A Woman of Choice

by Kris Tualla

  “We did. And if our fathers knew but half the things we planned to do with these lands, they would have lived to be a hundred just to stop us!”

  Nicolas leaned toward her and dropped his voice. “There was gold to be had, if we dug deep enough in the right spot. Of course, digging all the way to China was another perfectly reasonable plan, in case the gold didn’t make an appearance. Not to mention the idea of re-routing the Mississippi River so the trade barges would come to us, instead of us going to them!”

  Sydney whooped with delight at that one.

  Nicolas shook his head. “Ah, the follies of youth!”

  “It sounds as though you had a happy childhood. I wonder what my own story is.” She sat back, bit her lower lip, and squinted at Nicolas.

  “What?”

  “Stefan.”

  He frowned. “What about Stefan?”

  Her voice was soft, like steel. “I’m only wondering… Will he have memories like yours?”

  Nicolas’s jovial mood dissipated into a somber air of regret. He looked away from her and gulped the rest of his brandy. He pulled a breath, released it, and stared at the empty glass.

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” he whispered.

   

  Every other Sunday there was church in Cheltenham. The traveling pastor came to the building that was school during the week and led the faithful in solid Lutheran worship. Nicolas went often enough to placate God and his neighbors, but not every time the doors were open.

  Because Nicolas had a mighty large bone to pick with God.

  It wasn’t a question of faith. Nicolas was certain there was a God; his belief in that fact could not be shaken. He just wasn’t certain what good thing God had in mind when He took Lara and the boy twin, leaving him to raise Stefan by himself. On many a long night, alone in his bed, he asked God that very question. But thus far, God had not produced any answers. So anger kept Nicolas away from church. But the fear of not getting into Heaven to see Lara and the babe, kept him coming back.

  On the next Sunday morning after Lily’s dinner party, Nicolas got up early, saddled Rusten, and rode into Cheltenham. He tried to corral his thoughts, focusing on the forested beauty that surrounded him. Sunlight pierced the leafy ceiling and fell in hazy shafts to the pine-needle carpet. Birds twittered and squirrels answered. Gray-bottomed clouds floated through a bowl of pale blue.

  He went into the church alone, nodding a silent greeting to his neighbors. He sat by himself in the back pew, as was his habit, and pondered this new path that God had diverted him onto.

  What was he supposed to do with the woman?

  Nicolas was at a loss and he hoped God would give him some ideas regarding Sydney. After all, it was He who dropped her in the water but kept her from dying before Nicolas found her.

  Now what?

  Nicolas considered his unexpected houseguest. A skillful and intelligent woman, her conversation was pleasant. And she was very attractive as well, there was no question about that. Nicolas had to confess he enjoyed their time together. And she made him laugh.

  But she belonged somewhere else, didn’t she?

  And to someone else?

  “Min Far i Himmel, vis meg hva til å gjøre,” Nicolas prayed. My Father in Heaven, show me what to do.

  Chapter Nine

  April 21, 1819

  “Sydney? Is that you? What on God’s earth are you wearing?”

  At the sound of Rickard’s voice, Sydney spun to face him. Her face burst into flames. Of all the people she did not want to see her dressed this way, Rickard topped the list. What was he doing in Nicolas’s stable?

  “G-good morning, Rickard. I wish I had known you were coming, I would’ve changed clothes.” With hands she prayed he could not see trembling, she smoothed her breeches. And her shirt. And her hair.

  Rickard grinned and ran a fingertip along her cheek. “Don’t distress yourself, Sydney. You look fine. And your face has healed beautifully, by the by.”

  Sydney’s embarrassed gaze flitted around the stable, landing everywhere but on him.

  “Might you explain your fashion decision?” Rickard asked in his chocolate voice.

  Sydney tried to sound offhand. Confident. Logical. “It makes sense when I’m working with the horses.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “So, how are you faring with Grayson?”

  She looked at him now. “You mean Fyrste. Nicolas changed his name. It’s Norse for prince.”

  “Is it now?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” Sydney motioned for Rickard to follow her, and walked out of the stable without waiting to see if he did so.

  At the paddock, Sydney blew a chirping whistle, and the gray’s head popped up, ears twitching. Another whistle brought Fyrste trotting to her, sniffing for the treat Sydney always had. She slipped through the rails.

  Rickard leaned on the fence and watched. Sydney walked around the paddock while Fyrste followed, stopping and starting with her voice commands. Then she faced him and, with a combination of voice and hand signs, got him to back up.

  “I’m very impressed, Sydney!” Rickard called to her. “Have you sat him yet?”

  “No.” Sydney led Fyrste to where Rickard stood. “But soon, I hope. I believe he trusts me now.”

  Rickard squinted into Sydney’s eyes. “You are some unexpected sort of woman, do you know that? I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”

  Sydney leaned on the other side of the fence. She could smell his cologne and was painfully aware of the manure smeared on her boot. She wiped it against the grass.

  “I wonder if I was always of this temperament,” she contemplated as she checked her boot. “Or have I changed since I cannot remember?”

  Rickard smiled softly. His chameleon eyes were greenish-buckskin in the morning sun. Hanks of burnt copper curled around his ears, having successfully escaped their restraint. “That’s an interesting question. I reckon we’ll have to see if a body steps forward to claim you, and find out!”

  “Hmph. Like my husband?”

  Rickard was already close to her, but he leaned closer. “If he exists, and he doesn’t claim you, then he certainly doesn’t deserve you,” he whispered.

  Rickard’s lips demanded Sydney’s attention. She stared at them and imagined how they might feel on hers. They advanced. Her eyes closed. They brushed hers, sending a shiver through her core and gooseflesh down her limbs.

  Before he could kiss her properly, a loud and intentional throat-clearing blew them apart. Nicolas frowned as he approached the couple.

  “Hello, Rick! What brings you here today?”

  “An invitation.” Rickard faced Nicolas, noticeably unperturbed. “Lily wishes you and Sydney to come to dinner tomorrow evening. It’s not a party, just the four of us this time.”

  Breathless and a bit disoriented, Sydney blinked and focused on Nicolas. Wordlessly she waited for his response.

  “I’ve no objection. Sydney, would you care to go?” His sarcastic tone made it quite clear he considered the question unnecessary. Why was he irritated? What had she done?

  “I believe that would be lovely.” Sydney faced Rickard. Her face was on fire again. “Please thank Lily for me.”

  Fyrste grew restless. He snorted, shook his head and trotted to the opposite side of the paddock. He whinnied from across the enclosure. Sydney watched him for a moment, distracted.

  “Oh my!” She turned to Nicolas.

  “What?”

  Her expression shifted to one of disbelief. “I believe he’s afraid of you!”

  “Who? The horse?” Nicolas looked at Sydney like she was juggling snakes. Rickard sniggered and ran a finger across his upper lip, masking his grin.

  Nicolas scowled at him, then slid his gaze back to Sydney. “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know.” Sydney shook her head. “But, Nicolas you’re a very big man and you have a very big voice. And you carry yourself with quite a lot of authority,”
she offered.

  Nicolas looked from Sydney to Fyrste and back again, his blue eyes buried under lowering brows. He jerked his fingers through his hair.

  “I’ve never heard of anything so preposterous!” he boomed. From across the enclosure, Fyrste neighed and snorted, tossing his head in response.

  The corners of Rickard’s eyes crinkled with mischief. “Is it as preposterous as, oh, someone losing their memory after a horrifying experience, would you say?”

  “Pah!” Nicolas scoffed. “Why don’t you go deflower someone?”

  Rickard laughed his delightful laugh and slapped his thighs.

  Nicolas’s voice hovered somewhere between derision and resignation. “So, what are we to do?” he asked her. “If you’re correct, I mean.”

  “I’m not certain. But he needs to become accustomed to you.” Sydney looked at the nervous animal, her assurance disappearing. Why did she have to suggest the unconventional idea? Why couldn’t she just keep quiet? “Perhaps you could spend some time at the corral while I’m working with him?”

  Fyrste looked Nicolas in the eye and his ears flicked back in a brief threat. Nicolas stood his ground and spoke to the horse in a low voice.

  “Hvorfor er De redd av meg, eh? De er stor og sterk…Har den liten kvinne sjarmert De?”

  The stallion seemed to find the natural rhythm of the Norse tongue soothing; it was similar to the patter Sydney used. He still bobbed his head, but he did not stamp his feet.

  “What did you say?” Sydney asked.

  Nicolas gave her a crooked grin. “You are big and strong. Has the little woman charmed you?”

  She smiled.

  Then he waggled a finger at Rickard. “How you got me to take that cussed beast off your hands is a mystery to me.”

  April 24, 1819

  Two days after the supper at Rickard’s, Nicolas barreled into the backyard with his arms waving wildly. “I just met a rider from Atherton’s! He’s had a rider from Sinclair’s! A twister’s headed this way!”

  Sydney turned to John, horrified. She remembered twisters.

  “Help me secure the animals!” he shouted.

  Sydney quickly led Fyrste into the stone stable and tied him in his stall. Then she helped John with the other livestock. He jerked his head toward the manor.

  “Take Stefan to the cellar. I’ll finish here.”

  Sydney grabbed Stefan’s hand and they ran up to the house. The clouds above were already changed, darkening and swirling ominously. Addie stood beside the root cellar door and motioned them inside.

  “Where’s Nicolas?” Sydney asked over the rapidly rising wind.

  “Shuttering the house. You and the boy, get inside now.”

  Maribeth was already cowering below, fear staining her plain face. Moments later, John climbed into the subterranean storeroom. Only Nicolas was missing. Sydney sat on a bench and nervously lifted Stefan onto her lap. He didn’t object.

  The wind outside grew stronger, bragging with keening moans. Light faded as black clouds moved overhead. Addie climbed down the ladder and let the door fall shut, but she didn’t yet latch it.

  “Where is he?” Sydney shouted to be heard over the howl of the wind. Certainly they wouldn’t leave him outside!

  Addie looked at John, who shook his head.

  “We must go get him! And quickly!” Sydney was on the verge of panic. She slid Stefan off her lap and stood. John stood as well and grabbed her arm. His grip was stronger that she expected.

  “No.” His tone was as controlling as his grasp. “Once inside, no one leaves until the twister’s gone.”

  “But—Nicolas!” Sydney looked back and forth from John to Addie. By the grim set of their mouths, this was not a negotiable point. Her knees bent like spring saplings and she gripped a shelf for support.

  Then the wind outside stopped; the sudden quiet was neck-prickling eerie. The air grew thin as if some deity sucked it all away and the hair on their bodies lifted. Sydney’s nerves tingled. John and Addie exchanged worried glances.

  “Oh, dear God! What’s happening?” Sydney blurted.

  The cellar door flew open and Nicolas, sweating and windblown, jumped the seven feet to the dirt floor without using the ladder. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping loudly to catch his breath. The door crashed closed behind him and John slipped the sturdy cross-plank into its guides.

  Sydney cried out her relief.

  The wind returned with such vengeance that the noise deafened, even underground. The cellar door rattled as though a horde of demons were demanding entrance. Sydney felt Stefan’s arm around her leg. She sat down on the bench and pulled him onto her lap again. His sturdy little arms slipped around her neck and he huddled against her. She held him tightly in return and rocked him without thinking about it. Nicolas stared intently at the two of them from his spot on the floor.

  His expression was odd; Sydney couldn’t begin to guess his thoughts.

  Then the lone candle in the cellar blew out.

  Now in complete darkness, and with raucous winds screaming outside, there was nothing to do but wait. The manor house should survive; it had already weathered nearly forty years of twisters. But tornadoes were capricious in the destruction they left behind. There was no way to predict what would still be standing when they emerged from this dark womb.

  Sydney comforted Stefan, rocking and humming to him, and wondered how he got through previous storms. Addie, most likely. Or maybe Maribeth. She couldn’t imagine it was Nicolas.

  The wind shrieked its fury. Broken branches banged against and then scraped away from the cellar doors. Each hit jolted through Sydney like lightning. Thunderstorms terrified her. Twisters made her wish to die. But for Stefan’s sake, she swallowed her fears and concentrated on reassuring him, calming him. Holding the boy close anchored her in a way that she didn’t expect.

  And it didn’t hurt that Stefan’s father was by her side. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his presence. She felt heat radiate from his body and smelled his sweat. The bench she sat on wobbled when he shifted his weight against it.

  It was close to an hour before the winds evaporated. Pale daylight seeped around the cellar door. Their eyes, accustomed to the dark, could see clearly now. Nicolas remained on the floor, leaning against the bench that Sydney and Stefan sat on.

  “What do you think, John?” His introduction of speech jarred as it rent the sudden silence.

  John nodded, lifted the plank from the braces, and then used it to push the cellar door open. Light flooded the space, causing everyone to squint. Stefan stirred on Sydney’s lap. He had fallen asleep after half-an-hour in the dark and his weight caused her legs to go numb.

  “Might you lift him for me?” she asked Nicolas. “It seems my legs have lost feeling.”

  Nicolas unfolded slowly from the floor. He lifted his sleeping son from Sydney’s embrace, and woke him in the process.

  “Pappa? Is the twister gone?” Stefan rubbed his eyes, his voice raspy from the short nap.

  “It is. Let’s go see how bad things are.”

  He set Stefan on the ladder and boosted him into the world. Then he turned to Sydney. “Are you coming?”

  She rubbed her legs. “In a minute. I hate this feeling, as though I am being stuck all over with pins!”

  Nicolas came over and knelt next to her. He massaged her calves through the breeches. His strong hands were warm and efficient. She was steel again, drawn to his seductive magnet. She resisted less this time.

  “That hurts and tickles!” she laughed.

  “Might you walk now?”

  “I believe so.”

  Nicolas offered Sydney his hand and helped her up the log ladder. Then he followed her out of the cellar and closed the door behind him.

  The only visible damage was to the surrounding forest. Limbs were scattered everywhere, a few dead trees were broken off, and a couple younger ones uprooted. But the buildings remained, apparently with roofs, and that was good.


  “John and I will climb up to check shingles tomorrow. And it looks like I’ve plenty of wood to chop.” Nicolas turned to Sydney and smiled, his relief clear. “We’ve survived yet another one!”

  Chapter Ten

  April 27, 1819

  The dry goods store in Cheltenham was unremarkable, carrying the usual notions and staples that Sydney expected to find there. The proprietors, Jess and Margaret Brown, were happy to see her again.

  “You look well, Sydney,” Jess said. “I trust your injuries have healed?”

  “Yes, sir, they have. Thank you for asking.”

  “And your memory? Is there progress?” Margaret looked hopeful.

  With a deep breath, she retreated behind a polite smile. “No, I’m sorry to report there’s been no improvement in that area.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Well, then…” Margaret rearranged a perfectly orderly stack of homemade jellies.

  Sydney put her hand on the woman’s arm. “Don’t concern yourself, Margaret. I’m certain it’ll come in time. At least, that’s what I tell myself every night.”

  Margaret offered a kind smile. “And it shall, no doubt.”

  “Have you a list, Addie?” Jess reached for the paper in Addie’s hand. “Sugar, flour, coffee… I’ll get them together for you. Jasper? Come give me a hand!” A lanky teenager crossed the back doorway.

  “So, Margaret, what have you in stock that’s new?” Addie asked.

  Margaret’s eyes lit. “A trader came through and brought us limes.”

  “Did he now! Well, that might do. What do you think, Sydney?”

  “Pie.”

  “What’s that, dear?”

  Sydney faced Addie, but gazed deeply into a hazy watercolor fog beyond the store’s walls. “I know how to make lime pie.”

  “That sounds delicious!” Margaret enthused. “Will you give me the recipe?”

  Sydney returned to present company. “If it turns out to be edible, I should be happy to.”