Cheryl Reavis (22 page)

“No,” Caroline said, but one incident after another surfaced in her mind. Ann’s suddenly learning to speak German. Ann’s refusal to worry about her pregnancy—her happiness regardless of the fact that her life was in danger. And it was because she was so in love with her baby’s father, Caroline realized. Eli.

Oh, Ann—

“Who else knows?” she asked abruptly. “Avery? William?”

“No. Only Beata.”

Yes,
Caroline thought.
Beata.
All those thinly veiled remarks she’d made about the Holt women—Beata had been trying to tell her about Ann and Eli for months, and she would feel free to say whatever she liked to whoever would listen after today.

Caroline drew a long, shaky breath and began to wander about the room. “Ignorance
is
bliss, isn’t it, Johann? Or it was.”

“I only wanted you to understand—”

“What I
understand
is how hopeless it is for Frederich and me. And it’s always been hopeless, only I was the only
one who didn’t know that. Why did he ever want to marry me in the first place?”

“I don’t know, Caroline. The children were a big part of it, I think.”

“If it’s true that Ann betrayed him,” she said, because she still didn’t want to believe that it could be so, “then that has overshadowed everything. I have never had a chance to find a place in Frederich’s life and he must have despised me because of what my sister did. And you knew it all the time. You knew that Eli and Frederich hated each other because of poor—dead—
guilty
Ann—and you said nothing—”

“I told you. I did not feel that I was at liberty to—”

“I was alone. I was as desperate as a woman can be. How could you let me walk into a terrible situation like that so unaware?”

“It was for the child, Caroline.”

“And what child is that, Johann?” she said bitterly.

“I did the best I could for you—”

“You’ll have to forgive me if that brings me no comfort whatsoever. Dear God, when I think how utterly useless all this has been!”

“He has changed since he married you, Caroline. He has changed a great deal—”

“Changed? No, Johann. You said he was not a cruel man.” She picked up the money Frederich had given her. “Ask me about this. Ask me what Frederich paid me for, and I’ll tell you how cruel he can be.”

“People say things in hurt and anger. Things they’d don’t mean. Things they hardly realize they’ve said.”

“Some people, perhaps. But not Frederich.”

“You have a duty here, Caroline.”

“To whom? To the man who thinks he has good reason to hate Ann and me both? To the man you deceived me into marrying?”

“To your husband.”

“I don’t have a husband, don’t you see that? There is no marriage and never has been. And there is nowhere to go from here. Frederich can’t believe me on my word alone. He can’t—or won’t—and nothing I say will change that.”

“Caroline—” He stopped, the gravity of the situation all too apparent on his face.

“Have you told him what you suspect about Eli’s promise, Johann? That it was made to Ann?”

He didn’t answer her.

“I see,” she said. “You have. If he won’t believe you—a man of God—what chance do I have?”

“You have none—if you won’t even try to talk to him.”

“Well, I won’t beg for his forgiveness when I’ve done nothing wrong. And I will never live in his house again, Johann. If you are going to play the go-between, you can tell him that. You tell him that I know nothing about Eli’s letter, but if he believes it, then it might as well be so. I don’t know what he wants from me. I have never known—except perhaps to take care of Mary Louise and Lise. I love them dearly, but I’m sure that is of no consequence to him. I’m sure he will make other arrangements for them now. The only thing I ask is that you speak to them for me, Johann. Help them understand that I just can’t be with them right now.”

“If you’d just come back with me, Caroline—I am pleading with you—before it’s too late. It’s the only way for you—”

“No! Johann, no.”

“I don’t know what else to say to you—except that I accept much of the blame for this. I can try to talk to Frederich again—”

“He isn’t going to listen.”

“Caroline I—I will remember you and Frederich in my prayers.”

Yes, why not?
she thought.
Prayers are all Frederich and I have left.

But she said nothing and she didn’t go with Johann to the door or try to persuade him to stay and eat their meager fare. The potatoes were beginning to boil. She sat and listened to the steam lift and then rattle the lid, and she waited until she was certain that she was alone. Then and only then did she dare to let her mind return to the earlier question.

What if I have another baby?

Frederich forced himself to let Johann make his report in his own good time. He kept to the pressing job at hand, chopping a felled tree in the woods well away from the house, his impatience rising as he tried to hang on to what little of his dignity and his pride remained.

“She won’t come back here,” Johann said finally.

“You asked her to do that?” Frederich said, the question out before he could stop it.

“I did.”

“I have not said I wanted—”

“She won’t come,” Johann interrupted, “regardless of what you want.”

Frederich split the next piece with much more force than was necessary. The air filled with the pungent smell of raw, injured wood.

“What do you expect?” Johann said, dodging a flying chip. “You and Beata take sides against her—”

“Is that what she said!”

“No, that is what I said.”

“You saw the letter?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And I believe she is innocent.”

Frederich rested the ax on the ground. “You saw—read— the letter and you believe she is innocent,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then you are an even bigger fool than I have been,” he said, picking up the ax again. He split two more pieces and
set up a third. “Is she going to him?” he asked as he brought the ax down hard. For a moment he thought that Johann hadn’t heard him.

“I told you I believe her,” Johann said. “I believe that there is nothing between Eli and Caroline. But I think—" He stopped.

“What, Johann? What do you think?” Frederich said impatiently.

“I think
you
can drive her to take the only recourse she has. Without your protection, Beata will make sure she is ostracized here. I can preach tolerance from the pulpit and forgiveness and not casting the first stone—but, as sorry as I am to say it, I doubt that it will help her situation. If you abandon her now, if you accuse her unjustly—”

“I don’t
accuse,
Johann! It is all there in the letter!”

“If you accuse her unjustly,” Johann said again, “Eli’s offer will be the only beacon in the storm. He has offered her a new life—”

“Yes, he makes her such pretty promises.”

“Frederich, I am going to say again what I have said to you and to Caroline. This ‘promise’—I think it was made to Ann, not—”

Frederich made a noise of disgust and attempted to walk away.

“Not to Caroline,” Johann continued, following him. “She didn’t know about Ann and Eli, Frederich.”

“So she says.”

“No. So I have seen. I have dealt in human misery all my adult life. I am not easily fooled—regardless of what you think. I know she didn’t know, just as I know that you—”

He stopped walking. “What?” Frederich said when Johann didn’t go on. “You know what?”

“I know you love your wife.”

Frederich stood there, saying nothing. He had known Johann Rial a long time—too long to make a denial, even to save face. Yes. He loved his wife, and if there was anything
at all he could be glad about, it was that he hadn’t been foolish enough to tell her.

“The problem with you and Caroline is that you are too much alike—you are both too stubborn and too proud for your own—”

“I can’t just forget about that damned letter!”

“You may have to, Frederich. You may have to because it’s either that or tracking Eli to Pennsylvania to get his explanation. And there’s the small matter of a war and your army enlistment in the way—not to mention your conspicuous absence from the ranks now. I’m telling you, if you—”

They both looked around at the sound of a wagon—John Steigermann driving his horses hard.

“They are coming!” Steigermann called before the wagon stopped rolling. “Old Aaron Goodman saw you talking to Jacob yesterday. He has told the officer that you are home-no! No!” he said when Frederich would have made a run toward the house. “You come with me. I will hide you in the wagon. If I can get you to town—if I can get you on a train headed to Virginia, they will have no cause to look for you.”

Frederich stood for a moment. He didn’t have his rifle or his gear. He had left them with Caroline—deliberately left them, he realized now. Even in his anger, he had had the presence of mind to arrange an excuse for seeing her again.

“Johann,” he said, clasping his shoulder. “Tell my children I’ve had to go—tell Beata what’s happened.”

“And what shall I tell your wife, Frederich?” Johann asked gravely.

“Tell her—” He broke off and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I will tell her myself.” He began walking rapidly away. “John Steigermann! You drive to the ferry road and go toward town. I will cut across from Avery’s and meet you in the hickory woods—”

“Frederich, it’s too dangerous!” John Steigermann called after him.

“Do it, John!” he called back.

“You be careful!”

Frederich began to run, waving his hand to show that hehad heard the admonishment, and he kept running, deep into the woods toward the Holt farm. He stayed off the path, cutting through the underbrush and the brambles to keep out of sight. The briars caught his hands and face as he rushed headlong into the thickets. He had to get to her. He had to tell her—

Tell her what?
he thought. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and his chest began to burn with the exertion.

I believe you?

No. He couldn’t tell her that, because he didn’t believe her. He knew what Eli was capable of doing and he had seen the letter.

I don’t believe you, Caroline.

I don’t believe you!

And God help me, I want you anyway…

As he reached the edge of the woods, he stopped running, creeping forward, tree to tree to stay out of sight. There was no one about the Holt place that he could see. He moved farther to the right. The house had small-paned nine-over-nine windows. It was difficult to see inside. He couldn’t detect any movement at any of them.

He started violently at a noise behind him, but it was only one of the pigs Caroline had set loose to graze on the hickory nuts that were plentiful on Avery’s land.

He stood for a moment, impatient and desperate. He had no more time. None. With a faint curse, he stepped forward, walking quickly across the rough ground and into the yard. He felt no sense of alarm until he had nearly reached the porch. The back door was ajar and through it he could just see Caroline sitting on a kitchen chair. When he was about to call out to her, she abruptly stood up, only to sit down again—hard. Too late, he realized that she hadn’t
done so by choice. The first soldier stepped out from the side of the house to his left, pistol drawn. Then two more from the barn. And finally, the officer came out onto the porch, dragging Caroline with him. She was afraid, and Frederich instinctively took a step forward.

“Stay where you are!” the officer said, his revolver aimed at Frederich’s head.

“Don’t hurt her,” he said. “She has done nothing—”

“Except perjure herself on your behalf. Such loyalty is to be admired, I suppose, even if it is wasted. Keep your hands where I can see them—Toby, you know what to do!”

The soldier, Toby, rushed forward, eager to show that he did indeed understand his duty. He emptied Frederich’s pockets on the ground, then brought his hands behind his back and tied them skillfully. He left a long end and pulled Frederich over to the porch with it, making him sit down on the edge while he secured him to the porch post. Frederich’s eyes met Caroline’s briefly; she was visibly trembling.

“Take her inside,” Frederich said. “She’s cold—”

“You don’t give orders here, Dutchman!” the officer said, but he thrust her aside and back into the kitchen. She didn’t stay, hovering just behind the officer, coming as close as she dared.

“What’s going to happen—?” she tried to ask.

“She has nothing to do with this,” Frederich said again.

“Then she has no need to worry,” the officer said. “You, on the other hand, have a great deal to answer for.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Caroline cried.

“Go back inside!” the officer said loudly. “Now! Toby— get her out of the way!”

Toby stepped forward, but he was not nearly so certain of his ability to handle a distraught woman. And she was that, Frederich realized. But was she worried for herself or for him? His eyes met hers again. She didn’t look away. He was overwhelmed suddenly by the memory of last night. He remembered the taste of her and the feel of her around him.
How could she have lain with him, loved him with such abandon if she hadn’t meant it?

He abruptly looked away.

“I have the authority to hang deserters.” the officer said.

“Then you’d better be sure that is what I am,” Frederich answered.

They stared at each other.

“You watch him,” the officer said to this men. He turned and went back inside, taking Caroline and Toby with him. Frederich could hear her say something as the door closed, but he couldn’t understand the words. In frustration he abruptly pulled hard against the porch post.

“Hey!” one of the nearest soldiers yelled. “You behave yourself now, Fritz! You ain’t getting loose and you ain’t going nowhere—except maybe the prison in town, so you might as well situate yourself right where you are and save yourself some trouble.”

Frederich “situated” himself, but it took all his self-control to do it. Every now and then he could see Caroline walk past the window, but he couldn’t tell what she was doing.