Work Text:
The newspaper crinkled in Agnes’ hands as Ada floated into the parlor, her bewildered expression pulling Agnes from the page.
“I cannot believe Ms. Armstrong was the only one who signed the temperance pledge,” Ada remarked as she settled herself on the couch with a comical level of wide-eyed bewilderment that Agnes had observed in her since their youth.
Ada had always been the baby of the family, and as such, she tended to be disproportionately surprised when certain things didn’t go her way.
Though she was usually better at hiding it.
Agnes blamed herself; she had spent her whole existence shielding Ada from the worst of life’s bitter disappointments, but now that the world had turned upside down, and Ada was the one with the great responsibility of running the household, Agnes could already see the burden of leadership weighing her little sister down.
Agnes tried her best not to take any pleasure in it.
(She was unsuccessful.)
“I can’t imagine why you are surprised,” Agnes said, closing the newspaper with a flourish, resigned to the fact that she would get no more reading done. It hardly mattered; she already knew that her name was nowhere to be found within the columns. “Surely, you didn’t think your name at the bottom of their paychecks would also guarantee the staff’s loyalty to your pet cause?”
“The temperance movement is not a pet cause,” Ada insisted, her righteous indignance grating on Agnes’ ears, “and I suspect the staff would join if you asked them.”
Agnes waved her hand dismissively. “Well, that’s neither here nor there, and I suppose we’ll never know, because unlike you, I would never ask them,” Agnes said, tilting her head. “It may come as a shock to you, having never run a household before, but there are boundaries an employer ought not to cross with their staff, and dictating what they may or may not drink is one of them.”
“At least you are finally admitting that I am the head of the household,” Ada sulked, taking up her needlework.
Silence reigned while Agnes observed the tension in her sister’s body as she fed the needle and thread through a half-finished floral design.
Growing a backbone in her fifties did not agree with her slight frame, it seemed.
Agnes could feel the anger still simmering beneath the surface, and did not like the way her sister’s hands trembled, but not with fear or indecision—rather, with fury. Fury at Agnes herself, no doubt, for making her transition to the mistress of the house more difficult than it needed to be, but one didn’t get to be Agnes’ age without gaining wisdom along with the slow march of time, and that was why Agnes also suspected that beneath the anger and frustration on display, was mostly misdirected grief.
Agnes had not supported the ill-fated marriage of her sister to the late Reverand Forte, but even she could admit the evidence of their love could not be denied, when her sister’s sorrow at his loss was still so present in everything she did.
As the silence stretched, time refracted like light through a prism, and it was not the grown woman and now widow, Mrs. Forte, whom Agnes saw in front of her, but rather, the little girl with golden hair who used to cling to their mother’s skirts whenever there were guests around. It was the naïve child who believed in silly things, like the myths and magic she’d read about in storybooks. It was the guileless woman who never imagined a dashing man like Cornelius Eckhard III might have ulterior motives for courting her.
But the woman who sat in front of Agnes today was not the same shy little girl who would climb into her big sister’s lap to have her hair brushed, or the young woman whose honor Agnes had protected from all who sought to tarnish it after their parents had passed away. It was not even the same woman who became hysterical over the disappearance of her dog for a few hours, not so very long ago.
It was clear Ada Brook, the soft-spoken spinster, was no longer. Ada Forte, wealthy widow, had taken her place, and Agnes had to admit, almost against her will, that her sister had changed. Possibly for good.
But then again, so had Agnes.
Ada could feel Agnes’ gaze on her as she worked as if she were a bug trapped under a microscope. Sometimes, when Agnes fixed her with that piercing blue stare, it felt as if every inch of her skin was being examined and picked apart. No matter how old they’d grown, Agnes had never lost her ability to make Ada feel silly, stupid, and small, with just a single look.
Which was why Ada refused to give her sister the satisfaction of meeting her gaze. Agnes could look at her as long as she wanted; it would not change Ada’s commitment to the temperance cause, or her determination to win the loyalty of the staff, somehow or other.
Ada considered it a personal victory that it was Agnes who was forced to break the silence.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Agnes offered at last, surprising Ada with the sincerity, rather than superiority, in her tone. “If it gets too heavy, you’re always welcome to take it off.”
Ada’s posture relaxed, just a hair. Agnes had extended a rare olive branch, and Ada was surprised enough by the sudden and unexpected kindness, that she laid down her needlework and took a deep, steadying breath before responding.
“You wore it for forty years. Did you ever take it off?”
Agnes only considered the question for a moment before answering. “No. But then again, I had no choice. You do.”
Another uneasy silence fell. Ada knew all too well that Agnes had not been afforded many choices in this house, before her husband died. Ten years of freedom was not enough to outweigh thirty years of being married to a cruel man.
Ada wrestled with herself, hesitant to open the proverbial Pandora’s box, even when she was confident they were alone, and could speak freely about such delicate matters, with Marian off to the park, and the servants busy downstairs, preparing the luncheon.
“Out with it. Whatever it is,” Agnes demanded. “This conversation is tiresome; I’d like it be over before I perish from old age.”
Ada almost smiled despite herself at the familiarity of Agnes’ sharp tongue. Agnes had always been impatient, even when they were children. Especially then. But the subject Ada wished to discuss was one they had only ever addressed in long, painful silences and meaningful looks. The words themselves had never been spoken in the halls of the van Rhijn house.
“I don’t understand,” Ada offered, but did not elaborate. Standing on the precipice of a forbidden subject, she was terrified to look down.
“You don’t understand what?” Agnes pressed, her lips thinning. “I imagine there is a whole host of things you do not understand. You simply must narrow it down for me.”
Ada took the insult on her chin and straightened her spine. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t support the temperance movement.”
Agnes made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat as she rose to her feet, frustration clear in the deep lines of her face. “This again? When will you give it a rest? I shall take my leave if all you wish to do is pester me with this nonsense—”
“I am not asking you to sign the pledge,” Ada was quick to clarify as she joined her sister in standing, her hands held out in a placating motion to try to get Agnes to stay long enough to listen. “I am saying, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t support the cause, when your husband—”
“Hold your tongue,” Agnes commanded, stepping forward to use her greater height for added intimidation, but for once, Ada did not cower in the face of her sister’s wrath.
“Your husband drank enough liquor to drown himself each night,” Ada carried on, her voice gaining strength when Agnes didn’t immediately take her leave, “and when he drank, he was terribly violent with you, and with Oscar. The temperance movement is meant to help women and children like you both—”
“How dare you?” Agnes snarled, and Ada was so shocked by the animalistic sound of it, she stopped. The room suddenly felt full of shadows, like a curtain of darkness had fallen over the house, chasing out the morning light. “You will not use my past as a talking point. If you wish to make me the face of the temperance movement without my consent, you will quickly discover how it feels to have Agnes van Rhijn working against you in our circles. You will find the doors of high society closed to you, faster than you can blink.”
Ada knew this was not an empty threat, but found it did not frighten her as much as it once would. Mr. Forte would want her to have the courage of her convictions, and this was an elephant in the room that she’d grown tired of ignoring, just to protect her sister’s pride.
“But Agnes, don’t you see? The temperance movement came too late to help you, but it’s not too late to help others!” Ada implored, tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she thought of all the nights she’d lain awake in her sister’s house, pretending not to hear what went on behind closed doors. “You don’t know how it killed me to live with the knowledge that that monster was hurting you, and not have the power to do anything about it. Maybe if alcohol wasn’t so readily available—”
“I will say this once, and once alone,” Agnes interrupted, her voice dangerously low and controlled as her jaw clenched tight. “Arnold was not a monster; he was merely a man. Plenty of men drink themselves to death and never once raise a hand to their wife or son. I do not deny the drinking made it worse, but to trivialize thirty years of my life in the way you have just done—to imply that the problems I faced could have magically been solved if the government enforced sobriety on its people—it is clear you are speaking on a subject you will never understand.”
“But—”
“You will not discuss my marriage at any of these temperance meetings, or to anyone. You will not try to convince me a glass of wine at dinner will have me burning in Hell along with my husband. Have I made myself clear?”
“Agnes—” Ada started, her voice catching in her throat.
“Have I made myself clear?” Agnes hissed, her eyes flashing with an intensity that made Ada want to disappear.
Ada opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again when the words refused to come. All she could do was nod.
With that, Agnes swept out of the room, the sound of her skirts brushing against the floor louder than the slam of a door. Ada returned to her seat and lowered herself slowly, a profound sense of loss settling over her that had nothing to do with grief.
Ada swallowed dryly as emotion clawed its way up her throat. She cast her gaze around the room, hoping to find something, anything, that might distract her long enough to quell the rising tide inside her, but all she found were Arnold’s wretched paintings. Her eyes were drawn to one she recognized as a gift he’d purchased for Agnes in Chicago, when he arrived three days too late to be present for the birth of his son, carrying the painting in one hand, and a box of cigars in the other.
It was a dark landscape, with water in the foreground, and mountains on all sides. If the painter was famous, Ada couldn’t remember his name. She did remember how Agnes had been baffled by the gift, though her confusion might’ve been attributed to the amount of laudanum the doctor had given her in the days following Oscar’s birth.
As Ada stared at the painting, she was transported back. Time slipped through her fingers like a silk handkerchief, and Ada felt powerless to catch it before it hit the ground.
After nearly twenty-four hours of agonizing labor, Oscar van Rhijn was delivered, kicking and screaming into the world, and the burst of joy in Ada’s chest was second only to the dizzying heights of her profound relief.
This wasn’t the first labor she had attended to support her older sister, but it was the first where the final push was followed by a baby’s cry, and she sent a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for what felt as close to a miracle as anything else Ada had witnessed in her life.
“Oh, he’s beautiful, Agnes,” Ada said, her voice thick with emotion as she watched the doctor use a medieval-looking device to cut the umbilical cord. The baby continued to shriek as Ada took in the dark hair already sprouting from his head, immediately identifying him as his father’s son. “And he certainly has a healthy pair of lungs!”
When her remark received no sardonic reply, Ada frowned. Cold dread unfurled in the pit of her stomach, as she slowly turned her head.
“Agnes?”
Her sister’s eyes were closed. Her chest—heaving just moments ago—was now still. The color had drained from her already-pale face, leaving behind a frightfully gray complexion.
Ada had avoided looking at the lower half of Agnes’ body throughout the labor, focusing instead on wiping her sister’s brow and murmuring encouragements into her ear throughout the many hours of childbirth, even as Agnes crushed her hand with each contraction.
But now, compelled by a force she could not name, she looked…
…and wished she hadn’t.
Blood.
Far too much of it, staining the towels and sheets beneath her a terrible shade of red.
“Agnes?” Ada raised her voice over the baby’s cries, panic creeping in despite her effort to stay calm. Agnes would want her composed. Appearances mattered to her sister—always. “Agnes, please, open your eyes. You’ve done a marvelous job, and you deserve to rest, but don’t you want to meet your son?”
Ada touched her sister’s cheek. The skin, once flushed and warm with exertion, was cold, clammy, and terrifyingly still. Not to mention, in all their life together, Agnes had never once let Ada have the last word.
Her silence was unbearable.
“Agnes, please. Your son needs you. I need you. Please stay with us.”
Ada’s voice broke as tears slid down her face. She’d never begged for anything like she begged then. She couldn’t imagine never seeing her sister’s piercing blue eyes again—never hearing her sharp, wicked tongue aimed at someone deserving—or not.
“Hysteria won’t help a hemorrhage,” the doctor said curtly, handing the infant to an alarmed-looking Armstrong, who had just returned from downstairs with fresh towels and a bowl of hot water. “If there’s any family who ought to be here, I’d send for them. I understand Mr. van Rhijn is on his way?”
Ada barely registered the words. Her thoughts tangled into an errant, absurd worry: Agnes wouldn’t want to die in a blood-soaked nightgown. Maybe she should—
“Miss Brook?” Armstrong asked, trying without success to soothe the infant that looked entirely out of place in her arms. “Shall I send a footman with a message for any family?”
Ada tried to think. Truly, she did. But her mind moved like molasses as she clutched her sister’s limp hand and brought it to her own chest, holding it there, like Agnes might be able to feel her heartbeat long enough to return from unconsciousness.
Their parents were dead. Their estranged brother, Henry, was in Pennsylvania and wouldn’t make it in time—even if Agnes had wanted him here. Which she wouldn’t.
If it weren’t for Henry’s recklessness with their family’s fortune, Agnes wouldn’t…wouldn’t be—Ada couldn’t complete the thought. Her mind revolted at the word.
Dying .
Not here, at least. Not now. Not like this, married to a difficult man twelve years her senior, abandoned by the brother who should have looked after her.
The doctor pressed down hard against Agnes’ abdomen, his hands mechanical, relentless. Ada hated it. Hated that her brother-in-law had insisted on a physician over a midwife. When Agnes lost her first child—delivered blue and silent—this same man hadn’t shown an ounce of compassion. Just a cold, clinical pronouncement: “Try again.”
And now he pressed and pressed on her sister’s weakening body, as though sheer force could stop the blood—could heal an internal wound. The baby’s wails continued as the doctor worked to save his mother, but the sound seemed distant, like it belonged to another world.
“M-Miss Ada?” Armstrong prompted again, using her given name for the first time. The sound of it was jarring, but it was the tremor in her voice that struck Ada most. It was the first time she’d ever heard Armstrong falter. Agnes would never tolerate a maid who could not speak clearly, with authority, just like her mistress, and Armstrong, in just the few short years of her service to the van Rhijn family, had already proven equal to the task.
Ada’s eyes shifted from Armstrong to the child. The baby’s face was bright red from crying. Regretfully, she let go of Agnes’ hand to reach for him.
“May I have him, please?”
Armstrong handed him over with such haste, it might’ve been comical, were the situation any less dire.
The baby’s cries faltered momentarily as he settled in Ada’s arms, opening his eyes wide to stare up at his aunt’s tear-stained face. Ada clutched him tightly, remembering to support his head, before an idea came to her.
“Would you like to meet your mother?”
Overwhelmed by the need to do something—anything—Ada placed the infant carefully on Agnes’ chest, keeping a hand on his back so he wouldn’t roll.
Almost instantly, the baby’s crying stopped. Ada held her breath.
Agnes’ eyelids fluttered.
Ada’s heart leapt into her throat, a small flicker of hope igniting inside her like a candle. “Agnes?”
Another flutter.
“This is your son, Agnes,” Ada whispered, using her free hand to stroke the back of the baby’s head. “He stopped crying the moment he was returned to you. He’s going to be a mama’s boy, isn’t he? How sweet.”
Slowly, Agnes’ eyes opened. They remained unfocused, unseeing, and exhausted beyond imagining, but nevertheless, Ada could not hold back her sobs of relief.
“Thank God! Oh, Agnes.”
Agnes’ lips moved, ever-so-slightly, and Ada leaned down to try to hear her better.
“What was that?”
“Pull…yourself…together.”
Ada laughed through her tears, never happier to let Agnes have the last word.
Arnold van Rhijn arrived three days later, complaining of the weather in Chicago and the toll the long journey had taken on him. Ada bit her bottom lip so hard she feared it would bleed.
Arnold’s arrival had interrupted her tea and sandwiches, not that Ada had eaten much of anything in the three days since she nearly lost her sister. Oscar slept soundly beside her in his bassinet, Ada having insisted on bringing him downstairs while her sister slept. The doctor had provided no small amount of laudanum to help ease Agnes’ pain and assist her sleep, but Agnes had been reluctant to take it. Agnes had always been stubborn, and it was just like her to refuse medicine she sorely needed.
But seeing her eyes clouded with pain and exhaustion, and her arms too weak to even support the baby’s head, Ada was the one who insisted Agnes take the medicine that afternoon. After nearly four days without proper sleep, and losing so much blood, it was a wonder how Agnes had still been capable of protesting at all.
Ada couldn’t bring herself to regret that decision, even though the prospect of having to entertain her brother-in-law alone was a scenario she would normally avoid at all costs.
Ever since Mr. van Rhijn had built the house at 61st street, over Agnes’ protests, Ada had been invited each year to the van Rhijn household to stay from Christmas Eve until New Year’s Day. Ada didn’t think anything of the tension in the household, at first. After all, it had been several years, and there was still no baby, and Arnold and Agnes fought over everything, from which charities to support, to the food to be served at supper.
It was clear from the moment Ada had first stepped through the door that it was a cold and troubled household, but that was to be expected, she supposed, when one married for money, and not love. One might hope that a couple could grow to love one another, eventually, but any hope Ada had of that had been dashed the first time she heard a whiskey glass shatter against the wall.
Arnold van Rhijn was not an easy man to love.
Ada remembered when she used to think him handsome, with his dark hair and eyes, and long legs that made him tower over nearly everyone. He cut a striking figure in his suit, and he was often charming in polite company, but Ada knew better than to trust his charms.
“Well, he certainly looks like me,” Arnold proclaimed loudly, appearing not to care if he woke the newborn as he stood over his sleeping son.
“He does,” Ada agreed, though the longer Ada had spent with the baby boy in her arms, she saw more of Agnes in the shape of his nose and mouth. “Agnes is asleep upstairs—”
“Asleep?” Arnold said, his brown eyes narrowing. “It’s the middle of the afternoon!”
Ada frowned. “My sister is still recovering. I’m sure the doctor will tell you, the labor was difficult, and she lost a great deal of blood—”
Arnold waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t need to hear all the womanly details of childbirth. Bearing children is what your bodies are made for—though you wouldn’t have known it from the last time. At least it was only a girl.”
Nausea bubbled in Ada’s stomach. Knowing the futility in challenging her brother-in-law’s cruel statement, she attempted to change the subject. “The doctor tells me Oscar is strong and healthy. He has no concerns about him at all.”
“Good,” Arnold replied, grabbing a sandwich from the table without sitting down. “I have business to attend to at the bank. Tell that new cook—whatever her names is—that we’ll have a late supper tonight.”
With that, Arnold was gone, and Ada breathed a sigh of relief.
Arnold van Rhijn’s “business” at the bank had clearly involved no small amount of libations when he returned for supper. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and he reeked of cigar smoke.
Agnes was still asleep. Ada was glad; she would not have wanted Mr. van Rhijn to insist his wife join them for supper if she was not.
“A son,” Arnold smiled, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he sat at the head of the table. “I’ll admit, I had my doubts that my wife was up to the task, but it appears she is good for something, after all.”
The food in Ada’s mouth tasted like ash, even though the new cook, Mrs. Bauer, had done a marvelous job. It never got easier to hear the way Arnold spoke so unkindly of Agnes.
“He’s a beautiful child,” Ada offered, once she’d forced herself to swallow. “I’m so proud of my sister.”
“Agnes tells me you’re a bit sheltered,” Arnold said, “but surely you know it takes two to create a child?”
Ada reached for her wine, which had largely gone untouched. “Of course. I only meant, the pregnancy and birth were so hard on her body, but she was strong through it all. I admire her for it.”
“Just wait until you’re married,” Arnold said, his eyes raking over Ada in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. “You’ll see it’s not so hard to lie still and let the man do all the work.”
Ada was saved from responding to that crude statement by the butler—an elderly man with kind eyes called Smith—refilling her water glass.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Ada said, grateful for the reminder that they were not alone in the dining room.
“Why haven’t you been married off yet?” Arnold carried on, gesturing towards her with his glass such that the amber liquid nearly sloshed out. “Your brother ought to have found you a match by now. You’re pretty enough to get a half-decent husband. Or do you intend to live off my charity forever?”
Ada took another long drink from her wineglass, hoping the alcohol would help settle her nerves, before responding. “I don’t have much contact with our brother, these days. As you know, he’s a military man, and he’s sold our family house and farms. You were kind to provide the funds for me to move to New York, to be closer to my sister.”
Arnold held eye contact with her as he lifted an oyster to his mouth and swallowed. “I’ll admit, I don’t see why I should be the one financially supporting you and not Henry, but my wife did make it clear that that would be a condition of our marriage, and I’m a man of my word.”
“I’m very grateful,” Ada said, her appetite quite gone.
“So you should be. Perhaps I’ll find you a match,” Arnold continued, his conspiratorial smile unsettling. “There’s no shortage of eligible bachelors at the bank. The deal was that I would support you until you married, but you don’t seem in any hurry. Are your plans to be a spinster, living off my money indefinitely?”
Ada wished Agnes were awake. She’d know what to say. Agnes had always made it clear that Ada did not have to marry if she didn’t want to now that she’d secured the van Rhijn money for them both, but Ada doubted Arnold was aware of that.
“Right now, my focus is on helping my sister recover,” Ada said, grateful when Smith took their plates away to serve the next course.
Supper could not be over soon enough.
The longer Agnes took to recover, the angrier Arnold became. Ada tried to reason with him, at first, but the more time they spent alone, the more uncomfortable the situation became.
It had been nearly two weeks since Oscar was born, and Agnes could still barely manage to get out of bed. Ada hardly left her side, preferring Agnes’ company, even when she was asleep, to that of her brother-in-law.
It was getting late, and while it would surely be time for supper soon, Ada couldn’t remember a time when she felt less hungry. She had helped Agnes use the chamber pot, but upon Agnes standing up, she’d become so dizzy, she’d fainted right in Ada’s arms. Ada wasn’t strong enough to lift her sister on her own, and so she’d called down to the servants for help. Armstrong insisted it wasn’t proper to ask the men to assist—not with Agnes still in her nightgown—and so, it had taken the additional help of the housemaid and Mrs. Bauer to get Agnes back into bed.
All the while, Oscar cried, and Ada felt like crying herself. Seeing this, Mrs. Bauer put a hand on Ada’s shoulder, “Would you like me to make you some tea before supper? Mr. van Rhijn has only just returned from the bank, but I’m afraid he’s already in rare form. Still, we could delay supper, just a bit, if you would like…?”
“No, but thank you for offering, Mrs. Bauer. You’re very kind,” Ada said, her voice thick with emotion as she stared at the motionless form of her sister.
“Not at all,” Mrs. Bauer said, her thick German accent tinged with concern. “I know it is not my place, but I want you to know that the whole house is rooting for you, and the young mistress. Please let us know if there is anything we can do.”
Too touched to speak, all Ada could do was nod. When Ms. Armstrong and Mrs. Bauer excused themselves, Ada tried to pull herself together, but it seemed a hopeless cause. Tears streamed silently down her face as she wished there were something more she could do to help her sister recover.
Suddenly, the door to the room burst open, startling Ada nearly clear out of her skin.
“Is it true?” Arnold demanded, stalking to the bed. “My wife once again isn’t coming to supper because she’s fainted like an invalid?”
Ada pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her heart after he’d frightened her so. “She’s fainted, yes.”
Ada watched in shock as Arnold grabbed Agnes by the arms and shook her. “Wake up!”
“Stop! You’re hurting her!” Ada cried, standing from her chair on the other side of the bed.
“Make yourself useful and get some smelling salts,” Arnold demanded, as he continued to shake Agnes like a ragdoll, even as she remained dead to the world.
“I will do no such thing,” Ada said, rounding the bed. Agnes needed her to be the strong one, now. “Let go of her! You’ll only make everything worse!”
Ada was shocked into silence by the strike of Arnold’s heavy hand across her face. Oscar’s cries turned into ear-piercing shrieks as Arnold let go of Agnes entirely to round more fully on Ada.
“You do not give me orders. I will do whatever I want in my own home. Is that understood?” Arnold’s hot breath on Ada’s face smelled strongly of whiskey and cigars.
Ada’s hand cradled her burning cheek. The pain grounded her in the moment, giving her strength.
“Agnes was my sister before she was your wife. If you carry on as you are, you’ll kill her, and I will have no trouble going to the police and telling them exactly who was responsible,” Ada said, readying herself for another blow, and finding she did not care if he hurt her, if it distracted him from Agnes’ unconscious body. “And I suspect the servants would join me.”
Arnold glared at her, his eyes narrowing. “It is legal for a man to discipline his wife.”
“But not to kill her,” Ada said, her voice wavering slightly as she glanced at Agnes’ twisted form on the bed. “She nearly died giving you a son. I should think you’d be willing to let her recover, if only to ensure she will be able to give you more children. If you carry on as you are, not only will Oscar never have a sibling—he will never know his mother. Is that what you want?”
Ada was surprised when Arnold’s eyes flickered over to the bassinet, where Oscar continued to prove just how healthy his lungs were. She couldn’t read his expression, but he hadn’t struck her a second time, so perhaps her speech had gotten through to him.
“It’s time for supper,” Arnold declared as his eyes returned to Ada. “Come down or starve. It makes no difference to me.”
With that, Arnold stormed out of the room, and Ada moved to rearrange Agnes more comfortably on the bed. There were red marks on her arms from where Arnold had shook her, and Ada had no doubt bruises would bloom by tomorrow. She didn’t want to see her own face, knowing she would have a similar fate in store.
Next, she moved to Oscar’s crib, and gathered him up into her arms. She attempted to soothe him, humming a song whose tune she barely remembered from her own childhood, and for once, Oscar quieted down, and relaxed in her embrace.
“Did my husband do that?” Agnes said the next morning, gesturing to the bruise on Ada’s face.
“He did,” Ada confirmed, seeing no point in lying.
Astonishingly, Agnes was much better that morning. There was more color in her cheeks, and she’d actually managed to eat a bit of toast for the first time in days. But Ada also noticed that Agnes had seemed completely unfazed by waking up to bruises on her arms that she could not possibly remember, and that made Ada want to cry or scream. Or both.
“I’m so sorry,” Agnes said, reaching for Ada’s hand.
“Please, don’t apologize,” Ada was quick to say, squeezing Agnes’ hand in hers. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I married him, didn’t I?” Agnes said, her expression darkening.
“You had no choice,” Ada replied, not liking the direction Agnes’ thoughts were headed. “I don’t blame you. I blame him.”
“You should go,” Agnes said, her voice regaining some of its signature commanding authority. “I don’t want you here when I’m not strong enough to protect you.”
“Agnes, I can’t leave you like this,” Ada insisted. “You can still hardly get out of bed! Who will protect you?”
“Armstrong can help me get out of bed,” Agnes argued, “and it isn’t your job to protect me. I can take care of myself; it’s you I’m worried about.”
Ada would’ve laughed at the absurdity of her sister being worried for her, if it were a laughing matter.
“You underestimate me,” Ada said instead, wanting to impress upon her older sister that sometimes, it was okay for Ada to be the protector. “I am stronger than you think.”
Agnes lifted her chin. “That may be so. Still, I want you back at your apartment as soon as possible.”
“I will leave when you are able to manage the stairs on your own,” Ada said, “and not a moment before.”
Agnes’ eyes narrowed. “Since when are you the one giving me orders?”
“Since I nearly lost you,” Ada whispered, biting her lip to keep the tears pricking at her eyes at bay.
“Come here,” Agnes said, gesturing with her free hand for Ada to accept a hug.
The embrace lasted longer than any Ada could remember, but it was exactly what she needed. She sank into her sister’s arms and was so grateful she could cry when they were strong enough to wrap around her and squeeze.
The embrace was eventually interrupted by a cooing sound from the crib. Agnes was the first to let go, inclining her head towards the sound.
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
And so, Ada gathered Oscar up and brought him to his mother, who finally had enough strength to hold him properly.
“He’s a handsome child, isn’t he?” Agnes observed, touching his nose with her fingertip and smiling when the baby reached out to wrap his little fist around her finger.
“He is,” Ada said, smiling. “You’ll have your hands full for a while, I’m afraid.”
“That’s quite alright,” Agnes said, her eyes soft.
As Ada watched the little boy coo happily at his mother, she let out a small, content sigh. This moment was exactly what she’d hoped and prayed her sister would live to see. If she could just live inside that moment, and ignore everything else, she knew that everything would be as it should.
“Aunt Ada?”
Ada was shocked out of her stupor by none other than Oscar van Rhijn, who had come down from his room for the first time in days.
“Are you quite alright?” Oscar said, the worry in his voice touching.
Ada contemplated the question, before answering honestly, “I’m not sure.”
“May I join you?” Oscar asked, and Ada was struck by how polite it was for him to ask at all, when this had been his home for decades.
“Of course.”
Ada was only mildly surprised when Oscar sat beside her, rather than on the opposite couch.
“I take it you fought with Mother,” Oscar ventured, his voice kind. “I heard stomping on the staircase, followed by the slam of a door.”
“We had a difficult discussion, yes,” Ada said, but did not know how much Agnes would want her to divulge.
“I haven’t heard Mother slam her door since Father died,” Oscar said, his voice uneasy. “Is everything alright?”
Ada’s eyes roved over Oscar’s face. In the end, he did look far more like his father than his mother, but his sharp cheekbones and jawline, not to mention his wit, were all Agnes.
“Aunt Ada?” Oscar prompted, his hand reaching out to gently touch her leg. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I won’t necessarily side with Mother.”
“On this, you might,” Ada replied.
“Try me.”
Ada sighed. “I asked her why she wouldn’t support the temperance movement.”
Oscar’s eyes lit up with amusement. “And that was enough to send her into a fit?”
“Would it be a mistake to ask you the same question?” Ada said, and in her emotional exhaustion, she found she’d lost her filter entirely. “Considering you’ve spent the last several days drinking alone in your room?”
Oscar’s brow furrowed, blindsided by his aunt’s uncharacteristic bluntness. “That’s rather an impertinent observation, Aunt Ada.”
“Is it?” Ada asked, her mouth dry as she debated how to approach the subject with Oscar. “Do you not worry about your health?”
“Father drank far more than I do,” Oscar said, his tone verging on defensive. “At least when I do it, harm is done to none but me.”
“You’re right,” Ada reassured him, putting her hand over his on her leg. “You are not your father, Oscar. You never could be. There’s too much of Agnes in you.”
“I’m nothing like Mother, either,” Oscar insisted, his eyes suddenly far away. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was a changeling left at their doorstep.”
Ada shook her head. “I witnessed your birth myself and held you in my arms moments later. In fact, that was where my mind was, when you came into the parlor. I was lost in a memory.”
Oscar tilted his head to the side in a way that was so reminiscent of Agnes, Ada couldn’t stop her grin.
“You’re dwelling too much on the past,” Oscar said, squeezing Ada’s knee over her voluminous skirts. “Try to live in the ‘now.’ It’s what I do.”
With that, Oscar stood from the couch. “I was planning to take a walk through the park to get some air, after so many days inside. Would you care to join me?”
Ada smiled. “Nothing would make me happier.”
She would apologize to Agnes later. But for now, the little miracle she’d held in her arms over three decades ago was a grown man, asking to escort his aunt through the park like a gentleman, and as he’d so wisely said, it was time to live in the present.