girl stood there with her head bowed and sad, dimmed eyes. She had no self-confidence left and no will of her own. She had hardly been allowed to grieve for her grandmother, who had always been so nice, though bedridden for years, trying to inspire Vinnie by squeezing her hand now and then and giving her a positive glance. Now Grandma was gone and Vinnie was completely unable to express her thoughts or her grief. Aunt Kamma said she was to move out, and the girl wanted to and didn’t want to. Of course, she would like to break away and be on her own, but how would she have the courage to do so? She had met the family she was going to stay with. They were people with the same kind of spirit as Aunt Kamma; they would keep an eye on her, rummage through her belongings, see to it that she behaved herself properly ...
As if Vinnie had ever had the chance to behave herself other than properly!
She had received no education, because her time had been spent being a domestic in her own home. Now Aunt Kamma had seen to it that Vinnie would “give madam a helping hand” in her new home. Her working hours would split her day up so there would be no time for her to find a job elsewhere or to study or attend evening classes ... Of course, she wouldn’t be paid for her work. In short, her life would go on precisely as before, just in another house.
Vinnie barely knew what she looked like. Well, yes, she knew that she was utterly hopeless, that her brownish hair was lank, her complexion bland, her figure like a sack of potatoes and her taste in clothes a disaster. Aunt Kamma had made this abundantly clear to her day after day, year after year. So she dressed according to Aunt Kamma’s taste in clothes – in unostentatious, demure, prim clothes in dark colours. Of course, Vinnie wasn’t allowed to use makeup! The mere thought was horrifying! She used the soap that Aunt Kamma had selected, even if it wasn’t kind to Vinnie’s delicate skin, and her hair was parted in the middle and tightly plaited by the ears. It was a hairstyle that had never suited a woman, not even a German Gretchen or Heidi. Of course, that was something that Kamma Dahlen didn’t know.
Or did she?
“Pop down to the dressmaker’s and buy some blue embroidery thread. Here’s a sample, and please be quick about it because the removers will be here at any moment.”
Vinnie ran off. The few pieces of furniture she would be taking with her stood in the hall. Kamma contemplated them. She had done most of the choosing. They were odd pieces that didn’t fit anywhere in the house.
Grandma had insisted that the fine chiffonier with the intarsia was to be Vinnie’s. It was her personal legacy. Far too many people had heard Grandma say that, which meant that Kamma didn’t dare to keep it. Oh, what grief it was to see it leave the house! She walked around it, stroking its silky, smooth surface. It was locked, and Grandma had given the key to Vinnie. Kamma’s quiet, cautious hint that they ought to see what was in it had fallen on deaf ears. It might contain valuables, which most definitely ought not to leave the house ...
Kamma frowned. The lowest panel at the back had come loose in one corner, probably when it was moved into the hall. Kamma bent down to try to fasten the plywood board. This was when she caught sight of an envelope sticking out of the corner. She pulled it out carefully. It must have been pushed out of a stuffed drawer and landed at the back. There were also a couple of Christmas cards from the year before that had fallen down with it.
The envelope was big and thick and didn’t seem all that old. There was nothing written on the outside.
Without any particular pangs of conscience, Kamma opened the envelope and unfolded the sheets of paper ...
It was a will and a letter.
She decided to read the letter first. It was from Grandma to Vinnie. The shaky handwriting was easily recognizable.
My dear Vinnie,
Please give this will to Mr Hermansen, the lawyer. It’s completely valid – those who witnessed it are good people. You see, I couldn’t get in touch with Mr Hermansen. This is something I’ve never mentioned before because I don’t want Karen Margrethe to know about it. Don’t speak to her about it!
Well, I never, was what Kamma thought as she quickly skimmed the will.
It is my final will that my granddaughter, Lavinia Dahlen, is to be the sole inheritor of Bakkegården. My daughter-in-law, Karen Margrethe Dahlen, must not be allowed to reside there because she has a bad influence on the girl. Not even Hans-Magnus, her son from her first marriage adopted by my late son, has the right to live at Bakkegården, as he is fully capable of taking care of himself. What’s more, in my presence he has said, ‘Never mind about the old hag.’ So I don’t care about him either.
To Karen Margrethe Dahlen, I leave by will ...
Then followed a list of a few things of very little value, among them a brooch, a tea set and a fireside clock.
Even if Karen Margrethe pleads that she has taken care of me during the years when I have been bedridden, this is not, in fact, the case – she has simply ordered Vinnie to do so.
Vinnie has shown me warmth and compassion. All Karen Margrethe has shown me is coldness and often impatience. This is why everything goes to Vinnie, including what is in the bank, which, until now, Karen Margrethe has disposed of on my behalf. That written authority ceases upon my death.
B.E. Johannessen, notary public, and his wife, Marianne Johannessen, had witnessed the will.
Kamma was crimson in the face as she flopped in a chair. Her heart was beating furiously in self-righteous indignation. She lifted her head ...
Johannessen? She knew the couple. Elderly people. But hadn’t they passed away? She certainly had and he had suffered a stroke when his wife died. They said that he was completely confused and unable to communicate anymore.
What about the date?
Kamma checked: 12 July. That was six months ago.
Six months ago?
That must have been when Grandma was temporarily feeling better. She had been able to move about and talk a bit, and Kamma had gone to Bergen with her son for a much-needed holiday. Yes, Kamma remembered that they had left in July.
Which was when that bitch had seized her chance!
The doorbell by the kitchen door rang and Kamma started.
It was bound to be the errand boy from the grocer’s shop.
Where was she to put ...
Kamma couldn’t think of anything other than to stick the envelope back into the crack in the broken chest of drawers. Then she hurried into the kitchen.
It was the errand boy from the grocer’s shop. Suspicious and particular as always, Kamma went over the list, item by item, checking the prices and the arithmetic. Meanwhile, her brain was seething with uncontrolled thoughts, bitterness, vengefulness and plans.
She, who had longed to have the big house to herself! Getting rid of that clumsy, nondescript girl. Then Hans-Magnus would have it when he graduated from military school. That was her plan. It would make a superb officer’s house, where she, his doting mother, would preside as hostess.
There were voices out in the hall. It was probably Vinnie who had returned and Hans-Magnus, who had come back from his strenuous journey to Oslo.
Poor boy, he was really having a hard time living on his sparse cadet’s salary, which just didn’t suffice. It went without saying that Kamma needed to help him out from time to time. Grandma’s passbooks had been so useful. Now ...
This would be the end!
Everything would be taken from her! What would Vinnie do with money and a house when she was so ugly? Kamma was sure that she would always be a spinster, as she had told her every so often. Was Vinnie to roam about this splendid house all by herself? The only sensible thing would be for Hans-Magnus to take it over when he finished his officer’s training. Then Kamma could take care of him and his future family – because she very much wanted grandchildren. A daughter-in-law much less.