Cheryl Reavis

by The Bartered Bride

  “You won’t get above yourself in this house, Caroline Holt,” Beata said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I see how you watch Frederich,” Beata said knowingly. “I see what you are planning. I know the lies you tell him—”

  “Beata, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The things you are saying about me! He doesn’t believe anything you tell—”

  “I haven’t told him anything!”

  “You think he wants the likes of you in his bed? Ha! He will keep you in your place—you are no better than that sister of yours—!”

  “If you have something specific you want to say about me or my sister, for the love of God, say it!” Caroline cried.

  The music from the porch abruptly stopped. Frederich came into the kitchen with both children in tow; it was clear that he—that all three of them—had heard the exchange.

  “Go upstairs now,” he said to Lise. “Help Mary Louise finish getting ready. We leave for the church soon.”

  Lise stood for a moment, looking from one adult to another, her face worried and upset. Caroline would have reached out to her, but Frederich said something in German to Beata, a remark that precipitated yet another of her harangues.

  I can’t stand this! Caroline thought. She gathered up her skirts and walked rapidly out onto the porch, all but running down the steps and away from the house. She didn’t realize that Frederich had followed her until she was well inside the barn.

  “Caroline!”

  She abruptly stopped and turned around, expecting him to criticize her again for yet another disruption of his household. But he remained silent, watching her closely— for signs of hysteria, she supposed, not understanding that she would cry only for her lost child. She refused to shed tears over anything Beata Graeber said, whether she understood the words or not.

  She gave a wavering sigh. She had lost her temper and she shouldn’t have. It was Lise’s birthday. She should have made a better effort to keep the peace—for Lise’s sake. She wanted to tell Frederich that, but she didn’t. “What do you want?” she said instead.

  “What do you want, Caroline Holt?” he countered.

  The inside of the barn was dark and quiet. She could smell hay and dust, horse and weathered wood. The Belgians gave a low rumble and went back to munching their morning corn. Narrow shafts of daylight came through the cracks in the wall.

  “I want to be left alone,” she said, feeling close to tears after all.

  “Few of us will ever have that luxury, Caroline Holt. I want to tell you this. You are well enough now. I want you to come to church this morning.”

  So, she thought. Everything was back to normal again. Her baby was gone forever and Frederich was making his proclamations, to which she would dutifully comply. She stared at him. He held her gaze, until she was the one who looked away. He was a big man, and his presence and his piercing gaze crowded her so much that she wanted to turn and run.

  She made a concerted effort to stay calm and not to back away. “I don’t think—”

  “People are saying that your shame and your guilt have driven you to madness,” he said bluntly. “There is nothing I can do to stop the talk. They need to see you at church so they will know it isn’t true.”

  “Isn’t it?” she asked sadly. In those first days after the baby’s death she had certainly felt mad. Perhaps she still did. And no wonder Beata watched her so closely. Everything Caroline Holt said and did must be duly noted and reported. If she didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, if she walked all the way to the churchyard in the dark of the night—well, the more bizarre the better.

  “No,” he said, coming closer. “You are grieving for your baby. You are not mad—”

  “Don’t!” she cried. “Don’t give me your consummate understanding! How can you know? You don’t feel anything!”

  She regretted the remark instantly, but it was too late to take it back. He looked at her a long moment, then turned and walked away.

  “Frederich, wait,” she said, following after him. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I feel, Caroline,” he said without looking back at her.

  She caught his arm. He jerked free of her grasp, but he stopped walking.

  “I’m—sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to…hurt you.”

  He answered her in German. She didn’t understand.

  “How can you hurt a man who doesn’t feel anything?" he asked in English. “I will tell you what it is I feel. I feel your sorrow. And I feel your contempt. All the time. Do you think I am too stupid to know these things?” He took a step closer. “I don’t want you to be sorry and I don’t want your pity any more than you want mine.”

  “Please…” she said, because he was crowding her again. She could feel the heat and the power of his body. She tried to move away. He wouldn’t let her get by.

  “Mein Gott. You’re still afraid of me. Even after—”

  She looked up at him when he didn’t go on. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He reached for her then. She saw his intent, and she stood there, rigid and unyielding. She would feel nothing, give nothing. She would be as unemotional as she’d accused him of being.

  But his arms were warm and strong, and the sadness was going to overwhelm her again. She pressed her face into his shoulder. He smelled of soap and cedar-scented Sunday clothes. His callused hand stroked her cheek. After a moment he made her look at him, his eyes searching hers—not for permission but to understand—it was almost as if he were the one who was afraid.

  He said nothing. Instead, his mouth touched hers, tentatively at first and then harder and so insistent that her lips immediately parted. He tasted her, again and again, as if he was starving and she the morsel that would save him. The ensuing rush of feeling took her breath away.

  She wanted more.

  More...

  There was no tenderness in him, and she needed none. She had been alone for so long, empty for so long. And driven by the intensity of her desire, she strained against him to give him access to her mouth, to let him touch her wherever and however he wanted.

  She gave a small whimper when his hand slid to her breast. Her body arched in pleasure. Her breasts grew heavy and her belly warm. She clutched the back of his shirt to keep from falling. The sudden weakness in her knees made her sag against him.

  He pressed her closer. She could feel his hardness, feel him trembling. She could feel herself trembling.

  “Papa!” Mary Louise called suddenly from somewhere outside.

  It was he who stopped, tearing his mouth away from hers, his body rigid, his breath coming in ragged gasps. She could only cling to him, impatient and needy.

  “Papa, it’s church time!”

  The barn door creaked loudly behind them, and Frederich pulled her deeper into the shadows.

  “Papa, Beata’s getting mad now!” Mary Louise insisted, her voice nearer still. “Papa—!”

  He turned Caroline abruptly around, but he didn’t let go of her. “I don’t want your pity,” he said roughly against her ear before he sent her reeling into the sunlight. “Stay away from me—for both our sakes—”

  He doesn’t want the likes of you in his bed.

  Stay away from me—

  Yes, she thought. I won’t make that mistake again.

  She tried to keep her mind on Johann’s sermon. She should be thinking of the pitfalls of human wickedness he so eloquently put forth and not Frederich Graeber. She could see him across the aisle and two rows up. She could see the way his hair lay on the back of his neck. She could see and know how it felt in her hands, know how his mouth tasted—

  She closed her eyes against the rush of feeling. The desire was still there, in spite of his rejection, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t looked at her even once since they’d left the house. She might have been someone he’d never even met.

  Or perhaps she was. She didn’t recognize herself anymore. She didn’t know where those
feelings had come from. How could she have behaved so wantonly, when he had made it painfully clear from the very first that he had no interest in her beyond her caring for his daughters?

  “—the wicked!” Johann said loudly, and she tried again to listen to whatever he was saying. But her eyes and her attention went immediately to Frederich. He had been right about her coming to church, regardless of the fact that he now obviously wished that she hadn’t. When she came downstairs to leave for church with the rest of the family, she’d thought for a brief moment he was going to tell her that she couldn’t go.

  But she wouldn’t have missed Beata’s dismay for the world. What a liar Caroline Holt’s appearance in church must have made of Beata Graeber. Caroline was behaving so well, too—on the surface at least. It was only in the barn with Frederich that her craziness unloosed itself and she lost all sense of propriety and decorum. She had learned nothing from her experience with Kader Gerhardt. She still mistook complete indifference for high regard.

  Mary Louise was tugging at her sleeve. “Pee-pee,” she whispered loudly enough to draw smiles from Leah Steigermann and the rest of the people around them.

  Caroline took Mary Louise by the hand, putting her finger to her lips to show her that no further discussion regarding nature’s call was necessary, and she guided her as unobtrusively as she could down the aisle to the side door, opening it just wide enough for them both to slip through. An armed soldier—an officer—stood outside on the steps.

  “Morning, ma’am” he said, touching the brim of his hat. “Captain Elijah Brady, at your service. Church over?”

  “No,” Caroline said, looking down as he took her firmly by the arm. “What—?”

  “I need you to come over here now, ma’am,” he said, pulling her along.

  “Sir, what are—you don’t understand—I have to take this child to the privy.”

  “She’ll have to wait.”

  “She can’t wait—she’s just a little girl.” She looked around at the group of soldiers that seemed to have encircled the front of the church. “Are you foraging again? There’s nothing to forage here—”

  “As a matter of fact, ma’am, there is—Sergeant Alexander!" he snapped, making a red-bearded man off to his left jump.

  “Are you ready, Alexander?” he asked as the man rapidly approached.

  “Yes, sir, Cap.”

  “Keep this woman out of the way—you got all the doors covered?”

  “Ah, yes, sir. Come on, ma’am,” the sergeant said to Caroline, pushing her along. “You best get on over that way.”

  Mary Louise was clinging to her skirts and she nearly stumbled.

  “I don’t—wait—what is happening!”

  “Conscription detail, ma’am. Sometimes a gun or two will go off, so you’re going to want to keep yourself and your little girl out of the way.”

  Caroline tried to look over her shoulder. The captain and three other men were about to enter the church. They flung both doors wide, letting them bang against the opposite walls as they strode inside; she could hear the congregation abruptly stop singing.

  She tried to sidestep the sergeant, who still wouldn’t let her by.

  “I’m telling you, ma’am, I got a captain here who loves his work. You ain’t wanting to get in his way—”

  “I have to hear what he’s saying!” she cried. She jerked free of the man’s grasp, meaning to fight him off if she had to. “My brothers are in there!”

  And my husband.

  He shrugged and let her go. Mary Louise was wailing now, but Caroline managed to half carry her close enough to see down the center church aisle. The captain was standing in front of the pulpit, talking loudly. He hadn’t bothered to remove his hat.

  “—you people to know I have government authority and I don’t want any trouble—because you will sure as hell get more than you can give if you try to interfere with me. Now, here it is! All men of good health between the ages of eighteen and forty-six are hereby conscripted into the army of the Confederate States of America!” He paused, waiting for the clamor of voices to subside. “There are no exceptions! Do you all hear that? None. So I don’t want anybody crying to me about planting or harvesting or pregnant wives.

  “Reverend, I’m sure you have some birth records around here. Go get the book so we can start weeding them out. All you new soldiers will be leaving for camp as soon as that’s done, and no, none of you are going to run on home to get something first. Whatever you think you have to have can be sent to you at Garysburg.

  “Let’s get at it, Reverend! I don’t have all day! All of you women go outside and wait—now, ladies! You can farewell these new soldiers when we’re done here.”

  The women began coming out, hurried along by a young soldier who tipped his hat courteously to each one but who kept them moving. Caroline could hear Avery’s raised voice announcing his farmer’s exemption and the answer he got.

  “You are exempt if you pay the government to let somebody else get shot in your place—for which, I can assure you, it is too late now! You are in the army, son!”

  Lise came out. An obviously frightened Beata fluttered along after her, trying to hang on to her hand. A woman behind them suddenly swooned when she reached the bottom step and Caroline dragged Mary Louise out of the rush to loosen the woman’s stays and find someone refined enough to be carrying smelling salts.

  When had it come to this? she thought in a panic. When had it become all right to steal soldiers for an army? No. She knew when. She had read the notice in the newspaper for John Steigermann. And she’d been too involved in her own troubles to note its import. She looked around her at the women who cried openly and the dry-eyed women who refused to believe they were about to lose their husbands and brothers and sons. How naive we all were, she thought, to think that the most that would be required of us was knitting socks.

  The old men were filing out—and several underage boys. Leah Steigermann ran to her father. Caroline tried to see inside the church again, but the gathering of people trying to revive the woman on the steps blocked her view.

  She reached down and picked up Mary Louise, because the child still had to heed the call of nature. She staggered a bit under Mary Louise’s weight because she was not yet strong.

  “Where are you going?” Beata cried, grabbing at her arm. “You have to be the one! You have to tell them they cannot take Frederich! He is your husband!”

  Caroline pulled her arm free. “You forget, Beata, even if I could do something, he wants nothing from the likes of me.” She tried to walk on, but Mary Louise was too heavy for her. She faltered and finally had to set her down, causing her to protest loudly and renew her crying.

  Leah immediately stepped forward. “Let me take her,” she said. “Let me take you, pumpkin,” she said to Mary Louise, easing her grasp free of Caroline’s skirts. “Come with me, Lise,” she said around Beata. “Come walk with me and tell me about your birthday. Have you opened your presents yet?”

  “Aunt Caroline?” Lise said, close to tears herself. “What’s going to happen to Papa?”

  “I don’t know, Lise. Go with Leah now,” Caroline said. “So Mary Louise won’t cry so hard.”

  Leah’s eyes met Caroline’s over the top of Lise’s head. “Sit down someplace,” she said quietly. “You look terrible.”

  For once, Caroline felt no resentment at needing Leah Steigermann’s help, but there was no place to sit down, regardless of how terrible she might look. She could only stand and wait—and hope that she didn’t keel over and add another fainting woman to the pile. She couldn’t tell what was happening inside the church now. The big two-over-two windows were open, but she couldn’t get near to them because of the ring of soldiers. The front doors had been closed. She could hear only a raised voice she thought was Avery’s from time to time.

  Leah returned almost immediately with the girls. Mary Louise was no longer crying, but she was no less upset. And Lise. Her birthdays would never be the
same again. They would always be the anniversary of this. Caroline gave her a small smile, one which Lise managed to return. But her smile abruptly faded and Caroline put her arms around her. She could feel the child trembling.

  There was some kind of commotion from inside the church. Caroline kept looking at the double doors, but they remained closed. She realized suddenly that the men were coming out the door on the other side, the one she and Mary Louise had exited during the church service. She realized, too, that perhaps Captain Elijah Brady had lied about letting the women “farewell” their men. In a maneuver that must have come of practice, the new conscripts were immediately surrounded and ready to be marched away down the dirt road that eventually led into town.

  “Hurry,” Caroline said, taking both children by the hand, her eyes searching the line of men for Frederich. “Do you see him?” she said to Lise.

  Avery was coming out of the church, a soldier at each elbow.

  “You keep an eye on that one,” Sergeant Alexander said to one of the men.

  “I’m not doing anything!” Avery said.

  “Not yet you ain’t,” Alexander said. “You boys watch that farmer and I mean it!”

  “Papa!” Lise suddenly cried, and Caroline saw Frederich at the same moment. He was trying to get closer but a soldier immediately blocked his way, prodding him back into the group.

  “You keep this up, Fritz, and you and me is going to ‘tangle,” the soldier warned him.

  Caroline tried to get abreast of him, pulling Lise and Mary Louise along with her.

  “Caroline, will you take care of my children?” he said around the soldier. “Caroline—will you!”

  “Yes, Frederich,” she said, distressed because he was.

  “You give me your word?”

  “Yes!” Of course she would take care of Mary Louise and Lise. What other plans did he think she had?

  “Where is Johann?” he said, sidestepping the soldier again. “Find him, Caroline!”

  But Johann Rial was coming out of the church.