Читать книгу The Bartered Bride - Cheryl Reavis - Страница 12

Nearly everyone stayed for the wedding.

Forgive me, Ann, she kept thinking. She was a coward and she had no other choice. She clung to Frederich’s arm like a person in danger of drowning, far more ashamed of having to accept his offer of marriage than of her out-ofwedlock pregnancy. She stood before God and she answered the questions Johann Rial asked her until suddenly the ordeal was over. The church emptied, and a feeble celebration began. Johann brought out three kegs of hard cider from his own cellar for the impromptu wedding guests. The men swarmed the kegs, dragging Frederich off with them as they queued up to pass around a common dipper. Their congratulations were loud and boisterous, and some of them began cracking their whips in a kind of belated Polterabend, the noisemaking necessary to scare away the German evil spirits the evening before a wedding. She remembered the raucous demonstration surrounding Ann’s marriage to Frederich—Ann standing on the Holt front porch and laughing up at her dour soon-to-be-husband.

It occurred to Caroline, too, that everyone here accepted the obvious reason for her agreeing to marry Frederich Graeber. She was pregnant; the real father of the baby was unwilling. And while Eli had come to her rescue like some Sturm und Drang hero who intended to make an honest woman of her no matter what, it was Frederich’s arm she held on to. She held on to his arm, and she knew the truth. She had married Frederich because on the worst day of her life, this seemingly humorless man had dared to make light of her predicament. Neither his prenuptial promises nor her great need had swayed her the way his almost mischievous remark about Beata had. She had nearly laughed in spite of her misery, and it was as if he had given her a brief and shining glimpse of the person she used to be.

What happened to that girl? she wondered, watching as Frederich accepted another dipperful of cider. What happened to the Caroline Holt who used to dance and sing and laugh so easily? She could remember quite distinctly a time when she had been happy. Being sent to school in town when she was fifteen had been one of the greatest joys of her life. Her mother had insisted that she be educated, paying for Caroline’s three years at the Female Academy out of her own small inheritance, regardless of her husband’s wishes. But today was the first time Caroline had realized that her father had been right in wanting to keep his daughter in her place. Her mother had done her no favor in giving her a taste of the kind of life she had come from. An education was supposed to make one better, not forever dissatisfied and longing for the things one couldn’t have. Her mother had been born to live in town and go to teas and lectures and poetry readings, not she. She had been born to be a farmer’s wife, to work herself into mindless exhaustion, to bear children until she died like Ann. Her fine education had done nothing to change that. She took a quiet breath. If she was thankful for anything, it was that neither of her parents had lived to see this day. Her downfall would have done nothing but fuel the contempt they had for each other.

She jumped as John Steigermann fired a shotgun in the air. He gave her a sheepish grin and she smiled. Given the circumstances of this marriage, she needed to have the evil spirits as far away as possible. It was a shame that the Polterabend didn’t work on Beata. Her new sister-in-law hadn’t swooned after all, and every time Caroline looked up, Beata was whispering to a different group of women. Caroline had misjudged Beata in the early days of Ann’s marriage, thinking her flighty and insecure and living in Frederich’s household on sufferance much as she herself lived in Avery’s. Beata always talked nervously with her hands, her pale eyes darting away, as hard to pin down as a little boy caught with the telltale remains of a pie left cooling on the windowsill. Her torso was too thick for her arms and legs, the heaviness accentuated by a dowager’s hump. There were heavy lines in her face from nose to mouth and between her eyebrows. She was crude and vulgar and vindictive, and she had made Ann’s life a nightmare.

Caroline huddled with Leah and tried to pretend that she didn’t notice how few of the women came near after Beata spoke to them. She knew perfectly well what Beata was about. She was making sure that a hasty marriage didn’t change Caroline Holt’s status as an outcast.

She sighed and looked away from Beata’s animated discourse with yet another group of women to find Leah watching her.

“No one will believe her, Caroline,” Leah said quietly.

“Won’t they? What is she saying?”

“Beata tells lies, Caroline—”

“Tell me.”

“Caroline, it’s better to just ignore her.”

“Please, Leah. I can’t defend myself if I don’t know.”

Leah hesitated, then gave a small sigh. “She…says you’ve been going to town and lying with the soldiers who are always around the depot. She says you don’t know who your baby’s father is.”

Caroline nearly laughed at the irony. She hadn’t been into town in more than a year, and Avery had refused to take her along with him the day she’d gone to the schoolroom. But she couldn’t deny Beata’s tales. To do so, to say she hadn’t been to town in so long would only focus the speculation about who had fathered her child on the men here.

She watched Avery at the cider kegs. He had said nothing to her or Frederich since they’d come out of the church, and he was drinking heavily, pushing his way in to refill the dipper again and again. And Kader was there—apparently had been in attendance all the time, and he was clearly enjoying the celebration. She gave a sharp intake of breath as he suddenly snatched the dipper out of Avery’s grasp. He lifted it high and toasted Frederich with it, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Then he made some remark that caused the men to roar with laughter.

“Are you all right?” Leah asked.

“Quite all right,” she answered, and she realized that Kader Gerhardt was probably the only person here who was truly happy about her marriage.

She turned and looked the other way, determined not to let Kader see how forlorn she felt. She was so cold. Her entire body ached with it, and her hands trembled from the strain of the morning and the long time since she’d eaten. She wanted to speak to Lise and Mary Louise, but Beata keep them close by her side. How many times today would Lise have to hear about her Aunt Caroline and the soldiers at the depot?

“Leah, could you ask your father to tell William what’s happened?” Caroline said abruptly. “I promised him I’d let him know whatever I…decided to do. I want him to hear more than just Avery’s version.”

She was certain that otherwise William would never believe she’d done this thing. She didn’t believe it herself, any more than she believed that she could have actually asked Leah Steigermann for a favor.

“I’m…sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you with Avery,” Caroline said. “I know you care about him, and I thank you for your help today. I don’t think I could have made it otherwise. Avery is bound to have hard feelings, and I just want you to know that I’m…sorry.”

“Ah, well,” Leah said, immediately dismissing the apology. “What can anyone do about Avery?”

Nothing, Caroline thought. Absolutely nothing.

“I will go find my father now,” Leah said. “He will see that William is told.” She put her hand on Caroline’s arm. “You are lucky, Caroline. Your baby will have a name now. And Frederich has money and land. He’s quite handsome—you must try not to mind how the marriage happened.”

Handsome? Caroline hadn’t thought of him as ugly, but neither had she recognized his handsomeness. She looked for him in the crowd around the cider kegs to verify Leah’s opinion. He wasn’t there anymore. She finally saw him standing alone with a dipper in his hand at the stone wall near Ann’s grave.

She couldn’t keep from shivering. The wind was far too sharp for an outside celebration, particularly one as halfhearted as this one. The women were anxious to leave, and the men began seeking out Frederich again to shake his hand. Only a few people said goodbye to Caroline.

She looked around as Lise and Mary Louise came running to her, both of them clinging to her with as much desperation as she herself was beginning to feel. She forced herself to smile at their upturned faces. Blond and freckled Lise, who was so quiet and serious and old beyond her years. And Mary Louise, who was as mischievous as she was merry. Caroline wondered how much it bothered Frederich that his youngest child was dark-haired and brown-eyed like the Holts.

“Is it true what Papa says?” Lise asked earnestly. “Are you coming to our house?”

“Yes,” Caroline said. “It’s true.” She looked across the churchyard to where Frederich stood.

Why did you do this? she thought. She had no beauty, no reputation, no virtue. She had only her availability for the wedding night and any other night he felt so inclined.

Kader!

She hugged both the nieces tightly, and she couldn’t keep from shivering again. Frederich had moved to the Graeber wagon now. Beata hovered at his elbow, still talking. Both of them stared in her direction.

“Look, Aunt Caroline!” Lise said. “My tooth is loose!”

She looked down and smiled at the front tooth Lise wiggled with her tongue, then laughed as Mary Louise tried to wiggle hers as well.

“I can’t do it!” Mary Louise said, grabbing Caroline around the knees, nearly toppling her. “You do it, Aunt Caroline!”

“Silly Willy,” Lise said. “You’re just a baby. You have to be seven like—Papa wants me,” she said abruptly as Frederich gestured for her to come to him. There was no doubt in either of their minds that he meant now.

Caroline stood awkwardly, watching Lise scurry to see what Frederich wanted. Should she make Mary Louise follow? Was she to ride back with Beata and the children or had he made some other arrangement?

Mary Louise kept pulling at Caroline’s skirts, and she bent to lift her. But Frederich walked up. He said nothing, taking the child out of her grasp. His eyes met hers over the top of Mary Louise’s head. The anger was still there, she thought in dismay. She could never make peace with this man, even if she wanted to. His bitterness came solely from injured pride at his having trusted Avery Holt, and not from the fact that he’d actually ever wanted her. She was astute enough to recognize a man’s interest when she encountered it, the subtle and not so subtle looks that came when one’s brother or father wasn’t looking. She’d never gotten any such looks from Frederich. Frederich Graeber had barely acknowledged her existence. The memory of the day Ann died surfaced in her mind again. He was a powerful man, strong from his work in the fields, and she realized at that moment that, in spite of his promise, she was as physically afraid of him as she had ever been of Avery.

Mary Louise started to cry, and Frederich seemed about to say something. But then he turned abruptly and walked back toward the wagon, with Mary Louise still crying and reaching for her over his shoulder.

Caroline stood for a moment longer, then made her decision. She wasn’t going to try to second-guess Frederich. If he didn’t want her at the Graeber wagon, he was going to have to say so. She gave an ironic smile. She could see herself left standing, the Graebers riding away home, freed of the burden of her presence—but it wouldn’t be because she had let Frederich intimidate her. She had done nothing wrong—at least where Frederich Graeber was concerned.

Frederich turned to her the moment she walked up. “Where is Eli? We are going.”

“I don’t know,” she said evenly.

“Get on the wagon. I don’t expect to have to tell you everything.”

She bit down on her reply, surprised by the surge of anger she felt.

“Aunt Caroline,” Lise said, leaning over the wagon edge and holding out her hand.

Caroline took it, intending to step up on the hub of the wagon wheel. But it hurt too much to lift her leg that high. She tried with the other leg, Lise pulling hard on her hand while Mary Louise still cried for Caroline to hold her. Beata climbed in on the other side, settling herself on the front wagon seat and giving off a loud tirade in German Caroline couldn’t begin to understand. People were beginning to turn and stare, and Johann was walking rapidly toward them.

“Mein Gott,” Frederich said under his breath. He lifted Caroline roughly upward and deposited her beside his daughters, his broad hand resting directly over a bruise on her back. She couldn’t keep from crying out. Her eyes smarted, and she bit down on her lower lip. The pain stayed.

Thankfully, Eli appeared, intercepting Johann before he reached the wagon. She couldn’t bear any more heavy-handed concern from either of them today. The two men talked while Beata muttered under her breath and Frederich fidgeted impatiently.

“Eli!” he yelled suddenly, making Caroline jump.

After a moment, Eli came and took a seat beside Caro-

line. He said nothing to anyone but Lise, some remark in German that made her smile. Frederich looked over his shoulder once, then cracked his whip to get the horses moving. Beata’s muttering immediately became loud, guttural German again, the brunt of it directed at Frederich as far as Caroline could tell.

How am I going to stand this? she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to endure. She was in agony having to sit on the hard wagon seat. Her head ached and her nose ran from the cold—and she had no handkerchief. It was all she could do not to burst into tears and wail right along with Mary Louise.

Frederich said something to Beata in German as the wagon turned into the narrow road leading up to the Graeber house.

“And what does a whore like her need with clothes?" Beata answered in English, looking directly at Caroline.

Eli was out of his seat and would have put his hands on Beata if Frederich hadn’t grabbed him by his coat front to intervene. The horses pranced and reared nervously, and Mary Louise began to cry again.

“Enough!” Frederich bellowed. “By God, I have had enough!”

Beata clutched at Frederich’s arm. “You let him raise his hand to me! You let him—!”

“Be quiet, Beata! I will hear no more!” He was still holding on to Eli, and he pulled hard on the reins with one hand to keep the team from bolting, finally stopping them in the yard. He said something to Eli in angry German, silencing Beata again when she made some remark.

Please, Caroline prayed as Frederich lifted her down. Please let me get away from these people.

But she had married Frederich and the Graebers, and she was having a baby. She tried not to think about who would help her when her time came. Beata?

Oh, dear God.

Eli and Frederich began to unharness the team, both of them still arguing. She stood for a moment, staring toward the house, a brick house two stories high. Ann had been so proud to live here. She had been too young to know that a fine house meant nothing if there was no love in it. Given Beata’s present mood, Caroline wondered if she would even let her come inside without some kind of altercation.

“Aunt Caroline?” Lise said, ignoring Beata’s admonishments to take care of Mary Louise. Lise was so pale, and Caroline realized suddenly how difficult this day must have been for her.

Lise and Mary Louise were the only good things to come out of this arrangement, she thought. She looked up at the sky. The sun was low on the horizon. They had completely missed the noon meal. Both children must be starved. She took her nieces by the hand and walked along with them toward the back porch as if she expected nothing from Beata but exemplary behavior. Beata hurried past them, muttering to herself. She went into the house first, but at least she didn’t lock Caroline and the children out.

The Graeber kitchen was huge and smelled of smoldering ashes and Beata’s before-church baking. One side of the room faced the east and had two double windows to catch the morning sun. There was a trestle table in front of one of the windows and a paneled chest-settle near the huge diagonal fireplace. The fire had been banked, but it still gave off some warmth. Caroline walked with the children to the settle, needing desperately to sit down again. She began to help them take off their coats. She felt so ill at ease here. Everywhere she looked reminded her of Ann. Ann’s punched tin sewing box, the one decorated with sunbursts, sat on a small table by the settle. Their own mother’s English Stafford-shire china filled the corner cupboard. The numerous bright blue and white dishes had been Ann’s only wedding gift of any value from the Holt side of the family. And how Caroline hated seeing them in Beata’s kitchen. Ann’s heavy oak rocking chair still sat in the same corner. The back of the chair was decorated with carved roses. It had been a wedding present from Frederich, and Ann had always sat in it to feed her babies. It surprised Caroline that Beata had kept it.

There was no pig iron stove in the kitchen, only an iron box oven that sat directly on the hearth. Ann had wanted a real stove so badly. She had never really learned how to cook in the fireplace where everything had to be done over open flames or buried in hot coals. Once, she’d even set her skirts on fire.

Eli came in and began to light the oil lamps that hung on S hooks from the exposed overhead beams. She could see the room better now. The rest of the walls were lined with dressers for dishes and pots she didn’t quite remember. And there were several churns sitting about, and some small three-legged stools in the corners. One bare brick wall had been sponge painted with white lead. She had to grudgingly admit that Beata, for all her ill-tempered ways, kept a spotless house.

Eli moved from lamp to lamp, glancing at her from time to time as if he expected her to cry or run or both. He seemed to have taken over the task of acting as her champion, but she wished that he wouldn’t stare at her so. She was dangerously close to tears again.

I can’t live here with Frederich, she thought, but it wasn’t living with him that troubled her. The Graeber farm was twice the size she was used to. There would be more than enough chores for her and Beata to do. She could easily stay out of his way during the day, but what would she do at night?

Tonight?

She tried to find the numbness she’d felt earlier this morning, but it had been replaced by a kind of mindless panic. She was trapped, and the sun was going down. She had no night things. No dressing gown. No way to hide from her new bridegroom. She had only the clothes she’d arrived in. She glanced at Eli as he lit the last lamp. Perhaps he could help her. Perhaps she could just say it.

Eli, I’m afraid!

He left the kitchen for a moment and came back with a brimming pitcher of milk. Then he motioned for her and the children to come to the table. She got up reluctantly, while he found three large tin cups and filled them with milk. Then he disappeared into the pantry and returned with several pieces of cold corn bread.

“Beata doesn’t cook when she’s angry,” Lise said as if she thought Caroline needed some kind of explanation.

Caroline gave a resigned sigh. In that case, it might be months before Beata prepared another meal for this household.

“Sit,” Eli said, pulling out a chair.

Caroline hesitated, then sat down in the heavy Carver chair he wanted her to take, hoping that he wasn’t giving her Beata’s seat. All she needed was for Beata to come downstairs and find Caroline Holt sitting in her place.

Caroline Holt Graeber.

“Trink, Caroline,” Eli said, holding a cup of milk out to her.

She didn’t want to drink. She didn’t want anything. Except to run. Or to take back the marriage vows.

“Eli, I—”

She stopped because both children were watching intently, and when she didn’t take the cup, he walked to the worktable and lifted the lid on the honey pot, ladling a huge dollop of honey into the milk. He rotated the cup for a moment, sloshing milk over the sides, then brought it back to her.

“Trink,“ he said again.

She sighed, and she accepted the cup and the piece of corn bread he pushed at her. Then she drank the milk. All of it. Apparently, he’d heard somewhere of her weakness for milk and honey.

“Papa!” Mary Louise said, grinning broadly when Frederich came in the back door. He pointedly ignored Eli, but he stopped long enough to almost smile and to affectionately pat both children on the cheek. The gesture caught Caroline completely off guard. She had never once thought of Frederich Graeber as man who could be gentle with his children. He glanced at Caroline briefly on his way upstairs, and she was struck by the peculiar notion that he was feeling as trapped by the turn of events as she.

Beata must have been waiting for him on the top step, because Caroline could hear both their voices almost immediately.

And Eli stood watching her.

“Eli, don’t stare at me. Please,” she said finally, hoping he had enough command of English to understand.

Whatever he answered had something to do with Lise.

“I can tell her,” Lise said to him. “I like to talk for Eli,” she said to Caroline.

“Mary Louise needs to be put to bed,” Caroline said. “She’s falling asleep in her corn bread…” No one was listening to her. She didn’t want to have to endure any secondhand conversations with Eli. She didn’t want…anything. He spoke to Lise for a moment in German.

“Eli says to tell you this, Aunt Caroline. We…welcome you and we are glad you are here. Don’t be—” She stopped to ask Eli for clarification. “Don’t be afraid of us,” she continued. “No one can hurt you anymore.”

Caroline abruptly looked down at her hands, completely overwhelmed by how desperately she wanted to believe that. She had to fight hard not to cry.

“Eli says I’m to take you upstairs now. He says for you to rest—and try to sleep.”

She looked at him, but now he avoided her eyes.

Lise asked Eli another question.

“Come with me,” she said to Caroline after he’d answered.

Caroline nodded, then stood up. She let Lise take her by the hand, looking over her shoulder once at Eli before she climbed the stairs. He was wiping the milk mustache off Mary Louise’s mouth.

The room upstairs was Spartan and small and not the one Frederich had shared with Ann. Was this where Frederich slept now? Caroline wondered. There weren’t enough personal things in it to be sure, and she couldn’t ask Lise. She managed a smile when the child dutifully kissed her good-night, but she kept looking at the door, expecting Beata or Frederich or both and yet another unpleasant encounter.

She sat down heavily on the side of the bed after Lise had gone and took off her bonnet, hanging it by its ribbons on the one chair. She had no water to drink or to bathe in. She had no brushes or combs.

She sat there, numb again after all and staring at nothing. Then she lay down on top of the quilts and curled herself into a tight ball. All day long, she had been fighting the tears, but now that she had the privacy to shed them, none came. She lay there, huddled in her shawl, listening to the sounds of the house. Distant voices still raised in anger. Footsteps and slamming doors. The wind moaning against the eaves. And she listened to her own wavering sigh.

In spite of the cold and the strangeness, she fell asleep, and she woke a long time later when the door burst open.