Until We Reach Home (29 page)

“
God morgon,”
Elin said. “Pastor Johnson sent us here to apply for jobs as domestic servants. We’re the Carlson sisters, nieces of Lars and Hilma Larson.” She showed the woman the letter.

The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Olafson and told them she was the cook. But then her pale eyebrows knitted in worry. “Oh, but you look like such nice girls. Take my advice and look for jobs someplace else.”

“Is Mrs. Anderson really that hard to work for?” Kirsten asked.

“She’s impossible. And there is a great deal of work to do. This house has more than twenty rooms. She is playing a game of tug-of-war with her son, you see. He wants to sell the house and she doesn’t, so she fires anyone who works too hard. She would fire me, too, if she didn’t have to eat. She doesn’t want to move in with him, you see. And . . .” she added in a stage whisper, “when you meet her daughter-in-law, Bettina, you’ll understand why. They are two of a kind, and they get along like cats and rats.”

“We really need the money, Mrs. Olafson,” Elin said. “Even if she only lets us work here for a week or two, that’s still better than nothing.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. I need the money, too, you see. And believe me, she is paying me more than I could get anywhere else, because no one else can get along with her. As I say, she has to eat. Well, come in. I’ll show you around.”

Mrs. Olafson even hobbled like a little gnome as she led Sofia and her sisters into the house. The kitchen was very large but as tidy as a cottage kitchen. Sofia smelled fish chowder bubbling on the stove and rye bread baking in the oven.

“Mrs. Anderson is awake. I already sent up her breakfast tray—”

“Oh, then we’d better not disturb her,” Elin said.

“You won’t disturb her. She has nothing else to occupy her time. Now, most of the time you will use these back kitchen stairs, you see, but I’ll take you up the main staircase so you can see all the work you’ll be getting yourselves into.”

She opened a service door that led into an enormous paneled dining room. Sofia counted fourteen chairs around the table, but the dust on top of it was thick enough to draw pictures in. The mirror hanging above the ornately carved sideboard was so murky with dust and grime Sofia could barely see her reflection. Dozens of silver serving pieces cluttered the top of the buffet, and all of the silver, including a pair of candelabra on the table and a second pair on the fireplace, was black with tarnish. Cobwebs draped the carved plaster ceiling and hung from the chandelier.

“Oh my,” Sofia whispered. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“This is only the first room, you see. And this one has been in use recently. When I show you some of the others, you may change your minds.”

The dining room led to the main foyer with a massive fireplace and a carved walnut staircase that looked wide enough to drive a team of horses up it. The ceiling soared two stories above Sofia’s head.

“A family of giants could live in this house,” Kirsten said.

“That’s the formal parlor, across from the dining room,” Mrs. Olafson continued, pointing to a dusky room filled with upholstered furniture and shelves full of bric-a-brac. “It’s been shuttered for quite some time. Mrs. Anderson prefers the smaller morning room, which I’ll show you later.”

From the window on the first landing, Sofia glimpsed what might have once been a sunny conservatory, with plants long withered from lack of care and so many grime-covered windows it would take a month to wash them all. At the top of the stairs, a U-shaped balcony looked down on the foyer, and another set of wide stairs led to the third floor.

“I’ll take you through one of the cleaner bedroom suites,” Mrs. Olafson said, opening a door off the hallway. “Each bedroom has its own sitting room and dressing room, you see. And each suite has one of these . . .” She pointed to a magnificent
kakelugnar
—a Swedish porcelain tile stove. Even with the drapes closed and the lamps turned off, Sofia could see that the room’s elegant plasterwork ceiling had been carefully painted with flowers and vines to match the stove’s hand-painted tiles.

“This is amazing,” Kirsten murmured.

“Gustav Anderson had this house built and decorated for his wife and family. I understand that it took two years to build, you see. And now his widow lives here, all alone.”

“Why don’t her son and his wife move in here,” Kirsten asked, “instead of selling it?”

“Oh, you don’t know Bettina Anderson. She wants everything modern and built the American way. This place is much too Swedish for her tastes.”

There seemed to be a great deal more of the house that they hadn’t seen, but the brief tour ended with Mrs. Anderson’s suite. The cook knocked on the door, and a woman wearing a white uniform and a peaked nurse’s cap answered it. If Mrs. Olafson was a gnome, then the nurse was surely a witch. She was thin and pointy-looking, with glistening black hair and a severe face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Pastor Johnson sent these three nice young ladies over to fill the servants’ positions.”

“Send them in,” a voice thundered from inside the room.

“Good luck to you,” Mrs. Olafson whispered. “And watch out, she hears everything.”

Silvia Anderson sat propped up by pillows in an enormous four-poster bed. Sofia had expected to see an ogre, but she was much too wispy and fine-boned to be an ogre. Instead, she resembled a fairy queen with her corona of white braided hair and her pale blue ruffled nightgown. Sofia wouldn’t have been surprised to see gossamer wings sprouting from Mrs. Anderson’s shoulders. Sofia felt as though she’d wandered into a bedtime story, complete with a haunted castle, a gnome, a witch, and now a fairy queen.

“Don’t huddle near the door,” she bellowed. “Come in here so I can see you.” Her voice was loud enough for a body twice her size and as imperious as an empress’. An enormous gray cat that had been asleep on her lap lifted its head to examine Sofia and her sisters along with its mistress. The cat was as large as a raccoon with blue-gray fur and an oddly flattened face, as if it had run headfirst into a brick wall.

“Why are there three of you? I only asked for two girls.”

“We are sisters, Mrs. Anderson,” Elin said, stepping forward to explain. Sofia remained a step behind her with Kirsten. “We just arrived in America. We need jobs in order to pay back the people who loaned us the money for our tickets. Pastor Johnson sent you this letter.” She held it out to her, but when Mrs. Anderson didn’t reach to take it, Elin lowered her arm again. “Our parents died, so we came here to live with our uncle.”

“Who’s your uncle?”

“Lars Larson.”

“Oh yes. And his wife, Hilma. Biggest gossip in the community and as tight-fisted as a miser.”

Sofia glanced around the room while Elin was speaking and saw another magnificent porcelain stove, painted with pink and blue flowers. Everything in the room matched the tiles, from the delicately painted border around the ceiling to the drapery and bed linens—even the vase of fresh flowers on the bedside table. All of the furnishings looked as though they belonged in a Swedish castle.

“What are your names?”

“I’m Elin Carlson. This is Kirsten and Sofia—”

“You look like children. I don’t believe in hiring children. How old are you? And I want the truth.”

“I’m nineteen,” Elin said. “Kirsten is eighteen and Sofia—”

“I’m sixteen. But my birthday is in a few weeks and I’ll be seventeen.” Elin was being so strong and brave that Sofia suddenly decided to step forward and stand beside her.

“I know what comes after sixteen, Miss Carlson.” She gave Sofia a look that made her heart race and was probably intended to silence her. The cat stared at her, as well, its yellow eyes blinking slowly.

“Well, I only need two girls,” Mrs. Anderson said.

Sofia saw Elin swallow. But she lifted her chin and bravely held her head high. “Which two would you like to hire, ma’am?” Elin asked.

Sofia waited, holding her breath. At first she wondered why Elin hadn’t pleaded with her to take all three of them, but then she saw the wisdom in Elin’s reply. Instead of lowering herself to beg, she would give the old ogre the task of rejecting one of them, face-to-face.

“Well, that one looks like she can work,” Mrs. Anderson said, pointing to Kirsten, “but the two of you are scrawny little beggars. I don’t see how much good you’ll be.”

Elin didn’t respond. Sofia knew that if Mrs. Anderson rejected her because she was the youngest, she likely would end up working for someone like Aunt Hilma and sleeping behind the kitchen stove. But Elin looked calm and determined, and Sofia made up her mind to be calm, too.

Please, Jesus, please,
she prayed.

“Well . . . I guess I’ll keep all three of you—for now. But it will be on a trial basis, you understand.”

“Yes, ma’am. We understand.”

“You’ll get room and board and three dollars each per week.”

“Excuse me,” Kirsten said, “but Pastor Johnson told us it was four dollars.”

“That was before I knew there were three of you.”

“Then we can’t accept,” Kirsten said after glancing at Elin and Sofia. “You would be receiving more work from us for less money. That isn’t fair.”

The fairy queen stroked her gray cat’s fur as she looked them up and down, forcing them to wait. Her tiny fingers glittered with rings. Diamond and emerald earrings dangled from her ears. Sofia had never seen anyone so elaborately arrayed just to lie in bed.

“Very well,” Mrs. Anderson finally replied. “This is what I will expect from you in exchange for your room and board and four dollars each per week: You will arise in the morning to begin working before I’m awake, and you will not retire to your beds at night until after I’m asleep. I will give you one morning, afternoon, or evening off per week—I’ll choose the times, depending on my schedule for that week. These times will be staggered, of course, so that you don’t all disappear at once.”

She paused, looking them up and down, her eyes narrowed. “You’ll need decent clothing. You look like a bunch of Swedish peasant girls, fresh off the boat.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Kirsten said, “but that’s exactly what we are.”

Mrs. Anderson barked out a laugh that roused the cat. It stretched its bloated body, claws extended, then sat up, blinking at them in disapproval. As quickly as Mrs. Anderson’s laughter began, it abruptly changed into a coughing spell. The nurse leaped up to offer her a glass of water, but Mrs. Anderson swatted her hand away.

“Stop treating me like an invalid, Agne, and go sit down.”

“But you hired me to take care of you.”

“No, it was my dim-witted son’s idea to hire you, not mine.”

“He cares about you.”

“Hmmph. The truth is, the sooner I’m gone, the sooner that harpy he married will get her hands on my money. How do I know she isn’t paying you to poison me?”

The nurse appeared outraged. “Really, Mrs. Anderson, I don’t know how you can—”

“Oh, go sit down. In fact, you shouldn’t even be in here listening. The arrangements I make with these girls are none of your business. How much extra is Bettina paying you to report all of my goings-on?”

“I’m not . . . I mean . . . I wouldn’t . . . I—”

“You’re a very poor liar, Agne. Take my advice and just sit down and shut up.”

The nurse slunk back to her chair by the window. Sofia saw the wisdom in respectfully standing their ground, as Kirsten and Elin had done, instead of allowing Mrs. Anderson to walk all over them.

The fairy queen turned her attention back to Elin. “I will give you three
used
maids’ uniforms—unless you would like new clothing, in which case I will deduct it from your earnings?”

“No thank you,” Elin said. “We don’t mind hand-me-downs.”

“You will sleep in the servants’ quarters on the third floor. There will be no visitors and
absolutely
no suitors. Don’t expect any holidays off. Don’t help yourself to my larder. You will be fed, of course, but you’ll eat the leftovers in the kitchen after my guests and I have dined. . . . Mrs. Olafson!” she suddenly called out. The cook hobbled into the room. “Show the Carlson sisters their rooms. They will start work today, as soon as they’ve moved in and changed their clothes. Give them three of the old staff uniforms. That’s all. You’re dismissed.” She waved her hand as if flourishing a magic wand to make them disappear.

Sofia and her sisters followed Mrs. Olafson from the room and down the hall toward the rear of the house. “Well, I see you passed the first test,” Mrs. Olafson said. She opened a door that looked as though it might be a closet. Instead, it led to a narrow set of stairs. “I hope you aren’t sorry for accepting the jobs.”

She motioned for them to follow her up to the third floor. “Your bedroom is up here, you see. But I may as well show you this as long as we’re up here. . . .” She opened another door and led them into an enormous ballroom.

“Oh my!” Sofia breathed. “It’s like something from a fairy tale!”

“You mean an
ancient
fairy tale,” Kirsten said. “This place hasn’t been cleaned since the Vikings sailed the seas.”

A pile of furniture littered one corner of the room, covered with yellowing sheets. Cobwebs hung from the gilded chandeliers and wall sconces. A pair of moth-eaten maroon velvet curtains draped across a raised wooden stage on the far end of the room. Dust balls skittered across the floor on the breeze from the open door, and Kirsten left a trail of footprints in the dust as she walked into the room. Sofia could see the splendor beneath it all and could imagine magnificent music playing while women in ball gowns whirled across the polished floor with their partners.

“Look at the center of this ceiling!” Kirsten said, halting in the middle of the ballroom. “It’s made of glass!”

Sofia looked up and saw blue sky and white clouds floating past. “You could dance beneath the stars,” she murmured. She pictured herself in Ludwig’s arms, waltzing in the moonlight beneath the glass dome.

“Well, we certainly have a lot of work to do,” Elin said with a sigh. “Come on. We’d better get started.”

The servants’ quarters were at the end of the hallway, behind the ballroom and two floors above the kitchen. They were sparsely furnished, with bare wooden floors and narrow beds and a chest of drawers. These rooms would need to be thoroughly cleaned, too. Sofia parted the curtains for a glimpse of the view outside, and the cloud of dust she raised made her sneeze.