Cheryl Reavis (8 page)

She looked into his eyes. He had apparently taken it upon himself to thrash her brother senseless, but
she
wasn’t to cause any more talk.

“I haven’t changed my dress. I’m not fit—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut in.

No, she thought, still looking into his eyes. What did it matter if
she
had made herself presentable? The more unkempt she was the more credence she would give Beata’s complaints.

“Anything…else?” she asked,

“You will take care of my children—see that they don’t get too tired and that they don’t become a nuisance to the guests,” he said, looking away from her steady gaze.

She stood up. “And what lie do we tell the guests about Eli’s absence?”

“No lie. We will tell them—I have already said all they need to know—that he isn’t here.”

She clearly had some retort to that and he waited for her to say it. She didn’t.

“Whatever remark you want to make, do so. I want no reproachful looks all evening.”

“I don’t give reproachful…!” Caroline began, but she bit down on it. “I have no remarks,” she said instead.

Incredibly, he laughed. “You Holts can never tell the truth, can you?”

“All right! If you want a remark, this is my remark. If you gave Avery that acre of land with the spring, then you are a fool!”

“Without a doubt,” he agreed. He turned and left the room, clearly expecting her to be following along behind. And she did follow, hurrying so that she might get in another gibe. But she realized as soon as she reached the bottom
step that, instead of making barbed remarks, she should have been asking Frederich who was on the guest list.

It was raining still, a cold, bone-chilling rain, and the daylight had nearly gone. All the lamps had been lit. And Kader Gerhardt stood warming his hands in front of the sitting room fireplace.

She faltered at the sight of him, perhaps would have run if it hadn’t been for Mr. Steigermann’s greeting.

“Ah!” John Steigermann said, stepping forward to vigorously shake her hand. “Marriage is agreeing with you, Caroline. Is that not so, Frau Steigermann—see, there are roses in her cheeks!”

Mrs. Steigermann gently scolded her husband, then smiled in Caroline’s direction. Caroline could feel herself blushing. Given the condition of her face, it would have been most difficult to tell the rose from the bruise. But she took her time greeting Steigermann and his wife and then Johann Rial. She had herself in hand by the time decorum required that she say something to Kader. He was so certain she would protect him still, as certain as she had been of his love
before
she’d lain in his arms. There was no reason he shouldn’t be sure of her. She had stood before an entire congregation—with him there in the sanctuary—and said nothing. He would have no misgivings about coming here now.

“Frau Graeber,” he said to her, giving a little bow. He was freshly barbered, immaculate as always. He wore his usual schoolmaster’s garb, the severe black wool suit and white shirt she had always found so becoming to his pale hair and eyes.

“Mr. Gerhardt,” she responded, keeping her hands in the folds of her skirts so that he—no one—would see them trembling.

She made no pretty apology for having kept everyone waiting. She made no offer to help Beata put the food on the table. She was fully aware that she would be condemned
whether she did or didn’t. She stood back as the others adjourned to the table, half expecting Beata not to have set a place for her again. When everyone was about to be seated, she went to stand between Lise and Mary Louise. Kader immediately came to assist her, pulling back her chair with his usual European flair.

“I have missed you,” he whispered in her ear as she was about to be seated and he slid her chair forward.

She could feel her cheeks flush, and she kept her head down, fussing with her skirts and helping the children get situated.

Kader took the seat directly across from her.

“How do you like this rain, Frau Graeber?” he asked her immediately. His voice was politely neutral, in spite of his whispered remark, but his eyes burned with a kind of intensity she might not have recognized if she hadn’t seen it so apparent that day in the schoolroom.

This is your baby I’m having, Kader.

The thought rose in her mind in spite of all she could do. But she immediately let herself remember. His coldness. Her humiliation.

No,
she thought sadly.
This is
my
baby.
And she would not let
her
child suffer for its mother’s poor choice of a sire.

“I don’t mind the rain,” she said without looking at him.

“Neither do I,” he agreed, smiling now. “It reminds me of the springtime in Germany—”

“You are fortunate enough not to have to venture into the wet and cold unless you choose to do so, Mr. Gerhardt. Johann and Frederich—and Mr. Steigermann—likely don’t find such a downpour nearly as fascinating.”

Frederich had been speaking to Frau Steigermann. He looked up at the mention of his name, but he made no comment.

“Tell me, Caroline, did you hear that all of Aaron Goodman’s sons have enlisted in the Confederate army?" Kader persisted, blatantly using her given name.

“Is that so?” John Steigermann leaned forward to ask. “The oldest boy asks to marry my Leah at least twice a month. Who shall we have suffering on our front porch now, Leah?”

“Oh, Papa,” Leah said, clearly basking in her father’s teasing.

Caroline looked down at her hands, because the Goodman brothers were all friends of William’s, and he had followed their lead in more things than she cared to remember.

“You must not worry that William will catch the war fever, Caroline,” Frederich said from the head of the table. “He will do his duty to his family first.”

She didn’t reply, surprised that he recognized her concern. But she didn’t miss his far from subtle reminder. William would do his duty to his family—unlike certain others of the Holts. But perhaps he wouldn’t have a choice. The newspaper she had read for John Steigermann had indicated that he wouldn’t, nor would any man seated at this table.

“William is just a boy,” she said abruptly, causing every one to look in her direction. “He is too young to go to war.”

“What a fine table the Graebers have set for us! Shall I deliver the grace now, Frederich?” Johann said heartily, his pulpit voice already in place.

The thanksgiving prayer began, and Caroline jumped in her chair because she suddenly felt Kader’s foot firmly pressed against hers under the table. She kept her eyes down, and she squirmed to move away from him. A woman’s good reputation was the only protection she had against unwanted attention. When hers had been spotless, it had been no deterrent to Kader Gerhardt. Clearly, he now considered her as immune to insult as any other woman of ill repute. She fought hard against the welling of tears. If she had had any doubt as to his lack of regard for her before, she had none now. As soon as Johann finished, she slid her
chair noisily back from the table a few inches, ignoring Frederich’s less than approving glance.

“Caroline, can you hand nothing?” Beata said sharply when Caroline didn’t immediately accept the bowl she offered.

“I’m very sorry, Beata,” she said quietly, because she had been trying to avoid Kader’s overt gaze rather than anticipate Beata’s bowls. She took the dish of sweet potatoes and tried to ignore the derogatory comment Beata made under her breath, fully aware that both Johann Rial and Kader must have heard it.

Thankfully the children were behaving—if she couldn’t. The table conversation continued in German, and Kader turned his attention to John Steigermann and Frederich, pausing between courses to flatter Beata—at least Caroline assumed it was flattery because of Beata’s simpering response. After a time, Lise fell into quietly translating some of the discussion. She hesitated once when her father looked at her, but Frederich nodded his permission for her to continue.

“Mr. Gerhardt says he thinks perhaps Napoleon III will help the South in the war,” she whispered. “Papa says we should pray not. The French will want far more in return than they give. Mr. Steigermann says the army came to his farm yesterday—to buy grain with worthless paper.”

Caroline ate little, keeping her attention on the children as Frederich had ordered her to do. She surmised as the meal progressed that this “hospitality supper” was some kind of regular event, whereby the various German families took turns inviting the schoolmaster and the clergy to dine. She surmised, too, from Kader’s heated glances, that he expected far more from the new Frau Graeber than sitting down with him to a hearty meal. What did he think she would do? Sneak out of the house at night and meet him in the schoolroom?

Lise stopped translating, and Caroline poured Mary Louise more milk, trying to guess what Beata was saying to the group and still keep Mary Louise from snatching her cup away mid-pour.

“Ha!” Beata concluded, and everything at the table stopped.

Caroline looked up, immediately recognizing the vulgar, chopped-off laugh. Leah, for once, was completely at a loss for words, and John Steigermann reached out to pat his wife on the hand. Beata wore her smug grin and she kept looking to Kader for some indication of his approval. Even Johann Rial seemed speechless.

“Caroline,” Frederich said, and she glanced in his direction. He had spoken quietly, but he was clearly angry. “Will you take Lise from the table now?”

“Why?” she asked pointedly, because she had no intention of letting Beata’s vulgarity drive her from the room.

“Take her,” Frederich said.

She looked at Lise then. The child sat with her head bowed, her mouth trembling.

“Lise is crying,” Mary Louise said, trying to reach her sister’s arm to pat it much the way she had patted Caroline’s in the garden. “Am I going to cry, Sister?” she asked Lise.

“Go with your Aunt Caroline, Lise,” Frederich said. “You and Mary Louise both.”

“Perhaps Beata is the one you want to send from the table, Frederich,” Johann Rial said, and Leah laughed.

“Ich
—
?”
Beata said, waxing indignant.

“Caroline, take Lise upstairs,” Frederich said again.

The child was crying openly, and Caroline put her arm around her.

“Come, Lise,” she said gently. “We’ll go now.”

“It’s my—fault—” Lise said, crying harder. “I didn’t
tell
you, Aunt Caroline. Beata talked about the hospitality supper—being tonight—but she said it in German. I didn’t
say it in English for you. Beata and Papa are mad at you again—and it’s my fault—”

“No, dear heart, it is
not
your fault I’m ignorant of the language. Come along.” She stood up and took Lise by the hand. “Good evening,” she said to the guests in general. “I have very much enjoyed—” She broke off. She hadn’t enjoyed anything, and she couldn’t make herself say it, regardless of what a good upbringing required.

“Good evening,” Lise murmured, trying hard not to sob out loud.

“Am I going to cry?” Mary Louise asked again as Caroline led both girls out.

“No, Mary Louise, you’re not,” Caroline assured her. “This is nothing for you to cry about.”

“Then Papa better bring us a
lot
of peppermint candy,” she decided as they climbed the stairs.

Caroline left the room without glancing back.

I am never going to stand this,
she thought.
Never.

She helped the girls get ready for bed. Lise stopped crying after a time, lapsing into a worrisome kind of silence broken only by the barest of responses to Caroline’s conversation.

“This isn’t your fault,” Caroline said as she kissed Lise good-night.

“Is it
my
fault?” Mary Louise wanted to know.

“No, it is not,” Caroline assured her. “Here is your kiss, too. Now go to sleep.”

“Are you going to tell us a story?” Mary Louise persisted.

“Once upon a time there was a little girl named Mary Louise and she was such a good little girl, she stopped talking and went right to sleep.
The End.
“

“No,”
Mary Louise said, giggling. “That’s not it! Tell about—about—the—”

She couldn’t remember and had to hop out of bed to confer with Lise.

“King Midas,” Lise said, her voice scratchy-sounding still from crying.

Caroline managed to get Mary Louise back where she belonged, and she began the story of the king who loved gold above all else. Mary Louise, for all her energy, dropped off to sleep almost immediately. Caroline gamely told the rest of story for Lise’s benefit, but she could hear lively conversation—Kader’s voice—from downstairs. Clearly, Beata’s remark—whatever it had been—hadn’t dampened the evening. After a time, she sighed heavily and sat in silence, her mind irrevocably going to the baby she carried.

“It’s still raining,” Lise murmured, just on the edge of sleep.

“Yes,” Caroline said.

“Aunt Caroline? Don’t leave until I go all the way to sleep, all right?”

“All right,” Caroline said.

“Mama used to do that. Sit here until I went to sleep. I wish Papa…”

Lise didn’t say anything else, and Caroline waited to see if she’d dropped off.

“Aunt Caroline?” Lise said when Caroline was about to stand.

“What is it, Lise?” Caroline asked kindly, reaching out to pull the quilt higher on Lise’s shoulder.

“Is there any music?”

“Music?”

“From downstairs.”

“No. No music.”

“I thought I heard it—but I…didn’t, did I? I…wish Papa would play his fiddle again. He used to when people came to supper. Mama and I would waltz and waltz all round the table. He hasn’t played in such a…long time. That’s how I know…he’s still…sad…”

Caroline sat there listening to the rain and to Lise’s quiet breathing. After a moment, she got up from her chair and
quietly left the room. And she sat by her bed for a long time in the dark, trying with all her might to imagine Frederich Graeber fiddling a waltz.

Frederich heard the squeaking of the third step from the top of the stairs. He lay quietly, just on the edge of sleep and thinking that it must be Mary Louise, prowling the house again, looking for Ann as she had done so often since her mother’s death. Her nighttime searches were always likely when she had gotten overtired or upset, and seeing Lise so distressed this evening would have been more than enough to disturb her sleep.