Dorthea nodded her approval. “That looks good on you. Come, the dining room is this way.”
Clara followed the older woman down the corridor and through a door on their left. Curious about this elegant house and its occupants, Clara looked around, taking in the décor. Velour paper in shades of pale-beige covered the walls, more lavish and intricate than she had seen before. Dorthea had mentioned occasional guests. The long table in the middle of the room could easily seat twelve or fourteen and looked especially inviting in the warm glow of the sunset through the west windows. Oh, to be a visitor during a grand occasion in such a room.
“The cook has made barley soup.” Dorthea sat down at the end and motioned for Clara to join her. “Let’s eat. My son should be back soon.” Tipping her head to one side, she looked at Clara. “You said he went to fetch someone. Will he bring that person here? If so, I’ll have Marna make arrangements.”
“I’m not sure, but I hope so, yes; if he finds her. She’s probably cold and wet, as I was.”
Avoiding further explanation, Clara offered short but polite answers during their conversation. Dorthea was endearing, but Clara did not know her hostess enough to open her heart and reveal her thoughts.
Though the soup was delicious, Clara did not eat with much appetite. She glanced toward the windows looking out on the birch-tree-lined lane, hoping to catch sight of the young gentleman returning. But he was not there. She told herself her concern over the girl’s safety was causing the disappointment…that it had nothing whatsoever to do with a desire to see Ivershall’s handsome, intriguing master again.
✽✽✽
After supper, Clara was shown to a bedroom upstairs. She changed into a lace-trimmed linen chemise that Marna had placed on the guest bed. Thick, feather down pillows and a soft, woolen blanket seemed to beckon Clara to turn in, but sleep was far away. She sat on the bed, hugging herself and rocking back and forth, listening for him to return.
Clara had failed. She had followed someone she did not know, for no reason other than a voice inside had beckoned her to rescue the young woman. Where was she now?
Dogged by worry, Clara had been quiet during supper. Hopefully, her hostess hadn’t thought Clara ill-mannered. Dorthea had seemed to understand and had spoken about the weather and birds visiting the estate. But could Clara trust her? Could she confide in the older woman?
She lay back and tried to sleep. Eyes closed, she rolled from one side to the other, trying to get comfortable. Finally, she ended up staring toward the window, hugging the downy pillow. She could not stop thinking about the chase through the woods. Crossing the marsh had brought back memories of her childhood and the parsonage next to the marshland. The fear of being sucked into the abyss underneath moist grass, dirt, and water had always seemed stronger than her faith in divine rescue.
Clara sighed and snuggled down deeper beneath the blanket. What had she done? Had she tried to help a criminal? The girl could have run away from her husband or even killed him. No, she could not be an escaped murderer. Clara’s first impression was that the young woman was in trouble, and even if she had behaved irrationally and had yelled strange words, she needed help.
But why were the guards after that poor girl, and what would the morning bring?
CHAPTER 2
✽✽✽
A ROOSTER CROWED, pulling Clara from a troubled sleep. She rolled onto her back and stretched her arms, gazing up at the sheer white linen above her head. The material was draped across the four wooden bedposts. Clara had heard about canopy beds but had never slept in one. This bed was spacious enough to hold an entire family. In fact, many families huddled together in beds smaller than this one. Clara had slept on mats on the floor while living in the Far East, and in her cottage in Rossby, she’d had a small, wooden bed with a straw-filled mattress. This one was softer and more comfortable. A reindeer fur lay bundled up at the foot of the bed, and the woolen blanket lay on the floor. She must have kicked it off during the night. The last thing she recalled was closing the small window to avoid being attacked by gnats and mosquitos, then she had put her head on the down pillow and had drifted off to sleep.
The morning sun crept across the room, and the warm pine floor felt pleasant as her feet touched down.
“What luxury.” She let her fingers glide across a chest carved with garlands of flowers. Next to it, a vase filled with pale-pink flowers sat on a small table. She bent down, closed her eyes, and let the fragrance cause good feelings to rise inside her. The sumptuous beauty of the large blooms filled her with happiness.
Her clothes were draped on a chair next to the table, and Clara was abruptly brought back to reality, reminded of why she was there. The gown was mostly dry, the one shoe still damp and dirty.
Clara ran her fingers through her long brown hair and tied it into a loose ponytail on one side, using a ribbon she’d had tucked away in her gown pocket. Noises from downstairs disrupted the silence. She pulled her clothes on and left the shoe on the windowsill to finish drying.
✽✽✽
In the entrance to the dining room, Clara bowed her head as her eyes met those of the mistress of the household.
Dorthea had a potted plant in her hand. She put it on the windowsill, picked up her cane, and walked across the room. “Good morning, dear. I trust you slept well.”
“I did, thank you.” Clara’s gaze darted around the room.
“Are you looking for something?”
“Where is…your son?” Clara realized she did not know his name.
“Oh, Christian? He’s still asleep. He did not return until early this morning.”
“Christian.” Clara paused. “And the girl?”
Dorthea waved at the maid to start setting the table. “He found her and brought her back here. We put her in the room down the hall from yours.”
“How did he ever find her? The woods are vast, and I was completely lost yesterday.”
“My son knows his way around. These are his woods. Christian is master of all the land, as far as you can see out these windows.”
A flush swept across Clara’s cheeks. The handsome stranger had been right in questioning what she was doing on his land. She’d been trespassing. Still, knowing he was back and could show up in the dining room at any moment made her stomach flutter. She straightened her back and cleared her throat. Concentrate. Remember why you are here.
“The young woman…what state is she in? May I see her?”
“She was unconscious when Christian carried her into the house in the early morning hours. Marna is sitting with her.” Dorthea smiled and touched Clara’s sleeve. “You can go to her shortly, but come, have breakfast first.”
A maid came in, carrying plates and cups.
Clara reached out. “Here, let me help you.”
The maid looked at her mistress. Dorthea nodded.
Clara took the cups and set them around the table.
The young kitchen maid then brought a large bowl with warm oatmeal gruel. She placed it on the table next to a vase filled with the same flowers Clara had admired in her room.
“The flowers are wonderful. I believe they are my new favorite. What are they called?”
“Peony.” Dorthea trailed her fingers over the petals. “I have a qualified gardener, but I so enjoy being out there myself, caring for my plants. It gives me a sense of peace. These flowers are not fussy, and even better, the deer don’t care for them.” She sat down at the end of the large table, motioned for Clara to be seated, then ladled the gruel into their bowls. “I should stop asking questions and let you eat,” she said, “but having a visitor makes me want to know everything about them.” She pointed to a basket on the table. “There’s flatbread and a loaf of bread in there and fresh milk in the pitcher, should you want some. Cheese and sausage are on that plate, and you’ll find the butter in the small bowl there.”
The smell of freshly baked bread floated in the air, playing with Clara’s senses and making her stomach growl. H
er cheeks heated, and she rubbed her belly. Hopefully, her hostess hadn’t heard the unladylike rumble.
Dorthea put the linen napkin on her lap. “Clara, who is she…the young woman upstairs?”
Putting her spoon down, Clara sat up straight and blinked twice. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who she is? But why was Christian out looking for her?” Dorthea’s voice was gentle and caring.
Clara shook her head. “No, I don’t even know her name. When he understood my concern for the girl, he wanted to help.” How could she explain, not knowing the whole story herself? In simple terms, she gave details of what had happened without disclosing what had caused her to chase the girl in the first place—her fear that the guards thought the young woman was a witch. An unlikely and possibly irrational fear, but deep seated, none the less.
Dorthea helped herself to a piece of bread. “Well, she’s warm and safe now. Christian is going into the village later. He can ask around and see if anyone knows who she is.”
Clara looked up from her plate. “I’d like to try to talk with her first.”
“As you wish, dear. Let’s see how she fares today. Maybe she will tell us everything herself.”
The tension in Clara’s body seemed to give way. Placing her hands on the table, she bowed her head for a moment.
Dorthea leaned forward and smiled kindly, inviting a dozen tiny wrinkles to frame her large blue eyes. “We usually don’t have many guests this time of year. Family and friends come later in the summer or for dinner parties in the colder months. Your visit is a stimulating interruption to our everyday life. Now, you must tell me about yourself.”
Clara pursed her lips in thought. She’d better choose her words carefully and not reveal the true reason behind her move to Berg. “I arrived a fortnight ago, escorted most of the way by a good friend. The small cottage on the north road was available and suited my purpose.” She broke off a piece of bread and placed it on her plate then cut a few slices of cheese. “My hope is to spend the summer teaching children to read. I’ve asked around, and there’s no teacher here for the time being.”
Dorthea handed her the butter. “Are you a working woman?”
“No, I would not call myself that.” Clara cut a dab of butter with her knife and returned the plate. “I’ve taught children to read before but only when no one else has taken on the task.”
“Surely, being a woman, you must face resistance. Teachers are usually young men or priests.” Dorthea tore off a small piece of bread and put it in her mouth.
“That’s true. And it’s good that some parish ministers see it as their duty to catechize and give private instructions after church on Sunday. But I don’t understand why women are rarely considered when it comes to imparting knowledge to others. If no one else is around—no minister or other man—why shouldn’t a woman be allowed to teach?” She paused for a moment and placed a hand on her heart, warming to the subject at hand. “I believe in education. You can do much in this world with knowledge. I can read and write and want to share, especially with young girls who—”
Dorthea raised her eyebrows. “Girls? Now that’s remarkable. I wish more people shared your viewpoint.”
“It’s a struggle every time I open my mouth about it. I appreciate your encouraging attitude.” Clara sighed. If only more folks felt the same way. To her, teaching all children to read and write and do simple arithmetic made perfect sense.
“Of course.” Dorthea gave a quick nod. “I am a woman in a man’s world. I have lived long enough to see what a difference a steadfast woman who works in gentle ways can make. I get the impression this is not the first time you’ve tried to open the way for women.”
Clara could not restrain her enthusiasm. “No, I guess I have always fought for female privileges. I have experienced time and again how clever many women are when they speak among themselves, but as soon as they are in the presence of a man they become lesser human beings. They dare not speak their minds and are often put in a role of reduced importance.”
“That is our society. It has been like that since the beginning of time.”
“But why does it need to stay that way?” Clara huffed. “The Holy Bible says that all are equal in God’s eyes.”
Dorthea looked up from her plate. “You know the Bible?”
“My father was a minister. I grew up hearing and learning the word of God.” As usual, mentioning her father brought a sense of sadness mixed with remembered joy. Oh, how she wished Papa was still with her. “He died a couple of summers ago.”
“You are brave, Clara. I support your views and may want to hear more about them some time in the future.”
“I have one brother, Nathanael, but he is in the Far East continuing my father’s work with the Okinawan people. I spent ten years there with them, before returning to Norway last spring.” Clara took a bite of bread. Delicious and still moist.
“Alone?” Dorthea’s eyes went wide.
Clara shook her head and smiled. “My goodness, no. I had a traveling companion, a good friend, the same person who escorted me when I traveled here.”
“Intriguing. You are so young and have already seen so much of the world.”
“It has been a learning experience.”
Dorthea handed her the plate with cheese and sausage. “I would love to travel and see other places. I was brought up in Christiania and fell in love with Christian’s father when he invited me to an officers’ ball. But Christian has traveled extensively.” She sighed. “Even though I am proud of my son’s service to king and country, I am terribly fretful each time he has been away to war. When his father passed away, Christian returned to take care of Ivershall. He is the lord of the land now and has been these last four years.”
Clara felt she had found her first friend in Berg. The age difference did not seem to matter. Dorthea had a pleasing countenance and a firm but gentle manner. Clara had been lonely since she had arrived and needed someone to talk to. She pulled a deep breath and released it slowly. Better not get carried away. You’ve just met, she reminded herself, and cannot know for certain the woman is trustworthy. She picked up her spoon and finished the oatmeal gruel. She was still hungry and took some of the flatbread, broke it into small pieces in her bowl, and poured milk over it. The milk tasted sweet and was still a little warm.
Dorthea broke the silence as Marna entered the room.
“Ah, there you are, Marna. How is the young woman?”
“She has not said much since she was brought here, mostly grunts and groans. I tried to comb her tangled hair. She became uneasy, kicked her arms and legs around, whimpered, and called out the name Hassel.” Marna looked at Clara. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
“No. I don’t know anyone by that name. I can try to find out. Maybe there is someone I can contact and let know where she is.”
“I administered hops and lemon balm to her, and she calmed down. She was still asleep last time I checked. I believe she needs a good bath before we do anything else. The poor girl seems exhausted.”
“Thank you, Marna. Why don’t you get a bite to eat and some rest?”
As Marna left the room, Dorthea turned to Clara.
“Marna has been with us since Christian was born. I don’t know what I’d do without her. We have several servants, but she is like a member of the family.”
Clara blotted her lips and placed the napkin, loosely folded, next to her plate. Sliding her chair back, she arose. “I don’t want to be rude, but I have a meeting in the village and will return as soon as I am able. Can—?”
“Not to worry. The young woman is not going anywhere. She can stay here.”
As Clara got up to leave, Christian entered the room.
She curtsied. “Did you stay out all night looking for her?”
“It took a few hours, but I finally found her. The woman seemed worn out, and she was chilled and barely conscious when we rode home.”
Tears of gratitude filled
her eyes. “I don’t know how to repay you.” She looked at Dorthea. “You have both been very kind.”
Christian nodded. “We are glad to help, but who is—”
Dorthea put a hand on his arm. “I will tell you what I know. Clara has an appointment in town and needs to leave. Sit down and eat now, dear.”
He nodded and sat down at the table. “Then, farewell, Miss Dahl. I have meetings all day, but I am certain my mother and Marna will take good care of your friend. Please excuse me, my mother has ordered me to eat before I leave.”
His pleasant expression was contagious. Clara smiled back, curtsied, and followed his mother to the front door.
Dorthea stared at Clara’s stocking-clad feet. “I noticed you only had one shoe when you arrived last evening.”
Clara covered her face with her hands and laughed. “I know. One shoe is drying in the bedroom. I lost the other one, running across the marsh.”
“You may borrow a pair of mine. You look like you wear about the same shoe size as I do. I will fetch a pair.”
Alone in the hallway, Clara stared at the large swords and mounted moose and elk heads on the walls. The wooden stairway had carved balusters. She stroked the handrail and gazed up toward the second floor. The young woman was still upstairs. Was she asleep?
Dorthea returned after a couple of minutes with a pair of walking shoes.
Clara tried them on. “Thank you. They are very comfortable.” She hesitated then asked, “I noticed your cane. You seem to have trouble walking. May I ask what happened?”
“My foot went through a rotten plank when I was a girl. It has never been the same since. The pain comes and goes. I have learned to live with it and use this stick. We are inseparable friends.” She lifted her cane and smiled. “Listen, my stablehand, David, has brought the horse and wagon up in front of the house. He can give you a ride to your
Trailing the Hunter: A Novel of Misconception, Truth, and Love Page 2