Your House Is on Fire, Your Children All Gone: A Novel (15 page)

One by one they emptied the flowerpots we pissed on during the winter, tore out the rosebushes, and dug around in the soil. The villagers held their breath, and around noon nine small skeletons lay in a neat row on the ground.

Everybody was shocked. Everybody said so. Who knew what questions the police might ask? “Where did the babies come from?” we asked. “How did she manage to keep her pregnancies secret?” We told the police nothing.

“The kids were all by her husband, every one of them,” my mother said loudly one evening. “That’s what she told them. Why would she lie about such a thing?” Her voice was too shrill and much too loud. It was important to her. My dad nodded.

Two days before the police from Groß Ostensen arrived, I
had asked Heike to come with me to a dance. Fear made me feel nauseated, and I nearly screamed my question, but I got my words out without stumbling or stuttering once. Surprised at myself, I waited wide-eyed for Heike’s answer.

Two days after the arrest of her mother, Heike and her father and sisters left for Hamburg. It was said that Peter had a cousin in the city who could get him a job at the docks. That afternoon Christian and I went down to the Droste River and hurled stones into the murky water. Ever bigger rocks we dug with our nails from the mud and flung them into clouds of mosquitoes. I almost hit Christian in the head because my tears blinded me.

Heike had hesitated for a moment before saying yes, and then she had squinted and a smile had opened her lips. I had stared at this small opening and an entirely new fear had gripped me. I had nagged my parents about the dance without telling them who my date would be, and finally they had agreed to buy me a new suit. I had been up all night and asked myself how I could win Heike’s heart without ever having had a chance to set foot on a dance floor.

Yet I didn’t wear the suit that summer or in the fall, and the following year I had already outgrown it. There was a moth hole in the right sleeve.

W
hen we were toddlers, Linde and I baked mud cakes in the sandbox behind our house. We learned to ride horses on my family’s old mare. I loved Linde so much that instead of looking into a mirror, I looked at her to see myself. We were fifteen during the spring when the beggar woman’s curse haunted the village, and newborns and young children were found dead.

Ever since an accident two years before, Linde’s face had been crisscrossed by scars, which turned red when she was excited or angry, but her green eyes seemed to glow even when there was no light, as though some invisible admirer was holding a candle to her features at all times. Her nose was large and well formed, her hair a shiny auburn. She was a good student, and her father, who worked as a gardener at the Big House, told everyone that she would go far.

Boys noticed me first though, talked to me first. My parents called me pretty, Jens Jensen blew me kisses whenever I walked past him, and the evening Ernst Habermann kissed me behind my parents’ house, it dawned on me that I had outdone my friend. I had discovered new riches, and if I lost my sisterly
feelings for Linde, my affection for her intensified. In front of her imploring eyes, I opened my treasure chest to share my new adventures and hang boys’ kisses like jewels around my neck.

When Ernst invited me to a dance in July, my mother, more eager than myself, bought me a sky-blue dress and white shoes. I was her only daughter; my three brothers had no need for frills. On Friday night she braided my hair, pulled new stockings from her dresser, and applied rouge to my cheeks and kohl to my eyes.

A stranger stared back at me from the mirror on my mother’s dressing table, somebody who looked laughable and breathtaking at the same time. I stood horrified in my parents’ bedroom. I feared a false step or a sudden movement of my face would make this apparition crumble. If it had been in my powers, I would have stopped my heart.

My mother embraced me carefully and kissed my hands. She was thin, her back round, and her face drawn. Only our hair had the same dark-brown shade. “Don’t waste your time on nobodies,” she said in an urgent whisper. “Choose wisely. Only a man you can look up to will do. Don’t go for looks, they fade. Your own father wasn’t all that pretty, but I knew he’d provide for a family.”

“Ernst comes from a good family,” I said. “He wants to become a doctor just like his dad.”

“Yes,” my mother replied, “but be careful. If he takes after his dad, he might look down on you. Your dad has no degree. He’s a farmer. Today you’re pretty. Today Ernst thinks he’s in love with you. But he’ll leave our village, and do we know if he’ll take you with him?”

“He likes me,” I said.

“We’ll see how much. Don’t agree to anything. Don’t spend all you have. You won’t be worth a thing once you let him have what he’s after.”

My mother’s warnings were disturbing and yet seemed hollow. This person I saw reflected in her mirror, in the blue dress and white shoes, could have and give everything. Nothing was too good for her, and nothing could be withheld from her.

Before Ernst arrived, Linde came to our house, beaming. “Oh, you’re so pretty,” she said, stepping away from the door to take a look at me. “Anke, you look…old.” She giggled, and I laughed too. “All grown up. And look at me,” she added. “I’m the ugly duckling.” The light in her eyes dimmed for a second before returning. “But guess what? I’ll be going to the gymnasium in Groß Ostensen next year.”

I tasted the news from behind a smile and tried to decide whether or not I could swallow it without bitterness. “You received the scholarship, then,” I said, buying time.

“Yes. Mr. Brinkmann recommended me to the von Kamphoffs, and I’ll have to interview with them next week. If I make a good impression, Mr. Brinkmann said, they’ll pay for my books and clothes until I graduate.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “I will lose you, then.”

“Nonsense. I’ll be still living here. And,” she continued, “you’ll be too busy with boys to notice.” She winked and ran off. “Have fun tonight.”

By the end of the dance I had forgotten about Linde. The strange person that had been created in my mother’s bedroom was a success, and when Ernst walked me home after midnight, he pulled me into the school playground and hoisted me onto
one of the swings. His fingers crawled up my legs like caterpillars, tickling me and causing me to laugh.

“Am I a klutz?” he asked, his voice suddenly flat.

I jumped off the swing. “Silly you are,” I said without thinking. I understood my role without rehearsals.

“Can I try again?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said and ran. He caught me in front of my parents’ house and pressed a kiss on my neck. He was hooked, yet my powers depended on a boy’s willingness to hand them to me. I was dying for his next move.

On Wednesday Linde asked me to accompany her to the Big House for her interview. I agreed, looking forward to a close look at the splendor of the mansion. I hadn’t been to the manor since I was a child, and Mother made me promise to tell her everything about it. How did the new mistress dress? How would she act toward us? Was she still a country bumpkin?

The whole village had been invited to Rutger von Kamphoff and Anna Frick’s wedding, but my parents, who hadn’t set foot inside Frick’s Inn since my brother’s death, had refused to attend. “The von Kamphoffs wouldn’t have let that girl enter by the back door,” my mother said, “if Rutger hadn’t filled her belly. What a sly cow.” She was right. Anna’s belly was so swollen that she looked impossible in her white dress and couldn’t even dance with the groom. The old owner of the inn, however, hadn’t skimped on a thing and put on the biggest wedding the villagers were able to remember. Every girl in Hemmersmoor would have sold her soul to be in Anna’s stead.

The von Kamphoffs’ driver picked us up from Linde’s house.
The kids in the street were gawking and pointing fingers. It wasn’t often that a car like this made it into Hemmersmoor. Linde was proud and nervous, biting her lips until I scolded her. Blood trickled onto the handkerchief I gave her.

“What are you worried about?” I asked. “Your father has served them well all his life.”

“That’s the problem.” Again a shadow passed over her face. And then she told me about the incident two years before, when she had encountered the real heir in the manor’s maze, and how her father had been fired because of her. “And they rehired him only two weeks later,” said Linde. “He’s afraid they haven’t forgotten.”

“The real heir. Then the legend is true?” I asked.

“You can’t tell anyone about it. Not even your mom and dad. Swear by your own happiness.” Her face grew dark, and her scars turned bright red. “Not anyone.”

“Your face,” I said. “Is that why…? Was it…?”

“Swear it,” she hissed without answering my question.

I swore, and she seemed to calm down a bit. But we sweated into the leather seats, too afraid to ask the driver to open a window. He was a young man, no one from the village, and he wore a uniform as black as the car’s paint, and a cap.

For the last few hundred meters, the car seemed to float toward the Big House. It stood on the hill the giant Hüklüt had left before sinking and dying in the moor. Even though we knew it was only a legend, it made the mansion all the more impressive. The building was larger than our school, larger even than our church, and instead of red brick the workers had used yellow stone. And just like royalty, we were driven to the front entrance, where the driver got out and opened the doors for us.

We were greeted by an old woman in a maid’s uniform, who promised that our hosts would soon be with us. She led us up the steps to the double-winged doors, which alone seemed higher than my parents’ house, and from a churchlike hall into a chamber that seemed to serve as a waiting room. The ceilings were higher than those in any house I knew, and the room was four or five times the size of my parents’ parlor. Light came rushing in through tall windows.

No sooner had the maid left than a door on the opposite end of the chamber opened and Anna Frick, now Anna von Kamphoff, walked in. She seemed baffled by our presence, and for several seconds stood staring at us as though she were seeing ghosts. Her shirt stood open, and her infant daughter babbled in her arms.

“Oh my,” Anna said. “Uh-oh. I think I, darn… I didn’t… Does Rutger…?” Then a slight smile crept over her face, which was rounder than I remembered and pasty. “Hey there. It’s Linde and Anke. You must be here for the interview?”

Linde nodded, curtsying, as though we hadn’t attended the same school with Anna. “Hello, Mrs. von Kamphoff.”

Now Anna’s face dropped all expression before exploding in laughter. “It’s me, girl, don’t you remember me?” She stepped toward us, bobbing her baby in her arms. “She just drank,” she explained. “I’m waiting for her to burp.” She turned sideways the way mothers do, to allow us a good look at the baby. The girl had wispy blond hair and a face that resembled a potato. My motherly instincts had not been awakened yet, and I found it hard to fathom why Linde’s expression changed and her face started to glow as though she had spied a heavenly treasure.

“How lovely,” she cried out.

“Isn’t she something?” Anna said, and her face became almost beautiful. “You want to hold her? Charlotte, say hello.”

I only realized that Anna had been talking to me, not Linde, when she thrust the baby in my arms. I looked at the little thing and cradled it as I had seen Anna do, and the baby stretched out its arms and yelped.

“She’s such a charmer.” Anna laughed with delight. “She could even charm that beggar woman,” she said, before putting a hand over her mouth. “I’d better watch what I say,” she explained in a whisper. “The village is all worried after what happened to that girl.”

We nodded. The beggar woman had been the talk of Hemmersmoor since the end of winter, and many young mothers were afraid for their offspring. “It’s been bad,” Linde said.

Anna sighed and switched topics. “I hardly see anyone anymore,” she said. “What with the baby and the fine people coming over from Bremen and the dinners. This house doesn’t belong to Hemmersmoor at all, it seems. It’s its own small world. We make our own time here—but don’t worry, I’m not yet one of them.” She spoke of her new home in a low voice, as if someone might overhear our conversation. Her feet were bare and pink. “Let me get Rutger,” she finally said, and strode out into the hall.

I still held little Charlotte, and I have often wondered why Anna walked away without her child. Was she a bad mother? Or did she just act foolishly, without thought? Again and again I come to the conclusion that her carelessness didn’t mean anything. She knew us well—we were from the same village. We were all Hemmersmoor girls and destined to be mothers. Anna didn’t suspect that when little Charlotte grabbed my chest and
pulled on my necklace, I would cry out and let her slip. Charlotte fell.

Linde gasped, then picked her up and immediately the child began to cry. The more Linde tried to calm her, the more she screamed. Soon the old maid appeared in the door, no doubt alarmed by the noise, and behind her Rutger von Kamphoff and Anna.

“Oh, oh, what is with my little darling?” she cooed. “Look, I’m here.” Anna took her baby from Linde’s hands and rocked it gently. Yet the screaming got only louder.

Anna carried her daughter to a table in front of one of the tall windows and sang, “Are you wet, my darling Charlotte, are you wet?”

I thought the scare was over and breathed calmer, but just as Rutger turned to Linde to introduce himself, Anna shrieked, “What happened?” As though she’d been bitten, she took a step away from the child. Charlotte’s left arm hung at an awkward angle, lifeless it seemed.

“What happened?” Anna turned on us, demanding an answer.

What I did next altered who I was and who I would become. I broke out in tears, and from behind those tears I saw Ernst Habermann coming to my door to pick me up for a dance. Would I have to tell him? And how would I describe the Big House to my mom without mentioning how I had disgraced myself? Already I saw her face darken with disappointment.

When my mouth opened to find words for my sin, only one appeared clearly in my mind. Just one, and I knew by some dark instinct that it was the right word. “Linde…,” I said, then nothing else.