Olaf Lindboe was not a man of great means, but he certainly had his charms and was not afraid to waste them on a well-to-do widow with forty-eight acres. No, he knew exactly what he did when he came to La Porte with his harmonica and his easy smiles. This young farmhand with only a few hundred dollars and a gold watch to his name was set on marrying me from the start. It was how he was to make his fortune, that boy: find an old widow like me.
For a time I played along; I let him think he had me all soft and tender, fed him nice food and cleaned his dirty shirts. I told him what a beautiful man he was, for he certainly appeared to be vain. Then I told him how my farm suffered from lack of a man, and how dreadfully lonely my nights were. He thought he had it all then, when I let him into my bed one night and fed him ham and eggs the next morning. I could see it in the way he moved, in the way he spoke to the neighbors. This foolish, handsome man acted as if he owned the farm already, dishing out his plans for this or that, as if I had no say at all.
Men like that never think that their charms can fail them, that the one they seek to fool can fool them in turn. They are far too vain for that. They think they can have the world.
I took great delight in seeing him lose consciousness after eating an orange infused with chloral, took even greater pleasure still in hauling him down to the cellar and giving him those final whacks. There was very little to gain from Olaf’s death, but the pleasure was exquisite. I tipped him into a hole he had dug himself, and filled it up with rubbish. This time, after I had come inside and rested at the table, it came in a heady rush, that feeling. It came upon me in waves of the purest, most delicious sense of victory and spite. He thought he had me fooled, wrapped around his finger—well, look how that turned out! I bested him; I conquered him, and now he was rotting in the ground, because I was smarter than he was and could eat him up, tail, whiskers, and all. James Lee would have been proud.
I felt invincible that night—as if I had taken out an army all by myself. It was not as intense as when Peter died, but by God, it was something. It was a heady rush.
“He left when I wouldn’t marry him,” I told the neighbors when they asked, and took great delight in seeing them become all confused. Why would not an old widow like me marry a handsome man like him?
If I felt kind that day, I said he had gone back to Norway.
* * *
—
James sent me William Mingay, a coachman from New York, next. He too came to La Porte in pursuit of a wealthy widow, wanting to trade city life for country life. I liked Will well enough; he was easy and comfortable to have around. He was no farmer, though, but brought a thousand dollars in cash with him. I had him installed in a room downstairs so I could visit him at night without disturbing the children. He had a tall, sinewy body that reminded me a little of the good things I had shared with Peter. Climbing on top of him and closing my eyes, I almost felt I was back in the first days after our wedding, when the sweetness was ripe and the juices never ceased to flow. When he held on to my hips and moaned beneath me, I could almost forgive the size of his savings.
That was, until the day I arrived in the kitchen to see his hand encircling Lucy’s arm. He shook the crying girl and yelled at her. “How hard can it be to get me my shoes?”
As I was told by Myrtle later, the girls were playing in the parlor, bringing in shoes to use as hospital beds for their little dolls. They had been in all the rooms upstairs—except the one with the trunks, as that room was forbidden—and had taken down all the shoes they could find, including Mr. Mingay’s. When the game had ended, they no longer remembered where the different shoes belonged—a fact that did not amuse Mr. Mingay.
It earned him an orange, that treatment of Lucy, a fat one laced with cyanide. No need for those whacks with the cleaver, then; the cyanide was all it took. As for Mr. Mingay, all I wanted was for him to die, and I did not even wait for that feeling of bliss. When it came to the protection of my children, I struck as hard and cruel as a viper.
There were others too, men who came to sell me their horses or work for me. All of them were so sure of themselves and treated me as if I were a fool. A sleazy smile and a pat on the rear, why would I not appreciate that? My nights had to be lonely; my days had to be bleak. A single woman would surely crave the comfort of a man, be happy and grateful to have their attention.
I gave them oranges.
I wrote to James and asked him to send more bachelors my way, but he dragged his feet. You have an impressive enterprise at the farm, but I would advise you to slow down. I sometimes thought he did not like it much that I filled my house with men who were not him.
He cared for me in his own way, though, and the crates from Chicago kept coming.
The children never noticed much of what was going on in the house. They knew the cellar was forbidden to them and never attempted to go there. Jennie was more difficult than the rest, however. At sixteen she was not a child anymore. Sometimes I thought she looked at me with fear, or acted strangely around my houseguests. One day while we were sewing a rag doll for Lucy in the parlor, I asked her how she fared.
“Well.” She looked up from the stitches. “I have nothing to complain about.”
“You don’t mind that I have guests, do you? It can be lonely for a widow living alone out here.”
“Aren’t you going to marry one of them? People think so, that you’re looking for a husband.” This time she did not look up but kept her gaze firmly on the doll.
I laughed. “Perhaps, but not before I find one that is just as good and capable as the one I lost.”
“They leave so fast.” A little frown appeared.
“What?” My needle hovered in the air.
“They are here one night and gone the next morning, and why do they leave their trunks behind?”
She was an observant little mouse, then. “They will send for their trunks in time. It’s how the world is now. People travel all the time, looking for a place to settle down. They are just happy to find a safe place to store their goods.”
“But why do they go in the night?” She sounded breathless.
“Why? Would you rather they stayed until dawn?” I made another stitch. I could feel a faint pounding in my jaw.
“I just think it’s strange, that’s all.” The doll hung limp in her hands.
“You should not think so much. It’s unseemly for a young woman.” I could feel my lips tighten as I spoke.
“I thought you said it was no sin to be clever.” Her eyes upon me were so large and blue.
“There is a thing as too clever, little bird. Take care not to be too clever.” I opened my mouth to stretch the jaw.
“Yes, Mama.” She bent her head; the blue thread from her needle wavered in the air.
“No one likes a nosy girl. When the men leave is no one’s business but their own,” I said firmly.
“All right, Mama.” She dropped her gaze.
“And leave their trunks alone,” I warned.
“I never touched them.”
“Good . . . Now, do you think Lucy will like her new doll?” We had stitched it from cutoffs and used brown yarn as hair. I had even sewn a little cap for her head.