Erin. It would
be really nice to have you here, but I don’t think it’s in your
best interests."

"I understand that, but I may not have any other
option." She sighed. "Okay, thanks, Dr. Abrams. I need to think
about this and let you know."

"All right, Erin. Good luck."

She walked quickly back to her car, shaking her head. What a mess
she had made of her life. A little frisson of nervous nausea hit her and she
gagged once, swallowed hard, and turned the key in the ignition. It sputtered
in protest of the inclement weather before agreeing to start, and she carefully
pulled out of the parking space and headed to the family medical clinic for her
checkup.

******

            It
was a good thing that Erin took care of her business early in the week. She had
never seen such preparations as the Murphy family women put into Thanksgiving.
At the James home, the holiday had been largely ignored, except for her dad
sleeping in front of a football game. Not so for Sheridan and her mother. The
preparation actually took about three days. Erin helped out too. It was fun to
be included. She was grateful not be sick. In fact, she felt tired but
otherwise fine.

Wednesday, after school, Erin dumped her backpack in the bedroom and
headed down to the kitchen. Interesting noises had drawn her attention the
moment she walked in the door, and she wanted to see what was happening today.
Yesterday had been pie filling and homemade cranberry sauce, which could be
made ahead and left to chill in the refrigerator. Today, it appeared, it would
be dinner rolls. As Erin peeked shyly from the doorway, Ellen poured the oozing
lump of yeast dough from the mixing bowl onto the heavily floured butcher block
counter. It slurped loudly as it released from the metal, and then fell with a
moist plop.

Erin
took a step closer, fascinated. She had never
seen bread before that didn’t come in a plastic package. Catching the
movement in her peripheral vision, Ellen looked up.

"Erin. Hello, love. Come here." Ellen’s voice was
welcoming. Erin approached cautiously.

"Have you ever kneaded bread before?"

"No," Erin admitted, "How do you do it?"

"Like this. Look." She folded the dough in half and
pressed with the heel of her hand, stretching it across the counter. Then she
turned the mass a quarter turn and repeated the process. After several
revolutions, Ellen lifted the dough, spread more flour underneath, and flipped
the lump over.

"Would you like to try it?"

"Oh, but what if I mess it up?"

"You can’t. All you do is fold and press and turn.
It’s very simple, and the more you work on it, the better it gets, and
the more relaxed you feel."

Erin
nodded. She could use some relaxation. And
Ellen was correct, the process was very simple. After only a few tries, she got
the hang of it. Letting her mind wander, she pummeled and stretched the dough
while Ellen turned to another bowl of flour.

"What are you working on?" Erin asked.

"Pie crusts. They’re a little more complicated than
bread, and nearly the opposite to make. If you overwork a pie crust, it will
turn tough, so you have to blend in the butter gently, without melting
it." She demonstrated, using a funny little tool with a handle and five
tiny blunt blades, thin as wires, that wrapped around in a semicircle and cut
the fat into the flour.

"Then you add just a little bit of icy cold water... but not
the ice...like this." She stirred gently with a fork. "And then
gather it up, wrap it, and chill it. Tomorrow we can fill it with the apple and
pumpkin pie fillings we made last night and bake them, at 350° until
they’re golden brown."

"Where did you learn to do all this, Mrs. Murphy?"

"From my mother."

"Did you teach it to Danny?"

"Yes, she normally helps me, but this year she wasn’t up
to it. I think she’s a little under the weather."

"You might be right. She did seem awfully quiet in English
today. Normally she answers
all
the questions." Erin grinned.
"I’m very glad you’re teaching me to do this. It’s...
fun." Actually, it was powerfully moving to Erin to be included in a
Murphy tradition that had been passed from mother to daughter for untold
generations. It made her feel, in some small way, like she was part of the
family.

            Very
late that evening, Erin woke with a start. There was a strange sound, a kind of
low moaning, coming from down the hallway. The bathroom light was on. Pulling
on her slippers, Erin went to investigate.

            Sheridan was sitting on the bathroom floor, hugging her knees and keening softly. There
was a strong smell of vomit in the air.

            "Danny,
are you all right?"

            "Noooo!"
She wailed.

            "What’s
wrong, sweetie? Are you sick?"

            "I’ve
been sick for days. I can’t shake it. I can’t hide it
anymore."

            "Why
are you trying to hide it? If you’re sick, tell your parents. Have them
take you to the doctor."

            "No.
It’s not that. Look."

            Sheridan held out a small object. Erin stared, aghast. It was the second pregnancy test,
and it was showing a blue line even darker than Erin’s had been.

            "Oh
God, Danny, won’t this ever end? Please tell me you went to bed with
someone."

            "Of
course not. No. It’s HIS."
            "Oh
shit." She hugged Sheridan tight.

            "Why
would God do this to me? It’s not fair!"

            "You’re
right, it’s not. Can I do anything?"

            "Get
me some water, please."

            "Okay.
I’ll be right back."

            Erin headed down towards the kitchen, but midway there, she changed her mind. She headed to
Sheridan’s parents’ bedroom.

            "Roger,
Ellen, please wake up."

            "What
is it Erin?"

            "It’s
Danny. She’s bad. She needs you."

            "What’s
wrong?"

            "She’s
upstairs in the bathroom. Please come."

            Alarmed,
they hurried to their daughter. Erin didn’t want to intrude, so she
continued to the kitchen and got a glass of water, slowly. By the time she made
it up there, it was clear that they knew what had happened. Both of them were
holding their daughter. She set the water on the edge of the sink and went back
to her room. Even though it was after midnight, she called Sean.

            "Hello?
Baby is that you?" His voice was thick with sleep, sexy. She loved
talking to him when he first woke up.

            "Yeah."

            "What’s
up?"

            "I
feel really sad and I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m sorry I woke
you" She would tell him the rest in the morning.

            "It’s
okay honey. I feel a little sad too. Here’s this big empty bed and
you’re not in it."

            "I
love you."

            "I
love you too. Go back to sleep okay?"

            "Okay,
good night."

            In
the morning, everyone was too distraught to do anything. Erin was glad that
Mrs. Murphy had spent so much time explaining to her how the dinner would be
made. She took it upon herself to complete the preparations. She didn’t
think anyone in that family had much to be thankful for, but at least there
could be dinner.

Sean arrived around ten. Erin met him outside and smuggled him
quickly into his old room, before anyone could see them. She wrapped her arms
around his neck and he held her gently for a moment.

"Something’s up, Erin. What’s going on?"

"Kiss me." He pressed his lips to her lingeringly. She
clung to him, drawing strength from the warmth of his arms around her, from his
mouth pressed sweetly to hers. Finally she ended the kiss and from the cradle
of his embrace said sadly, "Danny’s pregnant. That asshole knocked
her up."

"Oh my God. Do Mom and Dad know?"

"Yes. She found out last night. She’s really
sick."

Sean struggled with his composure for a long moment. Finally he
gritted out, "This just isn’t right. How can she have to suffer so
much?"

"I don’t understand it. This, I get." She gestured
towards her belly, "we did this to ourselves, but why Danny?"

"I don’t know. Damn it. I just don’t know."

He hugged Erin tight. His breathing was harsh and ragged.

"I have to get back to the food in a moment. I don’t want
anything to burn. But please can you kiss me one more time? I hate
pretending."

"Do you want to tell them? We can. It’s not going to be
a secret much longer anyway."

"Yes, but not today. Today has been hard enough."

"You’re right. Come here, baby." He kissed her
hard.

She slipped reluctantly out of his arms and went down to the
kitchen.

            Perhaps
it wasn’t the best Thanksgiving dinner ever prepared at that house, but
it was adequate, and everyone was grateful to Erin for her help. She had always
been the kind of person for whom pain spurred action. It was one reason she was
such a driven musician. Later that evening she played for them, hoping to
distract everyone from their problems. It was beneficial to her as well. She
was able to lose herself in her music for a few moments and forget. After the
impromptu concert, Erin put her oboe away and joined the family in the den for
a conference. She hadn’t wanted to intrude, but the Murphys insisted.
Sean was sitting across the room. The urge to go to him and snuggle up was
almost irresistible, but Erin restrained herself.

            "Mom,
Dad, I hope you’re not planning to cancel your shopping day
tomorrow," Sheridan told her parents firmly. "Nothing is different
from this time yesterday. I just know more. I know how much you both look
forward to this. I want you to do it."

            "That’s
very sweet dear, but I hate to leave you."

            "I
won’t do anything drastic, I swear. I need time to process this, and I
want to think without anyone hovering over me. I don’t know why this had
to happen, but there’s no point dwelling on it. The thing is to move
forward."

            "Danny,"
Erin said softly, "I know how you feel about…abortion, but no one
would blame you under these circumstances."

            "I
know. I’m considering. But I always said people should think about
adoption too. I want to do what’s right, and I need time to think."