“It’s such an admirable trade, don’t you think?” She did not even bat an eye. “We’re having such lovely evenings together, playing cards in the parlor. Mads too,” she added quickly, “when he is up to it.”
“Mrs. Sorensen is a wonderful cook.” He deftly returned the praise and sank back on the wooden chair. “I must have gained several pounds since I moved in.”
“Oh, but you have not tried my waffles yet.” Bella continued the shameless banter.
Through the gap in the door I saw Olga shake her head, though I did not at once grasp why that was. “I only came in to see Olga,” I told the merry couple behind the counter.
“Go ahead.” Bella motioned to the back. “Take some sweets home for Nora,” she offered. “She is barely even here anymore.”
When I had entered the back, Olga bent over the feeding infant and whispered into my ear, “That’s not him. Mr. Gunness is just a lodger. You have to try again.”
And so I did.
* * *
—
It took me a while longer than intended, as my back took a bad turn and I could not walk about as much as I liked. It helped that Olga reported that her aunt had started sending her and the girls out with the pram to walk a bit in the park, most commonly on Fridays. Olga no longer saw the man so often in the store, and deduced from this that Bella must have noticed her reluctance toward him and started to plan ahead so that both her niece and her daughters would be out of her hair whenever the strange man appeared.
This made it easier to know when to go, which was a blessing, as my back did not much like those long trips on the streetcar.
Over the weeks, I had started thinking that there perhaps was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his presence there. Maybe he was a wholesaler or suchlike. That did not explain the secrecy, of course, but Olga might have gotten that part wrong.
When I arrived at the store, I was surprised to find that the door was locked. At first, I thought it was I who had not been firm enough when trying the handle, but no matter how many times I tried, the door remained firmly shut.
When I took a step back to assess the storefront, I could tell that the sign in the window read Closed.
This was both irregular and disturbing. There was no good reason why Bella would close the store on a busy afternoon. I stepped up to the door and looked inside at the familiar interior, the counter and the glass jars. I did not see my sister, though, but figured she might be in the back, so I lifted my hand and rapped on the glass.
At first, nothing stirred in there, and I lifted my hand and rapped once more. I called for her too. “Bella, are you in there?”
The store remained dark and quiet.
I was about to turn and go to the park in the hopes of finding Olga and the girls. Maybe my daughter would know if her aunt had stepped out, if something was amiss with Mads perhaps. Just then, something moved in the dimly lit store, and I moved a little closer to the glass to get a better view.
It was the door to the small storage room, usually locked, which slowly slid open in there, revealing my sister’s ample figure. Without thinking, I lifted my hand, curled into a fist now, and hammered on the glass once more. The residue of fear and the lightness of relief dueled inside me as she moved toward the door. When she came closer, I could see that she was adjusting her clothes: straightening the lace collar of the shirtwaist and checking all the buttons, dusting off the gray skirt with her hand.
I felt cold and barely wanted to enter when she finally turned the key in the lock.
“Olga is not here,” she said by way of greeting. Her face was flustered, but from embarrassment or anger, it was hard to tell. “I sent her to the park with the girls.”
“Why was the door locked?” I knew she wanted me gone, but instead I took a few steps inside. If she wanted me to leave, there was obviously something to see.
“I just needed a moment’s silence,” she said as she retreated behind the counter. “I have such a terrible headache—”
“Oh, come.” What sort of a fool did she think I was? “Why would you be in the storage room all by yourself? That never cured any headache.” There was nothing but shelves in there; not even a chair to sit on.
“What do you mean?” She did not smile, but her eyes had lit up with mirth.
“Well, you were hardly alone in there, were you?”
“I have no idea what you mean, but I do think you should go. This headache—”
I moved as fast as I could with my poor back and ripped open the door to the storage room. There, with only a kerosene lamp as company, a man stood casually leaning against the candy shelf. He was dressed as Olga had described, in a long coat with fur trimmings; his mustache was thick yet neatly combed, and his slanted eyes glittered merrily in the warm light from the flame. He cocked his head when he saw me, and his full lips split in a smile. “I am merely inspecting the shelves,” he said, and rapped his knuckles against one.
I stepped away at once—aghast at the sight and unsure what to say. The man followed me out of the cramped little room.
“Oh, come, we are all adults.” He threw out an arm, as if to say it was all such a little thing, of no particular consequence.
To my astonishment, I could tell that Bella was smiling behind the counter. “Nellie, this is Mr. Lee,” she said, with amusement written all over her features. “Mr. Lee, this is my sister, Mrs. Larson.”
“A pleasure.” He made a deep bow, in mockery no doubt.
“Mr. Lee was just leaving.” She sent him a poignant look.
“Oh, I was,” he replied at once; that mocking smile never once left his lips. “Have a wonderful day, Mrs. Larson.” He hurried toward the door. Once there, he turned with his hand on the knob. “I will see you soon, Mrs. Sorensen.” He tipped his hat, and then he was gone. The bell above the door jingled in his wake.
“Bella, what is this?” I hissed at my sister and moved up to the counter, standing opposite her, with only a few jars of striped candy between us. My heart was beating very fast—I had not liked the look of that man, his glib mockery and too-easy smile.
“It’s nothing—I just . . .” She did not complete the sentence but started fussing with the brown paper bags stacked near the thread weight. She did not look at me but still had that half smile lingering on her lips.
“You cannot be doing this—not now, with Mads so ill, and your little girl—”
“Well, that is just it!” Her eyes flashed when she finally looked at me. “Mads is ill and I have my needs, which he is certainly not in any condition to—”
“Bella!” I slammed my hand down the countertop, “People will talk, don’t you see? There is no such thing as a secret, and especially not when you meet him so publicly.”
“It is my store,” she said, looking for a moment like the girl I left behind, petulant and angry, and not the matronly woman she had become.
“And your marriage too—you make a mockery of your husband, who’s lying there so very ill. Who even is he?” I slammed my hand down on the countertop again.
“Oh, just a friend.” She shook her head as if it meant nothing.