A Woman of Choice

by Kris Tualla

  After the breakfast dishes were washed, Sydney and Addie baked bread in the cozy kitchen. Without warning, the back door slammed open. A gust of ice crystals chilled the room as a huge, hairy beast filled the doorway.

  Sydney cried out and glanced around for a weapon until Addie touched her shoulder. Sydney looked at Addie, then back at the creature, whose deep blue eyes burned into hers.

  “Are you married?” it demanded.

  Sydney recognized the voice before she recognized the man. Nicolas was dressed in fur from the hat he pulled off to the leggings tied around his limbs. Filthy, matted hair stuck out from his head and his month-old beard sprouted leaves and dirt.

  She never saw a more beautiful sight. “N-no,” she stammered.

  He gave her a brisk nod and grinned, his teeth a row of small white eggs in a matted light brown nest.

  “Addie, I need two or three solid meals packed straight away!” Then Nicolas turned toward the stable and bellowed, “John! I need the bays on the wagon as soon as you can harness them!”

  With a wink, he was gone.

  Addie started pulling out food to pack while Sydney went to the door. “Is he leaving again?” She turned incredulous eyes to Addie. “He just got here!”

  “Seems so. Help me here, would you dear?”

  Sydney helped Addie pack a basket with ham, chicken, biscuits, jam, beer, apples and pumpkin pie. Her hands shook, her legs felt like willow switches, and she wanted to laugh or cry but didn’t know which. Or which to do first. She was a mess of shivers.

  Nicolas returned to the kitchen. He didn’t say a word to Sydney, but paused long enough to look her in the eye, lean down and kiss her forehead. He reeked of a month’s worth of sweat, dirt, smoke, and the blood of animals.

  He climbed on the wagon and straddled the basket of food with his feet. Slapping the reigns hard, he shouted, “Hah!”

  The bays leaned into the traces and pulled the wagon through the shallow snow toward the road. They were soon out of sight.

  Sydney turned to Addie and leaned backwards to counterbalance the somersaulting weight in her distended belly.

  “Where’s he going, Addie?”

  The elder housekeeper shook her gray head. “I couldn’t begin to reckon.”

   

  Nicolas ate everything he could manage as he drove the wagon one-handed. After subsisting for a month on what game he caught, he was literally starving.

  In contrast, Sydney looked rounded and glorious. Her skin was rosy, her hair shiny, and her eyes poured love all over him. He wanted to hold her and never let go. Thank goodness he could smell himself and knew better.

  It took two hours to reach his destination. As people passed him, they gave the hairy, filthy, beast of a man wide berth. It required every ounce of his reserve to keep from growling at them. Starting a rumor about some hulking half-man, half-animal wandering the territory was quite tempting.

  The cabin looked even more deserted than the first time he was there. No tracks marked the surrounding snow. Still, he pounded on the door and stomped around the building, searching for signs of life. When he found none, he returned to the wagon and grabbed his pick and shovel.

  Though it was December, the ground wasn’t frozen more than half-a-foot down; in Nicolas’s powerful arms, the pick handled it with ease. When he passed the layer of crystallized earth, Nicolas switched to the shovel. He dug until he found what he was after, about three feet below the snowy surface.

  Nicolas lifted the first tiny casket with reverence. It was so small it couldn’t even hold his shoe. And it was so light. He clutched it to his chest and closed his eyes. The rough wood scratched his cold-reddened hands as he rocked on his knees in the snow.

  He felt Sydney’s grief at the loss of her boys. He also felt the loss of his own infant son. He saw the small blue and bloody body lying lifeless on the birthing bed. He relived the core-crumbling disbelief when the boy wouldn’t breathe. He heard Lara cry out her grief that her birthing pain was insufficient to give him life. She died defeated.

  Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, chapping his skin in the cold breeze. Nicolas crossed himself. Though not a Papist, he found the motion comforting.

  He carried the dirty box to the wagon and laid it carefully in the bed. He returned to the burial plot and dug until he retrieved the second tiny wooden casket. He laid that one in the wagon as well, and then pulled up both the carved wood crosses.

  The weak afternoon sun was hovering just above the hazy horizon when Nicolas finished. He slipped a feed bag on each of the horses and ate the remaining food in his basket. Then he stretched out to rest in the wagon bed beside his precious cargo.

  Bright moonlight woke Nicolas several hours later. He stretched, stiff from the cold and exertion. Satisfied that this half of his self-appointed task was complete, he relieved himself, took the feedbags off the horses and started the bays on the return trip to his estate.

  The air was cold and crisp, and the travelers’ breath formed fairy clouds in the moonlight. It took three hours in the dark to get home.

  Nicolas pulled the wagon under the maple tree to unload the caskets and grave markers. By the light of the moon, he re-buried the tiny boxes beneath the tree Sydney loved. When he finished, he walked to the south end of his property where Lara and Sven were buried.

  Dropping to his knees in the dusting of snow, he asked their forgiveness.

  He was sorry he had avoided visiting these graves. He was sorry he hadn’t treated Stefan the way a father should treat a son. He was sorry he had turned his back on living, burying his zeal for life under a façade of stoicism.

  He was glad Sydney came into his life. Glad she pushed him to be a better father to Stefan. Glad she was giving him a second chance at parenthood. Glad she encouraged him to be the strong and passionate man he was born to be.

  I sent her to you, Nick.

  Nicolas didn’t know whose voice he heard. He didn’t care. All he could do was raise his hands in the air and whisper, “Thank you.”

  December 6, 1819

  The pale December sun snuck over the horizon before Nicolas walked back to the manor. Sydney and Stefan were eating breakfast and looked up in corresponding surprise as he ducked into the kitchen.

  “Pappa! You’re back!” Stefan jumped off his chair and ran to hug his father’s legs. He backed away holding his nose. “And you’re stinky!”

  Nicolas’s eyes locked onto Sydney’s.

  “Are you married?”

  Sydney frowned as a smile tugged at her mouth. “No?”

  “Addie! I need a bath!” Nicolas thundered.

  The tin tub was dragged out and copious amounts of water heated on the iron stove. Addie gathered the comb, razor, mirror, soap and towels while Nicolas untied his stiff fur coverings. He removed his shirt and breeches only after Addie and Sydney left the kitchen.

  He carefully placed the garnet ring in the center of the table.

  Nicolas eased himself into the hot water and sank beneath its surface. The liquid heat rippled, luxurious and sensuous over his skin, raising gooseflesh. He ran his hands through his stiff hair to loosen the dirt.

  Stefan grabbed a handful of that hair and pulled his father’s head out of the water. “Pappa, you can’t breathe under water!”

  Nicolas’s good-natured laugh filled the room. “No, son, I can’t. But if I don’t get this dirt off, no one else will be able to breathe once they get close to me! Will you soap my hair?”

  Stefan scrubbed Nicolas’s scalp while Nicolas washed the rest of his body. He ducked under the water to rinse, and then showed a very happy Stefan how to hold the mirror while he shaved.

  Nicolas stood and let the water drip off his skin, bright pink from the heat. He rubbed himself dry with the towels. The golden hairs covering his body rose and curled.

  It felt good to be clean.

  After thanking Stefan for his invaluable help, Nicolas wrapped two towels around his midsection and grasped the garn
et ring in his fist. Padding down the hall, he glanced at Sydney sewing in the drawing room, and then headed upstairs to get dressed.

   

  When Nicolas announced his desire for a bath, Sydney vacated to the drawing room to sew in front of that east-facing window. She sank into the settee and picked up the half-finished baby gown she started the day before. As she sewed, she hummed to the child and tried not to think about the man she loved and the question she needed him to ask.

  Soon.

  Nicolas crossing the doorway caught her eye. A brief glimpse of his near-nakedness was enough to disrupt her composure. He had lost substantial weight in his absence. Her hands dropped to what remained of her lap as she closed her eyes and imagined how he looked the last time he stood naked in her room. Powerfully built, perfectly proportioned, covered in blond hair that got darker as it trailed down from his navel.

  Stop that!

  She opened her eyes, picked up her sewing, and concentrated on the stitches.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Nicolas wore the same clothes he wore to the May Day Ball: the dark blue velvet frock coat, brocade waistcoat, white lace shirt and fawn-colored breeches. His shortened hair was almost dry and combed back from his face. The ring was in his waistcoat pocket. He was ready. Nicolas opened the door to his room and called Stefan.

  “Yes, Pappa?” He appeared, breathless, at the top of the stairs.

  “Would you tell Addie and Maribeth and John that I want them in the drawing room with Sydney?”

  “Why?”

  “I have something to tell about my trip. About the Indians,” came the sudden inspiration to divert suspicion, “and I want everyone there. It’s very, very important.”

  Stefan’s eyes grew wide at the mention of the Indians.

  “Yes, Pappa!” He bounced down the stairs.

  Nicolas paced the length of his room. His heart was full; it fought his lungs for space behind the bars of his ribs. It was fortunate both were securely jailed and their attempted escape foiled. Nicolas checked three times to make certain the ring was in his pocket. It was.

  An excited Stefan topped the stairs. “Everybody’s there now, and even Onkel Rick!”

  “Is he?” Nicolas frowned. Well, no matter; his course was set. “Alright, then, let’s go down!”

  Stefan led the charge. Nicolas pulled a deep breath to quell a touch of stage fright. Fortified by his status—freshly bathed, clean shaven and dressed in his finest clothes—he stepped into the drawing room.

  Conversation stopped as puzzled eyes considered Nicolas’s elevated condition. But from his perspective, only Sydney was in the room. Nicolas’s heart banged against its bone bars as he approached her.

  “Are you married?” There was no demanding tone, no teasing tone now.

  “No,” she whispered. Her dilated eyes floated over pale cheeks, sunken and bloodless.

  Nicolas lowered himself to one knee in front of her, reached for her hands and grasped them in his. “Then, would you consider marrying me? Vil De gifter seg med meg?”

  Everyone in the room waited in stunned silence for Sydney to respond. Her blinking gaze caressed his face, but she didn't answer him

  Had he waited too long? Had Rickard wooed her away from him? Nicolas's heart constricted, his mouth gone dry as straw. Somewhere he found a remnant of his voice. “Sydney?”

  “Yes, Nicolas,” she breathed. “Of course I will.”

  The room exploded. Nicolas retrieved the garnet ring from his pocket with a trembling hand.

  “I traded pelts for your wedding ring.” He slid it on her finger. It was a perfect fit.

  “It’s beautiful!” Sydney’s gaze bounced repeatedly between her hand and Nicolas.

  Nicolas straightened and pulled her to stand. He held her and the child close. She raised her lips and he kissed her with tenderness and promised passion. He hugged her again and waved the babbling occupants of the room to some semblance of quiet.

  “Sydney, it’s very fortunate that you said yes, for it would be quite awkward to return your wedding gift.”

  “Do you mean the ring?” Sydney looked at her finger.

  “No. Get your cloak and come with me. Everyone come!”

  Once the crowd was suitably attired to venture outside in the cold mid-morning, Nicolas wrapped Sydney’s arm around his and told her to close her eyes.

  “Don’t open them until I tell you, do you understand?” Too happy, his voice failed to be stern. “I truly do want you to see this in

  in the right manner.”

  Sydney smiled, lifted her chin and closed her eyes. Nicolas led her to the maple tree, assuring she didn’t slip on the crust of snow. He turned her and placed himself between her and the new graves.

  “Do you remember when you told me you had no home?”

  She nodded, eyes still closed.

  “Well now you do. So, I brought them home to you.”

  Sydney gasped. Her eyes and mouth popped open. She stared up at Nicolas, disbelief and hope warring over her features. He stepped aside. Her gaze fell to the tiny graves under her favorite tree.

  “Nicolas Hansen! You didn't!”

  Her hands flew to her cheeks; they were much redder than the winter's chill might be blamed for. Heedless of the snow, she lowered heavily to her knees. Nicolas knelt beside her.

  “Is it right that I moved them?” he whispered.

  “Yes. Oh, yes.” Her fingers traced the carved names. Tears spilled from her eyes and dripped down her cheeks.

  Nicolas put one arm around her shoulders and rested a hand on her womb. “Now all of your children are with you.” He leaned his head against hers. Their child moved under his palm. It was a strong, reassuring movement, and he cherished the moment.

  Sydney wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face under his chin. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “Jeg elsker deg.” Nicolas whispered.

  “Jeg elsker deg også.”

  “Pappa?” Stefan tugged on Nicolas’s frock coat. “Pappa!”

  “Yes, son?”

  “When are you gonna tell about the Indians?”

  Nicolas laughed and lifted his son to his hip. “Tonight. I promise.” He planted a loud kiss on Stefan’s cheek and set him back on the ground. He pulled Sydney close again. “Now let’s go back inside where it’s warm, shall we?”

  Rickard stepped up and gave Nick a hearty back slap. “Brother, I couldn’t be happier!”

  “Truly?” Nicolas looked sideways at his friend.

  “Truly. Sydney and I talked while you were gone. She refused my offer of marriage.”

  Nicolas looked down at the very pregnant woman tucked securely under his arm. “You did?”

  She gave him a sheepish smile.

  “I did. I told him that it would be disastrous for me to marry him considering I’m in love with his best friend. And the thought of raising your child without you, while living less than two miles from you, was something I couldn’t do.”

  “So you planned to stay here, then.”

  “In truth, no.” Sydney glanced at Rickard. “I’m packed to go to St. Louis, if you hadn’t proposed. I arranged to have the baby there, and then return to my parents’ home in Kentucky.”

  Nicolas stopped walking

  “And how did you arrange all this?”

  “Through me,” Rickard confessed.

  “I see.” Nicolas was shaken to his core by their plans; he had come so very near to losing everyone, closer than he imagined. Thank goodness he came to his senses.

  Thank God he listened.

  Back in the drawing room, the wedding itself became the topic.

  “I’d rather be married soon!” Sydney exclaimed, laughing. “The size of the occasion is of less concern to me than the size of my belly!”

  “Shall we marry on Sunday? Pastor Mueller should be here this week.” Nicolas looked at everyone and waited for an objection. None came.

  “
Done, then. Rickard, will you be my second?”

  “I’d be honored. What can I do?”

  “Make the arrangements at the church. We’ll marry following the morning service.”

  “I’ll plan the wedding dinner for here afterwards!” Addie offered, her face a puddle of happy tears.

  “I reckon we could invite everyone at church on Sunday to stay for the wedding and come over for dinner. Is that too much work, Addie?” Nicolas looked to his housekeeper.

  “No, no. Not at all! Truly, I wouldn’t enjoy a thing more!” Addie dabbed her eyes with her apron.

  “Then it’s settled.” Nicolas clasped his hands, grinning like a canary-stuffed cat.

  December 7, 1819

  “Stefan, Sydney and I are going to be married on Sunday. Do you know what that means?”

  Stefan shook his head as he shoveled a spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

  “Well, it means I’ll be the husband and Sydney will be my wife.”

  Stefan rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead. “Like Addie and John. I know that!”

  “Good. Yes.” Nicolas nodded at his son. “That also means that Sydney will be the Mamma.”

  Stefan’s eyes got big and his brows disappeared into his hair. “I’ll have a mamma?”

  “And this baby will be your brother or sister,” Sydney added.

  “Do I get to pick?”

  “No, son.” Nicolas stifled his smile. “The baby’s already a boy or girl. We’ll find out which one when it comes out.”

  “Oh.” Stefan took a disgruntled bite of breakfast.

  Sydney laid her hand on Stefan’s. “You can call me Mamma, or you can call me Sydney, but the baby will call me Mamma.”

  “What will the baby call Pappa?”

  “Pappa. He is the father of both you and the baby.”

  Stefan turned his gaze on Nicolas. “You stuck your prick in Sydney and made the baby?”