by Lisa Strømme
I gave her the canvas, and we leaned it up against the back of the grave, turning it on its end so that it was a similar size to the stone.
“The leaves hide it well enough,” Tullik said. “It’s only until sunrise.”
We walked away. Like the deceased all around it, the painting was in God’s hands now.
The admiral was waiting at the door, standing erect the way I imagined he would on a ship.
“Regine Ihlen, where have you been?” he barked. It was the first time I had ever heard him call Tullik by her real name.
“Hello, Father,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Where was she?” he said to me.
“In Åsgårdstrand.”
“Where in Åsgårdstrand?”
“She was already on her way home,” I lied. “I found her at the far side of the forest.”
“Get to bed, both of you,” he said, bundling us inside and slamming the door.
I darted to my room and ran to bed without changing into my nightdress. Sinking into my pillows, I wished I was in the bottom bunk with Andreas. I longed for my simple life, the fishermen’s hut, and the loose floorboards that needed mending.
I slept only fretfully, and as soon as the room became light, I jumped from Milly’s bed and ran barefoot from the house. Slipping through the fresh morning dew, I raced to the churchyard and found The Voice exactly where we had left it. Crossing myself, I thanked the Almighty as I retrieved the painting and carried it back to the house, where the Ihlens were still sleeping.
My first goal was the scullery. I leaned the canvas up against the workbench and closed the back door, then tiptoed into the kitchen to listen for Ragna. Not a sound. Taking the painting up in my arms again, I fled to the hall and sneaked up the stairs, my cold wet feet making odd patterns on the steps.
I burst into Tullik’s room uninvited. Astounded, I found the curtains drawn back. She was already awake and standing by the window. Her hand was raised to her mouth, and she was biting her left thumb.
“Thank God, you found it,” she whispered, turning. “I’ve been waiting. Thinking. Thinking about the painting.” Her face was pale, and her eyes were dull, red-ringed, and weary.
“It’s here,” I said. “We must hide it.”
Tullik leaned the painting against the wardrobe door, and we both stared at it for a while. The long column of moonlight reflected on the water shone golden in the dimly lit room. It illuminated Tullik’s dress in the painting and the auburn shine of her hair. Delicate lines of gold.
“Do you think it is me?” she said, returning her thumb to her mouth and gnawing on her cuticle.
“What? Of course it’s you. It’s exactly as you were that night.”
“But do you think it looks like me?”
“It’s your very image. Who else could it be?”
“You don’t think it looks like Milly, do you? My sister?”
I had only seen photographs of Tullik’s eldest sister in silver frames on top of the piano. In some pictures she was just a child, and her resemblance to Tullik was only vaguely etched in her mouth and eyes, but in more mature photographs the likeness was more pronounced. Despite Milly’s ornate costumes and hats, the characteristic Ihlenness of all three sisters—the sloped eyes, the long nose, the pouting lips—were unquestionably evident in all of them.
“You’re being silly, Tullik,” I said. “You know it’s you. Munch even said so himself. He said it’s you, your voice—don’t you remember?”
“But it could be her, couldn’t it? It could be Milly. The dark shadows of the eyes, they look like hers, don’t they?”
“Tullik, this painting is of you. It’s just as you were in the woods. Now, we need to hide it.”
Tullik bit the hangnail free, and a tiny pool of blood surged to the surface of her thumb. Sucking it, she opened the wardrobe doors with one hand and reached through her clothes to unpick the pins. When she had freed the black fabric and moved the sketches clear, I lifted The Voice and leaned it against the back of the wardrobe. We pulled the fabric up again and quickly pinned it in place. The painting was concealed. The secret was safe.
• • •
At the breakfast table, Julie, Nils, and Tullik did not appear to be speaking to one another. As I moved about them, laying things out and clearing things away, I could have cut the tension in the room with the butter knife. There had been no mention of Tullik’s misbehavior the night before and no indication as to any punishment.
A letter was lying on the table. It was addressed to Caroline.
“When did this arrive?” she said, picking it up and sliding her knife across the top of the envelope.
“Fru Berg brought it in,” Julie said. “I think it’s from Milly.”
“Yes! It is!” Caroline said, unfolding the paper. She sipped her coffee, then read it aloud.
My darling Nusse,
We are coming to Åsgårdstrand to celebrate Sankthansaften, so be sure to light a fire for us! We are taking the Jarlsberg on Saturday. Tell Mother not to worry about accommodations; we won’t stay at Solbakken, we’ll be staying at the Grand Hotel. Lila is very excited, and I have bought her a special new outfit for the occasion, which is simply precious. The new summer fabrics are a breath of fresh air, and the ladies on Karl Johan have already been admiring us during the promenade. Lila is adorable in her ruffed sleeves and her little parasol. Everyone says she is a miniature version of me. Of course, I have invested in a new hat for the summer, which you will see when we arrive.
Send my love to Mother, Father, and Tullik.
Your loving sister,
Milly
Caroline refolded the letter and slid it into her pocket.
“She’s coming on Saturday. That’s tomorrow!” she said.
When no one replied, Julie Ihlen dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“That’s wonderful, dear,” she said, pursing her lips. “I’m afraid I will not be here for Sankthansaften.”
“But, Mother,” Caroline said, “why not?”
“Kitty and Thrine have called a meeting in Kristiania. I must return for just a few days. Fru Esmark is writing an article for Aftenposten. The organization is becoming official. It will be known as the Norwegian Women’s Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”
“But you’ll miss the bonfire on the beach,” Caroline continued, ignoring her mother’s achievements. “There’s always music and dancing. It’ll be fun.”
“That’s excellent, my dear,” Admiral Ihlen said to his wife. “You ladies are doing a fine job. Now, as for you girls, the three of you can go to the beach together,” he said, “and you will stay together.” He threw a stern glance at Tullik, who was slouched to the side with her chin propped in her hands. She had not explained her whereabouts from the previous night, but from the look on her face, she was still there in Munch’s garden. Perhaps Julie Ihlen had seen that look before on the face of her eldest daughter? Perhaps she’d seen the look of Edvard Munch in Milly’s eyes too? Whatever it was she saw in Tullik’s face scared her. She refused to look at her youngest daughter and kept dabbing at her mouth.
When breakfast was over, Tullik returned to her room. I did not see her again until late that evening when I was sweeping out the ashes. Everyone else had gone to bed, and the house was creaking softly to the ticking of clocks.
“Milly’s coming” was all she said.
As I turned to face her, she slumped into a chair and stared intently at the surface of the kitchen table.
“So I understand,” I said.
“What if he sees her? What will happen then?”
“Milly’s married,” I said, emptying the ashes into a bucket.
“That didn’t stop her before.”
She looked at me. Her eyes were glassy and afraid.
“He lov
es me,” she said.
“And do you have any cause to doubt him?”
“I suppose not,” she said, picking at the skin on her thumb.
“So what does it matter?”
“You don’t know what she’s like,” she said. “She hates to see anyone else happy, to have things—whether it’s pretty dresses or hats…or love, it’s all the same to her.”
“She is your sister, Tullik,” I said, wiping my hands on my rag. “Surely she would not wish you to be unhappy.”
Tullik laughed, blue, empty, and bitter.
“Edvard said she humiliated him, and I have no doubt that’s what she’ll want to do to me too.”
“She doesn’t have to know about you and Edvard, though,” I said, “does she?”
“I wish she did,” Tullik said. “I wish they all did.”
She scraped her chair back and left me to my cleaning. I heard her heavy tread on the stairs as she returned to her room.
Danger again. Crimson. Ruby. Danger.
• • •
Sankthansaften was our midsummer-night festival. The old farmers said that the Vikings who occupied the shores of Borre used to celebrate the summer solstice by lighting fires to give power to the sun. It was a time of renewal and magic, and people believed that holy places had extra power that night. Invalids and the sick still came to Borre to drink from the freshwater spring all night, hoping that the water’s healing properties would cure them. But the church had turned the festival into a celebration of the birth of John the Baptist, and our bonfires were lit to ward off witches and evil spirits. For Tullik’s sake, I hoped it would work.
I was dismissed early. The Ihlens took the carriage to Åsgårdstrand pier where they were to meet Milly and Ludvig from the Jarlsberg. Forced to go with them to greet her sister and say good-bye to her mother, Tullik was miserable, her fire extinguished. She would not be let out of their sight for a second.
I walked back through the forest deliberately slow. It was fresh and moist, and the scent of grass and clover filled the air. Flies buzzed about my face, but I did not swipe at them. I had learned that it was futile to fight against nature, so I let them be. I let everything simply be. Nature was beginning to flower, already building to its blossoming crescendo, and the woods were carpeted with purple hyacinths and tall amber lupins. Juicy bright rosehip berries hung in the hedgerows, and the wild roses were starting to unravel their floppy pink petals.
The pebbled beach was a hive of activity with the arrival of the steamship, the fishermen coming in early, and the women making preparations for the festival. Children were gathering flowers for the wreaths they would wear in their hair, and dry logs and sticks for the bonfire that was being built on the sandy beach where we would eat and dance. I saw Jacob’s granddaughter, Marie, laden with flowers, running to the beach with her little terrier yapping at her heels. For a moment I envied her. I envied her bare feet and her short sleeves and the innocence of her heart, not yet confused by emotions she could not understand.
When I reached our hut, I found my mother carrying a heavy pot of water.
“Oh, good, you’re here, Johanne,” she said by way of a greeting. “You can help me carry this.”
I took a side of the handle, and together we went in.
“I’m making a fish stew for tonight. You can fillet the cod for me, if you like,” she said, pointing at a plateful of fish on the paint-specked table. It was not an offer, but an order. “The knife’s there.”
“That’s a lot of fish,” I said, rolling up my sleeves and pulling on an apron. “Where did you get all this?”
My mother was unusually silent. I thought she hadn’t heard me.
“Mother?” I said. “Where did you get all—”
“Your father accepted it from that…” She paused, lighting the stove and stoking it with her breath. When she turned around, her face was red. “Your father accepted it from Thomas,” she said. “He thinks he can buy his way into this family with a pallet of fish. Well, I certainly hope you’ll make him work harder than that, Johanne.”
I smiled to myself as I dug the knife into the shiny silver scales. It was the closest my mother would ever come to giving Thomas her blessing.
10
MIXING
Yellow demands Red-blue,
Blue demands Red-yellow,
Red demands Green,
and contrariwise.
—THEORY OF COLOURS, JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
Julie Ihlen had a twin sister. Her name was Fredrikke Vilhelmine Regine. Tullik was named after her. Julie’s twin died when she was just twenty-three years old. I had seen pictures of her in the frames that hung in the hall and the portraits I cleaned on top of the piano. Seeing Milly and Tullik together for the first time was like looking at Julie Ihlen and her twin, despite the fact that Milly was a full twelve years older than Tullik.
Of all the Ihlen daughters, it was Milly who resembled Julie the most. She was an exact replica of her mother. They had the same turquoise translucent eyes, the same straight nose, and the same full lips. Her features showed not a hair of the admiral. The only difference between mother and daughter was that the occasional solemnity that crossed Julie’s face cast itself on Milly as haughtiness. She stood straight, with her chin up and her nose in the air, moving along the beach from one poised and seemingly rehearsed position to another.
The bonfire was lit, and the beach was ablaze with flames and the copper shine of the setting sun. Milly’s showing off was lost on the Åsgårdstrand locals, who were dancing in circles, joining hands and pulling one another around in reels to the tune of the fiddlers seated on the grassy mound.
Milly was wearing a white dress that folded in swathes across her chest and ballooned at the sleeves. An assortment of jewels hung from a choker at her throat, which emphasized her long neck. She was impossibly thin, and her waist, like Tullik’s, was tiny. Her yellow hair was piled beneath a tilting straw hat crammed with flowers and hung in waves down her back. I was helping my mother wash dishes when I saw them approaching. Tullik was a striking sight in a crimson dress with her wild hair flaming like the midsummer bonfire. From behind her sister, Milly looked down her long nose at me without lowering her chin.
“So this is the housemaid who’s sleeping in my bed.” She snickered.
“No, this is Johanne,” Tullik said. “She’s my friend.”
I was instantly intimidated by Milly. There was nothing that endeared me to her, like Tullik or their mother.
“Hello, Fru Bergh,” I said shakily. I found it mildly amusing that Milly’s new married name was so similar to their servant’s.
Before Milly had even looked at me, I was forgotten.
“Well, are we going to stand here and wash dishes all night, or are we going to dance by the fire, Tullik?” she said.
“You can do what you like,” Tullik said.
“Well, you know I’m not allowed to let you leave my side while the others have gone for their walk, which is tedious for you and for me, so why don’t we…” She looked over my shoulder and screwed up her eyes to bring something behind me into focus. “Oh, look!” she said, breaking into a smile. “If it isn’t darling Edvard! I must go to him. Come, Tullik.”
Tullik spun around. She reached out to my waist and pushed me aside, stretching her neck for a clearer view.
“What do you want to speak to him for?” she said.
“Oh, we’re old friends,” Milly said, already walking away.
“Fru Lien,” Tullik said to my mother, who had been pretending not to listen. “May Johanne be excused for a while? I’d very much like her to come with me.”
Mother was horrified.
“Oh, let the young ones go enjoy themselves, Sara,” said Fru Jakobsen, who was scraping plates into an old tin tub beside us. “We can manage here. Off you go, Johanne. Go dance.”
>
Mother and I stared at each other, and that strange look appeared on her face. Her lips rolled inward, and she wanted to say something, but the circumstances would not allow it.
“I won’t be long,” I said as Tullik dragged me away.
Munch was sitting on the edge of the grassy mound with his sketchbook propped on his knees and a bottle of beer between his feet. His wrist was bent forward, and he flicked his pencil around the page in large swirls, then moved in on one section more closely, sketching tightly backward and forward. He was unaware of the people around him and didn’t even look up when a little girl almost lost her balance and reached out and grabbed his shoulder for support.
“Hello, Edvard,” Milly said, smiling like Tullik did, from the corner of her mouth.
“Edvard,” Tullik said. “It’s me.”
He lifted his face from the sketch. When he saw the two sisters standing in front of him, he dropped his sketchbook, and his pencil rolled into the sand.
“Milly,” he said shyly. “You’re here.”
Milly giggled.
“Yes, darling. I’m here. Won’t you come dance with us?”
“You know I don’t dance,” he said.
“Then walk with us for a while,” Milly said, cocking her head and looking down the sides of her nose at him. “It’s such a beautiful evening.”
Munch stood up, and Milly offered him her hand.
He took it.
Tullik was incensed. She gripped my arm with hands like crab pincers.
Milly squeezed her hand into the fold of Munch’s elbow and led him away from the beach toward the pier. She twittered away to him quietly, and he tipped his head to listen.
Munch dissolved into Milly’s conversation, and they walked on, forgetting we were even there. Their steps trampled Tullik’s heart, and when we reached the end of the beach, she stopped dead and allowed them to walk away.
“He didn’t even look at me,” she said. “I hate her.”
“Maybe he was just trying to protect you, Tullik.” I said. “So that your family wouldn’t find out.”