by Lisa Strømme
“What shall we talk about?” she asked Julie as they unpacked Grandmother Aars’s goblets.
“I was thinking perhaps I could tell him about the animal protection group and our lobbying. Maybe he could offer some support?”
“Do you think he’ll want to talk about animals?” Caroline said, horrified.
“Perhaps? And naval issues, and politics: Norwegian independence, maybe. The Sweden issue is rather delicate, but I’m sure your father will handle the conversation beautifully. He has met Prince Carl before, you know.”
“You mean he won’t want to discuss life at the palace?” Caroline said.
“Prince Carl is a naval commander, dear. I’m quite sure he will have no desire to discuss anything but the navy with your father.”
“But what about me?”
“You and Tullik will be quiet and not utter a word unless you are spoken to. Otherwise, you will be courteous and polite.”
“Well, you know Tullik won’t be. She’ll be downright offensive.”
“Tullik knows how to behave properly when she needs to, and anyway she seems much more like her old self again today: brighter, happier.” Julie smiled with relief. “I’m sure she will be charming.”
• • •
The man we all anticipated was a rather stuffy gentleman, stiffly packed into a starched uniform, full of salutes and perfunctory airs and graces. But the man who came to Solbakken was quite the opposite.
The group arrived punctually, shortly after the clock in the hall had sounded. Fru Berg, Ragna, and I were lined up on the front porch in our bleached white aprons and caps. Fru Berg had steamed and pressed every crease into submission until the cotton fabric had lost the will to defy her. I felt as lifeless as my pinafore, standing with my back erect and my chest pushed out, my feet apart and my hands clasped behind my back.
The flag was flapping proudly on the flagpole as the first two men arrived on horseback, one of whom I recognized as the messenger who had found me in the garden earlier. The other two were seated with the prince in a carriage that rolled up by the front gate where the Ihlens were waiting to greet them. Julie and the admiral stood on one side of the path, and Tullik and Caroline on the other. Naturally, word of the royal visit had spread, and across the road a small crowd had gathered. I could see Isabel and her mother among a group of neighbors, and the vicar, all grinning with pride to see a member of the royal family in their quiet little town. There could not have been royalty in Borre since the Viking kings who were buried by the shore.
Prince Carl was wearing the same light-blue uniform and cap as his men. His jacket was trimmed with gold brocade, golden buttons, and thickly roped epaulettes. A ledge of medals gleamed at his chest. He had a flushed complexion, a long, straight nose, and a black mustache that was twisted into points at the edges. He seemed embarrassed, or even unworthy of the attention he was receiving, and waved to the onlookers as much to dismiss them as to greet them. He jumped down from the carriage and smiled at the four awaiting Ihlens as he swept through the open gate. Graciously he kissed Julie’s hand, then Caroline’s and Tullik’s, before greeting the admiral with an informal handshake and a pat on the shoulder.
“Nils, how good of you to put me up like this at such short notice,” he said. “I hope it’s not too much of an imposition.”
“It’s a pleasure and an honor,” Admiral Ihlen said.
Inside my stiff uniform, my heart lurched with pride for the family whose housemaid I had become.
They went inside, and I set to work, ignoring the scarlet burn of my forehead and the cold shivers that had become progressively worse throughout the day.
Tullik was dressed finely in a bright burgundy gown. Her hair was drawn back from her face, rolled up and secured with gold pins that sparkled in the candlelight. The table had been extended with two extra inserts to accommodate the Ihlens and their guests. The prince sat at the head of the table and the admiral at the foot, in Fru Ihlen’s place. Fru Berg, Ragna, and I served them quietly. I concentrated hard to clear the plates at the right moment and fill glasses that were less than half full.
One glass I never had to fill was Tullik’s.
With all eyes on Prince Carl, I was the only one who noticed how much she was drinking, helping herself to the carafe and constantly guzzling wine. Between courses, I removed her glass altogether and took it to the kitchen, but when I returned, she had somehow procured another, which sat brimming beside her.
The conversation moved as easily as a waltz. Caroline was determined to make herself shine. She talked about politics and the matter of the constitution as tactfully as was possible. Did we want independence from Sweden? Of course we did, but it was to be conducted in a peaceful manner. Yes, she said, Norway would be the first country in the world to gain independence through peaceful negotiations rather than war. There had been too many wars. On that matter, I agreed.
It was only when the evening was drawing to a close that Tullik finally drew attention to herself.
“But tell me, Prince Carl, who are the prominent painters in Sweden?” she said.
The prince turned to Tullik and smiled at her.
“Well, Anders Zorn is a marvelous painter. I have met him on several occasions.”
“Oh, yes, Zorn,” she said. “Isn’t his wife’s name Emma?”
“That’s correct. Her portrait is one of his many stunning pieces.”
“Wasn’t Emma from a wealthy family?” Tullik said as the other conversations around the table began to pitter and die.
“I believe so,” the prince said.
“And yet she married a poor painter?”
“Yes. He’s a genius.”
“How did her family ever allow her to marry him?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” the prince said patiently, “but by the time they married, I believe Zorn was becoming very successful. He must have been able to support Emma financially.”
He gave a small nod and took a sip from his glass. It was clear to everyone else that the sip signaled the end of the conversation, but Tullik pressed on.
“And he likes to paint nudes, doesn’t he? Fuller-figured ladies, bathing and sitting in boats, bending and arching in compromising positions. Doesn’t he?”
“Really, Tullik,” the admiral said. “Is this entirely necessary?”
“And ordinary working folk,” she said, ignoring her father. “Doesn’t he paint life as it is?”
“You’re quite the art critic, Miss Ihlen,” the prince said.
“Forgive her,” Caroline said pleadingly. “She gets carried away with these things. Never seems to know when her interest and enthusiasm become tiresome.”
“Not at all,” Prince Carl said. “Culture is important for a country. Miss Tullik is quite right.”
After dinner, the men retired to the green room, and Julie and her daughters drifted upstairs to bed. I could hear Caroline scolding Tullik when they reached the top of the stairs.
“Do you only know how to be rude and shameful?” she said. “You can’t even behave before royalty. Your vulgarity will be the end of this family, Tullik.”
Tullik laughed.
“I won’t be part of this family much longer,” she said. “I will be a painter’s wife, just like Emma Zorn.”
19
FADE
The art of painting is so circumstanced that the most beautiful results of mind and labour are altered and destroyed in various ways by time.
—THEORY OF COLOURS, JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
The chill night air brought a cool relief to my lungs, which had been unable to inhale fully for most of the day, laboring as they were with the same tiny pocket of nervous air. Despite Tullik’s outburst, the dinner with Prince Carl had gone well, and once the table was cleared, I had been dismissed.
The forest was fresh and fertile afte
r the storm. The crisp smell of pine needles filled the air, and the trunks of the birches shone with new life now that the rain had scrubbed their silver skins clean. The familiar sound of waves could be heard through the trees as I walked along the forest path. Everything had settled back into place, having been so thoroughly distorted in the storm. I emerged from the woods feeling cleansed, despite my sneezes and the chill that I could not shake.
In the clarity I thought I heard my heart whisper.
Thomas, it said.
Thomas.
I longed for the comfort and familiarity of him. Not a prince, or a painter, but a simple fisherman. Like the sea that soothed me and the forest that sheltered me, Thomas was a part of my unwavering sense of belonging, to this place, to Åsgårdstrand, and to him. There was nothing left to fear. If he loved me, he wouldn’t take my colors away. Like cadmium pigments, he would only make my colors brighter, more brilliant.
But as my heart finally began to speak, it also began to break. For in one simultaneous realization, I knew that I loved him and had lost him all at once.
• • •
Mother was sewing at the table in the dim candlelight when I came in. A pair of round eyeglasses pinched the tip of her nose, and she was leaning toward the flame, concentrating on the elbow of one of Father’s shirts. I could hear a sound like someone was crying—the Andersens’ baby perhaps.
“What are you doing here?” Mother said when she saw me.
“The Ihlens have an important guest, so they needed extra space,” I said. I still hadn’t told her I slept in Milly’s room. “I’ll go back in the morning to do the breakfast.”
“I see,” she said, straightening the shirt. “An important guest indeed?”
“Yes, Mother. It’s Prince Carl of Sweden.”
At this she dropped my father’s shirt altogether and swiped the glasses from the end of her nose.
“Really? The Prince of Sweden? Halvor!” She sprang to her feet and crossed to the bed where my father was sleeping. “Halvor! Wake up! Johanne’s met the Prince of Sweden!”
Father grunted and moaned in his sleep. Mother pulled the nightcap from his head and shook his shoulders. “The Prince of Sweden!” she shouted. “Well, what was he like?” she said. “What did they eat? What did they talk about?”
For the first time in my life, I held my mother captivated. It was what she wanted. It was her fairy tale: a chance to meet a prince. My story allowed her to dream, and she melted in its telling. She even draped her arm about my shoulders as I spoke. I couldn’t be angry with her. I felt a sense of satisfaction in her pleasure, just to see her face relaxed, without tension, and with the smallest hint of pride. She would not settle until I had told her every little detail from start to finish: from the moment the messenger arrived with his horse in the mist to the moment I had been dismissed. She relished every word, as though eating every forkful of their meal herself.
“I knew it would do you good,” she said, “to work for that family. Even though that business with Miss Tullik was most unpleasant. Look what it’s brought you. You’ve met an admiral and a prince! That’s where you want to be, Johanne, not with that vulgar painter and those despicable people he entertains. I don’t know why Miss Ihlen would choose those types over princes. She must be out of her mind. Mustn’t she, Halvor?”
Father had pulled the sheets over his ears and turned to face the wall. The wailing continued to drone in the background.
“Do you hear that?” I said.
“Hmm?”
“The baby?”
“No,” Mother said. “Solbjørg got him down early tonight—haven’t heard a peep.”
“I should get to bed,” I said. “I feel a chill coming on.”
“Let me fill the bed warmer for you,” she said, rushing to rekindle the stove. “We can’t have you getting ill and missing the prince in the morning, now, can we? Heavens, no.” She unhooked the copper bed warmer from the wall, lifting it by its long wooden handle and putting a pot of water on to boil. “Go get ready,” she said. “I’ll bring it in for you.”
When I opened the door to the bedroom where Andreas was already sleeping, the forlorn crying sound intensified, and I realized it was the cries of the Scream from beneath the floorboards. It suddenly became vivid in my mind: the long, thin hands thrust against the skeletal head, the empty eyes, the bloodred sky, the nauseating waviness of it all, the movement of that frightening sound. The colors filled my head: blue, green, black, bright crimson, and yellow. I could feel the mysterious eye shape in the sky looking up at me through the sailcloth, penetrating the floorboards and piercing my heart.
I climbed into bed. Mother came in with the warmer and slid it under the sheets.
“Roll over,” she said.
I turned toward the wall, and she moved the copper pan up and down the bed in long strokes.
“Now, don’t touch it with your bare feet,” she whispered, leaving it at the end of the bed. “You’ll burn yourself, and we can’t have any injuries or illness, no, no. You must be bright in the morning and up early for the prince!”
“Yes, Mother.”
I drew my knees up by my chest and eventually dosed off to the sounds of the Scream.
As it happened, the bed warmer did nothing to relieve my symptoms, and the next morning, my head was thick with cold, and my nose was streaming. I forced myself out of bed and dressed lethargically. Mother brewed a pot of nettle tea. I couldn’t remember the last time she had paid me such attention.
“Drink your tea and I’ll fix your hair,” she said. “We can’t have you looking sick, can we?”
She dragged a comb through my hair and rolled it into a tight knot on the top of my head. The combs and pins felt like razor blades across my pounding scalp, and I winced at her attentions as I supped my tea.
“The fog has drawn in across the water,” she said, glancing out the window. “It just needs the sun to burn it away. Off you go now. Take my shawl—it’s thicker than yours—and your straw hat. Wait and I’ll pin it on for you.”
“I’m only going to work, Mother, not to church.”
“You want to look your best for the prince, though, don’t you?” she said, fitting the hat over my hair. “Should I get a ribbon? Or a feather, perhaps?”
“I’m only going to take it off again in the scullery, Mother. The prince won’t even see it.”
“Well, make sure your hair is tidy and your hands are clean when you get there,” she said, chasing me out of the house. “And we want a full report. Don’t we, Halvor? Halvor? Are you awake?”
I left her prattling and walked down to the beach, where a group of noisy oystercatchers were prowling the shore. Their red bills pecked at the rocks and sand in the hunt for mussels and sea worms. I felt their staring bright-red eyes on me as they piped. They seemed to be mocking my fancy hat, as though they knew it wasn’t Sunday and it was all a charade for nothing.
The mist hung low over the forest, and the trees were swathed in ghostly wisps. Along the path, I felt fallen cupules from the oak trees crunch underfoot. Soon the leaves would be turning golden. The blackbirds in the branches were already lamenting, as though singing summer’s final song. Behind me there were footsteps. I turned sharply and saw Munch, plodding along in his gray jacket and straw hat.
“Hello,” he said.
“Munch?”
“I’m leaving. I must say good-bye to her. They’re entertaining a prince. A prince! All the more reason for me to leave.”
“She will be sorry to see you go, Munch.”
I couldn’t tell him that Tullik was expecting a proposal.
We walked to the other side of the forest in silence, the weight of Munch’s thoughts leaving no room for conversation. His sketchbook was tucked under his arm, and he was fiddling with a stick of charcoal, turning it in his fingers, then throwing it into his
pocket, only to retrieve it immediately and start twisting it through his fingers again. When we reached the church, he abandoned the charcoal and took out a clump of tobacco.
“When is Prince Carl leaving?” he said, rolling a cigarette.
“After breakfast.”
“Then I’ll wait until he has gone,” he said. “Here, under the linden tree.”
• • •
On my way into the house, I picked a small cluster of raspberries from a bush beside the church. The last of the season, they had a bluish tinge, but the color was consistent, and they came off effortlessly in my hand. Another day or two and they would have been overripe and wasted, and I could not pass ripe fruit without picking it.
I found a plate for the raspberries in the kitchen, where Ragna was already up and preparing breakfast.
“Don’t dawdle,” she said. “Light the candles and set the table. They’ll be down at eight.”
I left the fruit on the kitchen table and took a new apron from the scullery. When I reached the dining room, I sneezed until my head pounded and my eyes watered. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my nose. My brow was clammy, and I pressed my head against the window to cool it. Across the road in the churchyard I saw a circle of smoke spiraling from Munch’s cigarette. A nervous shiver crossed my chest. No one else knew he was there.
I decided not to tell Tullik. The family had enough to concern themselves with, and they needed her present and charming at the breakfast table, not distracted by Munch. I set the table and lit the candles in the silver candelabra. Another item on loan from Horten, it was ornately carved and formed of two dragons. The dragons’ tails held the two outer candles, and their heads met at the center column, nose to nose. I couldn’t help but think about Tullik and Caroline when I saw them, head-to-head in constant battle.
When the clock in the hall chimed to announce the last fifteen minutes of our preparation, there was a buzz of activity as Fru Ihlen and the admiral came down, followed by Tullik and Caroline. They gathered in the parlor to wait for the prince, who did not appear until quarter past eight.