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A constable had joined the fray and directed the men to carry Justine’s mother to the town hall, where they could sort out what to do with her.

“I am sorry, mademoiselle,” he said, dipping his head to me. I helped Justine up.

“What was she talking about?” Justine trembled, clinging to me.

“Nothing. She is mad.” I wanted to get Justine out of there, to get her back to the house. I should never have brought her with me. No wonder she had not wanted to leave that side of the lake and our seclusion there.

“Poor woman,” the constable said. “All three of her children caught fever and died last week. We do not know what to do with her.” He inclined his head again and followed the men taking Justine’s mother away.

“Birgitta and Heidi and Marten,” Justine whispered. She fell against me and I held her. “They cannot be dead. They cannot be. When I left they were all healthy. If I had known, I never would have— I could have helped them. I could have stayed and helped. Oh, she is right. I am the most wicked and selfish creature. I valued my own comfort over my family. My mother always knew, she always saw, and—”

“No,” I said. I pulled Justine close, squeezing her to me, my voice harsh and determined. I would not comfort her, not in this line of thought. I would argue the point forever. “Your mother is a monster. If you had stayed, she would have beaten the light right out o

f you. You would have died with your siblings. I cannot imagine a world without you in it. You were not wicked to leave. It was God’s grace, keeping you safe so you would not leave us.”

Justine sobbed into my shoulder. I turned her toward the lake, and we stumbled together back to our waiting boat, all her pretty red ribbons left behind on the street like scarlet streams of blood.

* * *

—

Justine’s orphaned status weighed heavily on me as I remembered her past and considered her future. Included in the letter about her mother’s death had been a note explaining the delay in delivery. Her mother had specifically requested Justine not be notified until after the funeral. It had been her dying wish to spite Justine and deny her even the opportunity to mourn. Imagine wanting to mourn a woman who deserved no such tribute!

I insisted Justine take the next two days to herself—whether to spend them in bed, or walking the countryside alone with her thoughts. I knew she needed space to heal the final wound her mother had inflicted.

Unfortunately, that left me with William. Ernest was old enough to manage himself, but he was unsettled by Justine’s absence and thus hovered around me like a gnat, pestering and useless but ultimately harmless.

The first day was spent with William clambering through the entire house, getting into everything. He begged to see my room, where he had never been allowed, then proceeded to ask me if he could have every shiny thing he saw. He was a magpie, this child. To get him out, I agreed to lend him my gold locket with a miniature portrait of his mother inside. I had never loved it, had certainly not asked for it. It was too expensive to give into the care of a five-year-old, but I would have given far more for even ten minutes’ respite from his constant demands. Victor would be home in just a few short days, but that did not help in the meantime. I could be charmed by the children in minute doses; being in charge of their care was overwhelming. I could not imagine Victor being willing to take over.

On the second day, at a loss for ways to entertain William, I suggested Ernest accompany us on a walk. A very, very long walk that ideally would end with William exhausted into lethargy for the evening. To my surprise, as we were finishing our preparations—picnic packed and boots laced—Judge Frankenstein appeared.

“It is a lovely afternoon,” he declared gravely, as if passing judgment on the weather were part of his authority. I was glad, for the weather’s sake, that it did not meet his condemnation.

“Yes. I am taking the boys out for some fresh air and exercise while Justine rests.”

“That is good of you.” His lips pulled apart, and his mustache lifted like a curtain to reveal his teeth. His teeth, unused to the spotlight, were stained dark from years of wine and tea, though I suspected higher quantities of the former. “I will join you. It will be nice to go out together. As a family.” He weighted the last word like a gavel dropping.

Wary but cautiously pleased, I gave him my best smile. One that would be given an encore and a standing ovation, unlike his own. “That will be lovely.”

Thus, my walk took me through the woods with the three Frankensteins I had never had any use for. And…it was not awful. Judge Frankenstein was mostly silent, save to remark on the qualities of this tree, or the stately nature of that rock, or the general uselessness of that flower.

Ernest, ever aware of his father’s presence, worked hard to walk with as much decorum and maturity as he could. But even he was unable to resist the warm spell of the glorious spring day. Soon he was chasing William, eliciting shrieking giggles and demands for vigorous play.

I laughed, watching them. There was something to be said for children after all. There was a deeply restoring and restful happiness watching a creature like William discover the world. He was all curiosity and joy. There was no fear or anxiety in him. Had I ever been that way? I did not think so.

Madame Frankenstein would have been proud of how well I had done in settling their family. Ernest and William had grown up safe. Victor had been ushered past his difficulties. I had even found a replacement mother far more suited to the task of raising William and Ernest than I ever would have been.

I could take pride and satisfaction in this life. I would take pride and satisfaction in it. I was determined to. I let the bright sun and brighter laughter warm me. I would finally release all the strain and fear I had worn like a shawl.

We found a pretty meadow near where the forest gave way to our closest neighboring farm and set up the picnic. After eating, I pulled out a book, and Judge Frankenstein lay down on the ground and closed his eyes for a nap. It was a shockingly vulnerable and casual position for him to adopt.

And it was aggravating. If he had not been there, I could have done the same. But I did not have the luxury of relaxation in public. At least I had a book. I shooed the boys away, instructing them to meet us again before the sun got too low.

As afternoon dipped toward evening and I worried over what I would do to entertain William the next day, Ernest came back. He was sweating and out of breath, his face hopeful and then falling as he swept his eyes over our little picnic site.

“William is not here?” he asked.

I closed my book and stood in alarm. Judge Frankenstein, who had woken a few minutes before, also stood. “What do you mean? He was with you.”