House of Orphans

by Helen Dunmore

  ‘My daughter, Minna, is coming to stay,’ he said.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  There was something wrong with the way he and Eeva talked to each other, but he couldn’t pin it down. It was intimate, but there was no warmth in it. They were like a couple of burglars swapping essential facts in undertones, while they passed each other the tools to jemmy open a window. They’d crossed some barrier that had kept them both safe, and now they couldn’t go back to where they’d been before.

  ‘Why’s she coming?’ asked Eeva, looking at the telegram. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No. No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just a visit.’

  ‘I’ll get her room ready, shall I? I know how it should be. Agneta showed me everything.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you do that.’

  He stared at the heap of cut onions. They were glistening, fresh from the knife. He knew he should go away but he kept standing there, thinking how sharp the knife was and that she must be careful, in case she cut herself. Eeva took up the knife and the piece of hair fell forward again. He watched the shallow curve of her cheek, her lowered eyes and the line of her lashes. What thoughts were in her?

  ‘I posted your letter,’ he said at last.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll have a reply soon.’

  Her eyes flashed up at him, then down again. It was only the onion that made her look as if she’d been crying, he reminded himself.

  She’s coming now, thought Eeva angrily. The daughter who doesn’t care tuppence for him, that’s what Agneta says. But she still comes all the way up from Turku, while Lauri doesn’t as much as write back to me. People like the doctor: they get everything.

  I have nothing, she thought. Go on, rub my face in it. My daughter is coming to stay. My dear friend, Mrs Eriksson, is coming to teach you to wash china. Well, he didn’t know that Matti had picked one of his precious lemons for Eeva. And Eeva was going to find those silver scissors, too, and cut the grapes when they were ripe. Yes, she’d cut off the biggest bunch she could find, and eat it where no one could see. She was going to cram those grapes into her mouth and stuff herself until the juice ran down her chin.

  She’d share the grapes with Matti though, except that he wouldn’t approve.

  You’re not going to have that, on top of everything else, she thought, glancing at the doctor again. Why had he made her write to Lauri? She’d been all right before, not thinking about Lauri too much, not hoping she’d ever be able to touch her former life again.

  ‘I’ll get the room ready,’ she said aloud.

  ‘Thank you, Eeva.’

  ‘That fool of a girl didn’t air the bed properly’, said Minna. She’d arrived at eight in the evening, and gone straight to bed after supper. She was tired, she said. Now, at breakfast, she looked exactly the same as she’d done on her arrival, as if instead of sleeping she’d spent the night sitting upright and immaculate in her bedroom chair, waiting for time to pass so that she could have the conversation she’d come for. He knew already she’d come with a purpose. She’d evaded his kiss, slipping easily past him. ‘What a journey! This place really is the back of the back of beyond.’

  As if she hadn’t been born and bred here herself. As if she’d never gone berry-picking or mushroom-gathering, or fallen asleep in her room with her nightlight burning safe. But she obviously didn’t feel any nostalgia, or desire to go around touching the old familiar things, or smelling the scents of sherbet and resin that crept in from the forest. To Minna, this house was the past, and had no present meaning for her. She’d wiped off the years of her childhood like a teacher wiping a slate with incorrect sums on it. When her cool clear gaze brushed over him he felt like the past, too. She couldn’t quite wipe him away, but she would try

  ‘The bed was damp,’ Minna insisted.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a while since your room was used –’

  All she had to do was light the stove, and take the mattress out into the sun to air. It’s not that difficult.’

  ‘I doubt if she could carry that mattress downstairs, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, she could get Matti to do it. He’s as strong as an ox. No, she just didn’t bother.’

  ‘She’s an orphan, Minna. This is her first place.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Minna, and for the first time that morning she looked full at him. ‘More coffee, Father?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Are you sure? I’m having another cup. At least she can make coffee.’

  ‘She was well trained at the orphanage. She works hard, Minna.’

  ‘I’m sure she does,’ said Minna in a voice so like Johanna’s that he couldn’t help saying, ‘You sounded exactly like your mother just then.’ But it was the wrong thing to say.

  ‘Let’s leave Mother out of this, please.’ Minna snapped her coffee cup back onto its saucer with such force that the liquid shivered all over its surface. But being Minna, she didn’t spill a drop.

  ‘I had a letter,’ said Minna. ‘That’s why I’m here. A letter from Lotta.’

  ‘A letter from Lotta,’ he repeated, tasting the absurdity of it.

  ‘Yes. We’ve never been close, as you know, but she was very good to me when Mother was ill. And she was good to Mother.’ She said it as if he hadn’t even been there.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘No, you don’t know. You don’t know what it meant to me. Lotta’s your friend, I’ve always known that. But there was nothing she didn’t do for us.’

  Us. That meant the two of them, Minna and Johanna.

  She paused, as if expecting him to break in, but he said nothing.

  They stared at each other, united against their will by the image of Johanna lying dead, her jaw slack. At the moment of death she’d looked not as if she’d gone away somewhere, but as if something had been gouged out of her. And then a little while later her look of shock vanished and she was peaceful, as the dead are meant to be.

  ‘Lotta wrote because she knew it was her duty. She wrote to tell me,’ went on Minna steadily, ‘that you were making a fool of yourself over that girl. To warn me that if it didn’t stop, soon everyone in the district would know about it. And she’s a servant, an illiterate girl –’

  ‘Minna! My God! You can’t be saying this.’

  ‘I can. I can and I will. There have been too many things I should have said, and I never said them. Not to you, not to Mother, not to anyone. But this time I’m going to say them and you’ve got to hear them.’

  ‘My God, Minna,’ he said again, but very quietly, as if he were standing in a house made of glass that had suddenly shattered. He didn’t dare move in case a spear of glass pierced him through. Minna. Lotta. Eeva. Their three names struck in his head, louder and louder. Lotta had written to his daughter, saying that she’d seen everything Thomas had struggled with in secret. What he’d thought secret had been naked, obvious and shameful. She had ripped away the covers from him, and exposed him to his daughter. Lotta, he thought, Lotta, how could you do it? But he knew. There’d been a bargain between them, as there was a bargain in every relationship, and he’d broken it first. He’d pretended to himself that he hadn’t. He’d pretended to himself that he didn’t know what Lotta’s feelings were. But she’d been more honest, and had put her anger and pain into a letter and sent it to Minna.

  He sighed deeply. It wasn’t Lotta who should be blamed. But now here was Minna, so firm and upright, so much in control of herself, even while she was consumed with anger.

  ‘Minna,’ he said, ‘you’re talking of things you know nothing about. Nothing has happened between me and – between me and the girl. Whatever Lotta may have written to you, she’s mistaken.’

  ‘Why should I believe you? I know you, Father. I know what you’re like. Do you think I’ve forgotten Sophie?’

  Ah, he thought. Now we have it. Now at last, we’re coming to it.

  He took another deep breath. ‘I ha
ven’t forgotten Sophie,’ he said. ‘But you must explain to me what you mean.’

  ‘I’ll do that all right,’ she said. ‘We should have come to it a long time ago. Sophie was my friend. You didn’t care about that, did you? She was under your roof, but that didn’t make any difference to you. You couldn’t control yourself. Mother told me men can’t control themselves, and aren’t to be blamed for what they are. But I don’t believe that.’

  Each of her words hit him, but he didn’t yet feel the blows. There’d be time for that, he thought, staring at her dark, Medusa face. So firm and sculpted, even when she was spitting out her rage. She was like her mother.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. He’d never imagined that it would be like this. He’d spent so long fleeing from the thought that Minna knew what had happened with Sophie, even though he knew what she’d seen. Not much, but enough. He’d thought that to hear Minna’s silent condemnation put into words would finish him. But it wasn’t like that. The words had been said now, they were out in the open and he could reply to them.

  ‘You know nothing about what happened between me and Sophie.’

  ‘I think I do!’ she burst out. ‘I think I do. There’s not much to know, is there? She was my friend, she stayed in our house, and you – she – you took advantage of her.’

  ‘I loved her.’

  ‘You can’t say that!’

  ‘I can. It’s the truth. It wasn’t right or suitable, it should never have happened. I was a married man of forty, and Sophie was eighteen, like you. And I loved her. I won’t say what her feelings were, because I can’t be sure. But it wasn’t as you put it. Sophie wasn’t like that. You knew her, Minna, she was your friend. Did anyone ever get Sophie to do anything she didn’t want? Sophie wasn’t like you, Minna. You don’t like it, and I don’t expect you to like it. Your mother certainly didn’t.’

  ‘Don’t talk about my mother.’

  ‘We can’t talk without talking, Minna.’

  Minna sat as upright as Johanna. She had exactly the same carriage of the head. Everything was still and controlled except her fingers, which squeezed her bread to doughy pellets. She had always done that. Messed about with her food and then, when it had turned into something other than food in her mind, she’d been unable to swallow it.

  ‘I do love you, Minna,’ he said abruptly. ‘I know you don’t believe it, but I do.’

  ‘You only love yourself,’ she answered. Her voice was colourless.

  ‘We all love ourselves, I suppose,’ he said, thinking it over.

  He saw them, the two girls in their linen summer dresses and identical straw hats with plaited brims. Sophie had liked Minna’s hat so much she’d bought one the same, and Minna hadn’t minded. Minna was never selfish in such ways. Tall, dark Minna, and Sophie with her brown hair and curling smile. She had been coming to the house forever, staying a week at a time, cutting out patterns with Minna, practising piano, learning German.

  She came to him so quickly and eagerly, just glancing behind her at the door first to check that it was shut. There was no school-girlishness in her. She was ready for marriage, everyone had been saying that about Sophie for the past two years, and in fact she was now engaged. They’d held each other tight and then kissed again and again, a flow of long, warm, deep kisses that seemed to pull them down like gravity onto the bed. But no. Sophie had suddenly opened her eyes wide and laughed and said, ‘Well!’ like a woman twice her age. She’d have gone down on the bed with him that first time, he knew that. With Sophie it all felt so simple and natural and even funny. Her youth didn’t seem like a responsibility, but a pleasure.

  ‘You’re so young,’ he said. Cliché after cliché popped out of his mouth, and all of them were true – ‘I love you, Sophie, I feel as if I’ve never touched a woman before’, ‘You make me so happy, I could do anything’ – Sophie didn’t reply to any of this, she just smiled happily to herself, as if everything that was happening was right and had to happen in exactly this way. She tidied her hair and shook out the crushed folds of her skirt, and then twirled in front of him. ‘Is my hair all right at the back?’

  ‘Perfect,’ he said, tasting her neck, licking the downy hairs that were already salty and damp with sweat.

  ‘I’m getting married in September,’ Sophie said suddenly, on the next-to-last day of her visit.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He’s nice. I’ve known him for ever. I know we’ll be happy, you can always tell.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I shan’t say anything to Minna.’

  ‘No, no, good God –’

  ‘She wouldn’t understand,’ said Sophie thoughtfully. ‘She’d get all serious and desperate about it, that’s what Minna’s like.’

  ‘You’re right, she is.’

  ‘She gets so worked up about the two of you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. Because you aren’t happy.’

  The words just fell out of her mouth. Because you aren’t happy. As if it were a simple fact, like the smell of creosote from the wooden verandah railings. They aren’t happy, everyone knows it.

  ‘Don’t look so sad. It isn’t your fault,’ said Sophie. She smiled suddenly, took his right hand in her left as if they were two children in the playground, and swung it gently to and fro. ‘You aren’t happy. But you could be.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘No, I’m getting married. You know that. And I’m going home tomorrow. That’s the way it is.’

  ‘But you’ll come again?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

  ‘Have you got a better one?’

  ‘Maybe. In a minute. Wait –’

  It was then that Minna had walked along the verandah past the window, looked in, and seen them. He’d swung round to face Sophie and they were still holding hands, laughing, their lips close. He had lifted his free hand to touch a cluster of her hair. That was all. Both of them were fully dressed. Minna just stared, her eyes black, then she put out her hands as if to push something away, and suddenly she wasn’t there.

  ‘That’s torn it,’ said Sophie.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to Minna now. ‘I wish I hadn’t ended your friendship with Sophie.’

  ‘It’s not my friendship you should be sorry about.’

  ‘But you’d always known each other. And now she’s married, and I think she has a child.’

  ‘Two,’ said Minna, quick as a flash. ‘A girl, and then a boy.’

  Minna doesn’t see Sophie, but she doesn’t miss anything that concerns her, he thought. Two children, a girl and then a boy.

  ‘I hear she’s quite fat these days,’ Minna observed.

  He touched his coffee cup with the back of his finger. It was cold. He’d like more coffee now, only it would mean ringing for Eeva.

  ‘Well, there you are,’ he said. He stood up. ‘And so you’ve come all this way. I’m happy to see you, Minna, although you probably don’t believe it.’

  ‘I’m going into town later,’ she said. ‘I’ve already told Matti that I need the carriage.’

  ‘That’s good. That’s good. The horses don’t get enough exercise.’

  ‘I’m going to Lotta’s.’

  He saw her departing, stiff, upright, angry. She would go to Lotta’s and he wouldn’t be able to follow her. ‘But you’ll come back?’ he asked urgently. ‘You won’t stay there?’

  She looked at him. ‘Do you want me to come back, Father?’

  ‘Minna, for God’s sake! Of course I want you to. You’re my daughter.’

  ‘Yes. But I’m not going to change what I think is right, because of that.’

  She was his daughter, but he’d always thought of her as Johanna’s. No, that wasn’t quite true. When she was little, but not a baby any more, he’d thought that she might be his, too. At three, she’d been an angry, passionate little girl. Lit by laughter and then by rage
. Johanna didn’t like it. She would withdraw, coldly, and remain unresponsive until Minna calmed herself and behaved as she should. Only then would her mother look at her and speak to her again. Johanna’s method had worked, he supposed. But he’d liked Minna’s fire. It hadn’t troubled him when she threw herself face down in a puddle and thrashed her legs until the mud flew. He could see her now, her scarlet, furious face screwed up, her boots drumming on the ground. And Johanna walking away, leaving instructions that Kirstin and Jenny weren’t to touch her until she was reduced to cold, shivering penitence.

  He’d picked her up. He shouldn’t have done it, but he had. She had been stiff and furious but he had lifted her close and walked away with her, through the trees. She’d kicked him, hard at first and then less and less convincingly. The forest would calm her.

  The rain was over and the sun had come out. The forest was dense with resinous, simmering heat. He walked a long way with her, feeling her body relax in the rhythm of his walking. She was heavy: Minna was always a strong child. They came to a clearing and he spread out his jacket under a larch, for them to sit down. The jacket was ruined anyway, covered in dirt from her boots, and damp from her wet dress.

  ‘Would you like to take off your wet dress?’ he asked her, and she nodded. There were many fiddly buttons, but he managed them and she stepped out of the dress. Her petticoat was wet, too, but no matter. She wouldn’t catch cold on an afternoon like this. She was already running about, chasing a white butterfly. She ran in and out of thick shafts of sunlight and he rested with his back to the tree, half watching her, half dreaming. When she’s bigger, he thought, I’ll take her fishing with me. She’ll like that. And he knew all the best places for mushroom-picking. He would show them to Minna and she would come home proudly, with her pail full.