In the tradition of Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping and Elizabeth Strout’s Olive Kitteridge, a dazzling debut novel about the family bonds that remain even when they seem irretrievably torn apart
Growing up in hardscrabble Kentucky in the 1920s, with their mother dead and their stepfather an ever-present threat, Bertie Fisher and her older sister Mabel have no one but each other—with perhaps a sweetheart for Bertie waiting in the wings. But on the day that Bertie receives her eighth-grade diploma, good intentions go terribly wrong, setting off a chain of misunderstandings that will send the sisters on separate paths and reverberate through their daughters’ and granddaughters’ lives.
What happens when nothing turns out as you planned? From the Depression through World War II and Vietnam, and smaller events both tragic and joyful. Bertie and Mabel forge unexpected identities and raise daughters—and sisters—of their own, learning that love and betrayal are even more complicated than they seem. Gorgeously written, with extraordinary insight and emotional truth, Nancy Jensen’s debut novel illuminates the far-reaching power of family and family secrets.
|Publisher:||St. Martin's Press|
|Edition description:||First Edition|
|Product dimensions:||6.70(w) x 9.32(h) x 1.12(d)|
About the Author
NANCY JENSEN is a graduate of the MFA in Writing Program at Vermont College. Her short stories and essays have appeared in numerous literary journals, including Northwest Review, Other Voices, Under the Sun, and The Louisville Review. She lives in Kentucky, where she was awarded an Artist Enrichment Grant from the Kentucky Foundation for Women and an Al Smith Fellowship from the Kentucky Arts Council. This is her first novel.
Read an Excerpt
IT WAS A LOVELY DRESS, soft and pink as a cloud at dawn. Bertie admired the way the chiffon draped from her neck in long, light, curving folds, seeming to narrow her square shoulders, and it pleased her to imagine how the skirt would swish around her calves when she walked to the stage to get her eighth-grade diploma, but she was most fond of the two buttons, small silver roses, that fastened the sleeve bands just below each elbow. Two months Mabel had worked for the dress, going into Kendalls an hour early every day, fixing it with Mrs. Kendall so, come commencement week, Bertie could choose any one she wanted. Bertie twirled before the mirror, then lifted her hair to see how it would look pinned up, and, yes, suddenly she was taller, almost elegant. She couldnt remember feeling pretty before. In this dress, she did, and it was wonderful. She even felt a little sorry for Mabel. Her sister had always been beautifulslim and doll-like, with big eyes and glistening bobbed hair, Junipers Clara Bowso Mabel couldnt appreciate the wonder of suddenly feeling transformed, caterpillar to butterfly.
Bertie swooshed out her arms, letting her hair fall again down her back. Stooping to pull open the bottom drawer of the dresser, she reached into the far back corner for Mabels photographthe one made specially for the stereopticon, with two of the same view, printed side by side. There was Mabel, sitting on a swing, a painted garden behind hera pair of Mabels, as if she were her own twinlooking like an exquisite, unhappy bride in a lacy white dress, her dark hair, still long then, longer and fuller than Berties had ever been, spilling round her shoulders.
Bertie slid her fingertips across her own hairnot heavy, but fine and smooth. Very soft. Sometimes, just before he kissed her cheek, Wallace stroked her hair like this. Hed never told her if he thought it was prettybut he must think so. Why else would he have made her a Christmas present of the pale green ribbon shed pointed out to him in the window at Kendalls?
Shed never worn it, not once. It stung her suddenly to realize this must have hurt Wallace, made him think she didnt appreciate him. No one but the two of them knew about the giftnot even Mabel. Bertie had brought it home and hidden it, taking it out to hold against her cheek only when she was alone in the housetoo afraid of her stepfathers angry questions, demanding to know how she had come by it.
Well, she would wear it. This Saturday, her graduation day. She would wear Wallaces ribbon and not care what anyone said. Such a pretty green to go with her dress, pretty as the spring-fresh stem of a rosebud. She would wear it and Wallace would know that she loved him, and then maybe, just maybe, in another year, after Wallace had finished high school, they could talk to his folks about getting married. Even if the Hansfords said they had to wait awhile longer, until Bertie was sixteen or seventeen, she could leave school and get a job, and with her and Wallace both working and saving up, they could get a place of their own straight off.
Mabel would be upset to know Bertie was thinking this way. Lately, Mabel had talked as hopefully about her finishing high school as Mama once hadall through that sad winter after the doctor, fearing for the baby, had put Mama to bed. Every afternoon when nine-year-old Bertie got in from school, she hurried into Mamas room, not pausing long enough even to take off her damp coat. She would lean in, kiss Mama with her wind-frozen lips, then turn to hug Mabel, who would take the coat to the kitchen to dry. While her sister started supper, Bertie sat in the bed beside her mother.
When the baby comes, Bertie said, Ill stay home to help.
Youll still be in school. Mama pulled her close. Dont you mind what your stepdaddy says. Well work it out. Mabels here now, and Ill have both my girls to help me through the summer. Mamas voice was tired, tinged around the edges with uncertainty, but firm at the center. Come the autumn, I want the two of you back in school where you belong.
When Mama talked, Bertie believed her, but then at supper, in between mouthfuls of stew, their stepfather, Jim Butcher, not looking straight at either of them, would tell the girls what was on his mind. Youve had enough school, he said to Mabel. Reckon even too much. He stabbed his fork toward Bertie before filling it again. Even shes had more than I had, and I had more than my daddy. You know how to read, write, do all the sums youre liable to need. Thats plenty enough.
But when Mamas stronger Mabel began.
Then therell be another one along.
At one time or another, it seemed like everybody in Juniper had heard Jim Butcher tell his storyalways when he was drinkingabout how, when hed made it across the field of wheat and lay alone in a thicket in Belleau Woodlay gasping, covered in the mixed muck of rotting leaves, pine needles, blood and fleshGod had spoken to him and promised him three sons.
But Jim Butchers only son had died before he could take even one breath. Two days the baby had battled to be born, and when he gave up, he took Mama with him. Thatlosing Mamahad been the worst thing possible, and yet Bertie couldnt help feeling that for Mama it might have been best, dying before three, four, five years of new babies could make her older and ever more tired, make her worry more about the burden she was leaving on her girls.
Only because of Mabel, who did everything Butcher wantedtending the house and working a job, toohad Bertie been able to go back to school. Her sister had just stepped into Mamas shoes, seeing to all the cooking, the washing, and the dreaming for Berties future. How could she tell Mabel that going on to high school didnt matter to her? She wasnt quick like her sister wasMabel loved everything about books and learningbut Bertie struggled mightily whenever she had to read something. All she really wanted was to make a life with Wallace, to stand by him, and raise his children, and smile on him until death.
Bertie reached again into the open drawer until her hand found the fold of tissue paper protecting Wallaces ribbon. Mabel would be in the kitchen now getting breakfast, and Jim Butcher would be sitting on the chair beside the bed that used to be Mamas bed, pulling on his work boots, probably figuring up some new way he could make Bertie feel small, some reason to call her stupid and clumsy, like the way he did when he saw her slosh a little milk out of the pail after stumbling in a rut outside the barn.
But Bertie didnt care. She stood before the mirror, drawing the ribbon out to its full length. It was beautiful against the dress. She might wear the ribbon as a band, leaving her hair loose as a waterfall down her back. Or she might gather the hair at her neck to show off the ribbon in a shimmery bow. What mattered was that, however she wore the ribbon, Wallace would see, and thenat the party after the commencement service, since no dancing would be allowed in the church hallthen Wallace would keep his promise to her by dancing her outside, and he would glide her in circles across the grass, and, flushed and dizzy, they would stop and he would look right at her, touch the ribbon, and tell her she was beautiful.
She picked up Mabels portrait again, turning it to face the mirror, just to see how she measured against her sister. But noshe would not look. She was done comparing herself with Mabel. And she was done trying to work out why Mabel hated this picture of herself, why shed cut off her hair the night after it had been taken, why she had wanted to burn the card the very day Jim Butcher had brought it back from that Louisville photographer.
Right now, this moment, Bertie was determined to be happy. She had made it through Saturday and Sunday, and now it was Monday again and she had only to make it through the school day until she would see Wallace, waiting for her on the stoop like he always did, ready to hold her hand on their slow walk away from school, through town, and to the corner, where he would kiss her cheek before leaving her to turn for home.
Alberta! Butchers growl flung out ahead of his familiar heavy step.
She dropped the ribbon into the open drawer and pushed it closed, waiting to answer her stepfather until he appeared in the doorway. Sir?
He pulled back a little when he saw her, and stared. Raking his eyes up and down her body, up and down, like he didnt know her. For a moment, Bertie stopped breathing and reached out a hand to steady herself on the dresser. Shed been caught trying on the dress when she ought to have been checking the water for the cow or pulling any little weeds that might have come up around the tomato sets during the night. He might be angry enough to tell her she couldnt go to graduation. He might even tell her she couldnt go to school today to sit for her final examinations, and if she didnt take them, the school might fail her and shed be forever without her eighth-grade diploma. Terrified as she was of what Butcher might say, she felt a flash of anger at herself for not having thought through the possibilities. She should have left the dress alone until evening.
Butcher looked past her and out the window at the empty clotheslines. Bertie couldnt remember a time when hed broken a hard stare at her, and the change made her more nervous.
You finish all your chores? He was looking toward her again, but somehow not quite at her.
Almost, sir, she said, struggling to relax her throat enough to get a breath. Im going now, just as soon as I change my dress. I had to make sure it fit.
Still he stood in the doorway, watching her. Did he expect her to take it off then and there?
Bertie took a step toward the door. Ill be right out, sir. Soon as I change.
How longs that program Saturday?
She didnt dare go any closer. He might see her trembling. The ceremonys at three, she said. At the church. Theres a light supper after. And after that How could such a cold stare burn a hole in her? She should just give up the party, not even mention it, come right home after she got her diploma. No hair ribbon. No dance with Wallace on the lawn. But Wallace would understand, wouldnt he? She was almost sure he would.
After that, Bertie began again, but suddenly Mabel appeared behind Butcher.
Daddy, she said, touching his arm lightly, your breakfasts ready. Will chicken be all right for supper?
Daddy, Bertie thought. She loved her sister but despised her for calling him that.
Butcher turned his head slightly toward Mabel, then looked down at his arm, where her fingers still rested. Without looking up, he spoke in Berties direction: Saturday, you be in by eight-thirty. Not a minute later.
He walked off to the kitchen, Mabel calling after him, Ill be right there, Daddy.
With a quick look behind her, Mabel slipped inside the bedroom and closed the door. Let me help you with the back buttons.
Bertie turned toward the mirror. Why do you call him that?
Instead of answering, Mabel took the brush from the dresser and drew it through Berties hair in long, firm strokes. It fits just right, Mabel said. The dress. Like it was made for you. She smiled over Berties shoulder at their paired reflections. Just look how beautiful you are.
Bertie closed her eyes, enjoying the way her scalp tingled with every stroke of the brush. After Mama died, it was the way Mabelfourteen then, the same age Bertie was nowhad stilled Berties sobbing. That, and spending hours with her on their shared bed, looking at pictures in the stereopticon, just like theyd done with Mama, long before Jim Butcher spent a few weeks of rough charm on her, drawing her out of her widows loneliness, persuading her that, without a man, shed surely lose the little patch of land left to her, along with the only security she had for her girls.
In the months after Mamas passing, theyd hear Butcher round the back of the house, throwing rocks or dried-up corncobs, sticks of kindling or empty bottleswhatever he could findat the side of the barn, raging at the sky, calling God a filthy bastard for breaking his promise. Sometimes, to cover up the sound, Mabel would read out loud to Bertie, or theyd sing songs Mama had liked, but always, before long, theyd get out the photo cards Mama had collected since she was a girl, and Mabel would fit them, one at a time, into the clamps on the stereopticon.
Berties favorite was The Mothers Tender Kiss, from a set Mama had been given a year or two before she married their father. Dated 1905, it showed a wedding party against what seemed a wall of huge blossoms, even a ceiling, like a cave of lilies. Everyone in the photothe women in their layers of lace and the men in their slim black suitslooked toward the bride, almost obscured by her mother, who leaned in for a final kiss before her daughter became a wife. When Bertie was very small, she thought the picture was of her parents wedding, and even though she knew now it wasnt true, in her mind, thats just how it had been: a day of flowers, of lovely women and handsome men, all happy and loving each other.
Mabel, Bertie said now, placing her hand over the brush and taking it from her sister. Whatll I do when you get married?
Who says Im getting married?
Its bound to happen. Boys like you.
With her quick and gentle hands, Mabel separated Berties hair into three sections and started braiding it. Thats not for me, she said. So dont you worry about it.
Do you still think about Freddy?
All last year, Bertie had been terrified that Mabel would leave her to marry Freddy Porter. It seemed then that everywhere she went people had something to say about how Mabel Fischer ought to snap up her chance before it got away from her. Freddy had an uncle who owned a furniture store in Louisville, and it was said he was planning to get Freddy started in the business. Of course the older girls were jealousthe girls that used to be Mabels friends before she had to leave schoolsaying the only reason Freddy liked her at all was for her looks, but Bertie knew that wasnt true. Maybe she hadnt seen it then, but now, when she remembered, she could see that Freddy had looked at Mabel the way Wallace sometimes looked at her. Suddenly, now that it seemed possible she might be the one to get married, the one to leave her sister alone with a hateful man, Bertie was ashamed that she hadnt really been sorrysorry in her heartwhen Butcher ran Freddy off. The idea of being left behind with her stepfather had been so terrible that she had refused even to ask herself if Mabels heart might be broken.
Did you like him very much? Bertie asked. Freddy?
Mabel finished the braid and held the end secure in her hand. I did, she said. But it doesnt matter now. Should I pin this up, or would you like me to tie it?
I have something. Carefully, so as not to pull the braid from Mabels hand, Bertie bent to open the bottom drawer again. The unfurled ribbon was in easy reach. Will this work?
Its more the length for braiding in, Mabel said, but I can fix it some way.
No, just pin it, Bertie said, stroking the ribbon. I want to save this for something special. She was surprised, when she looked at Mabels reflection, to see her sister smiling at her.
Thats the one Wallace bought for you, isnt it?
Bertie flushed with the discovery, and for a moment all she could think of was how ugly the pink chiffon looked on her now, with her change of color. How did you Mabel laughed. Did you forget the stores on the way home from school? Ive seen you two going past for monthssince October at least. She wrapped an arm across her sisters chest and pressed her cheek over the very spot Wallace kissed. Im happy for you, Bertie, she said. I like Wallace.
Quickly, Mabel fastened up the braid in a loop, then picked up the brush, sweeping it through her own hair in rough, short strokes. Meeting Berties eyes in the mirror, Mabel tipped her head toward the closed bedroom door and whispered, You mustnt let on to him, though. He wouldnt like it. She laid the brush on the dresser. Id better get in there before he hollers. And youd better get changed or you wont finish your chores in time to get to school.
With her everyday dress on, the looped braid was too fancypeople would laugh, say she was putting on airsso Bertie plucked out the pins and shook her hair loose, tying it back from her face with piece of twine. What was it Wallace saw in her? She was so plain, she might as well have been invisible.
Around the house, that was the best way to be. If not for Mabel, she might have run away a dozen times over, but her sister always smoothed things, seeming to know the way to talk to calm Butcher down. Then, late at night, after they had heard him go down the hall to bed, Mabel would relight the lamp and get out the stereopticon. Theyd take turns with it, spreading the cards across the rug.
Mabel might hold out a view of downtown San Francisco or New Orleans or Chicago and say, Lets you and me go there.
And Bertie would gaze at the gray city and try to imagine herself there. She couldntshed never been out of Juniper. What about money? she would say. He expects me to go to work soon as schools out.
Mabel would smilealways a smile shadowed with secrets, but a shadow that stilled Berties worries, as if the things she didnt know were what kept her safe. Whenever he sends me to the store, Mabel told her once, I keep back a nickel or a dimewhatever I think he wont notice. That I save. Ill work extra when I can, like Ive been doing for your commencement dress. By the time you finish high school, therell be enough to get us out of Juniper, to get us started somewhere else.
There was plenty of money in Butchers strongbox, the one he kept back of the low cabinet behind the whiskey bottles. Surely Mabel knew about that. Or maybe she didnt. Bertie hadnt known about it for longonly since shed stepped around the corner early one morning last winter while he was loading up his pockets for his trip to the bootlegger. He didnt see her, but she saw him put the box back in its hiding place.
Just a week or two ago, while studying a view of New York, Mabel had again said, Well go there. You and me. Someday.
Oh, Mabel, lets go now. She could surprise Mabel with the money. Make up some story about how shed earned it. Or about how Mama had hidden it away for them. A gift. Lets go right after graduation. I can work, too. Bertie had meant it when she said it, caught up in the idea of getting away from Jim Butcher, meant it until she remembered Wallace. Leaving Juniper would mean leaving Wallace, and she didnt want to do that.
One of us should finish school. Mabel squeezed Berties hand. For Mamas sake. Besides, right now I dont have enough to get you or me to the other side of town. When we go, we need to get at least as far as Indianapolisthe bigger the city and the farther away the better. She stretched back across the bed and gazed at the ceiling. When you start a new life, everything has to be different.
Bertie took another quick look in the mirror, then picked up her books so she could go on to school straight from the barn, right after shed turned the horse out into the little pasture and cleaned the stall. She knew some of the others talked behind her back, gossiping about her clothes and her dirty shoes, but what did it matter if Wallace didnt mind?
She stepped into the hall, just in time to hear Mabel saying, as sweetly as you please, Another cup of coffee, Daddy?
She wanted to love Mabeldid love herbut at times like this Bertie wondered if it was possible to love someone you couldnt understand, someone who could do something so terrible. Mostly, she was sure Mabel hated Butcher as much as she did, but Mabel would never admit it, not even when she and Bertie were alone. Sometimes Bertie thought she heard a sneer in Mabels voice when she said Daddy. But even if that was true, saying it at all was still an insult to their fatherthe father Mabel, being five years older, remembered far better than Bertie could. Bertie hadnt started school yet when hed been called up for the war. Thered been only a couple of letters after he left home, which Mabel, like Mama before her, kept in the blanket chest along with the telegram saying hed died of influenza a week before he was to ship out to France.
Mabel remembered him so well she could still tell stories about his teaching her to look under the leaves when hunting blackberries, and about the eagle-shaped swing hed made for her one summer. Hed slung the swings rope over a thick limb of the maple tree in the front yard and said, Now you can fly as high and far as you want. Far as you can think.
How Mabel could remember all that and still call Jim Butcher Daddy, Bertie couldnt acceptwouldnt forgiveno matter how good a sister Mabel was to her. She would tell her sotoday, right now. Shed stand in the kitchen door and throw an angry look at Mabel. So what if Butcher saw it?
But the moment she was in the doorway, seeing Butcher hunched over the table, leaning on his thick arms, strong as iron chain, Bertie lost her nerve. Then, as if she sensed Bertie watching them, Mabel looked up suddenly, her eyes wide, almost terrified, and with a quick jerk of her head she told Bertie to be on her way.
With Mabels look, Bertie forgot about Butcher, and her courage returned. The signal annoyed her. And besides that, she was hungry. She would march right in and cut a slice of bread for her breakfast, take a piece of cheese to carry for her lunch.
She took one step. Mabel lifted her hand as if to say Stop! her eyes now wider still, diving up and down between Bertie and Jim Butcher. Those eyes pleaded, as Mabel shook her head violently. Now. She was telling Bertie. For Gods sake, go now.
Thered never been such a crowd in the sanctuary of the Emmanuel Baptist Church, not even on Easter Sunday. Every pew was full and the people who couldnt get seats lined the walls and clumped in the aisles. The graduates sat hip-to-hip in the first two rows. Bertie stood up again and turned around to scan the congregation, ignoring Irma Henderson, who was tugging on her wrist and telling her to sit down. Theyre about to start, Bertie. Please! Irma pulled harder. Bertie stayed on her feet.
They had to be there. But no matter how hard she looked, forcing herself to go face by face, she couldnt see them anywherenot Mabel or Wallace. It was possible they had slipped in while she was sitting down, but surely they would wave from wherever they were if they saw her. Over and over she ran her gaze through every row and into every corner, but they just werent there.
At the edge of the stage, old Miss Callahan sat down at the piano and began playing the melody of We Gather Together while her first-grade students filed into the choir loft to prepare to sing. Bertie had learned the hymn herself at that age, baffled by most of the words: The wicked oppressing now cease from distressingwhat could that mean? How she used to stumble over that odd way of phrasing: And pray that thou still our defender wilt be. Now, as she stood with the rest of the congregation to join in, the words slipped easily from her mouth. Had she ever really listened to them, even after she had learned their meaning?
Just the idea of gathering together made her want to cry. What might she have done that would make Mabel and Wallace desert her this way? People were sure to notice. Everyone else in her class had at least one parent present, plus grandparents, brothers, sisters, cousinsand here she was with no one who cared enough to come.
While the principal stood in the preachers place and gave a speech about stepping off the train in Juniper as a young teacher in 1900, Bertie crumpled a handful of chiffon in her fist. She saw now how foolish the dress wasmuch too pale a color for her, and too like the ancient peach-colored silk that silly spinster Miss Callahan always wore when she sang at weddings. Had Mabel thought the same thing when she helped her pick it out? Had her own sister set her up to be mocked?
She didnt want to believe these things about Mabel, but how could she not? Her sister couldnt be trusted. Time after time, Mabel had urged her to cooperate with Jim Butcherand just look at the way she played up to him, speaking softly and keeping her eyes lowered, smiling from time to time, and even touching him gently now and again. This whole last week had been worse than ever, seeming almost like Mabel was inviting Butcher to court her. Not once since Monday, when shed tried on the dress, had Mabel come to brush out Berties hair or to sit on the bed to look through the stereopticon or talk about school or ask about Wallace.
And what about Wallace? That same afternoon, Monday, he wasnt on the stoop waiting for her after school. Instead, Henry Layman was there in his place, saying Wallace wouldnt be able to turn up for the rest of the week. When Bertie had asked the reason, Henry just shrugged: Thats all he said.
None of it made any senseor at least none Bertie wanted to accept.
I like Wallace. Thats what Mabel had said.
No one had been more surprised than Bertie when Wallace started paying attention to her. Not that he was the best-looking boy in townhe was barely an inch taller than she was, dark blond hair always in a tumble, and sturdy as a stump from hard work, with dozens of small scrapes and scars to show for itbut just about everybody said he was one of the nicest boys there was, and, more important, good-hearted and responsible.
Wallace was so much older than she was, too, just a year behind Mabel, and even though Bertie would marry him tomorrow if he asked, shed worried that when he was ready he might decide she was too young. Not long ago shed heard a couple of boys laughing behind her back, saying if a fellow thought he needed a Fischer girl enough to stand up to the trouble that came with Butcher, hed be crazy to go for Bertie over Mabel.
She didnt want to set the last piece of the puzzle into place. It just fell in on its own.
Two days ago, knowing Wallace wasnt going to be waiting for her, Bertie had walked into town to get some thread that would match her dress, just in case a button came off or a seam broke at the last minute. Mabel was supposed to be working until 5:30 at Kendalls, but she was standing with Wallace under the awning of the hardware store, tucked as far back as they could be behind a display of washtubs. Wallace had hold of both her hands and leaned his head close to hers. Mabel was nodding, looking nervous, but there wasnt any question they were agreeing on something. Then Wallace drew Mabel into his arms and held her, her head nestling against his neck, his hand on her hair.
What are you doing? Bertie had called to them from her heart, the words stopping in her throat. What are you doing? A firm pair of handsshe never knew whosesettled on her shoulders to urge her back onto the walk and out of the street.
Bertie, what are you doing? Irmas whisper stung her ear. Theyve called your name. Irma pushed her forward, nudged her up the steps and across the stage, then grabbed her elbow to keep her from turning in the wrong direction as they stepped back onto the floor.
When the ceremony was over, Bertie let Irma lead her to the church hall with the rest of the graduates. She wandered through the buffet line, spooning food onto her plate, but after a few minutes she left it untouched on the corner table where shed gone to be out of everyone elses way.
The church bell was just chiming five when she pushed past the Anderson clan, who were celebrating the graduation of their twin sons. She was nearly to the door when she heard her name called out over the Andersons laughing chatter. Bertie! Bertie, wait! She turned toward the young mans voice. Wallace had come. She was sure it was Wallace. When he found his way through the crowd to clasp her hands, she would scold himjust a little, not too muchfor being late. Bertie! she heard again.
It wasnt Wallace at all. She could see Henry Layman trying to get to her. He was waving something over his heada piece of paper, maybeand calling out for her to stay put for a minute.
So Henry had been sent as messenger again. It was a dirty trick. Yellow, it was. If Wallace wanted to tell her something, if he was going to tell her he liked Mabel better, then he could do it to her face. And Bertie would see to it Mabel looked her in the eye, too. She wasnt about to listen to any made-up excuses theyd fed to poor Henry.
Bertie shook her head at Henry, still struggling his way through the crowd. She turned on her heel and went out the door.
There wasnt a soul on the street, just a couple of dogs tumbling in play on the parsonage lawn. The sun, so bright this morning, had faded behind heavy ash-colored clouds and the air simmered with the feeling of coming rain.
Shed give anything to think of somewhere to go besides back to the house, but she wanted out of this ridiculous dress and out of everyones sight. Pretty soon, it would be all around town about Mabel and Wallaceoff somewhere together on Berties special day, laughing at her.
Would it be possible, if she worked, to live on her own? She was pretty sure Butcher wouldnt make a fuss, even about losing a hand around the place, and she didnt care if Mabel did. Shed heard Nellie Perkins was looking for a girl for the boardinghouse to do some scrubbing and to help the cook. If she could get her room and board for the main part of her pay, then she wouldnt need but a few dollars a month for other things. She wouldnt even have to wait for morning. If she hurried back, she could get changed into a clean housedress and get everything settled with Mrs. Perkins before dark.
In spite of the blister rubbing at the back of her right heel, Bertie picked up her walk to a trot and then to a full run as she approached the corner where, for months, Wallace had said good-bye with a kiss. When she turned onto her road, dusty from too little spring rain, she stopped in front of the Mitchell place to catch her breath and pinched at the damp chiffon to shake it away from her body.
Bertie, come on in here. Mrs. Mitchell was standing on her porch, wiping her hands on her apron.
Im just going home, maam, Bertie said, starting on her way again.
Mrs. Mitchell rushed down the steps and out to the gate. Everything about her was atremble, even her red-rimmed eyes. She fumbled with the latch. No, honey, please, she said, reaching over the gate, trying to grab Berties wrist. You come in and let me give you some lemonade.
Bertie protested again, said she was in a hurry, but, having freed the latch, Mrs. Mitchell came out of the gate, took hold of Berties shoulders and steered her onto the front walk, through the house, and into the kitchen. You need to stay here for now, she said. Theres some trouble at your place. So you just wait here till it passes.
What kind of trouble?
No amount of questions could get Mrs. Mitchell to tell her what was going on. She wouldnt do anything but shake her head and chip off more ice to drop into Berties glass, but at last the woman looked out the window at the dark clouds. I need to get those clothes off the line. You just stay here, Bertie, and pour yourself some more lemonade.
This was her chance. The instant the back screen door banged behind Mrs. Mitchell, Bertie was out of her chair and pushing through the front door. It seemed like all the women on their road had been put on watch for her, calling from their porches or waving dish towels out their kitchen windows, but she ran past them. Whatever this trouble was, it must be the reason Mabel and Wallace hadnt come to the graduation. The fear of it made Berties head swim, and she felt a rush of shame for having thought they could betray her.
She stopped short at the end of the chicken-wire fence that marked their land.
Five or six men were gathered outside the barn. One of the doors was partly open.
Everything was quietno sound from the chickens or from the songbirds that usually swooped in to feed before a storm. Nothing but the shaking of the leaves.
Bertie recognized Mr. Mitchell and some other men who lived nearby, but a couple of them were strangers to her. They were standing in a crooked row, staring in at something they could all see through the open door, so none of them saw her until shed walked right in amongst them.
Whoa, Bertie! Mr. Mitchell grabbed her just like his wife had done and swung her away from the barn and toward the house. You go stay up on the porch. Ill take you on to my place in a minute.
Whats happening? Bertie asked. None of the men would answer her. They wouldnt even look at her.
Everything was odd.
Somebody had tied the cow to the fence rail, right in the place where a slat was missing, so the cow could reach through to nibble at the little cornstalks, just ankle-high.
The plow was out in the middle of the patch Butcher had said this morning he was going to plant with more beans, but the mare was unhitched, wandering around through the cucumbers.
And every now and then, when the wind kicked up, Bertie could hear a muffled banging, as if the back screen door had been left unhooked.
Another man Bertie didnt know stepped out of the barn. Even from her place on the porch, she could make out the shape of his badge. The sheriff. He took off his hat and stopped in the yard to talk to Mr. Mitchell, looking up once or twice to glance over at her. Mr. Mitchell shook his head and walked slowly back toward the barn.
The other man came toward Bertie and sat down on the top step beside her. Bertie Fischer? That short for Alberta?
She nodded. The sheriff reached out to take her hand. She started to pull it away, then thought better of it.
I asked the men there to keep you out of the barn, he said. His hand was warm. Strong and sad. Your stepdaddys hanged hisself. Theyre just cutting him down now.
Wheres my sister?
The rain started in small spatters, and the sheriff looked up for a moment, as if he might read the answer in the clouds. Looks like shes run off, he said. He reached in his pocket and held out a bit of crumpled paper to Bertie. Theres a couple of empty whiskey bottles up in the loft. Neighbors said Butcher was a drinker? He looked at her for confirmation he obviously didnt need. Found this right near him, he said, nodding toward the note. I figure he had it in his hand when he swung off, and then dropped it when Bertie took the paper from the sheriff and smoothed it open on her knee. Just four words, not addressed to anybody. It was Mabels writing. Gone away with Wallace. An M for her name, the way she signed all her notes.
Copyright 2011 by Nancy Jensen
Reading Group Guide
Why I Wrote The Sisters
When I was about ten or eleven years old, my sister pushed me into our room and whispered that our grandmother, who had been upset all day, had received a letter telling her that her sister was dead. I knew about my grandmother's brothers, but this was the first time I'd ever heard mention of a sister. I tried to ask questions, but my sister shushed me, telling me I must never ask anyone, and especially not Grandma, about this. Later, my mother repeated the same admonition, but I couldn't stop thinking about this estranged sister.
Over the years, fragments of the family lore surrounding the sister trickled down to methough my grandmother still kept silent. I heard the sister was a tramp and a gold digger. Sometimes it was implied that this was why she had been cast out of the family, but other times it was suggested she had turned her back on them. I could understand how someone might reject a family member. I could understand how a person might speak badly of the one who had been rejected. But I could not understand, and I could not stop wanting to know, what kind of offense or betrayal could result in one sister's deciding to erase another, as if she had never existed. My grandmother died without sharing the intricacies of her story, so I knew if I was ever going to have an answer to my question, I'd have to write it myself.
Researching the Novel
When I was just beginning to think about writing a novel but hadn't yet fixed on a particular story, my parents and I visited the Frazier Arms Museum, which had just opened in Louisville, Kentucky. I was wandering around looking at huge display cases of armor, lances, and swords, thinking of what a terrible irony it was that these tools of battle were so utterly beautifulso masterfully crafted and intricately decorated. They were works of art. I turned the corner to discover a small room where a film was playing about the making of chain mail. It was fascinating, and, in that moment, though I had absolutely no idea who this character wasnot even the genderI knew I wanted to include in the novel (that didn't even exist yet as a story) a character who made chain mail.
I'd grown up hearing my grandmother talk about the 1937 Flood on the Ohio River, and when I began to think about including a flood in the story, I started hunting the Internet for anything that might give me personal views of the experience. I found a limited edition of a book published by a Louisville-area high school that included personal narratives, written by students, about the flood. And, because I was looking on eBay for old newspapers or clippings that covered the flood, I stumbled upon the Shirley Temple scrapbook that became the model for the child Alma's scrapbook.
Really, it's incredible the stuff you can find on eBay, even if you don't know what you're looking for. Very early on in the writing, a stereopticon appeared as something young Bertie and Mabel shared. I had once seen a stereopticon as a child, so at first I started looking on the Internet for images that would verify (or correct) the accuracy of my memory. Then I decided maybe I should try to buy a stereopticon (I never did), but in looking for one on eBay, I found collections of stereocards, including a pornographic set. Several of the cards were shown as part of the sales listing, and one of these became the basis of the set Mabel's stepfather, Jim Butcher, shows her just before he rapes her the first time. I don't now remember what exactly was in the image, as I adapted it significantly, but I do remember the colors. Mabel's story of abuse grew almost entirely out of this single stereocard on eBay.
I went back to eBay when I suddenly found Mabel, years later, holding a copy of Life in her hands, and I bought, sight unseen, a collection of a dozen or so Vietnam-era issues, just wanting to get a feel for what she might be reading and thinking about around that time. The photograph of the pair of wounded soldiers she looks at is actually the cover photo on one of the issues from February 1966.
1. There are many secrets in The Sisters, beginning with Mabel's decision not to tell Bertie about Jim Butcher. In trying to understand her sister's behavior, fourteen-year-old Bertie wonders if "the things she didn't know were what kept her safe." What secrets do other characters keep, and how do you think the secrets ultimately help or hurt their loved ones?
2. How does the era in which each woman comes of age affect her experience and shape her outlook on what is possible?
3. How do the main characters perceive loyalty? Betrayal? What do you think of their perceptions?
4. How do Bertie's girlhood losses affect her daughters' and granddaughters' relationships with men?
5. Bertie, Alma, and Lynn are accused by other characters of being hard and cold. How do you see them? To what extent do you think they change in the course of the novel?
6. At the end of her life, Bertie struggles to cry out to Rainey and Lynn, Forgive. Forgive. Why do you believe some characters are able to forgive and others not? Do you believe everything can or should be forgiven?
7. What does the novel suggest about whether families are born or made?
8. When Daisy expresses her concern that Mabel is setting herself up for emotional pain by photographing young men bound for Vietnam, Mabel tells Daisy, "You can't protect yourself from loss." Do you think this is true? What happens to the characters in the novel, and to people in your experience, when they try?
9. In her interview with Ed Bradley, Mabel says, "I don't think any real war [is ever over]large, small, between countries, between people. Even the wars inside ourselves. Something always remains." Do you agreein the novel and/or in real life?
10. The Sisters is structured as a series of chronological, interlocking narratives, sometimes with strikingly different perspectives of the same events. In what ways does this structure reflect the experience of an individual within a family?
11. Bertie tells Grace, "Something can happen to change your life so sudden, you can't get over it fast enough ...and that changes things for them too, all in a line." Do you think that happens in most people's lives at one time or another? If so, is the chain reaction inevitable, or can someone choose to break the chain?
12. How were you affected when Bertie wrote Deceased on the letter from Mabel, and Mabel later decided not to follow up on Nick's possible lead about Bertie's whereabouts? Can you imagine either of them acting differently? Did you find the conclusion satisfying?
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
A friend recommended this book to me- At first, I did not think that I would like it. Well, after having read the book, I am happy to say that it was well worth it. The story is about sisters, fate, time..... The writing was skillfully executed by the author, Nancy Jensen. I do not want to give the story away, but I enjoyed reading the book to the very end.
I found it difficult to get through this book and had to force myself to finish. There were so many characters it was hard to keep track of who went with whom. It wasn't until well after I finished the book (whew) that it dawned on me that the story line was actually about many pairs of sisters, not just the two in the first few chapters. I wouldn't recommend this book to a friend and doubt that I would look for other books by this author.
I found it difficult to sustain interest in this book. It was dark, depressing, dreary and overly wordy. I skipped entire paragraphs hoping to get to a place where the story picked up and showed some life. Some of the plot lines were impossible to believe and not one character had enough redeeming or likable characteristics to keep them memorable, interesting, or believable. I think this may be the author's first novel and it shows; it had no heart or core. I will not read her future work and could not recommend this book. There are to many other worthy books to read and enjoy. Try Lisa See, Sarah Addison Allen, Jennifer Donnelly, Barbra Kingsolver.
This was a pretty good book. Makes you think about the importance of communication with those that you love. How secrets and the absence of words can cause pain for generations to come.
Gorgeous and well formed, a haunting story about love and family. Well worth every moment you spend reading.
I loved this book and the women in it. It was a great read.
Too many characters, too much flipping back and forth. Extremely disturbing. About abuse and the continuation of abuse through generations and people not being able to communicate. Last chapters poorly written in understanding what the author is trying to describe.
I found this book slow-moving and a little boring. I never give up on a book, so I struggled to the end. This was one I could have given up on.
I loved this book. I would recommend it to friends
The book was good but very slow at times. Over all I wouldnt read it again.
This is a book i could not put down and read straight through in four hours. It is a dark edged study following three generations of complex women that each hold sevrets and hope within. It is psychologically stunning and smartly written.
This is another one that I'm glad I won from Early Reviewers. The story follows several generations of women starting with sisters Bertie and Mable, who through misunderstanding and terrible circumstance, lose each other. Very good first book, kept my interest all the way through!
Nancy Jensen¿s first novel is a story of sisters, mothers, daughters, and granddaughters. The focus is on the evolution of relationships between these women and their weakening reliance on men over a historical period from the 1920s through the first decade of the 21st Century. The general change is not a lessening of love but a gradual shift of it to self and women relatives.The novel is tightly structured, following characters guided by ¿The Fischer Family Tree,¿ a table presented on the page before the beginning of Chapter One. Each chapter centers on one of the characters with more of the other women and men brought in as the chapters progress. The continuity of growth of self-awareness among the women is interesting and nicely written.Ms. Jensen¿s time line is generally forward, but she provides interesting background to the main character of the chapter by flashing back to earlier periods with good descriptions of developmental factors. It is unique in the novel that even important male characters are presented in sketches that enhance the understanding of the women¿s thoughts and actions.This is an entertaining novel that will appeal to readers who are interested in generational changes in feminine roles in the southern United States. A note here is that the story takes place primarily between the turns of the 20th and 21st centuries rather than gaining momentum from traditional starting and ending points. The writing style is very descriptive, with no stone unturned making the novel a comfortable reading experience.
The Sisters is the debut novel by Nancy Jensen, and it explores the relationships of four generations of sisters during the 20th century. Each sister has her own story - often one of disfunction and abuse - which, when combined with the other tales, resulted in a novel of great sadness.The stories begin with Mabel and Bertie, sisters who live in a small town in Kentucky. Mabel is the oldest and prettiest, but she's sexually abused by her stepfather. Bertie is young and naive - but has a glimmer of hope in her future: a romantic relationship with a local boy, Wallace. Then, a certain turn of events occurs - a misunderstanding of sorts - and the sisters are forever separated, doomed to live lives of bitterness and lost hope.The remaining stories are of Mabel and Bertie's daughters, granddaughters and great-granddaughters. Like a snowball effect, each story gets progressively more grim. The women endure abuse and promiscuity. They seem, in a word, hopeless. To say The Sisters was a bleak novel would be an understatement.The shining star of The Sisters is the writer. Nancy Jensen is very talented, creating real-to-life characters and horrid circumstances that often turned my stomach. Yes, I wish there were more silver linings in this book, but even I realize that some women's lives are not pictures of happiness. It's tragic to see it generation after generation.Unfortunately for me, I read The Sisters during Christmastime, so I was never in the correct mindset for such a depressing, but well-written book. If you decide to read this book, be prepared for a grim ride. I hope Jensen picks lighter fare for her next book.
Missed connections, things unsaid, a note never delivered........all these were to blame for the separation of two sisters over a liftime. Two sisters who were so close when they were young, losing their mother at an early age and having no one but each other, and then being separated by circumstances unknown to each other. A heartbreaking novel that leaves you wondering why this couldn't have turned out differently.
This is an epic family saga, covering three generations of women. Early in the twentieth century sisters Mabel and Bertie fight poverty and their stepfather's sexual advances in rural Kentucky. Elder sister Mabel makes a daring plan for the sisters' escape from their stepfather's violence. An accidentally missed message creates disastrous consequences, consequences that will reshape life for generations of women. The story of Mabel and Bertie, their daughters and their granddaughters, sucked me in and kept me interested to the end. Jensen provides an interesting and fast-moving plot. I did find it sometimes difficult to understand Bertie's absolutely refusal to communicate with her sister. Her obstinacy has grave consequences, and it's hard for me to imagine behaving in the same way. At the end I found Bertie and Mabel and their generation to be the most interesting. All in all, an engaging book and well worth reading.
Nancy Jensen shows great promise as a writer in this debut novel. It is a multi-layered family saga, which begins with two sisters, Mabel and Bertie, who are estranged as teenagers due to a perceived betrayal. The novel covers eighty years in the divergent lives of these two women whose turbulent childhood dictates their lives - one is forever embittered and one is terrified to trust. Bertie eventually marries and raises two daughters while Mabel goes on to become a well-known photographer with an adopted daughter. I think that Jensen's great strength in this book is character development and the challenge for a reader is maintaining an understanding of the numerous plots within a novel that spans so many decades.
Nancy Jensen's The Sisters follows three generations of sisters beginning in the Depression era west with teens Mabel and Bertie. Their childhood is cut short by the mother's death and their step-father's advances. Their individual escapes differ as greatly as the lives they and their daughters go on to lead. Each of the women live lives punctuated be jealousy, mistrust, and regret. Jensen accurately follows the trends and atittudes of the historical eras in which her characters live, flowing seamlessly from the Depression and Vietnam and through such taboo issues as divorce and adoption. A wonderful debut novel.
This is a story of sisters who are separated by events that are misconstrued and cause irreparable damage to their relationship. The book is well written and holds the reader's interest from beginning to end. For readers who enjoy stories of families and all that is involved in the history of the generations, I recommend this book.
The only thing that would make this book any good in my opinion, is if someone were to enter it and kill every last one of these dumb chicks and put them out of their misery.Dumb chick #1: Mabel. Mabel sacrifices her body to save her younger sister. She allows her step father to sexually molest her night after night and then...here's what she does: she runs away with her sister's boyfriend. Nice, huh? just leaves a note saying she's run off with him and somehow she expects her sister to figure out the reason for it and follow them? Stupidness. Later, Dumb Chick #1 steals a girl out of an abusive household and thinks it's her daughter. WTF?Dumb chick #2: Bertie. Instead of making something of herself, she marries at 14 and lives a miserable life. She can't even make the most of that.. she transfers her misery and bitterness onto her daughters.Dumb chick #3: Alma. Alma gets "above herself" and I guess dumbness runs in the family cause like her mother, she marries the first bloke to come along and has a little boy that she allows to slap her. She's a doormat for her husband, son, and her mother in law. Dumb chick #4: Rainey. Rainey just plain likes sex. She's a tramp who gets knocked up ASAP and has two daughters with two different men and never thinks of the consequences of her actions. Dumb chick #5: Lynn. She's a stupid little girl who lusts for her daddy even after he throws her in a lake and nearly lets her drown. She ends up strapped down to a bed cause she's a fruitcake. And I stopped there. I don't see the point to a book like this. It's not entertaining, heartwarming, funny, inspirational, or educational. It's just a bunch of dumb, submissive chicks making dumb choices, hooking up with mostly abusive and dumb men, and breeding more abusive men or dumb chicks. The end.
This novel covers a lot of ground, telling the story of the Fischer sisters, Mabel and Bertie, beginning in 1927, and ending in 2007. It is a tragic story, full of violence, sacrifice, good intentions and misunderstandings. Mabel does her best to protect her younger sister Bertie from their abusive stepfather after their mother dies in childbirth. Things don't go as planned, and Mabel and Bertie end up estranged. What follows are their individual stories: marriages, pregnancies, raising children, building careers. Mabel and Bertie's stories are interesting, but I do wish we had seen more of Mabel and her daughter Daisy's lives. They seem to have gotten shorter shrift than Bertie and her daughters and granddaughters. Bertie becomes closed-off after believing her sister abandoned her, and although she finds the love of a good man, she is never really happy. Her character is reminiscent of Elizabeth's Stout's Olive Kitteridge, and fans of that book will like The Sisters.The theme of the book is that you really don't know what has happened in someone's life that makes her the person she becomes. Bertie says, "Something can happen to change your life so sudden, you can't ever get over it fast enough. And so you do things that you wouldn't have ever thought of doing. Maybe hurt other people. And that changes things for them, too, all in a line". Bertie compares what happened to her the same thing as going through a war. What she doesn't know is that Mabel ended up becoming famous for photographing soldiers before going to war and upon their return, so the war theme applies to both of them.I do think that this book makes you empathetic to people in your life; you realize that you don't know everything that has happened to a person that affects her. Many people who read this book may come to the conclusion that their parents did the best job they could, as children in the book eventually learn. Mothers hurt their children, unintentionally or not, and they in turn hurt their children. I think the author believes that it is time to forgive and move on to break the chain of hurt.The Sisters is sad book, and I find violence against children and women hard to read. There are a few scenes that will cause you to gasp. If you are depressed, this book may make that worse, but if you want to learn about the human condition, this is an emotionally cathartic novel.
This is one of those stories where, when you think things just can't get worse, sure enough they do. It all begins with a terrible misunderstanding and everything goes dowhill from there. There are two sisters and an evil step father. In older sister Mabel's effort to spare her younger sister Bertie from that father's molestation, Mabel sets off a chain of events that never can be fixed. From 1927 until the present, we follow generations of a family of unfortunate women who are unable or unwilling to communicate with one another. Most of those women are not very sympathetic and some are downright unlikeable. Some -- a daughter who makes jewelry and chain mail and lives with a psychologically scarred VietNam veteran, for example -- are difficult to understand. About halfway through the book, we begin dropping in on the characters wherever they happen to be in their lives. One is a judge who must decide a child custody case; this has ramifications beyond her legal ruling and Jensen has to catch us up on all of those. It seemed as if this woman's story might have been expanded into a novel of its own. At times in this debut novel, Jensen writes beautifully and that is the book's saving grace. But it is difficult to get past the series of terrible things that happen; while reading this, one is constantly worried about what disaster lies on the next page. There is often an urge to take one or another of the characters by the shoulders and shake her into being sensible.
¿Whatever we carry inside us shapes everyone we touch.¿The Sisters, young teens growing up in 1920s Kentucky, are suddenly separated. Hurried decisions and misunderstandings hem them in to lives they would not have chosen. Yet time marches on, and they go on to have daughters and grand-daughters of their own, each of them coming in to her own kind of strength, though none of them really understanding the other. ¿They had all been raised up on secrets, things never expressed but linked through time to all the other members. . . . the tangled secrets and what they had wrought.¿Reading this story was to be carried along on a river of pain and poignancy, hoping for something around the next bend, not finding it, and still being swept along with hope filling your sail. Making something with what you have - it¿s all any of us can do. Watching these women make their lives was an emotional reading experience. The characters, setting and story are full and nuanced; a well written first novel.
These sisters, and their female descendants, cannot catch a break. Bad luck in the form of sexual abuse, poor choice of husband and sexual partners, misunderstandings and miscommunications, and so forth. The original two sisters are separated when they are teenagers because of a tragedy, and one of them disappears and stays lost on purpose.An essential part of the book is the genealogical chart in the beginning - without it, keeping track of the many descendants would be impossible. The chapters skip years and narrators, so careful attention to the details is needed.Fortunately the characters and their situations are all interesting, and the writing is excellent, so as a reader I was captivated enough to keep track of the complicated events and numerous characters.Of course, I wanted a happier ending, but I cannot argue with the author's decisions.
This book is well written but depressing.