Cheryl Reavis (27 page)

“There are symbols—so no one has to
hear
their feelings being—hurt, you see?”

“I…think so. The bottomless basket is a ‘no.’”

“Yes.”

“It’s a ‘yes’?”

“Yes, it is a no!”

“All right! And then what?” she asked him.

“Then there are the—gifts.”

“For her?”

“Yes, for her—who else would get gifts?”

“I don’t know, Frederich, that’s why I asked. Go on.”

“In olden times it would be—a yoke of oxen, and a horse—with bells and ornaments all over the cloth skirt thing that covers the knight’s horse—I don’t know the word in English—and a shield and lance and spear.”

“Why?”

“For their life together—for the wars and for the peace.”

“If there is any.”

“Yes. But now the man gives his intended gloves—engagement gloves. Then the wedding is on a Friday—”

“Always?”

“Or a Sunday—or Tuesday. Maybe a Thursday. Sometimes on Saturday…”

She was smiling.

“At noon,” he told her.

“Or one o’clock?” she suggested.

“No. Never—never at one o’clock. If it is one o’clock, somebody sets—all the clock hands back to—noon.”

“Of course,” she said agreeably.

“But first the
Hochzeitslader
goes—door to door and invites everyone to the wedding—”

“Does he carry a sword, too?”

“No, he wears a big—hat with flowers and tall boots. He carries—a—long—a—long—stick…”

The intense pain in his leg and arm suddenly overwhelmed him and he turned his face away. He bit down hard to keep from crying aloud, but he couldn’t keep from writhing in a vain attempt to escape. He could taste the blood on his lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Frederich,” Caroline said, her face close. “There is nothing—no laudanum to be had. If the train stops long enough, I’ll try to find some willow bark—”

“You promised—me—”

“I
will
get you home,” she whispered.

She put her hand in his, and he clutched it hard.

Don’t let me die, Caroline! Don’t let me die!

“Johann and I—we couldn’t find Avery,” she said after a very long period of silence.

“You don’t—worry about Avery,” he said. “If he isn’t— dead or in prison, he will be—somewhere with a womanwaiting on him.”

“Sort of…like you?” she suggested, and in spite of the pain, he smiled.

But he didn’t want to smile, and he began to take great pains to guard against it. He hurt too much, and he remembered all too well that she didn’t want him or the marriage. For whatever reason, she had done as he asked and gotten him away from Eli’s charity. He still desperately needed her help, but he could imagine himself severing all ties between them once and for all. It would be easy. He could do it with one small question:

When will you go to Eli?

The question sat there in his mind all the time—like some wild beast straining to be unloosed. And why not? When terrible things happened to him—when Anna died and when he was wounded—Eli was there in the midst of it. In his more lucid moments, he thought that word of the battle must have reached the Pennsylvania relatives, and then Eli
must have taken it upon himself to come to Gettysburg to look for him. Eli had dragged him in the pouring rain all the way back to Virginia. He was alive because of Eli.

And he hated it.

Better to be dead than indebted to Eli!
he thought wildly.

But it wasn’t so. He was alive. Caroline was here. Perhaps he would even see his children.

“Where are we?” he abruptly asked.

“I don’t know,” Caroline said.

He could see how tired she was—exhausted—but he chose to be displeased anyway.

“Can you not ask
?”

“Yes, I can
ask,
“ she said. “But I think I’ll be too busy throwing
you
off the train!”

There was a ripple of laughter from the stretchers around him, and after a moment, he himself smiled—in spite of his resolve.

He looked into her eyes until she smiled with him.

My Caroline,
he thought.
My wife.

“F
rederich? Frederich! He can’t hear me—!”

“Now, now—you don’t fret. He is all right.”

“But—”

“You don’t worry yourself, Caroline. Come, Frederich!" John Steigermann said loudly, lifting him out of the back of the wagon. “Get the door, Caroline,” he said, and she ran ahead of him to do as he asked.

“Why aren’t Beata and the children here?” she said over her shoulder.

“They go to the church for prayers on Wednesday evenings. These are sad times. Everyone is there. We were very sorry to know about William.”

Frederich moaned as John Steigermann jarred him up the steps.

“You think an old man like me cannot carry you?” he asked loudly, and whatever Frederich replied made Mr. Steigermann laugh.

“You see, Caroline? I tell you he is good and he is!”

“What did he say?” she asked, drawing an immediate protest from Frederich.

“He says you are not to know that, Caroline. Your ears are too delicate for such things.”

“I am Avery Holt’s sister. How could my ears be delicate?"
she answered, feeling hopeful suddenly. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.

She led the way up the stairs, hurrying down the hallway to open the door to the room where Frederich had always slept. The place was hot and stuffy, and she threw up the windows to let in some fresh air. The bed had been made. Thanks to Johann’s telegram, Beata had known Frederich was coming, just as John Steigermann had. Caroline still couldn’t believe Mr. Steigermann had been waiting for them at the train station—that he had gone to town a day early to make sure he didn’t miss their arrival. When she stepped off the crowded train to search for someone to help her move Frederich, she had all but wailed like a lost-child-found at the very sight of him, her aging knight-in-shining-armor— again.

She could hear voices downstairs suddenly—a lot of voices.

“Go and see,” John Steigermann said. “I will get Frederich settled. She did well, did she not, Frederich? To get you home.”

She didn’t wait to hear Frederich’s answer, though some part of her would have dearly loved to hear just a small measure of praise and gratitude from him. She was exhausted—both of them were. It had been so long since she’d slept lying down or slept at all, for that matter.

She braced herself before she went down the steps. She hadn’t forgotten that she was a pariah still, and that the women whose voices she could hear would not receive her kindly. Frederich was in good hands now. It was all she could do not to take the back stairs and flee them all.

But she could hear Mary Louise’s voice—and Lise’s. It was only that that kept her from bolting. She moved quickly down the steps. The noisy kitchen—full of women with offerings of food—fell silent the moment she appeared. She saw Beata first. Beata had a firm grip on Lise and Mary
Louise both, but her face was filled with worry for a change instead of her usual righteous indignation.

“I couldn’t find Avery, Beata,” Caroline said immediately. “He wasn’t in any of the hospitals.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“Did you even look?” Beata said.

“Of course, I looked! Johann is still there—looking.”

“Caroline!” Leah cried in a blatant attempt to intercede. She stepped forward and hugged Caroline hard. “We’ve had word of Kader,” she said brightly. “He’s been captured and sent north—to New York, they say. I believe he’ll be all right there.”

Caroline forced a smile. Of course he would be all right— because Leah Steigermann wanted it.

More and more of the women came forward.

“My boy, Conrad, Caroline? Did you see him—?”

“My brother, Caroline—”

“And mine—”

The room was a blur of faces suddenly; she had to bite her lip so as not to cry.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice husky and strange sounding. “There was only Frederich. And William—”

She abruptly turned her attention to her nieces.

“Did you bring Papa?” Lise asked anxiously, trying to pull free of Beata’s hold. “Did you?”

Mary Louise stood with her finger in her mouth, forgoing for once her usual role as the echo.

“Yes, my loves. He’s upstairs—wait!” she said, grabbing both their dresses to keep them from breaking free of Beata and rushing off to see him. “Mr. Steigermann is with your papa now and he will say when you can come up.” She ignored Beata and put her arms around them both. “Your papa has been hurt—in his arm and in his leg. So you can’t jump on him or anything like that—”

“Can he play his fiddle?” Lise asked.

“No, Lise, he can’t.”

“That’s all right. I can still have my birthday table without it.”

“Yes, you can,” Caroline said, looking past them because John Steigermann was standing at the top of the stairs. When he nodded, she sent them on, but, subdued now, they walked hand in hand slowly up the stairs.

“Caroline,” Mr. Steigermann said, motioning for her to come, too. “Frederich worries when you are not near.”

She frowned a bit, not knowing whether the remark was for her benefit or for the onlookers. But she went. For days now, her every waking moment had been filled with nothing but Frederich; she couldn’t ignore him, even if she’d wanted to.

“I have a hurt and hungry man upstairs,” Mr. Steigermann said to the women. “You will put together the dinner for him, yes? We will pray for him and then we will feed him and then we will let him rest.”

Caroline followed Mr. Steigermann and the girls, but she stood well back to let Frederich have his reunion with his children alone. He spoke to them in German, loving, gentle words that made them bashful and made them laugh. When she finally stepped into the room, she could see that his pain was intense, and she took them in hand immediately, sending them downstairs to help fetch his supper.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Are—you?” he countered.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say of course, but it would have been a lie. Her encounter downstairs had taken more out of her than she would have anticipated. She felt so weak suddenly. She needed to do a hundred things—none of which she could bring to mind. She crossed her arms over her breasts as if she were cold. Indeed, she was shivering, in spite of the summer heat. She was so tired! She could feel her body sway, and she tried desperately to catch on to something.

“John!” Frederich called loudly, his voice penetrating the roaring in her ears, and the old man was there, catching her just as she would have hit the floor.

“Where to take her?” Mr. Steigermann said from somewhere very far off. She felt him lift her off her feet, and it was suddenly that other time, when Avery had realized she was illicitly pregnant.

William crying—

No, William is dead.

I’m all right. I can stand,
she thought she said, but clearly she had not, because no one seemed to have heard her.

“Here—put her here by me,” Frederich said. “She’s shaking all over—there are quilts—in that chest.”

“Be still, man,” John Steigermann said. “You will open your wounds. I will take care of her.”

She could hear them perfectly now—no roaring—and she tried to protest. She was quite fine—really. She just couldn’t stop trembling.

She could feel herself being covered by a cedar-scented quilt and a hand stroking her face.

“Caroline—” Frederich’s voice said very close.

“So…tired,” she murmured.

“I know,” he whispered. “Find her some—brandy, John. She’s exhausted—I have seen soldiers in battle too longshake like this.”

“You are not far from that yourself, Frederich. I will bring Leah to put her to bed.”

“No, I want her to—stay here. I want her to sleep—as long as she needs to. I don’t want her where I can’t hear— what Beata—will say to her.”

“Yes,” Steigermann said. “That is good. I will get the brandy. And I will get enough for you, too.”

She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t manage it. It felt so good to just lie there. And if she drank the brandy Frederich sent for, she didn’t remember it. She only remembered
voices from far off—Lise and Mary Louise, Leah Steigermann, and yet another of Beata’s eloquent sniffs.

Voices,
she thought sleepily.
And birdsong.

The sun was shining. The breakfast was cooking. A warm body lay all along hers. Because she had shared a bed with another human being only once in her adult life, she came awake and upright at the same moment.

It was the same human being.

“Mein Gott,
Caroline! You scared me half to death!”

“What are you doing here?”

“I am wounded,” he reminded her, sinking back on the pillows. “It is
my
bed—”

She licked her lips and stared at him. “Have I—hurt you?”

“Yes,” he said pointedly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sliding her feet to the floor. “How long have I—”

“A
long
time,” he assured her.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“It’s all right for you to be here, Caroline. We said the words to the marriage ceremony—if little else.”

Their eyes met, and she immediately looked elsewhere.

“Where are you going?” he asked when she turned away and began looking for her shoes.

“I’m going home,” she said. “Nothing has changed, Frederich. I
have
done what you asked of me. I have brought you back here. I’ll come later to help Beata—if she’ll let me—but I told you before. I can’t live here.”

“Even if I—?”

She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. He looked at her with a sadness she could hardly bear.

“Even if I—asked?” he said finally, and she shook her head.

“I can’t,” she said, and she sounded determined, even to herself. But she couldn’t keep from giving him one last look as she went out the door.

Nothing has changed.

Frederich in his helplessness wondered if she really believed that.

She kept her word on both accounts. She came back to help Beata as she said she would—every day—and she would not live in his house. She took great care of him; even the worst of her critics—Beata herself—could not find fault with that. He tried not to miss her when she was gone. He tried not to worry about her staying at the Holt place alone. He tried to grow stronger, to enjoy his children, to forget about Eli—but there were times when it was all he could do not to make a fool of himself and beg for what he wanted.

Stay with me, Caroline.

The truth of the matter was that he couldn’t bear to have her out of his sight—and yet he did everything he could to drive her away. He lay now with his eyes closed as she bathed him, waiting for her to cause him pain so that he could complain.

But she was always gentle.

So…gentle…

“Where were you all those months?” she asked him. Her hands moved over him, soaping his body, his unwounded arm and hand, his shoulders and chest and belly. Her lingering touch was a long-desired thing he had never expected to know again, and he gave himself up to the memory. The cold attic room. The crackling of the cedar fire. And her hands moving over him.

“What—months?” he forced himself to ask.

“When the army took you away—and we couldn’t find where you’d been taken.”

“I was in Richmond. The prison—Castle Thunder. They were going to make an example of me,” he said, his eyes still
closed. “My commanding officer came and ordered me back to the regiment. He was very angry. He told them to make an example out of somebody who didn’t know how to sergeant.”

“You…never sent word.”

“No,” he said. “I never did.”

“Frederich—”

“You say my name wrong, did you know that?” he asked with his eyes still closed—because he still needed to find fault. “‘Frederich.’”

“Do you want me to say it the German way?”

“No. The German way is dying here. I will be like
John
Steigermann. He changes the
Hans.
I will change the
Friedrich.’”

She leaned across him to dry his shoulder; he opened his eyes. Their faces were inches apart, but she was too intent upon her task to notice. He wanted to kiss her mouth. Now. Perhaps she would even stand still and let him do it.

As she straightened, their eyes met.

“Do you think about us at all?” he asked quietly, because truly he felt that if he said such a thing too loud she would run from him. “Do you think about what it was like with us? Or do you only think about him—?”

“Oh, don’t!” Caroline said, her eyes locked with his. “I can’t bear it! If you say anything to me about Eli, I will go out of this house and I won’t come back.”

He believed her. He had already guessed as much—that any insinuation about her and Eli on his part would be unforgivable, regardless of how guilty she might be. All he had to do was make the unsubtle remark, ask the accusatory question, and she would be gone. She would endure everything else about him—his bad temper and his fevers and his wounds—but not that.

“I don’t know why you are here at all!” he said.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

“All right! You took care of me when I was so ill—when it was of no importance to me if I lived or died. I am repaying that charity—”

“I never held that up to you!”

“No. But I feel obligated anyway. Just as I feel obligated to do penance for Ann.”

He stared at her.

Penance for Ann.

He had heard that before.

Penance for…Anna
…

She tried to move away from him, but he held on to her, his eyes searching hers. “Is that all there is between us? Debts to be paid? Is it? Is it?”

She suddenly bowed her head.

“Caroline,” he whispered, straining upward so that he could get closer to her. She held herself rigid, unyielding. “Caroline—”

Their faces touched, and she made a soft, yielding sound, clinging to him for a moment before she pushed herself away.

She slipped from his grasp and stumbled toward the door.

“Caroline, I want to know what is between you and Eli!”

“There is nothing! How many times do I have to tell you? I see how much you want to forgive me. I know all I have to do is ask. But it’s Ann who needs it. I will
not
be forgiven for something I haven’t done!”