XVIII.
In the hills above the waterline the snow in the shadows and meadows’ edges had held deep into the spring. There had been no midwinter thaw to ease the April snowmelt now, so the Burnt Wood came down the hills and spilled over its banks and when it reached the lake it surged against the rollers and boulders as though all the vengeance of the long winter past had been reincarnated in the river’s mad rush.
The jacks had driven the last load of white pine down the ice road three weeks earlier, and a week after that the camp had been boarded up. Only the barn boss and bull cook remained, and would until the fall. They’d tend the horses and repair the buildings and spend as much time drunk during the warm months as they’d spent sober during the cold.
Thea came down to Gunflint on the back of Trond Erlandson’s wagon with a promise of more work the next fall. Since her day in Mayfair’s chambers, she’d spent much time pondering the nonsensical life that had been intended for her when she’d left Norway, and when they arrived in Gunflint having not passed the farm, she was as disappointed as she was perplexed. When Trond Erlandson stopped his wagon at the livery, and when he pulled Thea’s bag from the wagon bed and offered her his hand for help getting down, her confusion became greater still.
Trond removed his gloves and put them in the back pocket of his dungarees and turned his head to spit a wad of snoose. “Here’s where the ride ends, Miss Eide.”
She looked at him helplessly. What do I do now? she wanted to ask. Where should I go? Whom can I trust? Where is that man, the watch salesman?
“Where’ll you go?” he asked, as though reading her thoughts. He pulled his pocket watch from his vest and checked the time and replaced the watch. “You’ve got your earnings. Take a room at the hotel.” He pointed up the Lighthouse Road. He looked at her suitcase. He seemed to take stock of his own annoyance. “Maybe Grimm will help. He helped you before.”
Now he lifted her bag and carried it the two blocks to Grimm’s. When they reached the storefront, he set her suitcase on the stone walkway. “Like I said, you’re welcome back upriver come fall. You make a mean biscuit. Keep Grimm apprised, he’ll let me know.”
Thea looked up at his worn-out face, his complexion scarred by the cold. She smiled helplessly. “Thank you,” she said. She reached down and picked up her bag and climbed the staircase to Grimm’s porch. She turned once to look at Trond already walking back toward the livery, set her suitcase beside the door to the apothecary, and smoothed her dress.
Hosea’s kindness had been her salvation when she arrived in Gunflint, and though she had no right to expect any more of it, she walked into his store. The bell above the door rang. She stood at the threshold, waiting.
There was no one about, so it surprised her when she heard Hosea Grimm’s voice from across the room.
“I’ll be right with you,” he said.
She took a tentative step toward the counter, smoothing her dress again.
“Now,” Grimm said, rising from behind the counter, “what can I do for you?” He appeared almost to flinch when he recognized her. It took him a moment to gather his voice. “Miss Eide! I hardly recognized you. How are you?” He looked behind her, as though expecting to see a companion. “Are you alone?”
Grimm walked from behind the counter and stood in front of her. “Now, there’s a beggarly dress, Miss Eide.” Her dress was indeed filthy and threadbare, its hem undone by the scullery mice in the camp’s mess hall. “Of course,” he continued. “The camp’s shut down for the season. You’ve nowhere to go.”
Thea had yet to say a word.
“You’re back where you started. You need a place to lay your head.” He put the tip of his index finger to his pursed lips and then raised that same finger to the air. “Excuse me a moment.” Now he stepped around her and walked to the base of the staircase. “Rebekah, please come down. Thea Eide is here.”
A moment later Rebekah was standing in front of Thea.
“Miss Eide has finished her work up at the Burnt Wood Camp and is looking for a place to stay until she can get her bearings,” Hosea said. “What do you think, Rebekah, could we take her in?”
Rebekah tapped her foot as though to a song. She wore quite lovely shoes, Thea noticed: ankle-high brown leather boots with mother-of-pearl buttons. A well-pressed gingham dress with lace cuffs and a matching lace bow in her hair. Thea’s own shoes were worn-out brogues. Where Rebekah smelled of lavender, Thea hadn’t had a proper bath in eight months and her muskiness was downright rank. But despite Rebekah’s pearly skin and the scent of her fine perfume and the lustrous hair braided down her back, she appeared more trapped in her finery than at ease. Thea could not help but feel pity for her. She felt, in fact, that she held some advantage over the druggist’s daughter.
“Well?” Hosea persisted, taking Rebekah unkindly by the wrist.
Rebekah shook his hand free. “Of course. We should find a place for her to stay.”
Up on the third floor of Grimm’s apothecary, in the finest quarters Thea had ever seen — the finest by far — Rebekah gathered raiment and hairbrushes and glass bottles of hair oil and bath salts. When all was ready Rebekah led Thea, who had been sitting on the settee with tea, to the bath.
“I thought he’d never shush. He talks just to hear himself. Honestly! Have you ever seen anything like it?” Rebekah was sprinkling the bath salts into the steaming tub. The windows above the tub, looking out over the hills behind their muslin drapes, were clouded with the vapor rising up from the bath. “Be careful of him. Do you understand? Be careful? Especially if he comes around with his camera. He’s swine. Sooey, sooey!”
She stopped for a moment and stood before the mirror hanging above the sink, wiping the corners of her mouth with her thin finger. The mirror, too, was beginning to fog. She turned to face Thea. “Well? Get ready for the bath. You must be the dirtiest thing I ever saw. You smell like a horse. Or worse.”
Rebekah sat on the edge of the tub. She cupped her chin in her hands and took a deep breath and looked directly at Thea. “You’ve been through so much. The Evensens and the watch salesman Smith…” Her voice trailed off.
At the mention of Smith’s name, Thea reddened and turned away. She would have run away were there a place to go.
Rebekah put her fingertips on Thea’s shoulder and walked behind her. She began to unbutton Thea’s dress. What was left of her dress. When she had it loosened, she slid it over Thea’s shoulders and untied her discolored shift and also slid it off her shoulders. For a long moment she let her hands rest on Thea’s shoulders. Then she moved around her again and took Thea’s hands. “My, what a lovely shape.”
Thea reclaimed her hands and crossed her arms at her naked breasts, her chin tucked tightly into her shoulder, her cheeks pink as dawn.
“Why are you blushing? You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
Thea, her chin still tucked into her shoulder, quickly lowered her stockings and bloomers and stepped into the bath. The water scalded, set her entire body tingling.
Without any preamble, Rebekah removed her own dress and stockings and bloomers and slid into the bath with Thea. If Thea’s mother had taught her one thing — beyond piety — it was modesty, and no doubt her expression conveyed this because Rebekah splashed water playfully and said, “Don’t be such a grouch, Miss Eide. In Chicago, we girls took our baths together all the time. It’s fun! Here —” Rebekah took Thea by the shoulders again and twirled her around so they sat back to belly. Rebekah wet a bath cloth and lathered it with soap and pushed Thea’s long braid over her shoulder. She cupped water with her hand and poured it over her back and then began washing Thea with the cloth. “It’s a miracle your skin is still so soft, after the winter we had. And you were living up in the woods like a proper creature. Those lumberjacks must have been quite pleased having you around. I bet they ate you up!”