He stopped at once and looked up at me with those drooping eyes of his. “Of course, Mrs. Gunness. I’m sorry, Mrs. Gunness.”
I awarded him a smile. “Don’t be. I like a hardworking man. It’s so hard to find one these days who doesn’t shy away from labor.”
“Oh, I don’t mind some hard work,” he said, bristling. “I can work all night if that is what it takes.”
“Well, you better leave it for now or the children might get anxious.” But probably not, as I had given them drops. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me to have some nice food and a drink?”
The latter made him light up. “Much obliged, Mrs. Gunness.” He rose to his feet; sawdust drifted off his clothes.
“Call me Belle, please.” I led the way into the kitchen, where the embers still smoldered hot in the range. I had some leftover soup in the pantry and placed it on the range to heat. Ray stoked the fire and added fresh logs. I poured him some whiskey, placed it on the table, and saw him perk up as a dog with a scent. He truly was under the sway.
“You have worked many places around here, haven’t you, Ray?”
“Sure.” He sipped his liquor. “All have given good references,” he lied. He was wont to go missing for days and show up drunk in the mornings.
“At least you’re doing good work for me. My floors have never looked so good.”
“I’m good with the hammer,” he said.
“I’m sure.”
“The nails too.”
“Of course.”
I gave him a bowl of soup and some bread, and took some for myself as well. I wished I had something sweet but I had lost my taste for cooking. Not even sugar could mellow my recent discontent. Whiskey could, though, for a little while, and Ray Lamphere was the perfect man to share that vice with me. We kept sharing that bottle long after the soup was gone. Ray told me tall stories about his glorious youth, as all men do. They want you to know about the time when they were strong and reckless, filled with dreams and hopes, not used up and broken as they usually were when they washed up at the widow in La Porte.
Ray Lamphere had nothing to his name but a poor reputation and a taste for liquor, yet I did not hesitate when he said, “Just say if there is something else I can do for you, ma’am.”
I took him to bed then, that very first night, and for a drunkard he did rather well. He was well hung and eager to please, and I felt sure he would not cause me any trouble. Ray Lamphere was as easy as a child, I thought then. I could keep him around in any way that I wanted. He would never expect me to be sweet or even kind but would depend upon me for every scrap he got: food and shelter, liquor and tobacco.
It suited me well at the time.
* * *
—
As the year progressed, Lamphere was a lamb, eating out of the palm of my hand. There was not a thing he would not do for a generous serving of whiskey. He never went missing for more than a night after I cried when he did. He was always by my side, carrying, digging, and shuffling muck. He had a hand with the horses too but was clumsy when it came to butchering.
One night, as we lay in bed in the room he kept upstairs, I turned to him and said, “Mr. Lamphere, what if we got married?”
He looked at me in the darkness. “Why would you want to marry a man such as me?”
“I have more than you, that is true, but I’m a lonely woman fending for myself out here, and you have proven yourself many times as being a man of your word.” If I was to end my enterprise, I might just as well do it with a man I knew how to control. It would not do to be a widow forever—having a husband would tether me, I hoped. Loose connections would always pose a temptation, especially if the man in question came carrying cash. No, it was better if I took a fool and kept to him. One of whom I expected nothing and who expected nothing in return.
Ray gave an amused sound. “Not all would say that I’m a man of my word.”
“Well, I do. You never let me down, and you’re a hard worker, just as I am.”
“It must be hard,” he agreed, “being a woman alone with all this.” He could see it then, could see his glorious future before him, with acres of oats and golden corn, roasts and steaks and cakes.
“I need a husband,” I said, urging him on, “one who can take care of all this. I’m tired of fending for myself all alone. I need someone who can manage the farm so I can spend more time indoors, doing what a woman ought to.”
“I can be your man.” He grinned in the darkness. I could feel his hand on my chest, playing with the pewter button.
“I’m sure you can, Ray, because we get along so well.” I smiled and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “There would have to be some insurance, though. I will not marry you unless you’re insured.” Though I did not plan on killing him, I still wanted to know there was something to gain should he fall into a ditch and freeze to death one cold winter’s day. “I know well enough how hard it is to suddenly be left a widow. It’s a dangerous world out there and one cannot be certain of anything. Poor Peter was struck by the sausage grinder . . .”
“You’ve had it hard, poor Belle.”
“So if you will ease my heart and purchase an insurance policy, I will gladly be married to you and let you share in my good fortunes.”
“They are good fortunes,” he marveled.
“We will be so happy, I’m sure of it. Just let me know that you care as much about my future as I care for yours, and give me that little token of affection.” I closed my hand over his.
“It doesn’t have to be so expensive, perhaps,” said the fool by my side.
“You want it to be worth some, or it doesn’t mean much, your love for me.” I did not think to earn then; I was simply being offended.
“I’d be a poor man to deny you that, as you are bringing both land and livestock to the table,” he mumbled after a while.
“Yes, Ray, you would, and I know you’re not a poor man. You’re a good man, Ray Lamphere, and you’ll make me a fine husband as soon as the insurance is purchased.”
As the days went by, however, it became clear that the marriage was not even worth it to consider. I asked him about the insurance, and he said yes, he would look into it, but nothing of the sort happened. I asked him again, and he said he had been busy, but that he would get to it shortly.
He never did, though. He never gave me that measly insurance, so I sent him back to sleep in the barn. He swore and cursed and drank himself silly. He begged on his knees to be let back inside, but I had lost my faith in him.
Ray and I were over.
I kept him on the farm to do work, but that was it. He was no longer sharing either bed or board with me. I was angry with him for sure. How could a man like that not do what he could to be married to a woman like me? I had offered him a future and he had turned it down. He had made a fool of me too, for asking him in the first place. I did not let him go, though, no—I did not know what he would say to others if I did. Maybe he would tell them about my shameless proposal, and maybe someone would believe him too.
There was another reason as well. For all his faults, he appeared deaf and blind, never to take notice of what happened on the farm, like the crates that went in the basement. I was planning on ending that part of my enterprise too, but I was reluctant to tell James. He always had a way with words, could infuse them with such sweetness that it made it hard to resist his proposals. If I told him I was ending it all, he would see it as a challenge and work to find a way to bring me back to his wicked ways. He quite enjoyed seeing me thrive as a villainess. Sometimes I thought he saw himself as the artist and me as his work of art. I indulged this, but knew it to be wrong, of course. If anything, I fed from him, lapped at his wellspring and gorged on his guile—but I was quite my own.
Yet I was reluctant to tell him.
Then, at last, when fall turned to winter, Andr
ew Helgelien announced his arrival, like temptation himself come knocking at my door.
44.
It was such a nice gesture.” Andrew sat on the sofa in my parlor drinking coffee and eating warm waffles with raspberry jam. He had been with us a few days already and made himself quite comfortable in my home. “That little four-leaf clover touched me, Belle. I knew it right away, then, that I had to come and see you.” He was a tall, broad man with a square jaw, and not too old. His hair was light and his eyes were blue. I did not tell him there had been other four-leaf clovers, mailed to other men.
He had caught me by surprise—he had promised to come so many times I had quite given up on him. I was winding down my enterprise and had no need for a man, but he was handsome and spry, and he had means. If I squinted, he looked like Peter, and that made me anticipate his end at my hands. The feeling was sure to come then. I would ride that sweet wave one last time. It was not as if I had set out to find another man to butcher; these wheels had been set in motion a long time ago. I could not truly be blamed if the fruit I had tended fell down in my lap a little belated.
What harm could it do to take on just one more?
“I thought you might need it, some luck to get you safely here,” I told him. “It’s a long journey and many things can happen.” I poured him more coffee.
“It’s a nice piece of land, just as you promised.” His gaze drifted out the window. “It’s a gamble, trusting people. You never know what you find when you arrive. You, though, Belle, I had faith in you at once.”
“I have never lied to you, and I never will either. The world is too crowded with deceitful people as it is. We both know that too well.”
“I truly can see it.” His hand found mine on the armrest of my chair and squeezed it gently. “The two of us together, building something good for ourselves.”
“So can I.” I smiled at him. “Your letters gave me many reasons to trust you. I wouldn’t open my home to just anyone, but I don’t hesitate at all opening it to you.”
“Even if—”
“Oh, I don’t care about that old story. You were young and foolish and did your time. If God can forgive, so can I. What kind of woman would I be if I didn’t recognize that men can repent their sins? I believe you’re much changed since then.”
“I am.” He sounded sincere and gave my hand another soft squeeze. “I want to find a good woman and settle down. I want to have a real home and a future, and I truly hope that will be with you.”
I smiled at him. “I’ve been waiting to find one like you for so long. I’ve been so tired of doing everything myself.” I let a tear slide from one of my eyes. I could feel it so keenly in that moment, the loneliness and toil, the weight of it all.
“Oh, don’t you cry, Belle, it will all be better now. I’m here, and we can proceed as planned.” Only we could not, because he had not taken his money in cash as I had asked him to. Instead of sewing it into his clothes, he had entrusted the bank with it, causing much delay and trouble. He had agreed to pay off my mortgage, and thus become a partner in the farm, but his money had not arrived yet. We had already been to the bank to inquire.
I could hear Lamphere out in the kitchen, snooping around. He had made big eyes the first morning when he came in to tend the fire and found Andrew in the house. He did not like it at all, Mr. Lamphere. He had been like a sullen child ever since. He could not keep away but kept circling my guest, looking at him with a hooded gaze. I had already told him many times to stay away and not bother Mr. Helgelien, but I was not sure if my warnings had any effect.
“Your man is loud today,” Andrew remarked when Lamphere in the kitchen let slip a curse.
“At least he doesn’t curse in front of the children.” I sighed.
“You may not need him when I have settled in.”
“That would be a relief; hired hands are expensive.”
“I can work for two.” Andrew laughed, folded the heart-shaped waffle in his hand, and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “Waffles means yes,” he said when he was quite done chewing. “Where I come from, if a man likes a woman and she serves him waffles, it means yes. If a man likes a woman but she says no, she serves him gruel instead.”
“Of course it’s a yes, my dear. It always was a yes.” I patted his hand with my fingers. “As soon as we get our affairs in order, we will be happy as can be.”
“Oh, I already am.” He smiled at me with berry pits wedged between his teeth.
“I’m sorry I got so angry in the bank. I just don’t want anything to stand in the way of our happiness.”
“Not to worry, I know you want some assurance—”
“I’ve been so strict with myself and told myself I will not marry before our affairs are in order. But then I’m so eager to get on with it, I sometimes lose my temper.”
“Your caution is very understandable, and no one regrets this delay more than me.”
“I do trust you, and wish that I just could give in to my heart, but I swore to heed my mind this time.”
“I’m just glad I can rouse such passion in you.”
Lamphere in the kitchen had gone quiet; he was listening in, no doubt. “You rouse all sorts of passion in me.” I gave another smile. “I’m sure everything will work itself out.”
“It will.” He fished another waffle from the tray. “And then we will be happy as can be.”
* * *
—
A few days later, Sheriff Smutzer was in my yard. I had not expected him and got a little anxious. Andrew had gone into town for supplies. The girls were in school and Philip was playing out back.
“Sheriff.” I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and stepped outside. My mind reeled off plausible causes for the interruption. I wondered if someone had asked questions about any of my former houseguests.
Smutzer looked immaculate with a clean shirt and shiny boots; he had arrived in his brand-new Ford, red and glossy like an apple. “Good morning, Mrs. Gunness, I hope you’re all doing fine.”
“Of course.” I wished he would get to the point. I was already spinning explanations, stories about horse theft and fraud.
“I’m sorry to intrude on you like this. I just wanted to let you know that your man, Lamphere, has been telling stories.”
“Oh? What kind of stories?” My heart started hammering in my chest.
The sheriff looked away and squinted against the sun. “About your friend Mr. Andrew Helgelien . . . Ray came in the other week and told me you harbored a fugitive. He said that Mr. Helgelien was wanted in South Dakota.” His face turned hostile when he mentioned Ray.
“No?” I was taken aback for once; I had not seen that coming. “Well, is he?”
“No.” Smutzer gave me a tiny smile. “It turned out to be a lie. Mr. Helgelien isn’t wanted for anything.”
“That’s what I thought. He seems a decent man.”
“Do you know why Ray would accuse him of something like that?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea, but I will certainly ask him about it. Ray hasn’t been himself of late. He thinks a little too much of himself, perhaps, and doesn’t like my new friend staying at the farm.”
“So it would appear.” The sheriff gave another tiny smile. To him, Ray was nothing but a troublemaker, someone who made his job needlessly hard. Which was likely why he thought it worth his while to drive out and report the transgression to me, the hand that currently fed him. “Well, now you know.” Smutzer turned and made to leave.
“Thank you,” I told his back.
“My pleasure, Mrs. Gunness.” He turned his motor vehicle around and disappeared down the driveway.
When I confronted Lamphere with it, he denied the whole thing. He said he had never gone to see Smutzer about Andrew.
“The sheriff has it in for me. He wants you to turn me out.” He was sitting on his co
t in the barn, looking as miserable as ever.
“Why would he want that?”
“He doesn’t like me.” Ray shrugged.
“Well, be as that might, you can’t go telling stories about Andrew. I can’t have the sheriff showing up in my yard.”
“Why?” Something sly had come into his eyes. “Does Mrs. Gunness have something to hide?”
“Whatever would that be?” I snorted. “Nothing unseemly happens here.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Lamphere started to roll a cigarette.
“You probably heard us talk about him being in prison, but that was many years ago—”
“How would I know when it was?”
“You shouldn’t tell the sheriff either way. You work for me and I expect you to keep quiet no matter what you hear or see.”
“You want me to keep quiet about us too, then? Not to tell anyone what a minx you are.”
I could not help but laugh. “That’s right, Ray, not a word about that.”
“Or how we almost married?”
“Especially that, Ray. Keep quiet about that.” My mood instantly plummeted.
“I don’t like him.” He spat on the floor. “He wants to take my place on the farm.”
“You shouldn’t be jealous of Andrew, Ray. You’re far luckier than him.”
“How come?”
“Just trust me on that and let it be . . . and no more talking to the sheriff.”
* * *
—
Andrew’s money came through at last, and we celebrated appropriately. I made a large, glazed roast and served Andrew a plate of sugared oranges in the parlor.
“Don’t you want any?” he asked me.
“I love oranges, but they give me a rash.”
“Too bad. They are sweet and nice, just as you are, Belle.”
“You deserve everything sweet and nice.” I leaned over and patted his hand.
In the Garden of Spite Page 40
