Until We Reach Home (41 page)

“Was Sofia mad at me for what I said about having her heart broken?” Kirsten asked after a moment.

“You made her feel bad. Why do you have to say things like that? You never used to be so meanspirited, Kirsten. You were always so cheerful back home. What happened?”

“Things are different here in America. Why shouldn’t I be different, too?”

Elin stood and went over to Kirsten’s side. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I can see that something is bothering you, and—”

“Something’s bothering me, all right—you are! Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Because I’m worried about you. You used to be so full of life, and you would turn everything into an adventure. I used to envy you, running through the woods without a care in the world, seeing elves and fairies and gnomes behind every tree. You were always laughing, Kirsten. Even on the voyage to America you were the adventurous one, making friends with those cousins—giving me fits! Now you barely leave our room on your day off.”

“That’s because there’s no place to go.”

“Why don’t you take English classes like Sofia is doing?”

“Why don’t you?” The crumpled newspaper squeaked against the glass as Kirsten scrubbed the windowpane. Elin took it from her hand to force her to stop.

“Listen. We’re sisters. All we have is each other. Why won’t you talk to me? We used to be able to talk about everything.”

“Oh really? I’m sure there are things you’ve never told me.” The accusing look Kirsten gave Elin sent chills through her. Kirsten couldn’t know about Uncle Sven, could she?

“Please, let’s not fight.”

“Then quit bothering me!”

“Shh . . . I don’t want Mrs. Anderson to hear us.”

“I’m done here.” Kirsten gathered up the crumpled papers and left the room. In the silence she left behind, Elin heard the scrape and thump of Mrs. Anderson’s cane as she paced in her bedroom across the hall. The Gramophone music had stopped. Elin took a few moments to calm down after arguing with Kirsten, then walked across the hall and tapped on Mrs. Anderson’s door.

“Who is it?” she barked.

“It’s Elin, ma’am. May I come in?”

“I suppose so, if you must.”

Elin knew just by looking at her that Mrs. Anderson wasn’t well. She did her best to hide it, but Elin could see by the way she pressed her lips together that she was in pain. Her breathing sounded labored, as if she had been running up and down the stairs instead of simply pacing.

“Shall I send for the doctor?”

“No. And stop pestering me about it. When I want a doctor I’ll call for one.” Mrs. Anderson’s cat sat on a chair beneath the window, watching as she hobbled back and forth across the room.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Sit down and talk to me. Conversation helps distract me.”

“Very well.” Elin sat. She had no idea what to talk about. It was difficult to converse on command.

“You can start by telling me what’s going on with you and your sisters. I hear the arguments, you know.” She waved her hand in irritation. “No, don’t start apologizing. That’s not the point. But you came in here that first day like you were joined at the hip, and now I can see that you’re at odds with each other.”

“It’s mostly Kirsten. She has been very depressed lately and won’t talk about the reason why. She says there’s nothing wrong—”

“But you don’t believe her?”

“No. And the other day a man came to see her, and she wouldn’t say why or tell us a thing about him. He’s someone you know. He came to your dinner party. I think his name is Lindgren or Lindblad . . .”

“You mean Knute Lindquist?”

“Maybe that was it. He works for your newspaper.”

“Not my newspaper, my son’s. But you don’t need to worry about Knute’s character. He is an outstanding young man.”

“I’m worried about my sister. Kirsten was in love with a man from our village back home. She won’t talk about him, but Sofia said he broke her heart. Now she’s meeting with this man who she barely knows, and . . . and I would hate to have her heart broken a second time.”

“Knute Lindquist’s wife died two years ago. He has been despondent ever since. Perhaps that’s how they found each other, since your sister seems the same way, pining for that young man in Sweden.”

“Is that a good idea? If they’re both grieving and are both in love with someone else—is that any way to begin a relationship, do you think?”

“What does it matter what I think? What business is it of mine or yours what they do?”

Her words brought Elin up short, reminding her once again that she couldn’t fix everything. “But she’s my sister. I care about what happens to her. I’m just afraid that she will be hurt even more than she has been.”

“You’re very suspicious of people, aren’t you? Why is that?”

Elin didn’t reply.

“See? You have secrets,” Mrs. Anderson said, pointing her cane at Elin. “So why can’t your sister have them?” She pinned Elin with her eyes for a moment before resuming her pacing. “Knute is a good man, but I doubt very much if he intends anything more than friendship with your sister. He may never get over his wife’s death. But the depth of his grief should tell you a lot about his good character and his capacity to love.”

“But what does he want with Kirsten if he isn’t looking for a wife?”

“What business is it of yours? Will arguing about it help Kirsten? Leave her alone. She is the one who has to live with her decisions, not you.”

“I feel responsible for her. I—”

“Listen to me, Elin.” She stopped pacing again. “Even parents aren’t responsible for their children’s decisions after a certain age, much less sisters. Believe me, I begged my nitwitted son not to marry that woman. Did he listen? No. Now he’s living with his mistake. And what can I do about it? Nothing. That’s part of being an adult—living with your mistakes.”

“I would hate for either of my sisters to mess up their lives. I’m worried about Sofia, too. She’s pining for a stranger she met on Ellis Island, a man she barely knows. We have a brand-new start here in America. We’ve left the past behind—”

“Have you, though?” Mrs. Anderson stood in front of the bedroom window gazing out, her back turned to Elin. “I believed that I was leaving the past behind, too, when I came to America. But only the scenery changed. I was the same person inside. I have secrets in my past, so I know how heavily they weigh you down, how they corrupt your judgment and erode your character.”

She slowly turned to face Elin again. “Your sister Sofia talked to me about forgiveness the other night. I think you should talk to her, too, Elin. So should Kirsten. Don’t be a fool like I was and hold your secrets inside all your life. I know firsthand how much power they have to destroy you. Don’t wait until you’re an old woman like me before you ask for forgiveness.”

Elin stared silently at the floor. She didn’t see how sharing the truth about Uncle Sven could possibly do her or her sisters any good. A moment later, Mrs. Anderson began walking again. Her cat jumped down from the chair to pace loyally beside her. She bent to stroke his head.

“Promise me you’ll take care of Tomte when I’m gone,” she said softly.

“If you’re not well, I wish you would let me call for the doctor.”

Mrs. Anderson gave her a venomous look. “You were here the day I fired my last nurse, weren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. But—”

“Then let that be a lesson to you. Now kindly go downstairs and fetch today’s mail for me. I believe the mailman has just arrived.”

Elin returned with one letter, breathless from running up and down the steep stairs. “Shall I go back to my cleaning now?” she asked as she handed the letter to Mrs. Anderson.

“No. Sit down while I read this. It’s from Bettina.” Mrs. Anderson sat down, as well, frowning and pursing her lips as she read the brief note. “Well. It seems she is determined to evict me from my home. She wants me to know that she will be bringing another buyer here to look the place over.” She stuffed the note back into the envelope.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. And there’s nothing I can do about it. My son owns the house, Bettina was kind enough to remind me. He has every right to sell it.”

“We haven’t finished cleaning all of the rooms yet. And the ballroom is still—”

“It doesn’t matter. I appreciate what you girls tried to do the last time, but I think it’s finally time for me to go. I can’t navigate those stairs much longer.”

“We can move a bed down to the morning room for you, if you’d like.”

“We’ll see. You may return to your work now, Elin.”

Bettina Anderson arrived the following afternoon an hour before the buyer was due to arrive. She made Elin walk through the house with her, inspecting it to make sure that everything was in order.

“I don’t want any of your nonsense this time,” she told all three sisters. “You stay in the bedroom with Mother,” she ordered Elin, “and you two stay in the kitchen. If you try to sabotage anything, I will see that you are severely punished. What’s more, you’ll never work as maids in this community again.”

Elin played song after song on the Gramophone for Mrs. Anderson as the strangers toured her house. Afterward, Bettina knocked on the bedroom door. “The people liked it,” she announced, her face stretched in a grin. “They’ve agreed to buy it.”

“When?” Mrs. Anderson asked.

“It will take a few weeks for all of the papers to be drawn up and signed. But I will send the movers over right away for you and your things.”

“Oh, no you won’t. I’m staying right here until the deed is signed. I’m not leaving one day sooner than I have to. These girls will stay here, too.”

“Good. They can finish all the work that needs to be done. There are still half a dozen rooms to clean, not to mention the entire third floor.”

“I would have liked to waltz in my ballroom one last time,” Mrs. Anderson said wistfully.

Bettina made a face. “Don’t be absurd. Have you been up there? It’s a mess.”

“What will become of all my things? The furniture, the dishes . . . ?”

“You won’t need any of them once you move in with us.”

“What if I want my own things?”

“Be reasonable, Mother Anderson. There’s no room in our home for all this stuff. Most of it is so old-fashioned. . . . I don’t understand why you’d want any of it when you can have brand-new furnishings.”

“But what will become of my things?”

“I really don’t know. That’s up to Gustav. He’ll sell them at an auction, I suppose.”

“And what about Tomte?”

“I’ve told you before, Mother Anderson, I won’t have that animal in my house.”

“And I’ve told you before, I won’t go anyplace where Tomte isn’t welcome.”

“Well, then . . . I don’t know what else to say. I have to go, now.
God dag
.”

Mrs. Anderson seemed dispirited after Bettina left, her usual spit and fire quenched. She wandered slowly from room to room with her cane, leaning on Elin’s arm, surveying all of her possessions as if trying to figure out what to do with them.

“There was a time when I wanted this home and all these lavish things more than anything else in the world,” she said. “They seemed so important to me. But now I know better. It’s not the house that matters, it’s the love that’s inside it. A shack in the woods will be a home if you have someone to love.” She turned to look up at Elin. “That’s why you girls will never be homeless. You’ll always have each other. I envy you for that.”

Mrs. Anderson’s son, Gustav, arrived later that evening. Elin was reading aloud to her when Kirsten escorted him up to the bedroom. She and Elin both started to leave, but Mrs. Anderson stopped them.

“No, you girls stay for just a minute. What brings you here, Gustav? You only come to see me when you want something.”

He glanced at the girls, clearly irritated that they were overhearing the conversation. “I don’t want anything, Mother. I came to ask why you’re giving Bettina a hard time about selling everything and moving in with us. She only wants what’s best for you.”

“Nonsense. She wants my money.”

“We both want you closer to us. I should think you’d enjoy having some companionship for a change instead of living here all alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have my cat—who isn’t welcome in your house, so I’m told.” Tomte gave a high-pitched
meow
, as if outraged.

“You know he makes Bettina sneeze, Mother.”

Elin felt uncomfortable as Gustav talked on and on, explaining all of the arrangements he had made for his mother. Mrs. Anderson listened in silence until he finally was finished.

“Before you leave, Gustav, I would like you to come up to the ballroom with me.”

“What for?”

“And carry my Gramophone upstairs for me, will you? I want you girls to come, too. Kirsten, grab that box of music discs.”

Mrs. Anderson needed Elin’s help climbing the stairs. She gasped for breath, pausing several times on the way up. Her son had gone on ahead with the machine and didn’t notice how fragile she had become.

“These stairs are too much for you,” Elin said, halfway up. “You should sit down and—”

“Leave me be!” She puffed and strained until reaching the top and walked into the ballroom, gazing all around.

Balls of dust skittered across the ballroom floor like ballerinas. Cobwebs hung in tattered streamers from the crown molding and chandelier. But beneath the skylight, a silvery puddle of moonlight illuminated the center of the dance floor. Sofia had come in from their bedroom to see what was going on and helped Kirsten finish lighting the wall sconces. Gustav stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the room, his nose wrinkled in distaste.

“What did you want to show me, Mother?”

“I don’t want to show you anything, I want you to dance with me. One last waltz in my beautiful ballroom. Please?”

“Honestly, Mother! This place is filthy.”

The fairy queen hobbled across the floor and took her son’s hand, wrapping her other arm around his waist. “Your father was a marvelous dancer—did you know that? Put on the ‘Blue Danube Waltz,’ Kirsten, if you can find it.”

Elin knew the song was one of Mrs. Anderson’s favorites. The scratchy music that echoed around the ballroom sounded as if the musicians had recorded it in a furnace of crackling flames. But tiny Mrs. Anderson whirled around the floor as if listening to a live orchestra. She was as light on her feet as a young girl. She gazed up at the starry sky as they passed beneath the skylight, then closed her eyes as her son waltzed with her one last time.