—
That night, after Jennie’s weeping had ceased and Myrtle’s fussing had given way to sleep, I sat alone in the kitchen with Lucy in the cradle, rocking it gently with my foot. I had turned down the kerosene lamp and poured myself a brandy; the golden liquor sloshed around the glass as I lifted it to my lips. I closed my eyes and savored the taste, and then I prodded my insides. I was looking for that feeling, that same joy I remembered from Anders’s demise. Surely it would be within my reach now that I had killed another man.
I recognized relief. I recognized hope and possibilities: the start of a brand-new day. I saw Peter Gunness there, his face flashing before me, and I saw myself content and at peace. I saw James too, sauntering through my mind in that feline way that he had. But I did not find that feeling, that red-hot flood of triumph I had felt after Anders died, and found I was dismayed by that fact.
Maybe Mads’s death had been too easy to count.
I had been hoping for ecstasy, but as with everything with Mads, all I was given was disappointment.
24.
Nellie
The days following Mads’s death were like a bad dream. One of those that does not make much sense but still lingers long after you wake up and leaves a sickening feeling.
I learned about the death early next morning, when Bella’s neighbor, Cora, came to deliver the sad news and summon me to Alma Street.
“She is in no state to come and tell you herself, Mrs. Larson.” Cora sat at my kitchen table, refreshing herself with some hot coffee. “Oh, she was so upset! Though we all knew that he was ill, so it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise! She told me herself, out on the street. ‘Cora, we’ll be lucky to keep him till fall,’ she said, but I guess it’s still a shock when it happens. He seemed so hale too, in the last few weeks. My daughter saw him outside, playing with the girls that same morning. Perhaps he overtaxed his poor heart.” She sipped the coffee.
“Yes.” My vision was swimming a little, and I had to hold on to the countertop to keep myself steady. “My brother-in-law has been ill for some time.”
“It will be hard for her now with three girls to care for, and two of them are still so young.” Her face fell into concerned folds. “I advised her to get him in the ground as soon as possible, with this heat and all . . . She should not keep him at home any longer than necessary.”
“Is he washed yet?” I crossed the short space to the table and sat down as well. I did not have any coffee, though; I felt a little sick, a little dizzy.
“Oh yes, she took care of that herself. Didn’t even want any help. She is such a hard worker, your sister, and with such a robust constitution. She is certainly of the old country—nothing can slow her down.” Clara served herself from the buttered bread I had put out on a tray; it was a little stale, but I had nothing else. The woman did not complain, though, but drizzled crumbs down on my clean table.
“What did the doctor say?” My voice barely carried when I asked. With my inner eye, I saw the bruise from the soap bar, and behind it all, I saw my father’s swaying form, his fist poised to strike, his breath strong with liquor.
“That it was the heart, of course.” Cora shook her head and tutted a little, then took another piece of bread from the tray. “I know Bella gave him all sorts of powders for it, prescribed by that doctor they know, but I suppose there’s little to do once it’s broken.”
“Of course,” I said. “He did have a broken heart.” No blood then. No wounds or a nasty fall.
“And that vomiting too,” Cora went on. “She told me all about it. It’s a miracle that he did not die before.”
“Yes, isn’t it just.” I saw that bruise again. “She wants my help, I reckon?”
“Oh yes, with the children, of course, but the flowers too. She gave me some coins for black-edged paper, so she can write to his relatives and such.” Cora brushed crumbs off her hands. “You will go there at once?”
“Of course.” I was already off the chair, looking for my shawl.
“I am happy for it. She is in such a terrible state and should not be alone.” Cora rose too, leaving her cup on the table. “Jennie is an angel, of course.” She tightened her own knitted shawl over her shoulders. “She helps as much as she can, but she shouldn’t be alone with it, being as young as she is.”
“Not to worry,” I told Cora, “I will look after them all.”
* * *
—
All the way on the streetcar, I imagined what I would find when I arrived. I saw Bella sitting in darkness in the parlor, with all the curtains drawn, stiff and unmoving. I imagined the children filthy and starving. The baby crying from the cradle. I saw Jennie trying to comfort them all, bringing her mother and Myrtle treats from the pantry and dipping bread in milk for Lucy. She was only twelve—it would not do.
It was not what I found, though, when I arrived at the house on Alma Street.
As soon as I opened the door, I met a delicious smell of hot sugar and butter, and when I entered the kitchen, I found Bella busy with the rolling pin. Jennie and Myrtle were there as well, wearing little aprons. Jennie was in charge of the cookie cutter, while Myrtle’s small fingers pushed one scalded almond on top of each perfect circle of dough. They had already baked one tray, and that was where the smell came from. It smelled even stronger in there, mingling with scents of woodsmoke and lemon. Bella wore black, that was true, but other than that she did not look much like a newly minted widow, with her hands covered in flour and her hair bun half undone.
“Oh Nellie!” She beamed when she saw me. “I was hoping you could help me with the flowers. We will take them from the garden, of course. There’s no point in spending money on such vanity.”
“What is this?” I took off my coat; it had already been too warm outside, and in that kitchen it was unbearable. “Cora said you were in mourning,” I said, accusing her. “She made me think you couldn’t be on your own.”
“Well, I am—I can’t.” She grimaced and finally stopped her eager rolling. “But there’s no one else here but me, so I have to go on the best that I can. Who will feed the children if I don’t?” She wiped her hands on the apron; small puffs of flour rose in the air. Her eyes looked angry—she did not much like to be questioned. “All sorts of people will come to see him, and they will expect refreshments. It just won’t do to have nothing to serve them.”
“You could have waited for me.” I scolded her lightly and went to kiss the girls. “Is Lucy asleep?” I glanced in the direction of the parlor, where the cradle mostly stood these days.
Bella nodded, suddenly solemn, as if she had just remembered how to grieve. “She is blessed, that child, to not know what has happened in this house. She does not have to endure grief as we do.” She lifted a hand to her eyes, as if hiding a tear.