Cheryl Reavis

by The Bartered Bride

  “Sybilla has nothing to do with you,” he said. “Nothing.”

  “I’m only trying to understand—”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to.”

  “All right. If you want to know about Sybilla, then I’ll tell you. It’s not a very pretty story—but then you know that already, don’t you? You want to hear my side of it? I will tell you. I thought nothing could keep us apart—not our families, not the army and not her marriage to a rich man. I thought I could just steal her out of her father’s house and go to America and live happily ever after—and why not? If I was banished to this place, there was no reason why I couldn’t take her with me. The boy I was then loved her beyond reason—and she is dead because of my foolishness. She died of a fever on the boat. They sewed her body into a canvas sack and threw it over the side—there had been a lot of bodies thrown overboard by then—old people, children, babies. The fish had already learned to follow the ship for the next feed—”

  She made a small sound of protest, and he abruptly stopped. “You asked, Caroline.”

  “Frederich, I told you. It’s only because I’m trying to understand,”

  “What can knowing about Sybilla help you understand?”

  “It helps me understand you. I see now why you were so worried about what I might do to the family name. You had redeemed yourself. You stayed in this foreign place for your father’s sake. You made a success of the land. There was no Graeber family scandal here. I see how hard it must have been for you to marry me—if I didn’t behave well—or perhaps even if I did, then everything—Sybilla’s dying—would have been for nothing—”

  “I don’t want to talk about any of this,” he interrupted. He rose on his elbow so he could see her face. “I don’t want to talk, do you understand that?” His hand reached upward to deliberately caress her breast. She realized immediately that he expected her to be offended—perhaps wanted her to be. It was something he’d done time and time againmade some attempt to insult her—whenever she came too close to him.

  She held his gaze, and she made no move to shrink from his bold touch. His thumb began to stroke her nipple, a direct challenge to her willingness to accept him and his uncouth intent—except that she didn’t find him or his intent uncouth at all. She wanted to be with him again, in that intimate way, however shameless such a desire might be.

  She could feel her eyes welling, but she didn’t look away. “If we are enemies,” she whispered, “it’s because you keep us so.”

  He abruptly laid his head against her breasts, and she put her arms around him.

  “Can’t we start from here and now?” she whispered. “Frederich, can’t we?”

  “Caroline—”

  “You are right that Sybilla has nothing to do with me. Neither does Ann. And Kader Gerhardt has nothing to do with you. All that is past. If you don’t want the marriage ended, then can’t we just make the best of what we have? Can’t we help each other and…” She stopped because she was crying openly now. It occurred to her that he might not want anything from her but this, her willingness to lie with him and let him take his pleasure.

  But there had been pleasure for her as well, intense pleasure, the kind she had never imagined could exist between a man and a woman.

  She gave a wavering sigh and tried to stop crying, but he gathered her to him and began stroking her hair, comforting her with soft German words she didn’t understand. It only made her cry more.

  “I don’t know—what’s wrong—with me,” she said finally, struggling hard for control.

  “It’s what happens sometimes,” he told her, still stroking her hair.

  “What happens?” she repeated, not understanding.

  He leaned back so that he could see her face. “There is a sadness afterward.” He reached up to move a strand of hair out of her eyes. “When the pleasure is strong, so is the sadness after.”

  She looked at him doubtfully, and he smiled.

  “No, don’t laugh at me,” she said, hiding her face in his neck. “Please—”

  “I don’t laugh at you,” he said. “Never. Kiss me now. Kiss me, Caroline—” His mouth sought hers, hungry and urgent and she responded in kind.

  At one point she broke away so that she could see his face. He was in such peril now, whether he stayed here or returned to his company.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen to us,” she whispered, pressing herself against him, but she knew as well as he did that this might be the only time they would ever have.

  They came together quickly, lovers now and no longer strangers, their intense need of each other quickly brought to a fever pitch and quickly met.

  Afterward, they lay tangled in each other’s arms, and Caroline realized that she must have slept, because faint daylight showed in the high windows when she opened her eyes. She stirred in Frederich’s heavy embrace, afraid for him again. He couldn’t hide here indefinitely. What would she do if anything happened to him?

  They both heard the noise downstairs at the same instant. Someone had come into the house, someone trying to be quiet. Frederich thrust her aside and began grabbing for his clothes.

  “Stay here,” he whispered.

  “No, Frederich. I’ll go—”

  “Stay here, Caroline!”

  She began to hurriedly search for her own clothes. Only half-dressed, she followed him when he crossed the room to the door, helping him on with his coat, the one she’d been wearing. It still had apples in the pockets. He reached for his rifle and his blanket roll and then for her, hugging her fiercely before he stepped out onto the narrow stairway. He looked back once, and then he left her there. She could only stand and watch him go, because she had no choice. She waited for a moment longer, shivering on the landing and listening hard. After a time, she heard Frederich’s voice, but not what he said or whether anyone answered.

  She abruptly closed the door and hurried to find the rest of her clothes, dressing as quickly and as quietly as she could. There was no way that she would stay up here while who knows what was about to happen downstairs. Her eyes went to the rumpled bed.

  Am I your wife now, Frederich? she thought.

  She had wanted this night as much as he had, and she had let him know it. There had been no declaration of love between them; she hadn’t expected it. It was just that she wanted that, too. She wanted him to say the words—in either language.

  Caroline, I love you.

  She pushed the thought aside and put on her shoes.

  What a piece of irony that was, she thought. The contemptuous Caroline Holt hopelessly smitten with her unwanted German husband.

  She gave a quiet sigh and tiptoed to the door, listening again before she came out.

  What if I have another baby? she thought. Would Frederich be glad? Yes, she decided immediately. He would. She felt a sudden pang of loss and sorrow. Had her daughter lived, Frederich would have been a good father to her. She had no doubt about that.

  She began to move quietly down the steps to the second story landing. She couldn’t hear anyone talking now. She couldn’t hear anything at all. There was nothing but a dead, cold silence in the house.

  She came down the rest of the way, expecting to find the kitchen empty. Beata stood in the middle of the room, her arms folded over her breasts. And Frederich—Frederich stood by the window, trying to find enough light to read whatever he had in his hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Caroline asked.

  Neither of them answered her.

  “Beata?” she said, coming closer. “Are the soldiers gone?”

  Beata turned away and said something to Frederich in German. He abruptly crumpled the sheet of paper he had in his hand.

  “What’s happened?” Caroline said. She kept looking from one of them to the other.

  Frederich held up the fist that still held the paper. “This is yours.”

  “Mine? What is it?”

  “John Steigermann carried it from town yesterday. A
nd Beata brought it to me. She was afraid I would leave without knowing what you were about to do. She was right to bring it. This…” He stepped forward and held it out to her. “This I needed to see. I wouldn’t believe it otherwise.”

  “Frederich, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about how you fooled me, Caroline Holt. I’m talking about how I believed you. And last night I—" He stopped.

  Beata said something in German again, something about soldiers that Frederich ignored, because he never once took his eyes off Caroline’s face.

  Caroline took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said carefully. “What is that?”

  “It’s a letter from Eli,” he said, his voice cold. “To you.”

  “Why would he send me a letter—I can’t read it. I can’t read German.”

  “You are never guilty, are you, Caroline? No one can ever make you behave as if you have done wrong.”

  “Frederich, what are you talking about?”

  “This is the money he sent for you to come to him,” Frederich said, snatching up some paper bills from the table and all but throwing them at her. They fluttered to the floor between them. “And the letter he had translated into English. English, Caroline! Eli has gone to a lot of trouble to make sure you understand him…” He began to smooth out the crumpled page, and read aloud

  I gave my word to take care of you, but I have failed. I thought I could leave things as they are, but it is too painful to think of you there with Frederich when I know how you feel about him. I want you to come here. I am sending you the money. You can have a new life and I can keep my promise. I know you have no reason to put your trust in me. That afternoon in the church I would have stayed with you, helped you, but I understood how much you didn’t want Mary Louise and Lise to see you—

  “You and Eli were together—in the church—with my children there!”

  “No, that’s not true,” she said, horrified that he could think such a thing of her. “It wasn’t like that—I was in the church at the same time he was that day, but I wasn’t with him.”

  “Then what does he mean about staying longer with you—about keeping the girls from seeing you?”

  “I was very upset. He was…concerned. I didn’t want Mary Louise and Lise to find me in such a state—”

  “Why were you upset?”

  Caroline glanced at Beata and remained silent.

  “Why were you upset, Caroline?”

  “I am not going to answer that,” she said, and he grabbed her by the arm.

  She stared into his eyes, refusing to cower, and he abruptly let her go.

  “Why did Eli stand up in church and ask to marry you? I thought he did it as an insult to me—to show everybody that he had more charity for Anna’s sister than I did. Why does he write this letter behind my back, Caroline? Why does he send you money?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “You don’t know?” he repeated incredulously. “I have been a fool where you are concerned—but I am not that besotted—no wonder you don’t care if Kader Gerhardt marries Leah. What is he to you?”

  “Frederich, this makes no sense—”

  “I am done with the Holts! Do you understand? I don’t want you! You take the money and you go to Eli! You let him keep his promise!”

  “There was no promise!”

  “Enough!” he cried. “I have had enough!”

  She stood there trembling, trying not to cry. He picked up the money from the floor and slammed it on the table, adding another bill to the pile from his own pocket.

  “You see?” he said, his voice cold and hard. “Never say I don’t leave a woman like you her fee.”

  She stared at him, so wounded by the insult that it was all she could do not to turn away. She gave a wavering sigh and shook her head. He believed this thing about her, and she couldn’t change his mind. She had only to look into his eyes to know that. She stood there, willing herself to be strong, trying hard to ignore Beata’s presence in the room.

  In one swift motion she picked up the money and flung it back at him. “Take your fee and be damned,” she said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She stood at the window and watched him go, striding away from her and their marriage and their night together without even once looking back. And Beata fluttered along behind him, assuring him, no doubt, of how much better off he would be now that he had come to his senses. Even when Caroline could no longer see either of them, she still stood there, her eyes searching along the line of woods for some sign of the army. The anger she felt was surpassed only by the fear she had for his safety. Even now.

  How can I be worried about what happens to him? she thought, but she knew the answer as soon as the question had arisen.

  I am being punished still.

  And what better retribution could there be for her than for her to truly love Frederich Graeber? In spite of everything she had felt about Germans in general and Frederich in particular, she loved him.

  She moved to another window. She could see her own reflection in the wavy glass.

  I have no tears. My heart is breaking and I have no tears.

  Frederich!

  She finally sat down at the kitchen table, and she kept trying to remember what had happened the few times she’d had any society with Eli Graeber. He had been there when Ann died, but she had been too distraught to even speak to him. There had been that afternoon in the church, of course, and when he’d stood up in the congregation and asked to marry her. The only other time he had spoken to her had been her first night in the Graeber house—when Lise had done the translating.

  What had he said then? Don’t be afraid? He had made no promises to her as the letter implied. She knew nothing about a promise.

  I don’t understand/

  But if he had sent her money those first weeks after she’d married Frederich, in all likelihood she would have used it. She would have taken herself and her ruined reputation and her pregnancy as far away as possible. Why had Eli thought she needed money now?

  She gave a sad smile.

  Actually, she did need it—thanks to his cryptic letter, though apparently it was only she who found what he had written a mystery. Frederich—and Beata—seemed to understand it perfectly. It fit all their preconceived notions about Caroline Holt.

  “I don’t understand,” she said out loud. And there was nobody to explain it, except perhaps Eli, and she didn’t even know where he was, regardless of the letter and the money and the invitation to make her escape.

  The memory of Frederich’s face rose in her mind. She had been devastated by his anger, and there was nothing she could do about it. He believed the letter. He believed every aspect of it—that at some point in time she had behaved in such a way as to make Eli think his money and his summons to his side would be welcome.

  She closed her eyes at yet another humiliation. Beata had heard every word Frederich said to her. For once she wouldn’t have to make up her sordid tales. And likely she was already running neighbor to neighbor with the news.

  Frederich is done with Caroline Holt. He is going to send her back to where she came from.

  She looked around in alarm because someone stepped up on the back porch, but she made no effort to go and see. She had heard no horses—not the army then—and not Frederich, who would have barged right in. She was hardly in a state of mind to receive visitors. Perhaps the intruder would go away, she thought. Or perhaps it had already begun—the parade of people coming by to see with their own eyes.the further downfall of the notorious Caroline Holt.

  Someone has to tell her to stay away from the decent folk.

  Whoever it was knocked loudly. She began to pace the room.

  “Leave me alone,” she whispered. “Go away and leave me alone!”

  The knocking grew louder then abruptly ceased. She waited a moment longer, then made up her mind. She had no choice but to show herself. She hadn’t been run to the ground, and she woul
dn’t cower here as if she had.

  I have done nothing wrong. Nothing.

  She glanced at the money still lying on the kitchen table in a pile beside Eli’s letter.

  Never say I don’t leave a woman like you her fee.

  Frederich had paid for her favors. There was nothing he could have ever done that would hurt her more than that.

  She stood for a moment longer, then went to the window and looked out again. Last night’s snow hadn’t amounted to much after all—just a light dusting over the icy ground. And she had been too happy in her husband’s arms to notice.

  Johann Rial stood on the porch in the feeble winter daylight, quietly smoking his pipe.

  She gave a heavy sigh. She could ignore him—but it would only postpone the inevitable. Johann thought he had a soul to save, and there would no deterring him from his vocation. She walked to the back door and opened it.

  “Come in, Johann,” she said, her voice sounding much more distressed than she would have wanted. She cleared her throat, hoping to subdue the tears that threatened to come after all.

  He looked around at her, then knocked the ashes out of his pipe, saying nothing until he entered the house.

  “I’ve come to take you home,” he said.

  “I am home.”

  “No, you are not, and you know it—”

  “You’ve wasted a trip, Johann,” she interrupted. “I’m staying here. Did Frederich send you?”

  “Caroline, what have you done?” he asked, sidestepping her question.

  She closed her eyes and fought down the flood of anger at his assumption of her guilt. When she opened them, he was staring at the money and the letter.

  “I want to know what has gone wrong with you and Frederich,” he said, looking at her. He didn’t add the word now, but he might as well have.

  “Haven’t you heard?” she asked. “I’m leaving my husband and my nieces and running away with Eli Graeber. Of course the small fact that I have no idea where he is and I haven’t spoken to him since the day I married Frederich shouldn’t…” The sarcasm she had always used to protect herself suddenly slid away. Her mouth began to tremble and she abruptly put her face in her hands.