“Sure.” I rose and stepped out. I listened through a crack in the door as he fell to the floor, heaving for breath. I had decided to make it swift and clean, let him die in his own time and then drag him down the stairs. I was in no mood for slaying that night.
He took his time dying, however. I checked on him twice, armed with a hatchet, just in case. The first time he was still conscious, and not as close to gone as I had hoped. When I bent over him, he lunged at me suddenly, tangled his hands in my hair and pulled. We had a bit of a fight then. The table turned over, and a chair went down too, but I managed to bring the hatchet high up in the air and struck his head hard twice. Still he held on, and the pain made me angry. I planted the hatchet in his neck, cursing him silently for making such a mess. The sofa was sprayed with blood and my carpet too was stained. His hands fell away and he went limp on the floor. His gaze was aghast when he looked up at me, dark blood pumping from his neck.
Why? he mouthed.
“We do as we must.”
Why? His lips formed the word again; his teeth were all stained red.
“We all find our way in life.”
The second time I checked on him, he was barely breathing and his eyes were closed. I placed rags around his neck to soak up the blood.
The third time there was no breath.
His carcass was messy so I rolled him onto a sheet of oilcloth and secured the package with rope. I took a hold of it and pulled him with me across the floor, heading for the door to the cellar. My scalp hurt and I was scratched and bleeding. I hated it when things got out of hand, and there was so much to clean before morning. I opened the door and started the descent; I had come a few steps down so his body rested on the threshold, when a pair of feet appeared at the top.
I had sent Lamphere on a fool’s errand to buy a horse that did not exist. I had told him to spend the night, but lo and behold, there he was! Reeking of alcohol, his eyes wild.
“I knew there was something about that cellar.”
“Be quiet, Ray, or you’ll wake the children.”
“I knew you were up to something.” His voice was strangely calm, but fear hummed beneath it like a tightly wound fiddle string.
“Keep quiet,” I hissed. “Come on, grab his legs.” Nothing else to do for it. The damage was done, he was already there.
“Oh no.” The silly man shook his head. “I won’t go down in that cellar with you. You’ll be planting the axe in my head next.”
“Don’t be silly, Ray. Whatever would I gain from that?”
“I wouldn’t tell on you, that’s something.”
“We have been friends for some time now, Ray. If I had wanted you dead, you would be dead.”
Still he stood there wringing his hands. “I won’t go down there with you.”
“Suit yourself, then. There’s whiskey in the kitchen and good money to be earned if you help me get him in the ground after.”
“After what?”
“After I take him apart.”
“Right . . . Why would you do that?”
“He’ll take up less space in the ground, and the pigs will want the soft parts.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “They dug up some bones, the pigs, the other day. I was going to tell you about that.”
“What kind of bones?”
“Shinbones, I think, and maybe something like a jaw.”
“You should have told me.”
“I didn’t know for sure then.”
“Well, now you do. Will you help me or not?”
He shifted on the floor and looked uncomfortable before me. “Sure I’ll help you, for a price.”
“Of course.” There was always, always a price. “You can start by cleaning the parlor, then roll up the carpet and scrub the boards. After that, you’ll help me dig.”
He nodded and went away. I wiped the sweat of my forehead and kept moving. Andrew was heavy but I was strong. The faint light was a curse, though. The lamp I had placed in the cellar barely illuminated the stairs, and I had no way of knowing if Andrew left a trail. If he did, Lamphere would have to wipe up that blood too.
When I came back up, Lamphere was in the kitchen drinking. He had cleaned the floors and thrown out the water. He looked pale and his hands were shaking. He did not look at me while I cleaned my hands. I ought to be ashamed to be seen like that, bloodied and hot, my hair come undone, but no matter my state, Lamphere would always be worse. My hands were not shaking. I did not fear him as he feared me.
“You will not speak a word of this to anyone. If you do, I have friends who’ll find you.”
“That slick man from Chicago—?”
“Mr. Lee? He is one.”
“You would still fry, though, if I told.”
“Be smart about it, Ray. What you know has some value. You can make a fine profit if you keep your mouth shut and help me out from time to time.”
“Digging graves?”
“Just that. I’m a wealthy woman and can pay well for your services.”
“Maybe you’ll just kill me either way.”
“Why would I do that? It’s hard work digging those pits. I could certainly use help.”
He shuddered visibly by the table. “You’re a dangerous woman, Belle Gunness.”
“I certainly am no saint.”
“I thought you were going to marry him.”
“So did he.” I toweled off my hands. “But be quick now, Ray; the body is out in the wheelbarrow and we have to get him in the ground before dawn.”
Out we went then, lanterns held high, to slip Andrew Helgelien into the ground. It had not brought him much luck, that four-leaf clover. It almost never brought luck. We had a spot at St?rsetgjerdet where those small, mishap clovers grew in droves, but they never brought anyone there much luck either. They lied, those clovers—their promises were hollow.
Lamphere worked in silence, filling in the hole. I held the light for him and was glad not to have to do the digging myself for a change. My hands were too rough and callused as it was. All the blood I had touched became brown stains, embedded deep within the skin. It would not come off, no matter how much I scrubbed.
After the ordeal, when the earth was black and smooth again, I poured Lamphere more whiskey in the kitchen. “Just be quiet now, Ray, and all will be well.”
“I won’t say a word,” he swore.
I gave him some cash and promised more, but only—only—if he was good.
“It’s in your best interest to do as I say.”
“Always was. Nothing much has changed there.”
“I can be a good friend to you if you like.”
“Or you could kill me dead.”
“That too.”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Gunness.” He folded the bills and put the cash in his pocket. “You can trust old Ray.”
I could not, of course, and should have known that too, but misery always made me reckless—foolish enough to entrust a fool with the means of my own undoing.
45.
Nellie
Chicago, 1908