Cheryl Reavis

by The Bartered Bride

  She stepped abruptly back from the window because he looked upward in her direction.

  The weather had turned much warmer, and she took the girls outside to their own small garden to work. The three of them spent the morning turning the soil and weeding. Ann had helped the girls do this last year. She had been full of life then, full of hope and anticipation about the arrival of her new baby. It was only when Caroline pulled the covering of leaves away from a row of jonquils that she came close to crying. Their mother had brought the jonquil bulbs from her parents’ fine garden in town after she’d married their father, and Caroline in turn had given an apronful to Ann when she’d gone to Frederich.

  I miss you so, she thought, gently uncovering the tender green shoots. I miss you and Mama both. She looked up to find Lise and Mary Louise gone quiet and obviously worrying about her state of mind.

  “Don’t cry,” Mary Louise said, her eyes big. She reached out to give Caroline little sympathetic hit-and-miss pats on the arm. “Papa can bring you candy next he goes to townpeppermint candy, Aunt Caroline. Then you’ll feel better. Don’t cry.”

  “I won’t,” she said. “But I think I need a hug and a kiss until the peppermint gets here.”

  She was immediately swamped with affection. She was so glad to be with the girls. She was glad, too, that Frederich didn’t seem interested in her except as a children’s nurse. Perhaps she could stand it here—if she didn’t have to worry about whether or not Frederich would spend the night in her bed.

  She abruptly looked up at the sky. The sun was lowering. “I think we’ve missed the Mittagessen,“ she said, getting up from her knees.

  “No, we didn’t,” Lise said. “Beata didn’t call us.”

  Exactly, Caroline thought but didn’t say.

  They walked hand in hand back to the house. Apparently Frederich had eaten and gone, because Beata had already cleared the table. She glanced up when they came in, but she didn’t interrupt her dishwashing.

  “I don’t wait a meal forever,” she said. “You heard me calling you.”

  Caroline took a deep breath. “No,” she said evenly. “Apparently Lise and Mary Louise—”

  “If you chose to ignore me then you go—”

  “—and I have all gone deaf!”

  “—hungry!”

  Beata turned her back.

  “The children need to eat, Beata,” Caroline said, trying hard not to lose her temper.

  “Of course they do,” Beata said, but she made no move in that direction.

  Caroline waited. Finally, Beata looked around at her.

  “If I understand the rules,” she said, “that is your job.”

  “Fine,” Caroline said. She didn’t mind putting together a meal for the children; she just didn’t want to have to fight Beata tooth and nail to do it. She managed to melt cheese on bread she toasted in the heavy iron skillet with legs—without dragging her skirts through the hot coals or burning the bread.

  The meal was pleasant enough, the rest of the day was pleasant enough, at least until Frederich returned. The sun was nearly down when he came in. He was ill-tempered and clearly exhausted. Caroline took the children upstairs almost immediately after they’d eaten to keep them out of his way. He was the old Frederich she remembered, and she didn’t want Lise and Mary Louise any more distressed by the day’s events than they already were.

  She waited until they were both asleep and the house quiet before she unbolted the door and came downstairs again. She felt assured now that, for the moment at least, Frederich had no intention of demanding his conjugal rights, but she was still far too restless to retire. She intended to flagrantly take some wood from the back porch so that she could have a fire in her room upstairs. She wanted to create a warm, quiet place to read for a time before she went to bed. She had always been able to take pleasure in little things, a talent she would sorely need in this house.

  She made her way to the worktable in the kitchen without lighting a lamp, then felt along it toward the back door. The moon was shining when she stepped outside, the night quiet and frosty. She could make out the wood box in the dark, and she loaded her arms with one log and several smaller cut pieces, hoping she hadn’t included a spider. She stood for a moment looking out across the field toward the Holt farm. Avery was still awake. She could see a light from the house shining through the trees. She wondered idly why he hadn’t come today to fetch the horse he’d loaned to Frederich. That he’d loan it in the first place was amazing enough. That he hadn’t come after it today was incredible.

  She gave a quiet sigh. She didn’t miss Avery, but she did miss William. She carried the wood high, careful of her belly.

  My poor baby, she thought as she stepped inside. Who will love it but me? Lise and Mary Louise perhaps—if Frederich and Beata would let them.

  She kicked the back door closed and crossed the kitchen carefully, not sure where in the darkness Beata might have left a stool or a churn. She stopped for a moment midway, sticking her foot out to make sure there was nothing in front of her.

  “You are looking for your…husband?”

  She jumped violently, dropping the wood heavily on the floor. Frederich lay sprawled on the settle in the dark. She could hear him fumbling about, and, after a moment, a single candle glowed in the darkness. She realized immediately that he must have been drinking—still was drinking. She could smell the plum brandy and just make out the bottle he held in his hand. Ann had never told her that Frederich sat up alone drinking at night.

  “No,” she said shortly, bending down to pick up the wood.

  “No,” he repeated, his sarcasm readily apparent. “Your bastard has a name, so you have no need for your husband, is that so?”

  “Yes,” she answered, and he gave a short laugh.

  “A Holt who tells the truth,” he said, lifting the bottle high in the air. “What a surprise. I drink to you.”

  She continued to pick up the wood, saying nothing.

  “I asked you to look after my children today, Caroline Holt, not starve them,” he rambled on. “You are nothing but trouble. What do you say to that?”

  “Told,” she said without looking in his direction. “You didn’t ask anything.”

  “Ah. So I did. Maybe…I will ask you something now.”

  But he didn’t. Caroline stood up with the wood in her arms, growing more and more uncomfortable in the ensuing silence. She could imagine what Beata must have told him about her letting the children miss the noon meal, and she could sense how much he wanted her to make some kind of excuse. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction, not when he would believe every word Beata said just as he always had when Ann was alive.

  “I want to know,” he said finally. “I want to know what Anna told you about me. She always talked to you. I want to know what she said.”

  She looked in his direction now. The candle he’d lit flickered in the draft from the fireplace. She could just make out his face in the dimness.

  “Nothing, Frederich.”

  “Nothing? I am wrong then,” he said, taking a long drink from the bottle. “You are a lying Holt after all.”

  “Frederich, Ann never said anything to me about you— nothing like what you mean—”

  “And what do I mean?”

  “You want to know if she complained—criticized—”

  He sat up suddenly. “You were her sister. You were her friend. She told me that once. I wanted her to visit with the women here—I thought she needed their help—someone to talk to—to explain. But she said she had you. And she told you nothing. Not in eight years. Not in all that time?”

  “She…told me she was happy,” Caroline offered, because it was the truth. “Just before she died. I was worried about her—but she said I shouldn’t worry about her having another baby because she was so happy.”

  He was standing now, moving closer. She was afraid suddenly, and she began to edge away. As she turned to get out of the room, he reached and grabbed her
by the arm and pulled her around to face him. The top piece of wood fell heavily onto the floor. She was off-balance and nearly leaning into him. She could smell his man-smell, leather and wood smoke, sweat and tobacco and plum brandy. She could feel the heat and the power of his body, the grip of his callused hand on her arm. It was all she could do to keep from shivering.

  “Johann was right, Caroline Holt,” he said, his fingers hurting. “I cannot be kind to you.”

  He abruptly let her go, and she staggered away from him. She backed out of his reach, still carrying the wood, all but running by the time she reached the stairs.

  “What is this stick of wood doing here?” Beata asked, her shrill voice making his head pound worse. “Did you do this?” she demanded, turning on the children.

  “I dropped it, Beata!” he said sharply. “Either leave it or throw it on the fire—but do not talk about it anymore!”

  “And you don’t take your brandy headache out on me!" she said.

  He made a gesture of impatience, but he didn’t say anything else. It hurt too much to talk. It hurt to breathe. He looked around as Caroline came downstairs.

  “Good morning,” she said to the girls, making a concerted effort not to notice him. He didn’t blame her. He was ashamed of his behavior last night—not of what he had said to her—he barely remembered that—but of the way she’d cowered from him when he grabbed her by the arm. She had fully expected him to hurt her, and that expectation had insulted him in a way he would have been hard put to explain. He was not used to drinking and he’d taken too much plum brandy—but drunk or sober, he was not like her brother. He thought surely Caroline Holt should know that, but he didn’t tax his aching head with the specifics of how.

  “What will you and the children do today?” he asked, surprising himself and her.

  She gave him a furtive glance before she answered, but she spoke to the plate in front of her. “I think it’s going to rain,” she said. “We’ll work on mending their clothes. I see Beata has put out the basket for me—”

  “Mary Louise is too young,” he interrupted.

  “She can pick out buttons and find matching thread— and learn her colors. Lise can practice her multiplication tables while we sew. Then I thought we would read—and perhaps a music lesson if you don’t object.”

  “Why would I object?” he asked, his pounding head notwithstanding.

  She didn’t answer him, and Lise cast a worried look at Beata, who was tending something on the hearth.

  Beata must have extended her dominion to include the piano, he decided. “I have no objection to music lessons for the girls. In time, perhaps they will play what they learn for me. You can teach Beata, too, while you’re at it.”

  He had meant only to annoy her, but her horrified expression struck him as funny, and he laughed in spite of the pain in his head. “Is that not a good idea?” he asked Lise, smiling still.

  “No, Papa,” she assured him, making him laugh again. It felt wonderful to laugh with his children at the breakfast table.

  “No, Papa,” Mary Louise echoed.

  “What are you saying?” Beata demanded from the hearth.

  “I was saying Caroline could teach you to play the piano—what do you say, Caroline?” he asked over Beata’s sputtering.

  “I would be simply…honored,” she said gravely, the corners of her mouth working hard not to smile, her eyes filled with mischief.

  He waited until the end of Beata’s long tirade in German, then stood up to go outside. “Beata thanks you for your kindness,” he whispered to Caroline as he reached for his hat. “But she feels she really must decline.”

  * * *

  Caroline realized she was smiling to herself again. She made a concentrated effort to force the smile aside.

  I don’t understand, she thought yet another time. Last night, Frederich had made her afraid, and this morning he had actually been trying to tease her and Beata. A Frederich who teased was as disconcerting as the one who played the kindly father—except, in all fairness, she didn’t think he was playing at that.

  Apparently, Beata had been disconcerted as well. She had immediately immersed herself in a frenzy of cooking, and she had been vexed all morning, taking it out on anything and everything that strayed into her path. Caroline had put Mary Louise to bed for her afternoon nap early to keep her out of Beata’s way.

  Perhaps Frederich had intended for her and Beata to squabble, Caroline suddenly thought Perhaps it amused him to have them at each other, regardless of his fine speech about domestic tranquillity.

  She shook her head and went back to the mending. “Three times five?” she said to Lise, only half listening to the reply. Her hands were busy. Her mind was busy. And still this morning’s episode with Frederich forced its way into her thoughts.

  I don’t understand.

  She looked up at the sound of a wagon.

  “Leah Steigermann,” Lise said, looking out the window. “Does that mean I can stop now?”

  “For the time being,” Caroline said, careful to keep her empathy for the tediousness of multiplication tables masked. “Go and let Leah in, please.”

  Caroline put the mending back into the basket and set Ann’s sewing tin on the small table where it belonged, running her fingertips lightly over the sunburst pattern. She stood up and smoothed her dress over her rounding belly, feeling acutely self-conscious and sinful again.

  “I’m bringing the rain,” Leah called as she swept through the door. “And I’ve come early especially to see how you are.” She gave Lise a small hug before descending on Caroline.

  “I’m quite well,” Caroline said, suffering her embrace. The gray poplin dress with the cream satin trim Leah wore was heavily spotted with raindrops and likely ruined, a fact that appeared to cause her no concern at all.

  “Scoot now,” Leah said to Lise. “Run tell Beata I’m here—something smells wonderful. What is Beata cooking?”

  “I don’t know,” Caroline said. “I’m not allowed to lift the lids.”

  “No doubt,” Leah said, smiling. “She’s going to be very annoyed that I’ve come already. And where is the bridegroom?" she asked, making herself comfortable on the settle.

  “I don’t know,” Caroline said truthfully.

  “Ah, well, it’s you I’ve come to see. I know I’m early,” she said again, “but…” she added, leaning forward and trailing off dramatically. “I wanted to make sure you’d heard the news.”

  “What news?” Caroline asked, a bit relieved to know that there might be some other news in the community, a tidbit of gossip that had nothing to do with her.

  But her relief was short-lived.

  “The news about Avery, of course. Has anyone told you?”

  “Leah, what are you talking about?”

  “Avery. I usually avoid these tedious hospitality gatherings, but I had to come when I heard. I was sure Frederich wouldn’t say anything. You know how closemouthed he is. And Beata wouldn’t tell you—where is Beata, by the way?”

  “Upstairs,” Caroline said, holding up her hands in bewilderment. “Leah, I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’re early—I don’t even know what you’re early for. And I haven’t heard anything about Avery—is William all right?” it suddenly occurred to her to ask.

  “William is fine. This has nothing to do with William. This is about Avery and Frederich—”

  “Fof heaven’s sake, will you tell me?”

  “Gladly,” Leah said. “Frederich has given Avery the original marriage settlement…” She gave another dramatic pause. “Frederich gave Avery the acre of land with the spring for you, Caroline.”

  “He—”

  “And then, then,“ Leah interrupted, “he knocked Avery down—several times, Papa said. For hurting you the way he did—and for some remark he made about you when you came to get your clothes. Now, I ask you. When has anyone ever bested Avery in a fight? You should see your brother, Caroline. His face looks worse than yours.
And he’s going around telling people he ran into a door,” she added with a chirping laugh. “I love Avery dearly, but it’s so funny, Caroline!”

  “Leah, you must be mistaken. Why would Frederich—?”

  “Because you’re a Graeber now, of course. He has to uphold the honor of the Graeber family, no matter how much he might…well, you know what I mean.”

  Yes, Caroline thought. She knew exactly what Leah meant. It was perfectly obvious that Frederich found it nearly impossible to tolerate her presence here. He’d made no secret about that.

  She abruptly sat down on the settle beside Leah, Frederich should never have given Avery the acre with the spring, not for her, not when she’d—

  She looked around because Beata was coming down the stairs, Lise and Mary Louise both in tow. Beata had changed her dress and her hair had been parted in the middle and swept back in wings that might have been attractive on someone less sour.

  “These children are not ready!” she said, thrusting the girls forward. “You sit and gossip and leave your work for me.”

  “Beata—”

  “You see what I have to endure,” she said to Leah. “Laziness!”

  “Do you suppose, Beata,” Caroline said with as much dignity as she could muster, “you could advise me as to why the children need to be ready?”

  “Lazy and good for nothing!” Beata hissed at her.

  Caroline stood up, her hands clenched at her sides. She had had enough of Beata’s riddles and always being in the wrong.

  “It’s our turn, Caroline Holt,” Beata snapped. “And you know that! You deliberately try to embarrass us—with dirty children for everyone to see!”

  “Well, we can fix that quickly enough,” Leah said, standing up as well. “I’ll help. I’ll do your hair,” she said to Lise, taking her by the hand. “Would you like that? Let’s go upstairs—no, you take Mary Louise and go on and I’ll bring some hot water. Beata will let us have a big kettleful, won’t you, Beata?”

  Beata made a gesture of disgust and turned away.

  “Something smells wonderful, Beata,” Leah continued, giving Caroline a wink behind Beata’s back. “I’m so glad I came. Mother and Father will be along soon. They asked that I give you their regards and say how much they are looking forward to your fine cooking…”