Cheryl Reavis

by The Bartered Bride

  She looked at him. “I’m afraid he’s dead, Johann. I’m afraid I’ll never know what’s happened to him.”

  “You must be strong, Caroline. I think Frederich will come through this. I think he will come back to you.”

  “You don’t understand. Just before they took him away—I told him the marriage was over—whether he lives or dies. I meant it. I still do.”

  “Caroline…” He stopped and sighed.

  “The children are all right?” she asked.

  “They…miss their Aunt Caroline.”

  “I want to see them, Johann.”

  “It isn’t wise. You know how Beata is. They are the ones who will suffer if you challenge her. You must be strong,” he said again.

  She gave him a sad look.

  “You must be strong,” he insisted. “And you must pray.”

  Yes, she thought. I can do that at least.

  She prayed all through February and March as she tried to work Avery’s land. She prevailed upon Johann to recover some of the Holt stock from Beata, identifying the cows by their notched ears so that Beata couldn’t later accuse her of perpetrating some kind of thievery. A few of the chickens returned on their own, enticed by the scattered trail of corn she left from the woods to the chicken lot. She had eggs and milk and cream for butter at least, and enough pieces of dried cow stomach lining left to make several batches of cheese. She found two brown paper packets of seeds she’d saved and dried and put away so carefully last year, and she started early seedlings in egg shells to give herself a head start when the danger of frost had passed. She readied the beds for planting cabbages and onions. What few hams remained in the smokehouse she moved to the attic space where she could keep an intense vigil to ward off the beetles and the rats and the foragers.

  It had occurred to her that she might greet the spring in the same condition as she had last year—pregnant and abandoned, but that was not the case. She was relieved when her monthly bleeding finally came, and sad, because her marriage to Frederich Graeber would indeed count for nothing.

  Still there was no word of him. She didn’t know what to do, where to look. For all intents and purposes, he had completely disappeared. She agonized over what kind of situation he must be in. She knew he would not write to her, but he would write to Johann or Beata—if he were able. And Johann was certainly working on Frederich’s behalf, sending out letters to his commanding officers, reminding them of Frederich’s Badge of Distinction at Sharpsburg. She thought Johann was likely writing to Eli as well and getting the letters north via his network of German clergy, who seemed to be undeterred by either the Confederate or the Union lines. He gave her no reports about those writings, however, and she asked for none.

  In the middle of April a letter from William came:

  Dear Caroline I take pen in hand to ask you a question. Everybody is saying how you wont live with Frederich any more. Nobody knows where he is got and Avery and me wont to know what is the matter with you. Both of us is worrying more than we shud—we got this war business to take care of and we aint got the time to be vexed over you leaving your husband. Avery is already upset enough on account of Leeah S. marrying Mr. Gerhart—though between you and me he dont act like a man about to get married. Him and Avery are going to get into it yet and Frederich aint here to keep them straight. It is too much for me. Cant you tell us what happened with you and Frederich so me and Avery will know how to act?

  Respectfully your brother in the army, William

  P.S. If you see Frederich, you tell him to come back here because this company needs him if you dont.

  P.P.S. If you get a letter from Avery I wuld not read it. That is my best advice.

  She didn’t get a letter from Avery, and she didn’t answer William’s. There was nothing she wanted to say to him, no explanation she wanted to make. The first week in May, Johann brought news that the 5th North Carolina had been in a battle near Chancellorsville, Virginia. The names of the soldiers from the German community had been copied from the casualty lists and hand-delivered by Jacob Goodman—one killed, ten wounded and captured, one missing from among the families here, and Caroline knew all of them.

  Jacob also brought a letter for her; she recognized the fine script on the envelope immediately, even without a return address. Incredibly, it was from Kader Gerhardt. She had the presence of mind to thank Jacob as was expected, all the while giving thanks that it was he and not Johann Rial who had been the bearer. Regardless of what it said, she had no wish to get into a discussion about it with Johann.

  The letter was very brief and to the point, beginning with the terse salutation, Frau Graeber, and ending with Kader’s signing himself Herr Gerhardt. The in-between was equally as cold, and it advised her that, in view of her notoriety and her sullied reputation, she could not reasonably expect to stand in such prominent attendance at his marriage to Fräulein Steigermann—regardless of Fräulein Steigermann’s generous but misguided invitation to do so. He had already advised his soon-to-be bride that decorum must be observed, he said, and he expected Frau Graeber to comply with his wishes and not inflict any more embarrassment upon him and his intended on this their most special day.

  Caroline read the letter two more times, then she walked out onto the porch and stood staring at nothing. She crumpled the letter slowly in her fist, just seconds away from an observation only one so allegedly notorious and sullied as she could make—when she realized that she had visitors.

  “What are you doing, Aunt Caroline?” Lise asked politely from the edge of the porch, as if there had been no time at all since their last meeting.

  “What are you doing, Aunt Caroline?” Mary Louise echoed, full of giggles. She rushed forward and grabbed Caroline around the knees.

  Caroline stuck the balled-up letter into her pocket and smiled broadly, happier suddenly than she’d been in weeks.

  “Oh, nothing, my loves,” she said, hugging them both hard and trying not to cry. “Just wondering where I can get myself a red dress.”

  Their visit was bittersweet and flagrantly clandestine, in spite of Lise’s assertion that Beata had them out looking for some of her hens’ nesting places and that there certainly might be some around here. To her great relief and her disappointment, neither of the girls seemed to be any the worse for their Aunt Caroline’s absence. Beata was humorless and quarrelsome, but she would never deliberately neglect Frederich’s children—unless she felt threatened. It was Beata’s mindless need to keep Caroline Holt from getting “above herself” that caused Caroline concern. She knew how reckless a jealous and indignant Beata could be, and for Mary Louise and Lise’s sake, she resolved to stay in “her place.” No confrontations with Beata over the children. No arguments over property. Nothing.

  She didn’t let the girls tarry long, no matter how badly she wanted it. She walked with them back across the field toward the Graeber house after only a short while.

  “Papa’s got lost,” Mary Louise told her as they neared the woods path. “I got lost and you got lost and Papa got lost. Lise’s looking for baby chicks—but I’m looking for Papa.”

  “Papa’s gone back to the army, silly,” Lise said. “Hasn’t he, Aunt Caroline?”

  “Yes,” Caroline said, willing herself to believe it. She hated having to lie so shamelessly, but for their sakes—and hers—she did it.

  “No,” Mary Louise said. “He’s lost. Everybody gets lost—even Mama. And even Eli—you’re going to get lost too, Lise.”

  “I am not.”

  “Are too, are too. Lost, lost, lost!”

  Mary Louise ran on ahead, but she turned abruptly and came running back again when she realized that Lise hadn’t followed.

  “I won’t come with you any farther,” Caroline said to them, trying her best to sound calm. “Give me a goodbye kiss—”

  “Can’t you come back with us, Aunt Caroline?” Lise asked. She clung to Caroline’s hand and kissed her cheek. “Can’t you?”

  “No, honey
, I have to stay here.”

  “Why, Aunt Caroline?”

  “It’s too hard to explain. I don’t exactly understand myself. It’s just—better this way. For you and Mary Louise especially.”

  “Because Beata will get really mad and hide the food,” Lise said.

  “Yes, that’s part of it—”

  “Don’t you like us anymore?” Mary Louise asked, holding on to Caroline’s skirts.

  Caroline looked from one of them to the other. “Of course I like you. You are my very own nieces. I love you. I love you both with all my heart.”

  “Then don’t you like Papa?” Lise asked.

  “Yes,” she said carefully. “I like him—”

  She stopped, because she could hear Beata calling the children in the distance and because she was on the verge, not of lying, but of telling the awful truth. Shouldn’t somebody know that she loved Frederich Graeber?

  “Go now,” she said abruptly, giving them both another quick kiss. “Hurry, so Beata won’t fuss—go!” she said when they still would have lingered.

  They reluctantly began to walk away from her.

  “I think you better tell Papa, Aunt Caroline,” Lise called over her shoulder. “I think you better tell Papa you like him, because I don’t think he knows it.”

  She stood staring after them for a long time. No, of course, Frederich wouldn’t know. He only knew that she couldn’t abide being married to him. He only knew that she had the real opportunity to leave him and his children for a life with Eli. It would never occur to him that she liked— loved—him.

  But perhaps she didn’t love him. Perhaps it was something else. She was perfectly aware that she would do anything for him—except live with him as a surrogate Ann. Not even for Frederich would she take on Ann’s sins or her punishment for them; she had enough sins of her own.

  Hopeless.

  She saw the word in her mind as sharp and clear as if it had been written in black ink on a clean white page. She closed her eyes for a moment, standing quietly until she could see—feel—yet another word.

  Please...

  But God was in no hurry to answer such vague prayers, and heaven must be inundated by more exact ones from people who were worthy of having their petitions granted. There was nothing she could do except let the days pass, one after another in a relentless sameness until she hardly knew the day of the week anymore. The weather grew insufferably hot by the last of June and then hotter still in the first week of July. She went to bed each night with a palmetto fan in her hand, listlessly fanning herself until she fell asleep, only to wake up in the oppressive heat and have to do it all over again. The only real opportunity for rest and respite came in the early-morning coolness just before dawn—but the blackberries were at their peak now and more than plentiful, and she had to go berry picking before they were all gone. She left the house just at daylight, and she wore long sleeves and gloves buttoned tightly at the wrist in an admittedly vain effort to keep out the chiggers and ticks. Her apparel was comfortable enough now with the sun low, but she would suffer in the heat later. If she were not faced with the prospect of starvation and if she did not love blackberries so, she would have lain abed this day in a perfect example of the utterly useless and slovenly person Beata had always maintained she was.

  She got through the one-for-the-bucket-and-two-for-me stage quickly enough and began to pick in earnest until the sun climbed well above the trees. She had carried two buckets with her—the small berry bucket she could maneuver better in among the briars and a larger one to empty the berries into. Only when the larger bucket was nearly full did she stop. She was so hot! The air weighed heavily around her. It was as if she had to push her way through it to move. She could feel the rivulets of sweat rolling down her sides under her clothes and down her face and in her hair. Her dress stuck to her back, and she wished belatedly that she’d brought a bottle of water to drink and that well-used palmetto fan.

  In the distance, the German church bell began to ring before she was halfway home, and she looked around in surprise.

  It’s not Sunday, she thought. Or is it? It wouldn’t surprise her if she had missed it.

  She kept walking. The bell was still ringing when she reached the house, not a Sunday kind of ringing, but a steady, ominous pealing that went on and on. She wanted to walk to the church and see, but she didn’t. Some days she felt up to being notorious in the eyes of her neighbors. Today, she did not.

  She carried the blackberries inside and busily began to wash them and spread them out on her mother’s willow platters to dry. She had cream and no sugar. She would whip the cream and eat it on a big bowl of the berries anyway.

  She was nearly done when she heard someone come up on the porch. The door was open, and she looked around as Leah Steigermann rushed inside.

  “Leah, what—” are you doing here? she was about to ask, because she assumed from Kader’s letter that any society between them was now forbidden. Leah’s having made no attempt to come and see her since that letter arrived certainly indicated that that was the case.

  “Caroline, Johann sent me,” Leah interrupted. She was out of breath from running and her hair had come undone. “—a terrible battle in Pennsylvania—”

  “William?” Caroline asked in alarm, stepping forward.

  “He’s on the casualty list, Caroline—”

  Caroline made a sharp sound.

  “And Avery,” Leah went on. “And the Ehrnhardt brothers—and the Leherle boy and Tobias Kruse—and two of the Goodmans—more than thirty of them just from here—so many—so many, Caroline…” she was crying openly now. “And Caroline,” she said, coming to take her by the arm. “Frederich—”

  “What about Frederich?” Caroline cried. “Tell me!”

  “He’s on the list, Caroline.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Please!

  What did it mean to be on the list? she thought.

  Missing? Wounded? Dead?

  No, not dead!

  Please!

  William and Avery—oh, Frederich!

  It could mean anything, and she knew that. She went looking for Johann, the blackberries left lying and Leah in tow. They were halfway to the church when it occurred to her that she should have asked.

  “You’ve had no news of Ka—your fiance?” she said over her shoulder.

  “Nothing,” Leah said. “He’s been ill—he may not have gone on the campaign—Caroline, what will you do? Frederich and Avery and William—all three of them—”

  Do?

  Yes, she thought. She must do something. But her mind refused to consider what that might be. She could only think of getting to the church and speaking to Johann and nothing else. If there were any details, he would know them, and she blessed him for sending Leah to tell her. Who knew how long it would have been before she heard; she wouldn’t have come to investigate the ringing of the bell.

  And the bell was still ringing. When they were in sight of the church, it abruptly stopped, the ensuing silence as ominous as the pealing had been.

  She picked up her skirts and began to run, leaving Leah to keep up or not as she would. People were already gathering at the church, old men and young boys still on horseback and straight from the fields, and women standing in silent little groups. No one spoke to her as she approached. She stood off to herself, her arms folded over her breasts in some effort to brace herself to hear whatever Johann might have to say.

  After a moment, he appeared, standing under the shade of the fieldstone arches at the front door.

  “The battle began on Wednesday last near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania,” he told them without prelude. “The telegraphed report is that it raged for three days and that as much of the army as was able has retreated back into the comparative safety of Virginia. I will read the names of men who have been killed or wounded or who are unaccounted for. Our church is open—you may spend as much time there as you need to in communion with Our Lord…”

  She w
aited, listening for her names. It seemed to take forever before he read them.

  William Holt and Frederich Graeber, wounded and unaccounted for.

  Avery Holt, wounded.

  Unaccounted for. Unaccounted for.

  Dead, then?

  No, I won’t believe that!

  But the battle had been nearly a week ago. If they had been wounded, who knew what their status was now? She had to talk to Johann. At one point, she thought that Leah had come close to her, but when she glanced in her direction, it was not Leah at all, but Beata who had come to stand so near.

  Beata turned to her, her eyes red with weeping. She looked haggard, terrible, but still Caroline expected some barbed remark, so much so that she drew back when Beata attempted to put her hand on her arm.

  “Where are the children—?” Caroline tried to ask.

  “Are you going to go and get him?” Beata interrupted, her hands fluttering. “Are you?”

  “How can I go get him, Beata? Frederich is unaccounted for. They don’t know where he—”

  “Not Frederich! Avery! You have no reputation to guard. A woman like you can travel without an escort—a woman like you can go into the hospitals and look for him. Go get him! Bring him home! He must be in Richmond—or—" She broke off to wipe her eyes. “Don’t you know he hates the hospitals? He said if he was ever wounded, he wanted to come home. He wanted to die here or get well here—he can’t abide being in a hospital!”

  “Beata—”

  “You go and get him!”

  They stared at each other, until Beata abruptly buried her face in her hands. Caroline was at a complete loss as to what to do. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever envisioned herself trying to comfort Beata Graeber. Yes, she had seen Beata primping in the washstand mirror at the prospect of seeing the handsome Avery Holt—but then she’d seen Beata fawning about Kader as well. She’d had no idea that Beata’s infatuation for Avery ran this deep.