Nell traced the nameplate. Karl Krupp. She hadn’t imagined it; the name didn’t disappear under her touch like so many other things did. Her fingers, with their swollen knuckles and fragile bones, looked defenseless beside that name. Slowly she let her hand fall back onto the cold metal rim of her walker. He would be how old now? When she had been ten, he had been twenty-five — a fifteen-year difference that would now make him…ninety-five. She glanced at the door to his room. It hadn’t been open since he arrived, and that frustrated her. She wanted to see how badly age had changed him.
She supposed it hadn’t changed him much, since he was in.
Household 5. The other residents were reasonably intelligent and ambulatory — except for Sophronia. But the nurses had removed her as soon as her senility became evident. Nell’s own memory lapses and growing tendency to daydream worried her. She wasn’t sure how much provocation the nurses needed before they moved her to a more restrictive household.
Nell lifted her walker and moved away from the door. She didn’t want Karl to catch her snooping. Her name was different and she certainly didn’t look like the scrawny tomboy he had known, but she didn’t want him to know that she was watching him until she knew exactly what she was going to do.
Karl slouches indolently in the settee. His long legs stretch out before him and cross at the ankles, his left arm is draped across the armrest, and his finely chiseled head rests against the upholstered back. He should not be comfortable, but he clearly is.
Bess sits in the armchair across from him, leaning forward. Wisps of hair frame her flushed face, her eyes sparkle, and her hands — looking naked without Edmund’s ring — nervously toy with her best skirt.
Nell lets the door swing shut. Karl doesn’t turn at the click, but instead says in his deep, rich baritone, “Is that my Nell?”
She freezes, not expecting the well of emotion that voice raises in her. She imagines herself running to him and burying her face in his neck, then pulling back and slapping him with all her strength.
“Nelly, it’s Karl.” Bess can’t quite keep the happiness from her voice.
“I know,” she says, flicking dried mud off her thumb. She is covered with sweat, her glasses are dirty, and her topknot is coming loose. She probably doesn’t even look like a little girl.
“Nelly…”
She hates the nickname almost as much as she hates Bess’s tone.
“I’m gonna go wash up.”
“Go around front so you don’t get mud on the floor.”
Nell suppresses a sigh and turns around to let herself out. Just then her father opens the door, bringing with him the scents of tobacco and hair tonic. He ignores his youngest daughter’s appearance and starts to go into the parlor.
“Who owns the fancy Model-T? Is it yours, Edm—?”
He stops just inside the parlor and Nell takes a step forward so that she can see everything. Karl rises quickly and extends his hand.
Bess is biting her lower lip, and Papa has flushed a deep scarlet.
“I told you,” he says in his lowest, angriest voice, “never to cross my threshold again.”
“Mr. Richter, things have changed.”
“I don’t care if you’ve become the richest man in the world. You are not welcome here.” Papa’s voice grows even softer. “Now get out.”
“Sir, please—”
“Get. Out. Or must I escort you?”
With one swift, graceful movement, Karl sweeps his hat off the table and places it jauntily on his head. He nods at Bess, steps around Papa, and musses Nell’s hair as he goes out the door.
Papa doesn’t move until he hears the automobile crank up. Then he says tightly to Bess, “You know he’s not allowed to be here.”
“But he’s different. He’s got a new job in Milwaukee, and he’s got prospects, Papa.”
“Fine. Let him find another girl.”
Nell leans back against the door. They have forgotten that she’s there.
“Papa.” Bess rises out of the armchair. In her high-buttoned shoes, she is almost as tall as her father. “Things are better. He promised.”
“Oh? Did he promise he would never hit you again, or did he just talk about money?”
Bess whirls away and looks out the window. “Papa, that’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not fair.” Papa pulls his watch from his pocket, opens it, and then closes it without looking at the face. “But I don’t want him back. After he hit you, I heard Nelly crying herself to sleep every single night.”
Nell’s face grows warm. She thought no one knew.
Papa stuffs his watch back into his pocket and adjusts his waist-coat. “Now, I would like some dinner.”
Nell slips out the front door and heads around the house to the pump. Her body is shaking. She remembers Bess’s swollen and bruised face, but she also remembers the fun they had laughing on the front porch with Karl. Her tears those nights hadn’t been just for Bess. They had also been for those summer afternoons filled with laughter, lemonade, and Karl mussing her hair!
Even though it was difficult, Nell liked to walk. She felt that each slow step added a minute to her life. Without her walker, she would have to use a wheelchair — and the wheelchair was a sign of weakness. Lifting the walker and then taking a step gave her the same sure feel that she used to have after hitting a home run the way Karl had taught her to.
Sometimes she spent the entire day walking up and down the hallways. She got to go outside on those rare occasions when her family visited. They took her out so that they could avoid talking.
Each household was painted a different color. The walls in Household 5 were robin’s egg blue and covered with artwork done”
by the residents. Shortly after Karl arrived, a painting of a multi-colored spiral had gone up beside his door.
Nell found her gaze drawn to the painting. She pushed her glasses up so that she could study it. The spiral had rungs, like a ladder. At the bottom, instead of a signature, was a notation that tugged at a memory she couldn’t reach: deoxyribose nucleic acid. She read the phrase twice, then saw with a start that Karl’s door was open. Strains of a Chopin etude slipped into the hallway. Intrigued, she leaned closer.
The residents were encouraged to fill their rooms with their personal effects. Most rooms had a television set, a stuffed armchair covered with a quilt, and a cross on prominent display. But Karl’s room was lined with bookcases, and the bookcases were full. Karl stood near the door, holding a book in his hand.
“It’s the pretty woman from across the hall.” His voice hadn’t changed. It was still rich and full, and it still sent shivers down her back. His black hair had become silver and his skin was covered with delicately etched lines. Age hadn’t bent him. He extended his hand. His movements were as graceful as ever. “Would you care to come and visit for a moment?”
Nell found herself staring at his hand. The last time she had seen it, it had been covered with blood. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m taking my walk.”
“Surely you have just a moment—?” He inclined his head toward her, waiting for her to give him her name.
“Eleanor,” she said.
“Eleanor?” He took a step back so that she could pass him. She hesitated, then smiled a little bit at herself, realizing that this was the man who had given her a taste for charm.
“A moment.” She turned her walker and started toward him, feeling awkward for the first time in years.
He watched her shuffling movements. “Arthritis?”
She shook her head. “I broke both hips pinch-hitting for some Little Leaguers in 1975. The doctors said I’d never walk again.”