What the Dead Want by Norah Olson

Author:Norah Olson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-05-20T04:00:00+00:00

There was also a square of fabric on which someone was practicing needlepoint. A circle of roses in colored thread, and inside the circle it read: As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

A drawer in the side table was full of old bone and shell hair clips, and one of them, which looked like it was made of ivory, she recognized from the portrait of Fidelia. She held it, cool and smooth in her hand like something natural and precious, and brutally obtained.

A cedar chest in a corner of the room held handmade quilts and more needlepoint. So many traditional women’s crafts, Gretchen thought. She hadn’t the slightest idea how to sew or quilt or make lace or needlepoint. With the volume of these beautiful handworks it seemed her ancestors must have busied themselves day and night with it. The number of stitches in each quilt seemed like the work of someone obsessively occupying themselves, almost like a nervous habit. And for the first time she didn’t see it as magnificent handwork—but as the work of someone denied a life outside the home, and slowly losing her mind.

She set all these things aside apart from the journals, a box of photographs, and a box of letters, which she put into a canvas bag she found hanging off the bedpost. She slipped the hair clip in as well and then slung it over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and opened the door, hoping nothing was about to smash down upon her.

A cool wind began to blow through the curtains and she actually heard the entire house creak, like something that was about to break. She looked up at her reflection. It was worse than she’d thought. Her face was slightly swollen from crying the night before, her hair a tangled mass; she was caught off guard by her own expression—determined but on edge. She looked older, taller even, more like her mother than ever before.

Setting the bag down for a moment, she took out the hair clip and then pulled her hair back away from her face, slid the ivory clip in to hold her mass of wavy hair tight, and felt herself slipping though time. A whole world of Axton women were smiling with her. And she felt stronger than she ever had. Fidelia lost her life and her daughter before she ever gained an education. But she had known what was right, and had worked for it. Gretchen was the living daughter of a professional, well-educated, and respected woman. Fidelia’s bravery had started all that.

She bounded down the stairs, through the house, and out into the fresh air. There was no breeze outside. Tiny insects hovering above the overgrown lawn, the haze of heat and the smell of sweet grass. She kept her back to the house as she walked and remembered what Esther had said about staying there, about how “they” would take over the house once they realized she was gone.

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