“He is on the Other Side,” Liesl answered in a roundabout way.
Augusta considered the little girl lying in the narrow bed. Perhaps she had underestimated Liesl, after all. He wanted to be laid next to the willow tree, near my mother. It did sound like something Henry Morbower would say, that floppy-hearted fool. Sickening. After all these years, he still had not forgotten that simple woman.
Augusta vowed then that whatever the truth, she would get rid of the ashes as soon as possible—preferably in some dark, dank hole. While Augusta was alive, Henry Morbower would never get to lie beside that useless flip of a first wife.
Then she composed her face into her best approximation of a smile, and lifted the lid off the bowl on the tray. Instantly, the room was filled with the delicious scent of rich butter and broth, carrots, and chicken. Liesl gaped. She had not seen food of such richness—and quantity—in ever so long, and her mouth began to water.
“Now, that’s enough talk,” Augusta said sweetly, leaning over to tuck a napkin in the collar of Liesl’s shirt. “You’ve had a long, exhausting journey, and you must be starving. I want you to eat up.” Her face was very close to Liesl’s; her smile was a half-moon. “I want to be sure you are healthy and strong.”
Augusta picked up the bowl with one hand and, with the other, filled a ladle-sized spoon to the brim with hot broth, and golden chicken, and rice, and carrots.
“Open wide,” she crooned. “Here comes the airplane.”
As much as Liesl resented being treated like a baby, she was too hungry to resist. She opened her mouth as the spoon came zooming toward her.
Then Po shouted suddenly, “No, Liesl! No! Don’t eat it!”
She snapped her mouth shut quickly. The spoon collided with her chin and hot broth soaked into the napkin. The piece of chicken and the carrot rolled onto her lap.
“Stupid girl!” Augusta hissed, and then immediately recovered herself. “You must keep your mouth open, my dear.”
Liesl was glaring at Po, who was standing next to the bed. Po’s edges were flaring white with panic. “What’d you do that for?” she said.
“I didn’t do anything,” Augusta said, assuming that Liesl was addressing her. “I am just trying to make sure that my darling little dearest gets the soup Augusta made especially for her. Now, let’s try that again, shall we?” She filled the spoon again.
Po was speaking in a rush. “Remember what your father said when I met him on the Other Side? He said, I should never have eaten the soup. Remember?”
Liesl’s head was spinning. Images returned to her: peering down from the attic window, watching Augusta bustle out of the house on her way to the hospital, carrying a large tureen with both hands; lying next to the radiator and listening to the servants gossiping below her room, saying, “No matter what people say, the woman can’t be all bad. She brings the master soup every single day, made by her own hands. Sits by his bed and feeds him too, won’t let him waste a drop of it.”
I should never have eaten the soup.
Terror and hatred crested suddenly inside of Liesl, and on its waves came a single word, clear and sharp and true.
Murder.
“Open wide!” Augusta said.
“No!” Liesl shouted, scrabbling backward on the bed, pressing up against the pillows, and striking out at the bowl with one foot. It flew off the bed and shattered against the wall, leaving a temporary tableau of limp parsley and liquid and onion bits on the plaster.
Augusta, enraged, sprang to her feet. She grabbed Liesl by the shoulders and shook her.
“Idiot!” she snapped. “Stupid, silly, terrible thing!”
Augusta shook Liesl so hard her teeth knocked together. But Liesl managed to cry out, “Murderer!”
Instantly Augusta released her. Liesl fell back on the sheets and then scrambled to her feet, placing the bed between herself and her stepmother.
“What did you say?” Augusta’s voice had become quiet again, and this time Liesl could hear the danger there. But she didn’t care. All the hatred filled her, fueled her, made her burn bright and hot and dangerous herself.
“Murderer,” Liesl repeated. She squeezed her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
Augusta stared at her for a moment. Her black eyes glittered like a snake’s. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” she said at last, coldly. “You’ve had a bad shock. You’ll eat something, and then you’ll sleep, and in the morning you’ll feel better.” Augusta stooped to collect the broken pieces of the soup tureen.
“I know exactly what I’m saying!” Liesl burst out. “You killed him. You poisoned him; and you lied to me; and you wouldn’t let me see him as he was dying.” Her voice trembled with fury.