Olive led the way upstairs, the faintest glimmer of hope buoying her. The foyer still smelled of mildew. The water stains on the ceiling hadn’t faded. But neither woman flinched nor wrinkled their nose. They simply marched forward, as if the only thing worth their concern was Olive. At the door to her apartment, she hesitated.
“My mother isn’t well. She might not rise from bed. She might not speak.” She lifted her gaze, bracing for judgment or unease. But all she found was compassion.
“Then we’ll take turns sitting with her,” said Clem. “Until she’s better, or until we find someone who can help.”
Winnie reached for her hand. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Olive opened the door, and her friends’ support carried her through.
Chapter 28
“And that’s when Emil punched the foreman.”
“Robbie,” Emil said in exasperation, shooting Mor an apologetic grimace. “My mother doesn’t need all the gritty details. And punching—well, it’s bad. Very bad. Don’t do it.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Because the foreman was a nasty bastard who tried to bar Emil from entering the masonry, even after Emil explained why he was there. No manner of calm reasoning had worked. Then the man had stepped too close, sneering, and Emil’s patience had snapped. He flexed his hand, the knuckles swollen and already purpling.
“Because if I didn’t, your sister might’ve done it herself. And we can’t have Olive damaging those piano hands of hers, now can we?”
“That’s true.” Robbie grinned, cookie crumbs stuck to his cheeks. “It really was the best. Will you do it again next time?”
“There won’t be a next time.” Emil refilled the boy’s glass of milk and gave him the short answer. “You’re never going back there.”
Robbie’s smile faded, then he nodded in agreement. “It wasn’t a nice place.”
“I imagine not,” Beata said, sliding a fresh plate of cookies across the table. “That’s a place for grown men. Not for boys who belong at home with their mothers.”
“I don’t think Olive will let me stay home. She wants me to go to school.”
“You have a very wise sister. Have another, sötnos. You worked up quite an appetite today.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” he replied politely, snatching up another cookie and stuffing it into his mouth.
Emil stood and ruffled the boy’s dirty hair. “Once you’ve finished, you’ll follow Mor to the bath.”
Robbie pouted. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” Emil and his mother said in unison.
“We want you cleaned up before you give your mother a hug,” Beata added. “Or you’ll leave half the masonry on her pretty dress.”
Emil’s gaze swept over Robbie, and his chest tightened. Dust clung to the boy’s clothes and skin like a second layer, and his hair was stiff with grit. A shallow cut marred his right cheekbone. Beata had already cleaned and treated it, but it still looked raw.
It had only taken one day.
One day, and Robbie looked like one of the countless boys who worked long, brutal hours for pennies. He’d taken one look at the boy and decided to take him to Ballard first—there was absolutely no way Olive or Anna was seeing him like this. Not when Emil could shield them from the pain. He’d scribbled off a quick note to let Olive know he had Robbie, the boy was hale, and they’d be home by suppertime. But first, a bath in Ballard.
“Mor,” he said quietly, switching to Swedish. “I need to speak with Far. Is he in his office?”
“Yes, he is.” Her lips flattened before adding, “Though I’m not certain of his mood. He’s had a burdensome month. Which you would know if you ever let us talk about business.”
She wasn’t wrong. It had taken him far too long, but he’d finally seen the damage he’d caused his family. Instead of fighting tooth and nail for them, as Olive did for her family, he’d spent months sulking. Resenting. Hiding out in Tacoma or the floating home. Instead of drawing those who needed him close, he’d pushed them away. And all because he hadn’t liked being told what he didn’t want to hear. He’d acted like a child, while Olive had carried the weight of her world on her shoulders.
No more.
“I’m going to make it right. I promise.”
