Olga’s tears had made my own heart catch up with me. “Those poor children,” I lamented. “To lose another father so soon . . .” Now that we were on our way, I just could not wait to see them. I had brought some sweets from Chicago as a treat, though I doubted any sugar could make these days better. “So close to Christmas too,” I mused. “It will be a sad celebration for them this year.”
John had been very quiet ever since we got the note. He sat beside me, pale and stone faced, and barely said a word until Nora turned to him: “Maybe we should invite all them to Chicago, Papa?” she asked. “Maybe it would be good for them to get away from the farm.”
In my stomach, the familiar churning came back, grinding acid and emitting pain.
“Let us see them first.” John’s voice was a little hoarse; his jaws were set in a grim expression. “We do not really know what happened yet.” I could tell then that he was frightened. He worried about what we would find on Bella’s farm in La Porte.
His worry made me worry too.
“She did not mention how the accident happened?” Rudolph put down the newspaper he was reading. He was sitting on Olga’s other side, directly in front of me.
“No.” I shook my head. “Only that it had been terrible.”
“Most accidents are.” He softened the words with a gentle smile under his brown mustache. He was engaged to be married, which baffled me some. To me, he would always be that sweet little boy who clung to my skirts. Now he was hoping for children of his own.
“Is your back all right, Mama?” he asked me.
I nodded. “Of course. It’s as good as it will ever be.”
“This weather won’t help.” John looked out the window. The landscape was frosty, but there was no snow. Only a bone-deep cold.
“Do you think Aunt Bella will have room for us all?” Olga looked over to me; tears still glistened in her eyelashes. We had been planning to stay the night, thinking that Bella might appreciate some help on the day her second husband went into the ground.
“Oh yes,” I murmured. “She has room for even more. There’s twelve rooms in all.”
“It used to be a house of ill repute.” Rudolph’s smile was happy and bright.
“Hush.” I slapped his knee and furrowed my brow, but his sisters were giggling with delight, all tears seemingly forgotten.
“Is it true, Mama?” Nora wanted to know. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” I admitted at last, and could not help but smile a little too. Even John, in his morose state, curved his lips a smidge.
* * *
—
When I had last visited the farm, it had been a beautiful day in spring. Everything had been green and the light crystalline. This time, when we arrived, the sky was bleak, and the fields around the houses black and hard with frost. The farmyard was littered with puddles of water covered in thin crusts of ice that broke to shards under our heels. The air was cold and damp as we scampered up the stairs and entered the farmhouse.
This time, the devastation was apparent in the household. The mirror that hung in the parlor was covered up, and candles burned on every surface; the candlesticks were adorned with black paper bows. The air was scented with woodsmoke, wax, and lemon from scrubbing.
Bella greeted us in a dress made from black silk, the double wedding band her only jewelry. Her hair was piled high up on her head, brown and silver in equal measure. Her face looked gaunt and her eyes troubled. I took her in my arms.
“Oh Bella,” I murmured into her shoulder, taken aback by the tenderness that suddenly bloomed so fiercely in me. “That you should have to experience such misfortune . . . I am so very sorry for you.”
“It was such a shock.” She sniffled and embraced me back. “Such a terrible loss for all of us.”
Jennie and Myrtle had followed in her trail like black little goslings; their stiff skirts rustled and the air was scented with hair oil from their glossy braids. Olga was with them at once, looping one arm around each girl and pulling them close to her body.
“Oh, you poor dears.” She was sniffling again. “Oh, you poor, poor dears!”
Nora stood back, looking as if she wanted to be somewhere else. She lifted a foot to scratch her heel against her calf and looked around at the landscape paintings that hung on the papered walls. John and Rudolph had better manners and came toward Bella with their hands outstretched, about to offer their condolences.
“It’s such a terrible tragedy,” she muttered as she shook their hands. “He was such a wonderful husband, and so good to the girls!”
“Where is Swanhild?” I asked, looking around.
“Oh.” Bella shook her head. “She was away when it happened, visiting Peter’s uncles in Janesville. She won’t make it back in time for the service.”
“That’s awful.” Olga’s eyes widened. “It must be such a shock for her as well, losing both of her parents in such a short time.”
“Of course it is.” Bella nodded with a grave expression. “But at least she didn’t have to be here when it happened like the rest of us.”
“What happened, exactly, Aunt Bella?” Rudolph asked. “If you do not mind me asking?”
Bella glanced at the girls before she answered in a quiet voice, “It was all so stupid—he was going for his shoes and then the meat grinder fell down and crushed his head.”
I balked at the description; it sounded so very coarse.
“A meat grinder?” John sounded about as surprised as I felt.
“I know.” Bella rolled her eyes. “One wouldn’t think such a small thing could do such damage, but . . . that’s what happened.” She started walking, guiding us farther into her house of death. “I tried to clean him up, but water can only do so much. We had to close the casket. It was awful.” At this she lifted a black handkerchief to her eyes and staggered a little so she had to use her free hand to steady herself against the wall.
Rudolph came to her aid.
“Here, Aunt Bella, you can lean on me.” He offered her his arm, and she clung to it as we entered the dining room, where the pine casket rested on top of the table, surrounded by a few more candles.
“We will have to bring in more chairs, of course,” Bella said as we passed by. “Every chair in this house, I reckon. I expect people to come from all over the place.”
“No wonder,” John murmured to me as we moved toward the kitchen. “It’s not every day a man dies from a meat grinder.”
My stomach began to hurt again.
* * *
—