Cheryl Reavis (24 page)

“It’s too hard to explain. I don’t exactly understand myself. It’s just—better this way. For you and Mary Louise especially.”

“Because Beata will get really mad and hide the food,” Lise said.

“Yes, that’s part of it—”

“Don’t you like us anymore?” Mary Louise asked, holding on to Caroline’s skirts.

Caroline looked from one of them to the other. “Of course I like you. You are my very own nieces. I love you. I love you both with all my heart.”

“Then don’t you like Papa?” Lise asked.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “I like him—”

She stopped, because she could hear Beata calling the children in the distance and because she was on the verge, not of lying, but of telling the awful truth. Shouldn’t somebody know that she loved Frederich Graeber?

“Go now,” she said abruptly, giving them both another quick kiss. “Hurry, so Beata won’t fuss—go!” she said when they still would have lingered.

They reluctantly began to walk away from her.

“I think you better tell Papa, Aunt Caroline,” Lise called over her shoulder. “I think you better tell Papa you like him, because I don’t think he knows it.”

She stood staring after them for a long time. No, of course, Frederich wouldn’t know. He only knew that she couldn’t abide being married to him. He only knew that she had the real opportunity to leave him and his children for a life with Eli. It would never occur to him that she liked— loved—him.

But perhaps she didn’t love him. Perhaps it was something else. She was perfectly aware that she would do anything for him—except live with him as a surrogate Ann. Not even for Frederich would she take on Ann’s sins or her punishment for them; she had enough sins of her own.

Hopeless.

She saw the word in her mind as sharp and clear as if it had been written in black ink on a clean white page. She closed her eyes for a moment, standing quietly until she could see—feel—yet another word.

Please.
..

But God was in no hurry to answer such vague prayers, and heaven must be inundated by more exact ones from people who were worthy of having their petitions granted. There was nothing she could do except let the days pass, one after another in a relentless sameness until she hardly knew the day of the week anymore. The weather grew insufferably hot by the last of June and then hotter still in the first week of July. She went to bed each night with a palmetto fan in her hand, listlessly fanning herself until she fell asleep, only to wake up in the oppressive heat and have to do it all over again. The only real opportunity for rest and respite came in the early-morning coolness just before dawn—but the blackberries were at their peak now and more than plentiful, and she had to go berry picking before they were all gone. She left the house just at daylight, and she wore long sleeves and gloves buttoned tightly at the wrist in an admittedly vain effort to keep out the chiggers and ticks. Her apparel was comfortable enough now with the sun low, but she would suffer in the heat later. If she were not faced
with the prospect of starvation and if she did not love blackberries so, she would have lain abed this day in a perfect example of the utterly useless and slovenly person Beata had always maintained she was.

She got through the one-for-the-bucket-and-two-for-me stage quickly enough and began to pick in earnest until the sun climbed well above the trees. She had carried two buckets with her—the small berry bucket she could maneuver better in among the briars and a larger one to empty the berries into. Only when the larger bucket was nearly full did she stop. She was so hot! The air weighed heavily around her. It was as if she had to push her way through it to move. She could feel the rivulets of sweat rolling down her sides under her clothes and down her face and in her hair. Her dress stuck to her back, and she wished belatedly that she’d brought a bottle of water to drink and that well-used palmetto fan.

In the distance, the German church bell began to ring before she was halfway home, and she looked around in surprise.

It’s not Sunday,
she thought.
Or is it?
It wouldn’t surprise her if she had missed it.

She kept walking. The bell was still ringing when she reached the house, not a Sunday kind of ringing, but a steady, ominous pealing that went on and on. She wanted to walk to the church and see, but she didn’t. Some days she felt up to being notorious in the eyes of her neighbors. Today, she did not.

She carried the blackberries inside and busily began to wash them and spread them out on her mother’s willow platters to dry. She had cream and no sugar. She would whip the cream and eat it on a big bowl of the berries anyway.

She was nearly done when she heard someone come up on the porch. The door was open, and she looked around as Leah Steigermann rushed inside.

“Leah, what—”
are you doing here?
she was about to ask, because she assumed from Kader’s letter that any society between them was now forbidden. Leah’s having made no attempt to come and see her since that letter arrived certainly indicated that that was the case.

“Caroline, Johann sent me,” Leah interrupted. She was out of breath from running and her hair had come undone. “—a terrible battle in Pennsylvania—”

“William?” Caroline asked in alarm, stepping forward.

“He’s on the casualty list, Caroline—”

Caroline made a sharp sound.

“And Avery,” Leah went on. “And the Ehrnhardt brothers—and the Leherle boy and Tobias Kruse—and two of the Goodmans—more than thirty of them just from here—so many—so many, Caroline…” she was crying openly now. “And Caroline,” she said, coming to take her by the arm. “Frederich—”

“What about Frederich?” Caroline cried. “Tell me!”

“He’s on the list, Caroline.”

P
lease!

What did it mean to be
on the list?
she thought.

Missing? Wounded? Dead?

No, not dead!

Please!

William and Avery—oh, Frederich!

It could mean anything, and she knew that. She went looking for Johann, the blackberries left lying and Leah in tow. They were halfway to the church when it occurred to her that she should have asked.

“You’ve had no news of Ka—your fiance?” she said over her shoulder.

“Nothing,” Leah said. “He’s been ill—he may not have gone on the campaign—Caroline, what will you do? Frederich and Avery
and
William—all three of them—”

Do?

Yes, she thought. She must
do
something. But her mind refused to consider what that might be. She could only think of getting to the church and speaking to Johann and nothing else. If there were any details, he would know them, and she blessed him for sending Leah to tell her. Who knew how long it would have been before she heard; she wouldn’t have come to investigate the ringing of the bell.

And the bell was still ringing. When they were in sight of
the church, it abruptly stopped, the ensuing silence as ominous as the pealing had been.

She picked up her skirts and began to run, leaving Leah to keep up or not as she would. People were already gathering at the church, old men and young boys still on horseback and straight from the fields, and women standing in silent little groups. No one spoke to her as she approached. She stood off to herself, her arms folded over her breasts in some effort to brace herself to hear whatever Johann might have to say.

After a moment, he appeared, standing under the shade of the fieldstone arches at the front door.

“The battle began on Wednesday last near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania,” he told them without prelude. “The telegraphed report is that it raged for three days and that as much of the army as was able has retreated back into the comparative safety of Virginia. I will read the names of men who have been killed or wounded or who are unaccounted for. Our church is open—you may spend as much time there as you need to in communion with Our Lord…”

She waited, listening for
her
names. It seemed to take forever before he read them.

William Holt and Frederich Graeber, wounded and unaccounted for.

Avery Holt, wounded.

Unaccounted for. Unaccounted for.

Dead, then?

No, I won’t believe that!

But the battle had been nearly a week ago. If they had been wounded, who knew what their status was now? She had to talk to Johann. At one point, she thought that Leah had come close to her, but when she glanced in her direction, it was not Leah at all, but Beata who had come to stand so near.

Beata turned to her, her eyes red with weeping. She looked haggard, terrible, but still Caroline expected some
barbed remark, so much so that she drew back when Beata attempted to put her hand on her arm.

“Where are the children—?” Caroline tried to ask.

“Are you going to go and get him?” Beata interrupted, her hands fluttering. “Are you?”

“How can I go get him, Beata? Frederich is unaccounted for. They don’t know where he—”

“Not Frederich! Avery! You have no reputation to guard. A woman like you can travel without an escort—a woman like you can go into the hospitals and look for him. Go get him! Bring him home! He must be in Richmond—or—" She broke off to wipe her eyes. “Don’t you know he
hates
the hospitals? He said if he was ever wounded, he wanted to come home. He wanted to die
here
or get well
here—he
can’t abide being in a hospital!”

“Beata—”

“You go and get him!”

They stared at each other, until Beata abruptly buried her face in her hands. Caroline was at a complete loss as to what to do. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever envisioned herself trying to comfort Beata Graeber. Yes, she had seen Beata primping in the washstand mirror at the prospect of seeing the handsome Avery Holt—but then she’d seen Beata fawning about Kader as well. She’d had no idea that Beata’s infatuation for Avery ran this deep.

“I must speak to Johann,” Caroline said, sidestepping Beata and leaving her standing. She looked back over her shoulder once. Beata was still crying.

She stood on the sidelines and waited until Johann had finished reading the list, then waited again while he spoke to each of the distraught people who approached him.

“Johann, how can we find out what’s happened?” she asked finally.

“I’ve already done all I can for now, Caroline. I’ve wired a message to the German clergy in the area. I’ve sent them the names of all those who are missing and wounded. They
will search the hospitals in and around Richmond and let me know. It will take time. We can only wait.”

“Frederich…” She couldn’t complete the thought. Everything—the fear and the love and the longing she felt-suddenly coalesced at the mention of his name. She stood there, trying not to let herself be overwhelmed by the rush of emotion. She was only a breath away from wailing like Beata.

“The battle was very terrible, Caroline,” Johann said. “I can offer you no reassurances.”

“Why didn’t we know he was back in the lines? Why didn’t he tell us—you?”

“I can’t answer that—perhaps a letter will come still.”

“He said once that he would do his best to take care of William.”

“Then you can be certain that he did. Frederich is a man of his word.”

Yes,
she thought. How else would she have come to be married to him?

“We can only wait,” Johann said again. “Will you come into the sanctuary with the others?”

She shook her head. She left the church and went to the low stone wall instead, stepping over it when she neared the baby’s grave. The grassy sod William had brought from the meadow to cover it was dying in the summer heat. She sat down on the ground because her legs refused to hold her any longer.

I think you better tell Papa you like him.
…

Is there nothing about me that pleases you?

Whatever happens
…
you are done with us?

Frederich!

She didn’t cry. Not that day or the next. By the third day after the news had come—and regardless of what she had said to Beata—she made up her mind, and she went looking for Johann Rial.

She found him in the church with his sleeves rolled up, diligently sweeping the stone floor that had become heavily tracked in this time of worry and sorrow.

“Will you take me into town?” she asked without prelude.

“Town? Why?”

“I’m going to Richmond—”

“You can’t go to Richmond, Caroline. You can’t travel alone—”

“Beata has so kindly pointed out that a woman of my ill repute needn’t worry about that.”

“You
cannot
go to Richmond.”

“Johann, I
am
going. I have Eli’s money and I’m going. I have only asked you to take me into town. I have
not
asked for your permission.”

“Caroline, you don’t even know if Frederich—if any of them—is in Richmond—”

“I can’t find out anything staying here—”

“I told you there are people checking the hospitals. Caroline, I was there after Sharpsburg. I know how difficult finding a particular soldier can be. It will take time—do you have any idea how big the Chimborazo Hospital is? There must be a hundred and fifty buildings in the hospital compound—and that’s not counting all the men in the tent city on the heights. And there are other hospitals in the city besides. He may not even be in any of them. Sometimes a soldier is taken into a private home—or he may be a prisoner of war and halfway to some Northern prison, Caroline!”

“I know that. I know he may be dead. But what if he’s there? What if he’s so wounded that he can’t say who he is? None of your ‘people’ know what he looks like—or what William looks like. Or Avery—I have to go myself. I may not find him any other way, Johann!” she said when he was about to interrupt. “I have to. If you won’t take me to town, then I’ll find somebody who will. Or I’ll walk. Either way, I’m going.”

“Caroline—”

“I’m going, Johann!”

He looked at her a long moment, then set the broom aside. “I suppose then—since Frederich Graeber is my friend and I have given him my word to keep his wife from harm—I will accompany you.”

“No. I’m sure Eli’s letter will have released you from that obligation—”

“You are mistaken, Caroline. You and Frederich both are
always
mistaken about each other, and truthfully, I am worn out with it. But—be that as it may. If you
will
go on this quest, then I will go with you—for Frederich’s sake and for the rest of the people here who are waiting for some word. Day after tomorrow. It will take me that long to make arrangements. We will go to town then and try to catch a train to Richmond, and we will see what we shall see.”

She waited until the next day to go to the Graeber house. After she had packed a change of clothes and what few medical supplies she could put together—a sheet to tear up for bandages and her needs, some dried plantain and catnip and camomile. She had honey—an especially important cure for wounds, according to the old Holt family book of herbs and remedies. But she was afraid the stone jar would get broken in transit, so she saturated strips of muslin with the honey and packed them in an oilcloth pouch. If worst came to worst, she supposed she could eat it. And now all she needed was the book itself. It must still be in the Graeber house in the armoire upstairs. And Beata or no Beata, there was nothing for her to do but to go and get it. She needed to tell the children, too, that she was going to look for their father.

Beata was nowhere to be seen when she arrived. Mary Louise and Lise were quietly playing with their dolls in the shade on the back porch. The day was so dusty and hot, but
a breeze stirred the trees at the corner of the house from time to time.

“Beata’s upstairs with another headache,” Lise said when Caroline asked. “We have to be quiet.” She looked up at Caroline and sighed. “I knew Papa would get shot,” she said. “I knew it.”

“Lise—”

The child shrugged and went back to tying a pink ribbon around her doll’s waist. “Nothing you can do about it, I guess—just like Mama. Do you think he’s dead?”

“I don’t know,” Caroline said truthfully. “That’s why Reverend Rial and I are going to the hospital in Richmond to look for him. That’s why I came here now—to tell you that we’re going.”

Lise looked up at her again, her face grave and resigned. “It won’t do any good, Aunt Caroline.”

“Won’t do
any
good,” Mary Louise echoed without taking her attention from her doll.

“We are still going to try our best,” Caroline said. She sat down cross-legged on the porch beside them, and Mary Louise immediately climbed into her lap.

“Then can we go with you?” Lise asked.

“No, Lise. It’s a hard trip and the war is in Virginia. Your papa would be very upset if he thought you and Mary Louise weren’t safe here with Beata.”

“I know a secret,” Mary Louise said, squirming in her lap until she could whisper something in Caroline’s ear. But Caroline couldn’t understand for the giggling.

“What? Tell me again—no, tell me out loud.”

“Lise’s got a sweetheart!”

“I do not!” Lise cried.

“He’s going to marry her in fifty-hundred years—”

“Ten years!” Lise cried, realizing immediately that she had given the “secret” away.

Caroline smiled and reached out to give Lise a hug, thinking that Ann should be here now. Here was Lise—deep
in the throes of puppy love—and how Ann would have smiled.

“He’s a soldier and his name is Toby, and he says he’ll wait for me to grow up,” Lise said shyly. “Do you think he will?”

“Well,” Caroline said, trying not to let her own experience cloud her answer. “I think it’s always best to judge a man by what he does—not what he says. I must go see Beata now,” she said, lifting Mary Louise off her lap and getting to her feet. “Toby, did you say? Is he one of the foragers?”

Lise gave a crooked smile and nodded.

Toby,
Caroline thought.
The one who took your father away.

But she said nothing more, and when she was about to go into the house, Beata, somewhat disheveled-looking, appeared in the doorway.

“I need my mother’s herb book—I’m going to Richmond,” Caroline said, deciding immediately that, for once, Beata wasn’t pretending to be indisposed. Her forehead was deeply creased and her eyes puffy and squinted as if they had become sensitive to daylight.

“You’ll bring Avery home?” she asked immediately, her voice husky and very un-Beatalike. Once again Caroline marveled at Beata’s flagrantly displaying her heart on her sleeve.

“I will if I can.”

“If he’s…dead, you will still do it?” she asked so quietly that Caroline barely heard her—neither of the children seemed to. Beata studiously avoided her eyes.

“If I can,” Caroline said again. “He’s my brother, for all our differences.”

“Take the herb book,” Beata said in a normal tone. “You may need it for…” She didn’t say for whom. She stood aside to let Caroline pass instead, and under different circumstances Caroline might have taken exception to Beata’s so
graciously giving over what didn’t belong to her in the first place.

But this was not the time. She had far too much to worry about to let Beata insult her.

The book wasn’t in the upstairs armoire where she’d put it months ago. There was nothing in it now. She needed-wanted—the book, because she couldn’t bear the thought of actually finding Frederich or any of the rest of them and not having some way to help them, however ineffective the home remedies the book contained might be. She came out into the hall and called over the banister.

“Beata, it isn’t in the armoire where I left it.”

Beata said something she didn’t quite hear, and after a moment Lise came bounding up the stairs.

“I know where it is, Aunt Caroline—Beata had to use it when Mary Louise had the croup,” Lise said, walking rapidly down the hall and into Beata’s room. Caroline stood in the hallway, unwilling to have Beata come upstairs and find her trespassing. She could see the bed through the open door—Beata had been lying down from the looks of it, and there were letters scattered about on the quilt as if she had been reading them.