“Sure, Mama. She always loves a new doll.” She gave the sweetest of smiles.
“You should think about that, then, how happy your sister will be, and not worry so much about those men.”
“I will, Mama.” Another flash of blue.
“Maybe Lucy will even let you name her.” The ache in my jaw subsided some.
We finished our sewing in silence.
* * *
—
I grew tired of waiting for James and decided to take the matter into my own hands. If he would not send bachelors to me, I would find them myself.
I placed an advertisement in the Scandinavien:
WANTED—A woman who owns a beautifully located and valuable farm in first-class condition wants a good and reliable man as partner in the same. Some little cash is required, for which will be furnished first-class security. Address C. H. Scandinavien office.
Who does not love a single woman of means, someone to charm and gain from? There were plenty of answers to my little advertisement, one more blossoming than the other. Gold diggers all, from the looks of it—and like a gold miner I went through it all, sifted through dozens of letters and sorted out those I thought worth my while. Men with money, that was what I was after, and I told them that from the start.
Dear Sir,
Some time ago I received a letter from you in answer to my advertisement in the Scandinavien. The reason why I waited to reply is that there have been other answers, as many as fifty, and it has been impossible to answer them all. I have chosen the most respectable, and I have decided that yours is such.
First, I will let you know that I am Norwegian and have been in this country for twenty years. I live in Indiana, about fifty-nine miles from Chicago and one mile north of La Porte. I am the sole owner of a nice home at a pretty location. There are seventy-five acres of land, and also all kinds of crops, improved land, apples, plums, and currants. I am on a boulevard road and have a twelve-room house, practically new, a windmill and all modern improvements, situated in a beautiful suburb of Chicago, worth about $15,000. All this is almost all paid for. It is in my own name.
I am alone with three small children, the smallest one a little boy, the two others girls, all healthy and well. I also have an older foster child, another girl. I lost my husband by accident some years ago and have since tried to make do as well as I could with what help I could hire, but I am getting tired of this. My idea is to take a partner to whom I entrust everything, and as we have no previous acquaintance, I have decided that every applicant I have considered favorably must make a satisfactory deposit of cash or security.
I think that is the best way to keep away grifters who are always looking for such opportunities. Now, if you think that you are able to put up $1,000 in cash, we can talk the matter over personally. If you cannot, is it worthwhile to consider? I would not care for you as a hired man, as I am tired of that and need a little rest in my home with my children. I will close for this time.
With friendly regards,
Bella P. S. Gunness
James came to visit with a crate. He laughed at my letter. “You make it sound like you’re bestowing some honor upon them.” He sat in my parlor drinking whiskey. The piles of letters from my suitors lay before him on the table. Petals kept dropping down on them from the flowers James had brought me.
“Well, I’m certainly worthy of some cash.” I gave him a wide smile.
“Your farm seems to have grown some as well.” He was referring to the number of acres I had given.
“Ah, but they will never know.” They could barely count, some of them.
He sat on the sofa and I was in a chair. The open bottle was on the table between us. Above our heads, I could hear Jennie ushering the children to bed. Lucy was looking for her rag doll and Philip was in a foul mood. I itched to go to them, but I knew that Jennie could manage. I had given them red berry soup with laudanum drops for dinner, and they would all fall asleep fast enough.
“You are about to plant them in the yard, my dear,” James pointed out in response to my statement. His eyes glittered merrily toward me.
“We don’t know that for sure,” I argued, though we both knew that I would. “I might marry again someday.”
“But not any of these.” He motioned to the letters. “I know you won’t listen, but I still advise you to be cautious. You had a near miss with the butcher—”
“I’m not leaving them out on display,” I cut in, a little dismayed. I was no fool, after all.
“I know it’s hard to stop, Bella. Once the blood takes hold there’s nothing quite like it. If we lived in the west when there was no law, or if we were soldiers in a war, your hunger for it would even be encouraged, but we’re not.” He shook his head with mock sadness. “We have to slip and squeeze around the law as best as we can. I have told you before to be clever about it—”
“It’s just for the money. I will stop when I have enough.” I lifted and downed my glass.
“No, no, no.” He laughed and shook his head. “You’re no more in this game for the gain than I am. Not anymore. There will never be enough money, my dear, because the money isn’t the point.”
“You think I like the act of murder.” I briefly met his gaze.
“I know you like the act of murder.” His eyes narrowed and hardened.
“I never used to feel such need before.” I had done just fine after Mads, and after Anders in Selbu. For a time.
“It ages like fine whiskey, that lust; it grows and it blooms.” He lifted his own glass and sniffed it before bringing it to his lips.
“I find that I’m angry.” I clutched the glass so hard that my knuckles went white. “I never knew that I was so angry.” My jaw started to ache.
“I always knew you were.” His smile was close to pity. “I just never knew what for.”
“I think it has to do with an old story that nearly killed me many years ago.” My gaze drifted to the window, to the farmyard outside.
“I hope you will share it one day.”
“I don’t think I can.” That story was embedded so deep within me it might never again see the light of day. Like a cancer, that story, gnawing at my bones. Bad enough that Nellie brought it up, peeling the scabs away from my wounds.
“Did you kill him, whoever it was?” The pity was gone, replaced with glee.
“Oh, I killed him.” I turned my gaze back on him and matched his wicked smile. “He was the very first one.”
“I’m glad you got him, then. It must be hard to have a pain like that if the one who caused it is still alive.” The smile disappeared from his lips.
“It still hurts.” I filled our glasses.
“Always will, I suppose.” He sighed and leaned back on the sofa, his slanted eyes glittering again.
“If I just get enough money, that—”
“No, you’re fooling yourself. There’s no peace for the likes of us.” He held my gaze for a long time.
“Lest we hang,” I said.
“Yes, there’s that.” He lifted his glass high in the air. “May that unhappy day be far off yet.”
* * *