Page 72 of My Darling Girls

“I knew you were not the real Josephine Lambert, the girl who wrote me letters all summer, the moment I saw you on that train platform.” August’s hands fly up to her face, and he clasps both sides of her cheeks and looks at her with a sad intensity, as if trying to capture her features and imprint them into his mind. “I didn’t know who you really were, but you looked so desperate and tried to impress me so hard, I decided to give it a try. And then, that first night, we had wine, we ate food, and we made love on the dinner table. And it was too late for me. I fell in love like a fool.”

“You never told me any of it.”

“What was the point? We were happy.” He brushes his thumb over her lips. “Weren’t we?”

Jo leans her back against the tall tree and listens to the breeze and the way it rustles through the branches, whispering to her to answer her dead husband’s question. “We were happy.”

August nods solemnly, as if he’s fully aware Jo might not be telling the truth. “Well, at least I was.” He drops his hands and takes a deep breath. He looks at the alley that’s sprouting behind the well.

“You were the best thing that happened to me, August.” Finally, the truth.

“I wasn’t certain.” He smiles at her the way he used to, all dimples and teeth. “I was never certain with you about anything. Except that I loved you.”

“I loved you too.” In her own, different way.

“It was enough for me.” He takes her hand and presses it against his mouth. She shivers at the icy touch of the dead lips. “I must go now.” He releases her hand. “I wanted to say goodbye. In a proper way.”

Jo swipes at her cheeks, at the tears that are burning her skin. Her core is shaking from the suppressed sobs. “I’m so sorry, August. For the lies. For the half-truths. For never telling you about myself.” She inhales shakily. “And for thinking the worst when I found the pictures of the girls.”

He looks at her with so much sadness, she knows he’s about to leave her. “I’m at peace now. Don’t worry about me, Jo.” He plants a kiss on her forehead and turns away, stepping into the alley where the white mist swirls and where one of the doors opens. As he steps through the door, he doesn’t pause, he doesn’t glance at Jo over his shoulder like he used to do when he was leaving the house.

Jo remains by the tree, staring in the direction in which he’s gone. She doesn’t feel at peace. But there’s a part of her that uncoils, and there’s a hint of warmth in her soul where the icy coldness used to live.

The white mist crawls into the courtyard. It wraps itself around Jo’s feet, rising higher and higher, and when Jo starts to thrash because she cannot breathe, it dissipates, releasing her. She falls to her knees and coughs.

“Jo, can you hear me?” A familiar voice floats to Jo through the ripples of the breeze, and she blinks, trying to clear her vision. She’s in the familiar courtyard, sitting on the cobblestones. Millie is by her side, legs stretched out, hands placed on her lap. She’s looking at Jo, lips pursed with worry. “Are you all right?” The girl’s forehead furrows. “Say something.”

“Millie,” Jo says, her mouth dry. She shakes her head, clearing her mind. It takes a lot of effort to think straight. It must be the opium she bought in some saloon in downtown Omaha, not as pure as Old Zhang’s, because Jo’s mind is more sluggish than usual. “Give me a minute.” It’s difficult to focus on anything but what happened to her a few minutes ago.

“You seem sad.”

“It’s this place. It induces melancholy.”

“Are you trying to make a joke? It’s not a good one.”

Jo laughs. “Well, at least I tried.”

“All right,” Millie says, but there’s a certain anguish in her face. As if she, too, is struggling with her own mind.

The horse lifts its head and snorts. Always so impatient.

Jo runs her hand through her hair and pulls herself straight, rolls her shoulders slightly. The air chills by a degree. The cobblestones beneath her are not blinding white anymore. There’s dirt on them. “Millie,” Jo says slowly, letting the girl’s name roll off her tongue.

“Jo.” Millie looks at Jo with a slight exasperation.

Out with it. A whisper of the angry horse.

Jo clears her throat. “You told me the first time we met that every time you try to think about what happened to you, you see faces of your family shifting and circling in rapid succession. Like a kaleidoscope of pictures.”

“It circles and circles and I cannot see anyone clearly, but I know my killer is among them. Why can’t I see who it is?”

“I know why.”

Millie doesn’t reply, but her hands curl into fists.

Tell her, Horace roars and slams his hooves into the cobblestones. A peal of thunder shakes the ground. The wall of the well starts to crumble.

A heaviness like she’s never known before fills Jo’s chest. “I know what happened to you. I also can tell you why it happened.”