Chapter Seven
Catrina heard a knock at the cabin door as she scrubbed the last supper dish in a wooden bucket beside the hearth. She rose from her knees and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. Her grandfather sat on a backless, handmade bench alongside the wall, oiling the leather harnesses for the mule team. Her grandmother swept the dirt floor with the twig broom. “I’ll answer,” Catrina said as she smoothed her white apron and straightened the neck cloth tucked into the top of her bodice. She felt a catch of expectation in her stomach—and clamped the feeling down when she recognized it.
It could be anyone at the door, she told herself. And yet, that creeping desire whispered to her that she hoped it was Eli Webber. She frowned and straightened her spine. Emotions are such silly things. Such silly, silly things. And they lead to such devastating traps.
Catrina opened the door and there he was, his tall, lean body leaning casually against the doorframe, his black, beaver-felt hat in his hands. Eli snapped to attention when he saw her. He could not pretend to be calm and casual. His mouth opened, then closed again and he stared at her for a moment, his spine straight and self-conscious. His red hair stood up atop his head. He had been running his hands through his hair again. She had noticed that he did that when he was nervous. Good. Let him be. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to shake her head and shut the door and tell him that she knew all about what men had to offer and she was not interested. Not interested at all!
And yet.
Catrina swallowed. How could she think those things about this man? This man who turned his hat in his hands and looked down at her with that sincere expression. Oh, for goodness’ sakes! She wanted to invite him in and stare into those honest blue eyes. She wanted to see that shy smile and hear what he wanted to say. She wanted to let him prove that he was not any other man. That he was different.
Catrina hesitated. For two years she had thought that her hardness and cynicism were her strength. But as she stared into those clear, open blue eyes she suddenly wondered if her hardness and cynicism were her weakness. Perhaps opening her heart . . . being vulnerable . . . being human was true strength. She slammed the thought away and raised her chin a fraction.
“Good evening, Eli. It is too late to use the loom tonight. Come back on the morrow.”
Eli looked down, then up again. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Ja.” He cleared his throat. “I came for another reason.”
“Did you?” Catrina raised an eyebrow. Of course you did. She maintained a cold, distant expression.
Eli cleared his throat again. He looked as if he might pass out from the tremendous effort of standing his ground in front of her. “I wanted to speak with you, if I may.” Eli ran his fingers through his hair and the wild red strands stood up even higher from his scalp. “But first, if I could just say how . . .”
He paused and Catrina knew what he would say. He would tell her how beautiful she looked. She was still afraid that was all he saw in her, even after his declaration the other day. It was all any man had ever seen in her before.
Eli took a deep breath and steeled himself. “How bold and statuesque you look. I believe you could keep a pack of wolves from the door if you looked down at them like that.”
“How what?” Catrina’s placid expression cracked. Her eyebrows drew together. She had not expected that.
Eli’s face flushed red. He looked like he wanted to sink into the earth. But he swallowed and repeated, “Bold. You look bold, Catrina. Like a . . .” A muscle in his neck twitched from the strain. “A queen.”
Heaven help him, I think he really might pass out. Indeed, Eli’s face had emptied of color. The blush of embarrassment had disappeared as the blood drained from his cheeks. But he held his ground and stared directly into her eyes. You are the bold one, Eli Webber, for saying that to me and meeting my eyes. Catrina hesitated. She liked what he had said. Oh, she liked it very much! She felt the words sink into her chest and melt a tiny corner of her icy heart. No one else had ever complimented her character before. Only her face, her tiny waist, the smooth, porcelain perfection of her skin. How to respond? How to parry that?
“A queen?” she said after a moment, and smiled a smile that gave nothing away. “Of a backcountry cabin?”
Eli laughed. “Ach. You make any home a castle.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. A genuine smile.
Catrina paused again and let the words settle into her. “You are good with words, Eli. But words are only words. They mean little.” She felt her stomach contract as the glimmer faded from his eyes and his expression slackened. He nodded. “I apologize. I haven’t much experience with women, truth be told. And I speak before I think. I didn’t mean . . .” He sighed and looked away. He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. “I should not have said what I was thinking.” Eli looked as if he had been punched in the gut. His entire body sagged.
The heaviness in Catrina’s stomach thickened. She had hurt him. And if she had hurt him . . . Well, sweet-talking men whose words meant nothing—they didn’t get hurt when a woman rebuffed them. They just flashed a lazy smile, winked, and shrugged. They had nothing invested beyond . . .
Catrina felt her spine stiffen. Could it really be true? He had told her straight out, beneath the stars the night before. He had said that he liked her for her. For more than her looks. And as she stared at his contrite expression, his slumped shoulders, she could not help but believe him. At least a little bit. No, more than a little bit. But she could only admit to herself so much. She could only risk so much.
“No need to apologize.”
Eli’s head shot up. His posture straightened. “Oh. All right. Thank you. I mean. For understanding. I mean . . .” He kicked the doorjamb. “Ach. I’m just glad you aren’t sore about it.” He shrugged. “Look, Catrina. I’m not a man who is good with words. I just say what I think and hope for the best. I don’t know the first thing about how to c—” He cut the sentence short and clamped his mouth shut. His jaw flexed.
What was he going to say? That he does not know the first thing about how to court a woman? Catrina felt a surge of expectation flash through her. Giddiness, almost. Giddiness?! Oh, for heaven’s sake. Calm yourself. But as much as she tried to clamp down on her emotions, Catrina could not deny that somewhere, deep down, she liked the idea.
She gave a calm, kind smile. “You ought to come in.”
“Oh? Really? That would be wunderbar. Thank you.”
* * *
Eli had wanted to die. Well, maybe not die. But cease to exist. Or at least disappear. For a long, long time. He had wanted to sink into the ground as he stood before Catrina and said those ridiculous words. Whatever had possessed him?
But then, a miracle! She had smiled. Smiled! And then she invited him in. Oh yes, she was too good for him. Too statuesque, too confident, too graceful, too perfect. And yet, she had invited him in....
Eli tried to tell himself that it meant nothing. But he had seen a spark in her eyes when she smiled at him and asked him inside. Other women shook their heads and dismissed him. Some had even laughed in his face. But Catrina had seen something in him that made her come to life, just a little bit. He had seen her expression shift. She had liked what he had said, even if she did not want to admit it.
Frena and Georg did not look surprised to see him. They both nodded and insisted that he take the three-legged stool by the fire, since there was a chill in the air. Catrina clattered about the hearth behind him. He felt awkward and exposed sitting so close to her. He wanted to turn his head and catch a glimpse of her but he didn’t dare. Not after the last time he had been caught staring at her.
Georg made small talk about the weather and the likelihood of a good crop as he rubbed oil into the mule harness with an old rag. Frena set the twig broom aside, picked up her mending basket, and settled onto the bench beside her husband. Eli liked the calm quiet of the cabin. He liked the casual conversation and long stretches of friendly silence. He felt comfortable and welcome.
He heard a swish of skirts, sensed Catrina hovering beside him, and jerked his face upward. She lowered a pewter plate into his hand. “Dried apple pie. I didn’t think that I needed to ask.”
Eli grinned and balanced the plate on his thighs. The three-legged stool was too short for his legs so he stretched them out and crossed his boots at the ankles. He sighed with contentment. “You are a wonder, Catrina. Dried apple is my favorite.”
Catrina found something to do behind his back and he couldn’t see her expression. Metal clanged against metal. Kindling scraped against stone and he heard the fire hiss and crackle. Eli bit into the pie and savored the buttery goodness of that crumbly, flaky crust and sweetened, dried fruit. He sighed again. “Best I ever had. I mean it,” he said as he dug his fork in for another bite.
Catrina didn’t answer and Eli wondered what she was thinking. He wondered what he could say to her that wouldn’t sound completely ridiculous. You look like a queen. Had he said that? Had he really? Eli frowned and kept eating. Then he remembered the reason—the excuse, really—that had brought him to Catrina’s door. He had been so distracted that he had almost forgotten.
Eli set his fork down. The metal clanged too loudly in the quiet room. “Today, after the service, Frena mentioned that—well, I mentioned that I had a lot of work to do, and she said that you had been talking about me—no, not about me. That’s not what I meant.” Eli cleared his throat. Frena shifted in her seat and kept her eyes on the woolen hose she was mending. “You were discussing my work. And . . .” Catrina did not respond, so he twisted on the stool to catch a glimpse of her behind him at the hearth. She crouched over the fire, staring into the flames with empty eyes. He wondered if she had been listening. She looked deep in thought. Or completely disinterested in anything he had to say. Eli cleared his throat again. He tried to concentrate as he watched the firelight sparkle inside her blue eyes. “I’ve got too much work on my hands, you understand. You do understand, don’t you? That’s what—”
“Ja,” she said in a clipped, low voice. “I will help.”
“Oh!” That was quick. “Wonderful good! I knew you hoped to use the loom for yourself some, but to work with me every day—that will be a tremendous help. The orders are already piling up. I met five people today who wanted a good length of wool, or linsey-woolsey, or linen—” Eli cut himself off. He was rambling. He always rambled when he was nervous. Or excited. And he was both right now.
Eli hopped up so fast that he tipped over the stool. “I’ll be getting on home then. We’ll get an early start.” He reached down to right the stool and his fork slid off his plate and clattered to the ground. He bent to pick the fork up at the same time as Catrina and bumped her shoulder. Hard. “Ach. Sorry.” He grimaced and started to reach for her, then thought better of it and dropped his hand.
Can it get any worse? Eli retreated a step and glanced over at Frena and Georg. They both looked as if they were stifling laughter. Frena coughed and looked back down at the woolen hose she was mending. Georg kept staring.
Oh yes. It could get worse.
Eli refused to meet Catrina’s eyes. He had accomplished his mission and now it was time to retreat. Fast. He stumbled to the door, mumbled a quick good-bye, and fled. He made it ten steps before he noticed the night air whipping across his bare head. He groaned, turned on his heels, stalked back to the door, and knocked. He thought he heard laughter cut short, the word hush whispered, and then Catrina’s clear, soft voice beckoned him to come in. He pushed open the door, grabbed his hat from the hook by the door, and escaped into the safety of darkness, where no one could see him blush from humiliation. He had forgotten to say anything. Should he knock again and explain that he had left his hat? No, they knew that already. They had seen him take it. But should he knock again and say good-bye? No, that would seem ridiculous. Blast it all. This was no way to woo a woman.
* * *
The Witmers waited until Eli was sure to be gone—and not reappear again—before they broke into a second round of laughter.
“I like that young man,” Georg said, and wiped a tear from his eye. He couldn’t stop laughing.
“He isn’t like—” Frena cut herself off, then cleared her throat. “He isn’t like the others.”
“That’s for sure,” Georg said. He shook his head and set down his oil rag. “He even made our serious Catrina laugh.”
“So clumsy,” Frena said, and clucked her tongue. “But so genuine. He’s not out to impress.”
“Not with that performance,” Georg said.
“Be nice.” Frena cut Georg a look. Georg shrugged and winked at Catrina.
Catrina’s face fell back into a somber expression again. She sighed. He had made her laugh, yes. But it had been more than that. It was his earnestness, his eagerness to please. He didn’t seem puffed up with himself. He didn’t seem sure that he could snag her and show off his catch to his friends. Catrina felt another sliver of her heart begin to melt. Any man who knocked over a stool, dropped a fork, and bumped into her could not be working too hard to impress her. He must be telling the truth about his feelings for her. Either that, or he was the worst seducer in the Americas!