“We must take you into Portsmouth,” I said.
“And will you have the money for the dentist,” she asked sharply, “if you have no money for wallpaper? When I was at home, I had money from Evan, though there were no decent dentists to be found near Laurvig, I am sorry to say.”
Across the table from her, I picked up my own bowl and took a sip of the coffee. “And how is our brother?” I asked.
Karen lifted up her head and fastened her eyes upon mine, and as she did so I began to color and to curse myself for this weakness in my constitution. “He did not write to you?” Karen asked sweetly.
“We have had the one letter,” I said. My forehead was now hot and wet. I stood and went to the stove.
“One letter? In all this time? I am quite surprised. I have always thought our brother bore you a special affection. But I suppose our Evan was never one for dwelling much in the past.… ”
“I expect that Evan has been too busy to write,” I said quickly, wishing now to put an end to the subject.
“But not too busy to be a comfort to me, you will be glad to hear,” said Karen.
“A comfort?” I asked.
“Oh, most decidedly so.” She opened her mouth and rubbed a back tooth. As she did, I could see that many of her teeth were blackened and rotted, and (I hope I will not offend the sensibilities of the reader by revealing this) I could as well detect a terrible smell emanating from the office. “Full of the most stimulating conversation in the evenings,” she went on. “Do you know that we went together to Kristiania by train over the Easter holiday last year? It was tremendously exciting, Maren. Evan took me to the theater and to supper and we stayed at a hotel. And he spent one afternoon at the University, and spoke to some of the professors there quite seriously of admitting himself to a course of study.”
“Evan did?”
“Oh, yes. He has prospered wonderfully and has been able to put some money by. And I do think that now I am gone, he will go to Kristiania, at least for a term, to see how he fares. And doubtless he will meet there some young woman who will turn his head. It’s time he settled down, our Evan. Don’t you think so, Maren?”
I tried to calm my hands by stirring the soup that was on the stove. “You don’t think that Evan will come to America too?” I asked as casually as I could.
“America!” Karen exclaimed. “Whyever for? A man who prospers so well in his own country and has no need to escape will never think of emigrating to another country. No, Maren, I should think not. It was of course difficult for me to have to leave him.… ”
“Why exactly did you leave?” I asked, turning to her sharply. I was feeling quite cross with Karen at this point.
“We may talk about that at some other time.”
Karen turned her head away, and appeared once again to be examining the cottage. “You cannot keep your windows clean?”
“The sea spray,” I said. “It is continual.”
“At home, I like to use the vinegar.”
“I would like to know what has brought you here,” I said, interrupting her. “Of course, you are entirely welcome, whatever the reasons, but I do think John and I have a right to know. I hope it is not some dread illness.”
“No, nothing like that.”
Karen stood up and walked to the window. She folded her arms across her breast and appeared to contemplate the north-west view for some time. Then, with a sigh of, I believe, resignation, she began to tell her story. There had been a man in Laurvig by the name of Knut Eng, she said, who was a widower of fifty four years, who had courted Karen for seven months with the implicit promise of an engagement not long in the future as they were neither of them young, and then suddenly, after a particularly silly quarrel between them, had broken off their relations, and there was no longer any talk of marriage. So abrupt and shaming was this cessation of his affections, and so widespread the gossip surrounding the affair, that Karen found she could no longer walk with any confidence into town or attend services at our church. Thus the thought of voyaging to America to join John and myself suddenly became appealing to her.
I felt sorry for her loss, though I could not help but think that Karen had most likely done her part to alienate her suitor. Nor was it altogether flattering to know that my sister had come to us only because she was embarrassed to have been spurned. But as it was our custom to welcome all visitors, and particularly those who were family, I tried to make her comfortable and showed her to the upstairs bedroom so that she might have privacy. She found the room uncheerful, and had the poor manners to say so, and, in addition, appeared not to see the star quilt at all. But I forgave her, as she was still in a state of irritation and tiredness owing to her sea-journey.
“What was the nature of the quarrel?” I asked her when she was settled and sitting on the bed.
“I had observed that he was growing more and more stout as the months progressed,” she said, “and one afternoon I told him so.”
“Oh,” I said. I confess I had then to suppress a smile, and I turned away from my sister so that she could not see this effort. “I am sorry that this has happened to you,” I said. “I trust you will be able to put all your sadness behind you now that you are in a new world.”
“And do you suppose,” she asked, “that there is any life for Karen Christensen here on this dreadful island?”
“I am sure there must be,” I said.
“Then you, Maren, are possessed of an optimism I cannot share.”
And with that, she made a fluttering motion with her hand, a motion I knew well, which dismissed me from her bedroom.
For a time, Karen was my companion during the days when John was at sea, though I cannot say that this was an easy or comfortable companionship, as Karen had grown sorry for herself, and as a result, had become somewhat tedious and dull. She would sit at her spinning wheel and sing the very saddest of tunes, whilst I went about my domestic chores in her presence. I did not like constantly to ask for information about Evan, as Karen had a curious way of regarding me when I did, which always made the blood come into my face, and so I would sometimes have to sit for hours in her company to catch one casual word of my brother, which she gave only sparingly. Sometimes I believe she deliberately withheld information about Evan, and at other times I could see that she was pleased to reveal a confidence I hadn’t shared with my brother. These are harsh things to say about one’s sibling, but I believe them to be true. When one night I could bear it no longer, and I blurted out to her that I believed in my heart that Evan would eventually join John and me in America, she laughed for a long time and said that Evan had barely mentioned my name in the three years I had been apart from him, and it was her opinion that though one remains attached to a family member forever, he had quite forgotten me.
I was so enarged by this utterance, which she knew wounded me deeply, I went to my room and did not emerge that day or the next day, and finally was persuaded to come into the kitchen by John, who declared that he would not tolerate discord in his house and that my sister and I must make peace between us. In truth, I was embarrassed and eager to put the entire incident, which had not shown me in my best light, behind me.
Karen and I did not have many quarrels like this, however, as she left Smutty Nose within the month. It shortly became apparent that my sister must have money for her teeth, and since there was not work on Smutty Nose, and since I did not really need any help in my domestic routine, nor did we have any extra funds to spare for her, John rowed her across to Appledore, where she was interviewed and hired as a servant to Eliza Laighton, and installed for the summer in a garret room in the hotel the Laighton family occupied and managed. In the winter, she was a personal servant to Eliza.
We were to see Karen at regular intervals during the next two years, primarily on Sundays, when John would take the dory to collect her on her afternoon off so that she might have a meal with us. I did not notice that domestic service improved her disposition much. Indeed, I would say that as
the months passed, she seemed to sink further into melancholy, and it was a wonder to me how she was able to maintain her position there at all.
Despite Karen’s departure, John and I were almost never to be alone again on the island, as Matthew, John’s brother, came to us soon after Karen had gone into service. Matthew was quiet and undemanding and used the northeast apartment for his sleeping quarters. He was a great help to John on the boat. And on 12 April 1872, John brought home a man to board with us, as my husband needed extra monies in order to save up for a new fishing boat. This man was called Louis Wagner.
I think now, in retrospect, I was struck most by Louis Wagner’s eyes, which were a metallic blue, and were as well quite canny, and it was difficult to ignore them or to turn one’s head away from them, or, indeed, even to feel comfortable in their gaze. Wagner, who was an immigrant from Prussia and had about him an arrogance that I have always associated with Prussians, was large and strongly built. He had coarse hair of a sort that lightens in the elements, so that it was sometimes difficult to say whether he was fair-haired or brown-haired, but his beard was most striking, a vivid copper color under any circumstances, and shiny copper in the sun. Louis’s skin was extraordinarily white, which I found surprising in a man of the sea, and his English was poor. But I will confess that he had the most contagious of smiles and quite excellent teeth, and that when he was in good humor and sat at table and told his stories, he had a kind of charm that was sometimes a relief from the silence of Matthew and John.
Louis was lodged in the northeast apartment with Matthew. In the beginning, when Louis was a mate on John’s boat, I hardly saw our new boarder, as Louis ate his meals quickly and then repaired almost immediately to his bed, owing to the fatigue the long hours caused in him. But shortly after he had arrived, Mr. Wagner got the rheumatism, which he said had plagued him chronically nearly all his adult life, and he was rendered so crippled by this ailment that he was forced to stay behind and take to his bed, and in this way I got to know Louis rather better than I might have.
I had not really ever had the experience of nursing another to health, and at first I found the duties awkward and uncomfortable. As Louis could not in the beginning rise from his bed without considerable pain, I was compelled to bring him in his meals, collect his tray when he was done, and clean his room.
One morning, after Louis had been confined to his bed for several weeks, I was surprised in my lounge by a knocking at the outer door. When I opened it, Louis was standing on the stoop in a state of some disarray, his shirttails outside of his trousers and his collar missing, but still it was the first time he had been upright in many days, and I was glad to see this. I begged him to come in and sit down at the table, while I prepared some hot coffee for him.
He made his way limpingly to the chair and sat upon it with a great sigh. When he had been well, I had observed him hoisting the dory from the water as if it were a child’s plaything; now he seemed barely capable of lifting his arm from the table. He had lost considerable weight, and his hair was disheveled and in need of a wash. Despite his appearance, however, he seemed that day pleased with himself, and he smiled when I brought to him the bowl of coffee.
“I am in debt to you for your kindness,” he said after he had taken a swallow.
“It’s nothing,” I said to him in English, as I always did, since neither of us could speak the other’s language. “We hope only to make you well again.”
“And that I will be, if I remain in your hands.”
“We are all concerned for your health,” I said. “My husband and his brother.”
“But you are the nurse. I am a great burden to you.”
“Oh, no,” I said, hastening to assure him that he was welcome. But he shook his head.
“In this country, I have been nothing but a burden. I’ve had no luck and have not made my mark. I owe money to everyone, and I see no real prospects of a job.”
“You have work with my husband,” I pointed out.
“But I’m not working now, am I? I’m sick. I can’t even pay my rent to you.”
“Don’t be thinking of that now. You should be thinking of getting well,” I said.
“Yes?” he asked, suddenly brightening. “Do you think you will make me well, Mrs. Hontvedt?”
“I will try…,” I said, somewhat embarrassed. “But you are hungry. Let me feed you now.”
“Yes, Mrs. Hontvedt. Please feed me.”
I turned to him as he said this, and he was smiling, and I thought for a moment he might be mocking me, but then I dismissed the notion. I had been waiting for the soup to come to the boil when he had knocked, and now I stirred it and poured some into a bowl. I had in addition the flatbrød that I had baked earlier in the day. The soup was a fish chowder and had, if I may say so, a wonderful aroma, so much so, in fact, that I was compelled to pour myself a bowl.
Louis sipped from his bowl with an inelegant sucking sound, and I thought that he had probably not ever been much on manners. I observed, as he drank, that his copper beard badly needed trimming, and that while I had been fairly diligent with his laundry, his lying in bed so many hours of the day had stained his shirt around the neck and under the arms. I was thinking that perhaps, if I could find some proper cloth, I would make him a new shirt while he was recovering.
“You are a good cook,” he said, looking up from the soup.
“Thank you,” I said, “but fish soup is easy, is it not?”
“I can’t cook myself,” he said. He put his spoon down. “You are lonely here?”
To my surprise, I blushed. I was so rarely ever asked questions of a personal nature.
“No,” I said. “I have my dog, Ringe.”
“Your dog,” he said, observing me. “Is he enough?”
“Well, I have my husband…”
“But he is gone all the day.”
“And I have work. There is always a great deal to do here. You have seen this.”
“Too much work makes for a dull life,” he said, and again smiled to reveal his teeth. He brushed his hair, which had grown long and somewhat greasy and overhung his forehead, with his fingers. “Do you have a pipe?” he asked.
I was, for the moment, confused by this request. I didn’t know whether John would like me to share his tobacco with this boarder, but I didn’t quite know how to refuse Louis Wagner.
“My husband sometimes smokes in the evenings,” I said.
Louis tilted his head at me. “But he is not here during the day, is he?”
“There are pipes,” I said uncertainly.
Louis simply smiled at me and waited.
After a time, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, I went to the box where John kept the pipes, handed one to Louis, and watched as he filled it with tobacco. Outside it was a fair day, with a calm sea. The sun highlighted the salt on the windows so that it looked like ice crystals.
I had never smoked a pipe without my husband, and never at such an early hour in the morning, but I confess that as I sat there observing Louis, my own yearning for a smoke grew, so that after a time, I got out my own pipe and, as Louis had just done, filled it with tobacco. I suppose I had been quite nervous altogether, for the first long draw on my pipe tasted wonderfully marvelous and calmed my hands.
Louis seemed amused that I was smoking with him. “In Prussia,” he said, “women do not smoke.”
“I am a married woman,” I said. “My husband has taught me to smoke.”
“And what other things has your husband taught you?” Louis asked quickly with a smile.
I hasten to say that I did not like this rejoinder and so did not answer him, but Louis seemed determined to tease me out of my somber demeanor, and so said to me, “You look too young to be a married woman.”
“Then you have seen not too many married women,” I said.
“I don’t have enough money for a proper woman.”
I colored at my understanding of the possible meaning of this utterance and turned my
head away.
“John Hontvedt is very lucky to have such a beautiful wife,” he said, persisting in this inappropriate speech.
“You are being silly,” I said, “and I will not listen to such talk.”
“But it’s true,” he said. “I’ve been looking at the women in this country for eleven years, and none are so beautiful as you.”
I am ashamed to admit, so many years later, that at that moment I was at least partially flattered by this talk. I knew that Louis Wagner was flirting with me, and that it was improper for him to do so, but though I could scold him, I could not quite bring myself to banish him from my apartment. After all, I told myself, he meant no harm. And to be truthful, I had never in my life had a man call me beautiful. I don’t believe that my husband ever said such a thing. I don’t think, in fact, that he ever even called me pretty. I was not thinking at the time that any of these attentions were in any way dangerous.
“I have made some konfektkake,” I said, wishing to change the subject. “Can I give you a piece?”
“What is the konfektkake?” he asked.
“It’s a Norwegian sweet,” I said. “I think you will like it.”
I put before our boarder a plate of chocolate cake. Louis damped his pipe and laid it on the table. After he had taken his first bite of cake, I could see immediately that he had a great liking for it, and he ate steadily until nearly all of it was gone. I was thinking that I had ought to eat the remaining two pieces, as I would not be able to explain to my husband that evening what had happened to the rest, and so I did. Louis wiped the icing from his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.
“I think that you are seducing me with all this smoke and konfektkake,” he said, grinning and pronouncing the Norwegian badly.
I was shocked by his words. I stood up. “You must go now,” I said quickly.
“Oh, but Mrs. Hontvedt, do not send me away. We are having such a nice time. And I am only teasing you. I can see you have not been teased much lately. Am I correct?”