Songs without Words (25 page)

But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee;

and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee:

Or speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee:

and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee.

Through the years, whatever affiliation she made with a philosophy or religion, Harper had continued to believe in the truth and wisdom of nature, specifically her own nature, the part of herself that operated on instinct like an animal. Her intellect seemed faulty, as proven early on by her inability to master calculus and later by her complete mystification at the experiment known affectionately among physicists as Schrödinger’s cat. She could never get beyond the horror of a cat being killed in a box, even if it was just a theoretical cat. Eliot was so fond of this theory that he had named his own cat Schrödinger. Harper suspected there were a lot of cats with that name. During her stay, her brothers visited as usual and Harper spent hours relaxing on the boat or doing nothing on the wide porch behind the house. She and Danny often sat there in the evening as the sun set, talking or just listening to birds. Occasionally, she played Danny’s guitar, folk songs, usually, so everybody could sing. The guitar was Harper’s first one, which she had given her brother when she got a new one, hoping to interest him in playing. It hadn’t taken, so the guitar sat idle, waiting for her return each summer.

The piano was still here too, the piano she had lessons on as a child, and she usually played at least one evening for the gathered family. Her mother also played once in a while, the only other member of the family who was musical. It had been Alice, in fact, who had forced piano lessons on Harper when she was just seven years old in the vague belief that girls had to cultivate such talents, as if they were living in a Jane Austen novel. Harper was grateful later, of course, for the lessons and the gift of music, something she knew that she would treasure for the rest of her life. She was grateful too that her mother’s outdated notion of how to make a girl marriageable hadn’t extended to lessons in embroidery and English country dance.

Lazing in an Adirondack chair on the porch, Harper admired the blues and lavenders of her mother’s hydrangeas lining the edge of the lawn as the deepening shadows enriched their hues.

“How’s Eliot?” Danny asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose with one finger.

“Okay,” she said noncommittally. “Wearisome, perhaps, or lackluster.” Harper smiled to herself, remembering Mary’s suggestion to Chelsea about Haydn’s 101
^st
. Somehow, it seemed to apply.

“Huh?” Danny asked, suddenly paying attention.

“Oh, it’s just getting old, I think.” “Really? Even though you only see him a month out of each year?”

“Yes, even though.”

Danny was quiet for a moment, then said, “Were you ever really in love with Eliot?”

“No,” Harper said quietly. “I don’t think so. Not in the way you mean.” She decided to move the focus off herself then. “How about you? Any romantic prospects?”

“Nope. It appears that my most intimate relationship is still with God. Which is extremely ironic, since I’m not even sure I believe in God anymore. But, lately, when I do imagine God, the image in my mind is female.”

“Female?”

“A feminine force, anyway. There’s so much evidence to support that view. You have to dig, though, because of the thousands of years of misogyny aimed at purging the female divinity from Christianity.” Danny threw his feet over the edge of the railing. “Several of the heterodox texts contain references to a feminine divinity. And, of course, the religions that were replaced by Christianity, so many of those were structured around a goddess. You know all that, though.”

“Yes, I’ve read a few books in my time.”

“There’s evidence to suggest,” he persisted, “that the Trinity originally was comprised of the Father, the Mother and the Son. The Holy Spirit was a term referring to the feminine god. And many archeological finds mention God’s consort, Asherah.”

Danny was speaking in an intellectual manner about a subject that Harper had never approached intellectually. Her own experience with religion, with all of the religions she had sampled, had not been intellectual at all. It was a spiritual pursuit, an attempt to feel a sense of oneness with God or the Earth or the cosmos. She had sat with her eyes closed, trying to obliterate the contents of her mind, in order to reach a state of spiritual fulfillment. She had no experience with Danny’s approach, a spiritual life based on reasoning. So she just listened.

“The idea of a female component to the Trinity was rejected by the fathers of Christianity, who couldn’t conceive of an equality between the sexes, especially for gods. So they widowed the male god, made Christ’s mother a sexless woman and made Christ a sexless man. Sex was literally purged from human experience of the divine. And where it was acknowledged, it was usually considered base and shameful. Obviously, Western civilization has never recovered from that attitude.” “No wonder you were defrocked,” Harper remarked. “Your approach to religion seems determined to undermine the faith. I don’t even know how you ever toed the line enough to become a priest in the first place.”

“I wasn’t defrocked. I left. Besides, you know that’s how to get people to think. I never did appreciate any parishioner who hadn’t arrived at faith through suffering. The others are sheep. Who wants them?”

“Christ is the good shepherd,”she reminded him.“The sheep are the ones the Church counts on for its foundation.”

“Sure, but they don’t offer any challenge. They just hold out their hands and wait for the priest to put the religion package in them. That isn’t how a priest earns his keep. Or it shouldn’t be. We should help them to discover God for themselves, to achieve a truly won faith, or it means nothing. I believe it requires a lot of time and often a lot of mistakes to really know who you are, to confront your true inner self.”

“So are you talking about self-knowledge or faith in God?”

“What’s the difference? That’s my point. If I were God...” Danny looked skyward, then back to Harper with a grin, “I would have no patience nor any use for the faith of those who were ignorant and untested. If a person isn’t in touch with his or her self, then what are they offering to God or to anyone, for that matter? Even a friend or a lover. It’s hollow. Undependable.”

Danny stroked the small mustache, a new addition to his face that was still a little jarring to Harper. The goatee of the previous summer was gone. “Harper,” he asked, “were you ever tempted to a life of religious devotion?”

“Um, yes, once. Remember the summer that Eliot and I went to Mexico to do disaster relief work?” “Yes. Oaxaca, wasn’t it?”

“Right. I met a woman there, Sister Josephina. I admired her so much. I thought she’d found the perfect life for herself, a life devoted to helping the poor with no focus on herself at all. I very briefly wondered if that life, her life, would give me the same kind of satisfaction that it gave her.”

“And your conclusion?”

“I wasn’t really able to stay and find out, but I don’t believe it would have worked for me. It was right for her. Not really my scene.”

“It’s interesting, isn’t it, how everyone has his or her own calling? How each one is different?”

“Yes. It makes it hard to figure out what’s going to work for you. But I sort of knew already that the religious part of a life of religious devotion wasn’t for me.”

Danny laughed.“Sort of a dilemma, that. Maybe our religious views aren’t so different after all.”

Harper sat quietly thinking. It was dusky out, and insects had started to circle around the porch light. “The thing is, Sister Josephina is happy. That’s what it all boils down to, finding a way to live peacefully, in harmony with the world, without the feeling that something’s missing. And if you’re really happy, why do you need to look any further? That’s all anybody really wants.”

Danny smiled his wide, thin smile. “You’re probably right, but happiness is an elusive beast.”

“Yes, it is. And so we all wander around looking for the song our soul wants to sing.”

“That’s very poetical. What kind of song would that be? Some old country-western ballad? Jive-talkin’ boogie? Maybe that song from
West Side Story
we used to sing when we were little, remember, dancing around the house in our underwear?”

Danny jumped out of his chair, twirled around and sang two lines from “I Feel Pretty,” causing Harper to laugh loudly.

She shook her head. “No. It’s a song without words.”

Danny stopped dancing. “Really? Why is that?”

“The soul doesn’t speak in words. You should know that. That’s your line of work, isn’t it?”

“I can’t recall ever having a conversation with anybody’s soul, not directly, bypassing their mouth. Thinking about it, though, I guess you’re onto something.” He leaned down to her, close to her ear. “Well, hello in there, Harper’s soul. You have any requests? Got a song you want to sing?”

“You’re such a kidder, aren’t you? It’s just a metaphor for finding what will make you happy.”

Danny leaned against the railing and gazed at her through the dimming light. “I don’t think most people even know what would make them happy. What makes you happy, Harper?”

She thought for a moment, remembering the Corelli solo, how transported she had felt while playing. “Music makes me happy. And love. I’d like to fall in love. Everyone is happy when they’re in love.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Danny smiled broadly at her. “So, let’s do it,” he said, “let’s fall in love!”

He extended a hand toward her and pulled her from her chair, then the two of them danced across the porch singing “I Feel Pretty” at the top of their lungs and laughing.

Chapter 21

JUNE 25

Harper wasn’t surprised when her mother called her early Friday, just as she was taking that first precious sip of coffee. She curled up in her easy chair, her cup close at hand on the little table beside it.

“No, Mom,” she said, responding to her mother’s questions. “Believe me, I will call you or Neil as soon as I know anything.”

“I just can’t believe she’s in California. How did she get there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s not alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe somebody drove her. Maybe she took off with somebody.”

“You mean a boy?”

“Well, that would be the most likely thing. Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” “Do you think Kathy and Neil would know if she did? She doesn’t tell them anything. The police questioned her friends, but they claim to know nothing.”

Harper listened while her mother described the months of rebellious behavior that had led up to Sarah’s flight. She managed to drink a third of her cup of coffee without saying a word.

“Why did she come to you?” Alice asked.

Harper set her cup down beside her open address book. “I don’t know.”

“Are you sure? You’re not in cahoots with that girl, are you, Harper?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course not. Why would I—”

“You always had a rebellious streak yourself.”

Harper flung her feet to the floor. “Mom! That’s ridiculous. Of course I would tell you. I know everyone is worried. Honestly, I’m telling you everything I know.”

“All right, then.”

A few minutes later, Harper hung up. As she picked up her coffee cup, the address book caught her eye again. It was open to the “N” page. There were three entries there, her dentist, the Norcal Shakespeare Company and Chelsea Nichols. Why was it open? She hadn’t called any of those numbers. The address and phone number listed for Chelsea were for Mary’s house, after all. Maybe she’d opened it to write in the new number for Chelsea? But the new number wasn’t there.