Chapter 14 Faith

14

FAITH

May stayed out all day, leaving Faith to eat dinner in solitude.

The dining room was crowded, as usual, the air steamy, redolent with the scent of a boiled dish: Irish potatoes, sauerkraut, pickled pork backbone. The other girls squeezed together on their benches to ensure that Faith would be left to her own pocket of space. All the inmates had their clusters of friends with whom to chortle and whisper; only Faith had no one.

Witch. Ghost.

Look at her, the banshee.

Without May present, the others were emboldened. Their murmurs whirled around Faith, solid in the air, like strands of a nest. Tendrils of the story Tuva had sold to the papers, painting Faith as a wicked enchantress who’d wrested control of this place.

Wind groaned through the high cellar window. Cold drafts broke through the cracks in the whitewashed foundation walls. Faith shivered, remembering Tuva, who used to sit beside her. Another friend who’d ultimately proved herself to be no friend at all.

Aiiiee! someone shrieked. It’s talking to itself!

At least Faith had space to spread her legs a bit on the bench, making room for the new heavy feeling in her lower belly. “Today is November the twenty-sixth,” she whispered. Last time she’d had the curse it was the height of mosquito season, right around July 20. Add forty weeks, that would be the end of April or beginning of May. A fine time to be born. The season of renewal.

She’d begun working for the Lundbergs in April, she realized, her stomach sinking. April 1, the year before. They’d been her third house, after her previous two mistresses both dismissed her, without notice, within her first few weeks on the job. “Don’t take it personal,” a more senior maid had whispered to her at the second house, as she’d packed. “No mistress is going to keep someone with a face that pretty.”

At first, she’d counted herself lucky that Mrs. Lundberg hadn’t seemed to notice her face at all, or to care what she looked like, as long as she stayed out of the way and kept the hearths clean. The Lundbergs were young, still childless, though they lived in a cavernous mansion that required constant cleaning. Her duties, Faith realized her first day at work, would never end. The home boasted six fireplaces. The couple hosted callers every afternoon, nearly every evening, save Sunday, and each piece of china and crystal and silver they dirtied had to be scrubbed to a high shine. They drank copiously; they spilled port on their imported rugs. Faith blanched her fingers white trying, as they slept off the liquor, to lift the stains.

One day, Mrs. Lundberg caught her, on a rare moment of rest, reading the cook’s palm.

“What are you doing?” she’d said, snappish, as the women sprang apart. Faith had expected to be punished, that Mrs. Lundberg would box her ears—she wore a pronged ring that stung—but, to Faith’s astonishment, the mistress took Cook’s place on the stool.

“Read mine,” she said.

Faith’s heart filled her throat, making it nearly impossible to speak. With shaking hands, she took Mrs. Lundberg’s warm fingers, thinking her own must feel icy cold in comparison.

“Well? What do you see?” Mrs. Lundberg prompted her.

Faith knew she must be careful. The wrong reading could get her tossed onto the street again. What did she know about Mrs. Lundberg? The woman slept in a separate room from her husband—because of his snores, she said. She also didn’t give a fig about Faith or her beauty.

“I see…” Faith said, her voice scratchy from lack of use. “I see…a stranger?”

Mrs. Lundberg turned and barked at the cook. “Leave us.”

When Cook had gone, having blown out two of the candles beside the stove in her huff, Mrs. Lundberg urged Faith, “Go on.”

“Here, on the love line. A dark-haired man.”

She’d taken a leap, saying he was dark-haired, but Mrs. Lundberg seemed to like it. Her face came closer to Faith’s as she looked more closely at her own palm. “What about him?”

“He wants you to wait for him, a little longer. Then he’s going to take you…” Just about everything was south of Minnesota, so she went with that. “…south.”

Mrs. Lundberg’s face flushed. She pursed her unusually shaped lips, which always reminded Faith of an osprey’s beak. Then Mrs. Lundberg snatched her hand back and lifted it in the air, as though poised to deliver a slap. Faith tried not to flinch.

“Don’t you dare speak a word of this to anyone,” she said.

Faith nodded repeatedly. No, of course, she wouldn’t say a thing.

After that, Mrs. Lundberg began trotting Faith out at parties. She read the palms of half the young society women in the Twin Cities, a more difficult task, knowing little about them ahead of time, but she managed to produce satisfactory results. This one would inherit surprising wealth, halfway down her life line; that one possessed a secret genius that only her most beloved would be able to unlock. It exhausted Faith, all the talking: she’d go to bed at two or three in the morning with puffy eyes and a splitting headache.

As the women had their fortunes read, their men looked on, among them Mr. Lundberg—decidedly not dark-haired Mr. Lundberg—who’d asked Faith to call him Johnny. The men found her amusing, a sort of household pet; they offered her sips of brandy and sneaked her desserts. Johnny gazed at her with a faint smile on his lips, his eyes sparkling. He’d always seemed sweet to her, gentler and more attentive than the other men whose homes she’d worked in. She liked that he kept his face clean-shaven. Why in heaven would his wife long to leave him for a raven-haired stranger?

One night after a party, long after the guests had departed and the Lundbergs had gone, so Faith thought, to bed, Johnny came downstairs in his nightshirt and found her in the entryway, scrubbing mud from the marble. He lifted her up by the hand, holding the tips of her fingers delicately, as if she were a lady. She felt shy to see him in the loose garment, his hairy legs exposed below the knees, a button open at his chest. She hadn’t known where to look.

“I have a friend who needs her fortune told,” he whispered. “You’re free Sunday afternoon, is that right?”

She nodded. Sundays, she had three hours to herself. She found she didn’t mind having Johnny stand so close to her. Mr. Lundberg was someone she liked. His wife was someone she didn’t. She felt compelled to make it up to him, the way his wife had betrayed his trust.

“Good,” he said. “Wear a street gown, if you have one, and meet me at the carriage house. My friend and I, we’ll pay you in gold.” He interlaced his fingers with hers. She looked down at them, stunned to feel him touch her. She wondered what she’d find in Johnny Lundberg’s palm if she took a serious look.

“It will be our secret,” he told her.

Faith stood, now, to bus her plate. Most of the inmates in the dining room were still eating, conversing. Their chatter dulled as she crossed the room toward the sinks. She had to pass Pearl and Leigh, who sat at the end of a table full of women. Dolly’s baby had been born late in the morning, still and blue at first; the obstetric nurse had had to slap him into breathing. Faith had heard Miss Rhoades whispering about it in the hall. No one ever assumed she’d be listening.

Faith stopped in front of Pearl and Leigh. Pearl glared at her, but Leigh seemed distracted. Pain radiated from Leigh, so intense that Faith could feel it. The backs of her ears were an angry shade of scarlet, her exposed scalp white; the food on her plate was barely touched. Leigh wanted to be upstairs with her friend, who was no doubt exhausted, stretched to her limit, frightened for her baby, possibly for herself: the nurse had long since gone home. Only Miss Rhoades waited upstairs with Dolly.

Faith could read the questions ticking through Leigh’s head as though she were reading a telegram: Was Dolly still bleeding? How had she felt when the nurse struck her baby? Was she happy, looking at him now, or devastated, knowing the best choice would be to give him away?

Was she examining the baby’s face for traces of his father?

Faith wanted to offer Leigh reassurance but couldn’t. Instead, she simply put her hand on Leigh’s shoulder. She could hear a few people gasp. Leigh stiffened under her grip, but didn’t move, except to lower her chin down toward her chest.

The hum of voices surrounding Faith intensified.

Witch. Witch. Witch. Witch.

Pearl’s voice broke through the din. “Get those grimy claws off her.”

Faith found she was unable to move. Her hand felt as if it were fastened to Leigh’s shawl.

After a moment, Leigh reached up and held Faith’s hand for a blink, then gently moved it away. She picked up her fork and took a bite of potato. Faith went to rinse her dish. When she looked up, Leigh was eating, the rims of her ears still bright red.

—

“It’s a ruby.” May had returned just after dinner, in the quiet hour before lights-out, when most of the inmates, including Faith, had already washed up and changed into nightdresses. May stood with slushy boots on the rug, the chill of the outdoors clinging to her clothes. She already seemed like an outsider, and Faith felt oddly embarrassed, and exposed, to be sitting here in the white cotton nightgown her roommate had seen dozens of times before.

She examined the cluster of stones gleaming subtly on May’s finger and nodded. She was happy for May, who against all odds had gotten what she wanted. May seemed unable to catch her breath, or sit down; she paced the room, picking up objects like the hot water bottle or a crocheted doily as though she’d never seen them before.

“I don’t know how soon we can marry. Hal doesn’t want me living in the Ozark Flats, and it doesn’t sound as if he can make a down payment on a house at present.”

“Dolly’s baby came,” Faith said quietly. “A boy.”

“Oh.” A hint of a shadow passed over May’s face, bringing her back to the room. “Oh, that is nice.”

“She named him Jude.” Faith speculated that this, and Dolly’s refusal to allow the baby to leave her side, implied she might want to keep him, and she’d thought to discuss it with May, but May seemed far too distracted. She’d removed the ring and was admiring the stones, held up to the lamp’s light. Then she frowned and turned it over so that she could peer into the inner rim of the band.

She looked at Faith, mouth pursed in a sheepish grin. “I was checking for engravings, but there are none.”

Faith wondered why May would think to look for engravings. She wished to ask but couldn’t find the words. She’d also been meaning to open May’s desk drawer and point out the revolver May had been hiding in there, under her spare chemise. She wanted to know why May felt the need to own it: was it the man who’d attacked her on the street, or something else?

Faith had started to open her mouth to speak when their door swung open.

Pearl stood on the threshold, her long, slender figure taking up the frame. She held something Faith had never seen with her before: her four-month-old baby, Francis. The boy was beautiful, pudgy, and bright-eyed. He quietly sucked his thumb, resting his cheek on his mother’s chest.

“Let me see that,” Pearl said, gesturing for the ring.

Faith expected May to refuse, but she stepped forward and handed it to Pearl. May seemed entranced by the baby, and by the cool, benign way Pearl had asked the question. May reached for the boy’s sleeve at the exact same time Pearl’s face changed. Her lip curled in disdain.

“It’s paste,” she declared, and she threw the ring at the wall.

May ran for it with a sob, scrabbling at it to get it off the floor. When she saw it was not broken, she let out a cry of relief and clutched it to her chest. “You’re horrible, horrible! How could you do such a thing?”

Pearl shrugged and shifted the baby’s head onto her shoulder. “Thought I’d do you a favor. Make sure it’s real.” Her voice aimed for nonchalance, but Faith could see something rattled behind her expression. The act of cruelty had been a way for her to reclaim the normal order. Still, it was not justified, and she could not be allowed to get away with it.

Faith took a step forward.

“You’re just jealous,” May muttered.

Pearl was still looking down at May, bouncing her baby ever so slightly. Faith took another step toward her, then another. “Jealous, am I?” Pearl asked May. “Jealous of what?”

“Jealous that I’m soon to be Mrs. Hayward,” May said with a sniff. “And you’ll still be nobody.”

Pearl’s mouth fell open. Faith’s feet stopped moving; her upper body collapsed forward, as though she’d stepped in glue.

Hayward . It had to be a different man. May’s Hal…All the times Faith had heard May talking about him, she’d never thought he could be…

Pearl threw her head back and laughed viciously. “You fool, a ring means nothing. He’ll never—” She stopped, realizing how close Faith had come to her.

Faith raised her left hand. Her fingers began swirling the air above Pearl’s head, plucking invisible objects out of nowhere and pulling them down, her lips forming nonsense words. Drivel, meant to sound like a curse. Her eyes held Pearl’s, which looked terrified. Pearl covered the baby’s face with her forearm, but she did not move and did not let go of Faith’s gaze.

Good.

Faith’s rippling fingers came to tickle the air above Pearl’s hairline, then hovered at her right eyebrow. They hesitated. Faith arranged her face into an expression of concern, then of disgust. Her fingers pulsed above Pearl’s right eyebrow, and she winced.

It was all a show, of course. The real part would begin later.

Pearl would do it to herself.

“Spiders,” Faith whispered, with a sympathetic shake of her head. Pearl’s lips came open with a spluttering sound, as if she were a fish trying to breathe air. She looked down, her face stricken with horror, at the front of her dress. Two wet circles had appeared over her breasts and begun fanning out through the fabric.

At once, Faith stopped what she was doing. Had she gone too far? It was so easy to forget that Pearl was a new mother, even with the baby hugged to her chest.

As she reached for Pearl, the gas lamp flickered and went out.

Pearl screamed. She stumbled backward into the half-open door, banging the back of her head. Fortunately, the baby was unharmed; cradling his little body, she flung the door all the way open and fled down the hallway.

“What did you just do?” asked May, her voice shaky but curious. She found a book of matches on the desk and tried to relight the lamp, then frowned, turned the key, and peered into the fount. “Oh, we’re out of gas.” She laughed nervously and slipped the ring back on her finger.

“Hayward,” Faith said, her voice a croak.

“Pardon?” May’s features were sharp, in the slanted light coming from the corridor.

Faith shook her head. “Hayward,” she repeated, her voice thick with tears. It was all she could say. She was afraid to ask any questions. It couldn’t be the same Hayward. It couldn’t be.

May’s lower jaw jutted forward. “I’m going to fetch some oil,” she said, holding the fount. She left Faith alone and closed the door, plunging the room into darkness.