Until We Reach Home (42 page)

“Thank you,” she said when the recording ended. “You’re a good boy, Gustav. If only you hadn’t married a nitwit.”

“If only you would try to get along with her, Mother.”

“You can go home now,” she said, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for humoring me.”

Mrs. Anderson wanted to stay upstairs in the ballroom for a while after Gustav left. She listened to song after song, seated on a chair beneath the little stage where the musicians once performed. Her wrinkled face wore a look of deep sadness. Afterward, it took Elin a long time to help her descend the stairs to her bedroom.

Elin wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Anderson was too weak to get out of bed the next morning. She made Sofia deliver a message to her son to come right away. Bettina Anderson came instead.

“She does this every time we get ready to move her,” Bettina complained as she strode through the front door. “She has pretended to be ill so many times that no one believes her anymore.”

“I don’t think she is pretending,” Elin said.

Bettina glared at her. “Then you should have sent for the doctor, not Gustav.”

“She doesn’t want the doctor.”

“I don’t care what she says. I’m sending my driver for him.”

When the doctor arrived, Mrs. Anderson had everyone leave the room while he examined her. Bettina waited downstairs in the morning room, drinking coffee and staring impatiently at the clock. Elin had just come in to replenish Bettina’s cup when the doctor joined them.

“Her heart is failing,” he said gravely.

“How much did she pay you to say that?”

“Be kind to her, Bettina. She doesn’t have much longer to live.”

Elin hoped the doctor was wrong. She slept on a chair in Mrs. Anderson’s bedroom for the next few nights to be near her if she needed anything. Elin and Tomte, not Mrs. Anderson’s family, were sitting at her bedside when she fell into a coma.

One week after her final waltz in the ballroom, Silvia Anderson died.

Chapter Thirty-One

I
T RAINED ON
the day of Mrs. Anderson’s funeral. It seemed to Kirsten that it had rained on every funeral she had ever attended—and there had been too many of them. Most of the mourners carried umbrellas. Kirsten and her sisters stood in the drizzle. She couldn’t tell if their faces were wet from the rain or their tears. Probably both.

It seemed to Kirsten that the only permanent thing in her life was loss, as one after another the people she loved were torn away from her. She inched a little closer to Elin, linking arms with her.

Once again, they were without a home. But the sorrow Kirsten felt as she listened to the minister pronounce “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” wasn’t only because of that. She had grown fond of the fairy queen.

Mourners filled the mansion afterward. Kirsten glimpsed Mr. Lindquist talking with Gustav Anderson, but she didn’t speak with him. She helped her sisters serve the lavish buffet luncheon that Mrs. Olafson had prepared, and the work helped take her mind off her grief. It was easy to imagine a time when Silvia Anderson’s husband had been alive and this huge, echoing house had been filled with people, just as it was now. Kirsten couldn’t understand why Bettina Anderson didn’t want to live here—unless it was from envy, unless she wanted an even finer home.

When the last mourner finally left, Bettina disappeared upstairs. Kirsten helped her sisters clear the dining room table and gather the scattered plates and glasses. She filled the kitchen sink with soapy water and began washing the dishes while her sisters dried them.

“Do you think we’ll ever be allowed to be happy?” Kirsten asked them.

“Of course we will,” Sofia said. “You make it sound as if we’re being punished for something.”

“It feels like we are,” Elin said.

Sofia turned to her in surprise. “But we haven’t done anything wrong.”

Kirsten looked down at the dishwater, knowing that she had done something terribly wrong. It was only a matter of time before her sin would be discovered. When Elin also remained silent, Kirsten recalled reading the guilt-ridden pages of her diary. Maybe she and Elin deserved to be punished, but why was Sofia being punished along with them?

“We need to figure out what we’re going to do now that Mrs. Anderson is gone,” Elin said. “We’re going to need new jobs, first of all. We’re still working on paying off our debt for the tickets. And we need a place to live.”

“Why don’t we ask her son if we can stay here a while longer and help pack up Mrs. Anderson’s things?” Kirsten said. “We haven’t finished cleaning all of the rooms yet.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sofia said, “but let’s not ask Bettina. I don’t think she likes us.”

“Where is Gustav? Did he leave already?” Elin asked.

“No, he’s in his father’s study,” Kirsten said. “I went in there looking for dirty plates and cups and saw him going through the desk drawers. I think you should talk to him, Sofia. Didn’t he say he admired your singing?”

“I don’t want to face him alone. Let’s all go.”

They agreed, and Kirsten grabbed a towel to dry her hands. But before they could leave the kitchen, Bettina Anderson stalked through the door. Her expression told Kirsten that she was furious.

“All three of you, sit down and don’t move!”

They glanced at each other, then pulled chairs out from beneath the kitchen table and sat down. Kirsten’s heart began thumping wildly when Gustav Anderson came through the door a moment later, a dark scowl on his face. The giant cat followed on his heels, as if aware that Gustav was his beloved owner’s son. Tomte had been walking from room to room yowling morosely ever since the night his owner had died.

“Can’t you shut that animal up?” Bettina asked no one in particular. Kirsten started to rise, reaching for the cat. “Sit down!” Bettina commanded.

“I can’t do two things at once, ma’am.”

“Then do as you’re told and sit!”

Gustav cleared his throat. “We have discovered that several pieces of my mother’s jewelry are missing.”

Kirsten felt her stomach roll over. She had thought that her life couldn’t get any worse, and now it had. Mrs. Olafson had warned them on their very first day that the previous maidservant had been falsely accused of theft, and now it was their turn. Kirsten was afraid to look at her sisters, knowing she might cry if she did.

Gustav pointed his finger at Elin. “Are you the one who became her nurse and spent all that time in her room?”

“Yes, sir. But I didn’t take anything. I wouldn’t steal from her. None of us would.”

“I happen to know how badly the three of you need money,” Bettina said. “You were stupid to think we wouldn’t notice that her jewelry was missing.”

“You’ll make things a lot easier for yourselves,” Gustav continued, “if you simply hand everything over before the police arrive.”

“We’ve sent for them,” Bettina said. “They’ll be here any minute.”

Kirsten’s heart thumped faster at the mention of police. She finally risked a glance at Sofia and saw the terror in her eyes. “I don’t care if you do send for the police,” Kirsten said. “They’ll find out we’re innocent.”

Elin laid her hand on her arm. “Hush, Kirsten. Don’t waste your breath. They don’t believe us anyway.”

“You’re right about that,” Bettina said. “Don’t forget, I have firsthand experience with your devious ways.”

That’s what this was all about, Kirsten suddenly realized. Bettina was still angry with them for scaring away the first buyers.

“My mother thought very highly of all three of you,” Gustav said sternly. “Once again, for her sake, I’m going to ask you to hand back what you’ve stolen.”

“We didn’t steal anything,” Kirsten said.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gustav turned and strode from the room with the howling cat close behind him. Bettina remained in the kitchen as if guarding them, standing near the stove with her arms crossed.

A long time later, Kirsten heard the front door chimes ring, then voices out in the foyer. Two policemen followed Gustav into the kitchen. One of them spoke Swedish but the other didn’t, and the discussion that followed was a confusing mess of languages. Bettina’s fury grew by the minute.

“Mother Anderson always wore a large diamond and emerald ring with matching earrings,” she said in Swedish. “Now they’re missing. She wore diamond rings on several of her fingers, but they weren’t on her hands when she died, nor are they in her jewelry case.”

Kirsten recalled how the fairy queen had glittered with jewelry on the day they had first arrived, asking for jobs. It had seemed odd that someone would wear fancy earrings and rings while lying in bed. But now that she thought about it, Kirsten couldn’t recall seeing any jewelry on Mrs. Anderson in the weeks before she died.

“What did you do with her emeralds?” Bettina demanded.

“We never touched her jewelry,” Elin said calmly.

“That’s a lie! I saw that girl wearing one of her brooches a couple weeks ago,” she said, pointing to Sofia. “She was just as brazen as you please about it. And I have witnesses, too. Everyone at the party saw her wearing Mother’s cameo pin that evening.”

“She loaned it to me,” Sofia said. “I gave it back—”

“Can you describe it, please?” the policeman asked.

A blush of color rose to Bettina’s cheeks. “Well . . . the cameo isn’t missing. But the other pieces I described are. You can’t let these little thieves get away with this!”

“Let me talk to them alone, please,” the Swedish policeman said. Kirsten glanced at her sisters as Bettina left the room. She wondered if she looked as pale and frightened as they did. But in spite of her fear, Kirsten’s anger simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to boil over. Elin laid her hand over Kirsten’s again as if sensing her mood.

The policeman planted his hands on his hips. He was growing angry, too. “You girls must have known you would get caught. You’ll save yourselves a lot of trouble if you just hand over the items right now. If you cooperate, the judge will take that into consideration when sentencing you.”

“Elin wouldn’t steal,” Kirsten said. “Neither would Sofia. And I know I didn’t take anything.”

But Kirsten knew that if it was their word against Bettina’s, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Again, she wondered if Bettina was getting even with them for playing that trick on her. If so, this mess was Kirsten’s fault. She was the one who should be punished, not her sisters.

“Here are the facts,” the policeman said. “There are no signs of a break-in. The jewelry is missing, and all three of you had access to Mrs. Anderson’s room every day while she was ill, correct? That gives you opportunity.”

“We didn’t take her jewelry,” Elin said in a trembling voice.

“I also know that you are in debt for quite a bit of money. That gives you motive.”

“But we wouldn’t steal,” Sofia said. “Stealing is a sin.”

“Stand up. All three of you.”

Kirsten rose on trembling knees.

“Where’s your room? We need to search it.”

The two policemen made them stand aside and watch as they turned the bedroom upside down in their search. Sofia wept when they held up her friend’s violin and shook it. Kirsten’s anger grew hotter by the minute but she held back, knowing the police wouldn’t find any jewelry. Bettina seemed disappointed when they came downstairs again, empty-handed.

“We told you we didn’t steal her things,” Kirsten said.

Bettina huffed in anger. “This house has two dozen rooms. There are thousands of places they could’ve hidden a handful of rings. I’m telling you these girls are devious.”

“This is your last chance,” the policeman said. “If you don’t tell us what you did with the jewelry, you’re going to jail.”

“No, please,” Elin begged. “You have to believe us. We didn’t touch her jewelry.”

“Maybe a night in jail will change your mind. Let’s go.” One of the men grabbed Kirsten’s arm, harder than he needed to, and pushed her toward the door. The other policeman grabbed Sofia and Elin. Kirsten turned to Bettina.

“Please, let my sisters go free,” she pleaded. “You know we didn’t steal anything from you. If you’re still mad at us for playing that trick on you, it was my fault, not theirs. Please don’t take it out on my sisters. Please don’t punish them.”

“Was that a confession?” the policeman asked her. “Are you ready to hand back what you’ve stolen?”

“I didn’t steal anything. Mrs. Anderson is mad at me for pretending that the roof leaked and—”

He shoved her through the door. “Tell it to the judge, miss.”

The police wagon waiting by the curb had bars on the windows and rear door. The men loaded Kirsten, Elin, and Sofia into the back of it and drove away from the mansion.

“This is my fault,” Kirsten wept as she looked out at the darkened streets. “I shouldn’t have made Bettina angry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Elin said. She sat on the bench across from Kirsten, rocking Sofia in her arms. “No one is mean enough to do this just because of a prank—even Bettina Anderson. She must really believe that we stole from her.”

“But who could have taken her rings?” Sofia asked.

Kirsten leaned back against the wall of the compartment, hanging on to the bench as the wagon bumped and jostled through the city. She closed her eyes. “I just want to wake up in my bed back home in Sweden and find out that this has all been a nightmare.”

Too late, she recalled why Elin had worked so hard to get them away from their home in Sweden—and how life there had been a nightmare for Elin. She opened her eyes to face her sister. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean that.”

No one spoke for the rest of the trip. When they reached the police headquarters, the Swedish-speaking policeman handed the captain his report and left. Kirsten stood in the bustling station with her sisters, listening to yells and laughter and catcalls, not understanding a word of what was going on. Sofia’s meager knowledge of English was little use to them, and when all of their efforts to proclaim their innocence proved futile, Kirsten and her sisters were led down a dingy hallway to the rear of the station. The warden locked them in a cell.

“Why is this happening to us?” Sofia wept as she sank onto a cot. Elin sat down beside her and tried to comfort her, but Kirsten was too upset to sit. The cell reminded her of the detention room at Ellis Island—only with bars and a lock on the door. The beds, which hung from the wall by chains, had no mattresses or pillows, only a thin, grubby blanket for each of them. A bucket had been placed in the corner for their needs. At least they had the cell to themselves.