“No.” My temper suddenly flared; my pain was such that I could not help it. “I want you to do your share of the work, not spend all your time with the women from church! Better still, you could find yourself a husband! I’m sure they have forgotten about the scissors by now.”
“He shouldn’t have come to the bench.” She lifted her chin in that stubborn way that I knew so well.
“Well, I don’t see why not. You could have been married by now,” I snapped, then regretted it in the next moment. Of course he should not have come to her like that, but perhaps the prospect of marriage should have stayed her hand? It bothered me how she could not see that such was a poor woman’s plight. We had all had to suffer indignities to arrive at a place of safety. We were not ladies with perfumed handkerchiefs who could pick and choose among powdered suitors. We did not have the luxury of fainting when faced with men’s baser nature but often had to suffer to achieve our goals in life. I had been lucky with John—and I knew it—but my life before him had been painful enough. A girl without means had little worth in the eyes of the world.
“I didn’t want to marry him.” Bella snapped right back in my face. She poured the water so abruptly that it splashed onto her fingers and would probably leave blisters.
“Well, who then, Bella? Who is good enough for you?”
“Not a carpenter from Bergen.” She dropped the dishes into the dishpan so fast and hard that a china plate chipped. It broke my heart to see it—I loved my few pieces of china.
“He was a little hard on the bottle, but they all are.” I sighed, struggling to make her understand.
“Not the men at church,” she replied, and added a triumphant smirk.
Understanding dawned on me; my hand on the cradle stopped. “Is that what you’re doing?” I could not believe it. “You want to marry some upstanding member of the congregation?”
“I would think my chances of finding someone suitable are better there.” She said it so calmly, as if it were just a matter of fact.
“Do you think you’ll find someone?” I could see those men in the front rows so clearly in my mind: clean shirts and waistcoats, hats free from dust.
“There are a few, widowers mostly. They will be looking for a woman to take care of the house.” She poured cold water into the dishpan to dilute the scalding heat.
“But would that make you happy, Bella? To walk in a dead woman’s shoes?” It was usually not what young women craved—though there was the matter of convenience, of course.
“If not, I could afford some caramels,” she replied, with just the tiniest of smiles. She soaked her hands in the warm water and did not even flinch when it touched her fresh burns.
“Oh, John would be pleased, then, if you found yourself a man.” I spoke without thinking—I should not have done so.
“He wants me gone, then?” She did not look at me but busied herself with the hard, red soap, diluting it in the water.
I could feel my cheeks turn red. “He thinks it’s time—but not to worry, he would never put you out.” He had not handled the affair with the scissors well and had been wary of Bella ever since. I had done my very best to reassure him, but I could tell that he did not trust her. He rarely spoke to her anymore and his mood had been dark, even after Olga was born—the daughter he had so longed for. It had bothered him in particular that Bella staying with us meant we could not have his sister come from Minnesota to visit after the birth. He felt, and rightly so, that she would have been a better help to me.
“Don’t worry, Nellie.” Bella still did not look at me. “I will be gone before you know it.” She set to scrubbing a hardened crust of gruel off a plate. “And then I will never go hungry again.”
“I’m glad you are so hopeful.” I felt a little faint. “None of us bears you any ill will. We saved every cent we could to have you come here—”
“I know, and I will pay you back.” I could tell that her jaw worked under the skin.
“No, Bella, just be happy,” I said in a voice that seemed to have lost all power. “That is the best way to pay me back.”
And yet, as I was looking at my sister, her skin glistening in the heat that rose from the basin, I could not help but wonder if happiness was something she was even able to achieve.
If she would even know it if she had it.
12.
Bella
Chicago, 1884–1886
My future husband’s name was Mads Sorensen. He was a night guard at the Mandel Brothers department store and brought me there one day to browse the silk handkerchiefs, taffeta dresses, and pearl earrings on display. It was good work at a fine establishment, and I would not mind tying my name to such a place.
Better still, he had a three-bedroom house in a pleasant neighborhood, far away from the tenements and the things that were being said about me.
He was not, as Nellie feared, a widower who had spent all his love on his first bride. He was a hardworking man with trust in God and wise with money. I did not care much for his looks; he was a short, stocky man with an unflattering mustache and was already losing hair, but that did not deter me. There was too much to like about a man with savings and prospects, and he was meek and gentle enough that I felt sure he would never raise a hand to me.
Love, though, it was not.
I was flattered that he had seen me at all and asked to escort me home after church. As the weeks moved by, we went for walks, and he bought me tea at an expensive teahouse. After learning about my sweet tooth, he always made sure to have a paper bag ready with pieces of candy of all flavors. Soon we had an understanding, and I knew he expected us to marry.
He spoke of it first when he walked me home one night.
“It must be cramped up there with two children and only one bedroom.” He was looking up at the windows of Nellie and John’s building. The street around us was mostly deserted, but a filthy man was sleeping with his back against a set of stairs and a scrawny dog was sniffing at debris. The brick pavement, running in shades of salmon and cream, was littered with vegetable peels and cleaned bones, brown-stained saliva and empty bottles. I could not wait to leave it behind.
“It is.” I answered his question. “It was all much better back home. It’s new to us, living like this.” I looked around at that loathsome street.
“I suppose you had room enough on your father’s farm.” There was a twinkle in his eyes that made me unsure if he knew I was lying about my origins.
I stood my ground. “Yes we did, on our father’s farm.” If I said it enough times, perhaps I would forget that it was only a lie.
“Well, I have a different problem. I have a house full of empty rooms.” He smiled as he said it, as if apologizing for his good fortunes.
“But many offers to fill them, I’m sure.” Men are so fond of flattery.