The Wild Girl

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but if Dortchen’s having a nightmare I’d best settle her down, make her comfortable again.’

  ‘No need. I’m here. I’ll look after her.’

  Old Marie looked from Herr Wild to Dortchen, who was standing barefoot and shivering in her nightgown in the doorway. Dortchen looked at her pleadingly. ‘No need to worry yourself, sir. You go on back to bed – it’s too cold to be standing about here in our nightgowns.’

  ‘I was just … checking on her,’ Herr Wild answered. He picked up his candle and came unsteadily towards them, the brandy fumes preceding him.

  The candlelight fell full upon Dortchen, who shrank away. She was very conscious of her unfettered breasts beneath the thin cambric of her nightgown, her bare legs and buttocks, the loosened mass of her hair.

  Her father stared at her, and Old Marie took a quick step forward. ‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he slurred, then he stumbled as he passed, so that for a moment his bulk was pressed against Dortchen, trapping her in the doorway. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, then heaved himself away.

  Dortchen watched as the candlelight flickered down the stairwell and away, then she flew to Old Marie. ‘I’m sorry. I was so afraid. I didn’t want him—’

  ‘Shh,’ Old Marie said, taking her arm and leading her back to bed. ‘Don’t say it. All is well. Back to bed now.’ As Dortchen tried again to babble her relief and gratitude, Old Marie said, ‘Shh, don’t say a word.’

  The next day, Old Marie was dismissed.

  ‘Twenty-four years of service, sir …’ she said numbly.

  ‘We need you no longer,’ Herr Wild said.

  ‘But where am I to go? What am I to do?’

  ‘I fail to see how that is my concern. The house is half-empty now, with most of our daughters gone and wed. What little work remains can be done by Dortchen and Mia. I bid you pack your bags and be gone. And, I warn you, I’ll be counting the silver, so don’t think to steal from me.’

  ‘As if I would do such a thing,’ she answered in a hurt tone.

  ‘No need to be impertinent,’ he replied. ‘You may have till tomorrow to pack your things and make some plans.’

  Old Marie turned to go. At the door, she turned back. ‘What about the money you owe me, sir? It’s been months since you last paid me.’

  ‘We’re at war, woman,’ he answered irritably. ‘No one has any coin.’

  ‘I’ll need the money I’m owed, sir,’ she replied.

  Herr Wild sighed. Dortchen, hiding outside the door with Mia, heard him unlock his desk drawer and draw out his cashbox. A few minutes later, they heard the clink of coins. ‘That will have to do,’ Herr Wild said. ‘After all, have I not been feeding you for years, and at a time when food is more expensive than ever?’

  Old Marie did not thank him. She came out and, seeing the two weeping girls, their hands pressed over their mouths, shut the door hastily. ‘Go! Go!’ she mouthed and shook her apron at them as if they were hens. The two girls fled down the hall and into the kitchen, with Old Marie following slowly behind.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Dortchen cried, as soon as the kitchen door was safely shut behind them all. ‘This is all my fault.’

  ‘No, no, sweetling,’ Old Marie comforted her. ‘It’s no one’s fault but that devil of a father of yours. Who can believe he’d turn me out into the street, after all my years of service? What shall I do? Where can I go?’

  ‘To Lisette, of course,’ Dortchen said. ‘Or Hanne. Either of them would take you in the twinkling of an eye. Hanne needs your help more, but will not be able to afford to pay you much. Lisette has all the help she needs, but she’d give you a home without a second’s thought.’

  ‘Then I’ll go to Hanne,’ Old Marie said. ‘I’d rather be where I’m of some use.’

  ‘Oh, Marie!’ Mia burst out into tears. ‘I can’t believe you’re going. How are we to manage without you?’

  ‘I’m right worried,’ Old Marie admitted. ‘I don’t like to leave you, and that’s the truth. I wish I could take you with me.’

  ‘We wish that we could go too,’ Dortchen said. A cold dreariness had dropped over her.

  ‘We’ll help you pack,’ Mia said.

  Old Marie snorted. ‘What is there to take? I have nothing but the clothes on my back, my prayer and hymn books, and Mozart.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Dortchen cried. ‘Not Mozart too.’ Fresh tears started to her eyes. She tried to gulp them back, not wanting to hurt Old Marie’s feelings.

  The old housekeeper understood, however, and chucked her under the chin. ‘Bless you, my sweet, I’m sorry, but I need to take my bird. I reared him from a chick, I did, and he’s spent every waking hour with me since. He’d not understand me leaving him.’

  It was all too horrible to contemplate. Dortchen and Mia fled upstairs to their mother, who lay in her darkened bedroom with a damp cloth over her eyes.

  ‘Girls, please, not so loud,’ she moaned, as the sisters burst into her room.

  ‘Mother! Father’s sacked Old Marie,’ Mia cried. ‘You have to tell him not to.’

  Her mother raised herself up on her pillows. ‘Oh, no. But why?’

  ‘He says he can’t afford to feed her any more,’ Mia said furiously.

  Dortchen hung back, unable to tell her mother the true reason. She felt sick and frightened at the idea of not having Old Marie’s comforting presence across the hallway any more.

  ‘Oh, dear, whoever shall do the washing?’ her mother said.

  ‘Mother, you have to tell Father he’s not to do it,’ Mia insisted. ‘We need Old Marie, we need her.’

  ‘I can’t be saying any such thing to your father,’ Frau Wild replied. ‘He gets so angry when his will is crossed. Dear me. We’ll just need to make the best of things.’ She lay down again, the cloth scrunched in her hand. ‘I have a splitting headache. Dortchen, would you be a dear and get me a fresh cloth? This one is quite hot.’

  ‘Louise can,’ Dortchen said, in the hardest voice she had ever used towards her mother. ‘Since she does nothing but lie around all day either.’

  Old Marie left after lunch, declaring she would not stay another night in a house where she was not wanted. The girls walked her to the stagecoach, Dortchen holding Mozart’s cage and Mia carrying the old housekeeper’s small bag.

  ‘A letter came for you this morning,’ Old Marie told Dortchen in an undertone. ‘I saw it when I took the post in to your father. He did not give it to you?’

  Dortchen shook her head, heartsick.

  ‘There was another letter in the same hand, addressed to your father,’ Old Marie went on. ‘I think he tossed it on the fire unopened, for his fireplace was full of half-burnt pages when I cleaned it out before we left.’

  Dortchen said nothing.

  ‘Have a care, my sweetling,’ Old Marie said.

  ‘Sweetling, sweetling,’ Mozart chirped from under his cloth.

  Tears welled up in Dortchen’s eyes. She hugged Old Marie close.

  ‘Now, now, no tears, not in the street,’ Old Marie said. ‘Come visit me at Hanne’s, mind.’

  Neither Dortchen nor Mia could stop crying. They kissed the old woman’s rosy cheek one more time, then helped her clamber up into the coach and handed the starling’s cage up to her. Both girls waved their sodden handkerchiefs till the stagecoach was gone from sight.

  Then, lonely and bereft, they walked back to the shop. The kitchen seemed empty and cold, and far too silent. Dortchen and Mia sank down at the kitchen table and stared at each other.

  ‘Everyone’s going away,’ Mia said. ‘There’s only you and me left.’

  Dortchen shuddered.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Mia asked, her round face looking worried.

  ‘Just a goose walking over my grave,’ Dortchen lied.

  That night, Dortchen could not lie down to sleep in her own familiar bed. She caught up her robe and slippers, and crept down to Mia’s room.

  ‘I can’t
sleep,’ she whispered. ‘Can I stay with you?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Mia mumbled. Dortchen lifted the bedclothes and crawled in beside her. She lay awake, tense and afraid, but the house was quiet. Slowly, she began to slip into sleep.

  The passing of candlelight outside Mia’s door and the betraying creak of the stairs roused her. She jerked awake. She heard heavy footsteps overhead. A moment’s pause, then the steps began to creak again.

  Mia’s door was pushed open and her father looked in. Dortchen shut her eyes hastily as the candle was lifted high, its light wavering over the bed where the two girls lay together. There was a long pause, then the candlelight faded away and the door squeaked shut. Dortchen let out her breath. It was a long time before she slept.

  The next day, at breakfast, Herr Wild said, ‘Your mother is unwell. She needs looking after. I’m moving her into Gretchen’s old bedroom so her moaning and tossing and turning at night will not disturb me any more. I’m a working man and need my rest.’

  No one spoke.

  He turned to Mia. ‘You will sleep in her room on a pallet, in case she needs anything during the night.’

  ‘Oh, but Father—’ she protested.

  He held up a hand. ‘No arguments. Your mother needs to be cared for, and, Lord knows, you aren’t much use for anything else in this house.’

  Mia looked hurt. She had been trying hard to help Dortchen around the house and certainly did a great deal more than Louise.

  As the day wheeled inexorably on towards darkness, panic began to rise in Dortchen’s throat. She found more and more to do, scrubbing the kitchen table till it was spotless, wiping the pewter plates till she could see her own blurred reflection in them, shaking the rag rugs out the back door, and arranging all the jars in the pantry so that they were perfectly in line.

  Mia went reluctantly to her new bed in her mother’s room. Louise yawned and said, ‘Rudolf told me Cassel was far gayer than Berlin. He was a terrible liar, that brother of yours.’ She too went to bed. At last, Dortchen could find no further excuses, and she was so weary that her jaw was cracking with her yawns. Hoping that her father was asleep, she tiptoed up the stairs as quietly as she could, avoiding the steps that creaked.

  She sat in her bed, the warming pan at her toes, and waited. Sure enough, she soon heard the creak of her father’s footsteps, and the door cracked open with candlelight. Her father was an enormous, dark, shadowy beast in her doorway.

  ‘You have sinned,’ he whispered. ‘Get down on your knees, girl, and pray.’

  ALL-KINDS-OF-FUR

  October 1812

  Red-eyed and silent, Dortchen knelt before the kitchen fire.

  It was cold and grey. She would have to clean out the hearth and light the fire again. She wondered dully how Old Marie had managed to keep the fire alight all night, so the hot coals were ready to be blown back into life in the morning. Raking out the cold ashes, Dortchen swept them up in her pan and emptied it into the bucket.

  The wood basket was almost empty. Dortchen made the fire as best she could with the scraps of kindling that remained, shoving in a few crumpled handfuls of precious newspaper to help it catch. Her hands were so cold that she had trouble striking a spark from her flint. At last, the fire flickered into life and she put the kettle on to boil.

  She took the bucket out to the ash hopper, then set to chopping up some more wood. Dortchen had never had to chop wood before. It had always been Rudolf’s job, but since he had gone off to war, Old Marie had quietly added it to her chores. It was not long before Dortchen was sweating, despite the chill of the predawn air, and her hands were soon marred with blisters.

  She carried the wood to the empty rack beside the fire, but dropped it all over the floor when she realised she had been so long that the kettle was boiling dry. Quickly, she seized a thick cloth, swung the kettle away and carried it, hissing and steaming, back to the water pump. When it was once again hanging over the fire, Dortchen picked up the scattered wood and stacked it in its rack, before hurriedly making some bread dough out of the meagre supplies, which she kneaded till her arms ached. She put the dough into the bread tins, took the whistling kettle off the fire and shoved the tins into the ashes. She hurriedly made tea, then filled her father’s pewter jug of shaving water.

  The sun was not even showing over the rooftops, but she felt exhausted. Dortchen had never before realised just how hard Old Marie had worked.

  ‘You’re late,’ her father said as she carried in the tray. He stood in his shirtsleeves near the mirror, his watch in one hand, the razor in the other.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she answered, not looking at him.

  ‘Have you been lying in, you slug-a-bed?’

  ‘No, Father.’

  ‘Breakfast had best not be late.’

  She nodded, put the tray down and made her escape.

  The cow had to be milked, the chickens and geese fed, and poor Trudi watered. As Dortchen laboured from one job to another, her thoughts flitted about. One minute she was planning ways to escape; the next she was telling herself drearily that there was nowhere her father would not find her.

  She longed for the comfort of Wilhelm’s arms, yet she felt sick with shame that he might guess her secret. Dortchen felt as if it was branded upon her face for all to see. She was no longer the girl who had kissed Wilhelm beneath the linden blossoms. She wept as she raked the ashes from the fireplace, turning out hunks of blackened bread. She cut away the burnt edges, and her legs trembled as she took it to the breakfast table.

  ‘Useless girl,’ her father said, pushing his plate away. ‘Katharina, do you not think your daughters should know how to make a loaf of bread? Useless, the lot of you.’

  His wife and daughters looked down at their plates, and Frau Wild bit her lip. No one ate the bread.

  After her father had gone into the shop, Dortchen took the breakfast plates and scraped the leftovers into the pig’s bucket, tears burning her eyes. When Mia tried to comfort her, she pushed her away and went out to work in the garden. It was time to cut back the herbs in preparation for the first frosts. But even the smell of the crushed herbs and the humming of the bees could not comfort her. The tears overflowed and trickled down her face.

  She heard her father’s step on the brick path and froze. He stood over her for a moment but she did not look up. He snorted and went on his way, and Dortchen wiped away her tears with the muddy edge of her glove. In a few minutes she heard the clip-clop-clip of Trudi’s hooves in the alleyway, and the rumble of the buggy’s wheels.

  A few minutes later, the gate slowly swung open. ‘Dortchen?’ Wilhelm called in a low voice. ‘Are you there?’

  Hastily, she scrubbed at her face with her sleeve. ‘Yes,’ she answered, her voice gruff.

  He came through the gate, his hat held in one hand. His dark curls were all tousled, and his cravat was awry. ‘I heard your father go out and came straight over. Oh, my little love, are you all right?’

  She rose and stood quietly, her hands full of pennyroyal and rue. He came towards her quickly, then reached up to touch the bruise on her cheek. ‘I cannot believe he would beat you so. The scoundrel!’

  ‘You cannot be here. If he sees you, he will kill you.’

  ‘I’ve tried and tried to see you,’ Wilhelm said. ‘I’ve come to the shop but he tells me to get out before he calls the constables and has me arrested. And once I came to the back but Old Marie told me it was best I went away, that your father was in a fine old temper.’

  ‘Old Marie is gone,’ Dortchen said. ‘Father sacked her.’

  ‘Oh, Dortchen, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You need to go,’ she told him.

  ‘Don’t make me go,’ he said. ‘Your father’s gone out – we need to seize our chance.’

  ‘I have work to do.’

  Wilhelm was puzzled. He tried to kiss her, but she could not bear to touch her soiled mouth to his. She turned her face away.

  ‘Oh, Dortchen! What are we to do?’ His face w
as troubled.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do. I must obey my father – you know that.’ Without looking at him, she laid the bunch of herbs in her basket and bent to cut some more.

  ‘Oh, Dortchen, I cannot bear it. Surely there is some way to change his mind?’

  She bit her lip and turned away, slashing at the rue with her scythe.

  ‘Is it because I am poor?’ Wilhelm’s voice was hard and angry.

  ‘That’s part of it.’

  ‘Will he change his mind if I have an income?’ Wilhelm asked. ‘Because the fairy tale manuscript has gone to the printers. They are setting the proofs now, and it’ll be available for sale in just a few weeks. Dortchen, if the book does well, will your father allow us to marry?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered at last, tying up the bundles of rue, the stink of it filling her nostrils.

  ‘We have to have hope.’ Wilhelm crouched and seized her hands. ‘Please, my little love. I hate to see you so pale and wan. Did he hurt you again? I cannot bear the idea of him hurting you.’

  Dortchen could not meet his eyes. When he tried to kiss her, she turned her face away again. So he kissed the curve of her jaw, the soft skin behind her earlobe. ‘I want to keep you safe,’ he murmured. ‘I want to make sure no one ever hurts you again.’

  Dortchen could not keep her arms from creeping about his neck. She leant her face against his chest, listening to his heart. He kept on kissing what little parts of her he could find, whispering to her. ‘I know you should obey your father … but when he is so cruel to you … How can this be wrong, what we feel for each other? It feels so right, so beautiful … Surely he cannot keep us apart?’

  ‘He can.’ Her words were low and muffled.

  ‘Shall we run away together, then? Surely there must be a way.’

  ‘He’ll find us, and then he’ll kill you.’ She spoke with utter certainty.

  ‘No, no … Think of Hanne. She and Johann ran away, and he relented in the end.’