I opened the door and made no secret of it. I surely did not come in secrecy. Jennie lay on her stomach on top of the bed, shivering all over. Her face was burrowed into the pillow, where she made strange sounds: half crying, half whining. I sat down on the lip of the bed and she flinched. My red hand placed the lamp on the floor and turned up the wick. The air in there smelled of fresh linen and urine.
“Why did you have to do that, Jennie? What am I going to do with you now?” I placed my stained hand on the back of her head; strands of hair plastered to my fingers. “You knew the cellar was forbidden, so what did you go down there for?”
The girl did not answer but kept on shivering, making those ugly sounds. “You saw what happened to Myrtle and Lucy, only for taking a peek. What do you think will happen to you, now that you have seen the whole thing?” I sighed deeply and removed my hand. “I’d rather not have to let you go, but what you know now, it’s dangerous.”
She mumbled something deep in the pillow. I leaned closer to hear what she said. “I promise, I promise, I won’t say a word . . .”
“I hope you speak the truth, Jennie. My friend James Lee in Chicago is very fond of me, you know. He wouldn’t look kindly on you if something happened to me. If you ever tell a soul, you’ll be dead one way or another.” It brought me no pleasure to threaten her, but what was I to do? I had to make her understand the gravity of the situation.
“I will not . . . will not . . .” she whispered.
“Good, Jennie.” I patted the back of her head again and pulled the quilt up around her shivering form. We had made that blanket together, she and I, cut scraps and hemmed the pieces into glorious patterns. “Go to sleep now. We won’t ever speak of this again.”
I took my lamp and walked out of the room, found the key on top of the door frame and locked her in to be sure she would not run off in the night. She was rattled and scared for sure. I would have to watch her closely until she regained her senses.
I stomped down the cellar stairs to finish my work on Mr. Porter, but my enthusiasm for the task was diminished.
Why would she do something so foolish?
I could send her away, I thought, while loosening Mr. Porter’s arms from their sockets, but if she was far away from me, her tongue could easily loosen.
I could marry her off, I thought next, sawing off Mr. Porter’s legs two inches above the knees. But then the intimacy of the marriage bed might tempt her to share.
I could send her back to her father, but that might be the greatest mistake of all.
She had made herself a problem and that was the truth of it, I figured, while gathering up the slops in the pigs’ bucket.
No matter how I looked at the problem, what solutions I tried to come up with, the answer remained the same.
Of course it did. It always did.
She should not have gone down in the cellar.
* * *
—
The next morning, Jennie pretended that nothing was amiss, though she looked paler than usual and her blue gaze wavered.
“Did you sleep well?” I shoved some sausages onto her plate.
“Very much so, yes.” Her voice sounded breathless.
“Mr. Porter had to leave us early this morning to go to Chicago and trade some horses.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“He will be back, though, for his trunk.”
Lucy and Philip were playing at the table, although they knew I frowned upon it. Myrtle picked at her sausage with a fork. Outside in the sunny yard, the Greening boys were digging in the chicken coop. There was a vault under there and I had told them I wanted to see it. Maybe I could store something there through the months while the ground was frozen. I liked the boys well enough, but the younger one had a soft spot for Jennie, and a blossoming of hearts might not be for the best. I knew there was talk in La Porte of how I always kept my Jennie close at hand—too close, some said, but what did they know of the dangers of this world, what horrors could befall a young woman?
“I’ve been thinking, Jennie.” I joined them at the table. “Maybe it’s time we thought about your education. You could go to California and study law as we talked about.” I had always dreamed of something more for Jennie. Women lawyers were rare, but I thought it fitting for a daughter of mine. Not to mention how practical it would be to have her handle all my legal woes.
The girl did not answer, though, just bit her lip and looked down at the table.
“I could look at the advertisements and see if there is a good school for you. I so want you to have a profession, a proper career for a proper young lady.”
“Yes, I know. Thank you, Mama.” But she did not seem pleased at all.
“Maybe we should go into town, you and me, and get some of that red fabric you have wished for. You could use a new dress, I agree on that.”
“Thank you,” she whispered again.
“We could buy some sweets as well. You can choose what kind.”
“Thank you,” she said, but her heart was not in it. She had not even touched her food.
I placed my hand on hers on the table. “It’ll be fine, just you see.”
“Of course,” she repeated, and her eyes met mine.
But we both knew it would not.
41.
Belle
Answering letters took up much of my time. Some days I had as many as four or five delivered. They were from my acquaintances in Chicago, from men who had seen my advertisements, and sometimes they were inquiries asking for a loved one’s whereabouts. The latter was always a challenge. I had to be crafty so as not to have relatives knocking on my door. I could always say the men had moved on, but if the man in question had been close with his family, they did not always accept that. It annoyed me because I always urged my suitors to be discreet and keep our arrangement a secret. Still, some of them just could not keep their mouths shut, and told God and everyone they were off to see a widow in La Porte. Some even left a forwarding address for letters and suchlike. It caused me a world of trouble, fending off the relatives. Sometimes I said the men had gone to Montana or California, chasing an even brighter future there. I said they had learned of some fine opportunity to buy some land or invest. It took some cunning to have them look elsewhere. It took some cunning to make sure the suitors did not meet each other too. At times, I had to usher a departure when I learned the next one was on his way.
This day in November, I sat in the parlor and wrote to a man I did not expect to arrive for some time, but for whom I had great hopes. Mr. Helgelien was a Norwegian and good for some thousands in cash. Upon his arrival in America, he had run into some problems with the law and spent a little time in prison before settling down on his farm, which I now urged him to sell.
November 12, 1906
Mr. Andrew K. Helgelien
Dear Friend,
Today I received your long and interesting letter. Thank you so much. I have never before received such dear, true words.