She did try, though; I wanted to believe that she did. I wanted to think that it bothered her conscience and pained her soul whenever that wicked streak surfaced. I would not believe that she looked at the markings she had left on Mads’s skin and did not feel a thing. Her temper was a challenge, but surely she fought it! She, too, had to remember those nights after a beating, when she lay in the loft at St?rsetgjerdet and wept into the hay, overcome with anger and humiliation. So much anger that had nowhere to go but into that musty mattress.
She would never do that to another, would she? She would never want to see another person so bruised. Not if she could help it—which sometimes she could not—but surely it pained her when she failed!
Perhaps I feared what would happen if my daughter was there the next time that wickedness burst forth. Perhaps that was why her request to take Olga had touched me so deeply and wounded me so.
Her foster daughters changed that, though, and after my first visit after their arrival, I could not even think what foolishness had possessed me to think such dark thoughts about Bella.
It was a clear day in fall; the trees had just let loose a torrent of colorful leaves, but the sun was still hot enough to warm the air. We let the girls out to play in Bella’s backyard while we did her mending on the steps. Anne stayed close to our skirts, wandering about on stubby legs and filling her hands with leaves, while Lizzie, a little older, ventured all the way to the lilac on the other side of the yard to pick the leaves directly from the tree.
“Do not eat it!” Bella called across the distance, though it was doubtful that the child paid any attention. “I have to keep my eyes on them at all times,” she huffed, but her gaze was sparkling and her movements were light, as if she had become a girl again herself, just from being in their youthful presence. I could tell of her joy from their appearance as well: the neatly combed hair and the ironed dresses, the thick, blue coats that cocooned their round bodies.
“One light and one dark,” I noted, looking at their heads. “Surely you must be pleased.”
“Oh, they are such treasures.” She smiled down at them. “I only wish that they were mine for real.”
“You never know with such things—perhaps their mothers will never recover.” I did not say this to be cruel but because it was the truth. I also said it because I dearly wanted it to be so, that Bella would be able to keep them.
“That’s certainly something to wish for.” Bella put the mending down in the basket between us and strode out in the yard. “Come closer, Lizzie! Come closer! I will not have you walking behind the shed!” She took the girl by the arm and guided her closer to the other. “Isn’t it fun with all the leaves?” she cooed, then filled her hands with the yellow downfall and threw them up in the air. “Look,” she called, “it’s raining leaves!” She scooped more of them up from the ground and let them drizzle upon the girls’ delighted faces. Soon she was spinning each of them around in turn, stood there in the backyard with her brown dress and her apron, lifting each girl high up in the air to twirl with them in her arms, looking much like a goddess of fall when her skirts sent the leaves spinning too.
After several of these twirls, she showed the girls how to drizzle the leaves upon each other, and soon Lizzie was at it with much vigor, showering the younger girl in fall’s gold. Bella kissed their little heads before coming toward me; her cheeks were red and her eyes were sparkling.
“Are you wearing your husband’s shoes now?” she asked me as she neared the stairs, raising her eyebrows a little. She had noticed the much-mended foot attire that peeked out under my skirt.
“Ah yes, my feet are so swollen.” I added another two stitches to one of Mads’s shirts. “I can barely walk in my own shoes. It is worse this time, far worse.”
“I offered to take some of the burden off your hands.” She saw fit to remind me of it, and a bit of a sting erupted in my chest; I would rather not speak of that. Would not feel that darkness again.
“It will be better as soon as it’s born.” I made an effort to keep my voice steady and calm. “Besides, you have filled your house just fine without my help.”
“Yes, haven’t I just.” She laughed and paused to thread her needle. “They certainly keep my hands occupied—and I might even take on yet another.”
I laughed too. “I admire your heart, Bella. Even if the mothers do recover and they leave, it is a good thing you do, taking care of them while their mothers are sick. They are such small girls too, and no help in the house. Not many women would do that.”
“Well,” she chuckled, “it certainly impresses the women at church, but that is not why I do it, of course. I just cannot think of them suffering at some orphanage.”
“What is that?” I motioned to her neck with the needle; a large red bloom marred the side of it. “That is a nasty sore. What happened?”
She lifted her hand at once to press two fingers against the mark. “Oh, nothing—I was careless with the iron.”
“You burned your neck?” That sounded most peculiar. Why would she lift an iron to her neck?
“I was sloppy and distracted.” Her good humor had suddenly clouded over with annoyance. I hated when that happened, as I never knew whether I would be able to coax her good cheer back again.
“Indeed.” I tried not to, but now that I had seen it, it was hard not to look at that mark. It looked almost like a love bite, and I briefly wondered if the girls’ arrival had reignited something between her and Mads, but then I thought that was unlikely. Mads was not the sort of man to leave shameful bruising on his wife. “You have to be careful, you have children to look after now.” And I did not mean only with the iron. I had never thought of Bella as the type to chase men, but one never knew, and things had certainly not been easy between her and her husband. I just did not want her to ruin it now that things were going so well, and she had the little ones to fill the empty space around her.
“Did you hear about Edvard?” she suddenly asked. She did not look at me but at the girls.
“Edvard who?” I did not remember at once.
“Edvard from Bergen, the one I stabbed in your kitchen. He is dead.” Her voice was very calm.
“What?” My mouth felt dry.
“Yes, he was killed.” Bella’s voice rose a bit. “He was gutted like a fish, right behind his boardinghouse. It was in the newspaper and all.” She finally turned her gaze on me, brimming with astonishment.
“Oh, that’s terrible.” And I wished she had not told me. Why ruin such a beautiful day with talk of past quarrels and dreadful murder? “Do they know who did it?” I asked, only because I felt like I had to, and not from any real curiosity.
“No . . . they say it was a robbery”—she lifted her chin—“but I cannot figure how any thief would be foolish enough to think he’d have anything worth stealing.” A mocking sneer appeared on her lips and lingered for a moment before it went away, as if it had never been.
“No,” I agreed, feeling faint. “There is that.”
“Maybe it was some drunken quarrel,” she mused.
“That certainly sounds likely,” I agreed. “I cannot say I mourn him, but it’s a sad way to go.”
“Yes, isn’t it just.” Bella’s lips twisted up again, as if she could barely withhold the glee.
It pained me to see it, so I looked away.
17.
Bella