“You killed them!” her mother screamed. “My precious babies, my beloved children. You killed them!” She tried to push past me once again, and I could scarcely restrain her. By now she had raised such a commotion that several men hurried over and helped me hold her in place. She writhed and contorted, throwing her body every which way before finally collapsing.

“My babies!” Justine’s mother cried. “You killed them. They are all dead, and it is your fault. You left us. You left, and they died. God will remember, Justine. God will remember that you betrayed your own blood and became a rich man’s whore to raise other people’s children. God will remember! Your soul is damned! Hell has marked you for its own since the day you entered this world!”

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 of 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.

—