Chapter Eight
Eli knocked on the Witmers’ door before the sun rose above the tree line. Georg gave Frena a knowing look as he wolfed down the last bite of his corn cake and headed to the fields for the day. Frena returned the look. Catrina pretended not to notice. But she could not pretend away the stab of anticipation that jolted through her stomach. She smoothed her expression along with her apron and opened the door.
Eli bounded in, all smiles and big hand gestures. He spent the morning making her laugh as they sorted through his supplies, determined what else they needed, and what orders should take priority.
“Abram Ziegler put in a good crop of flax this year,” Catrina said when they realized they did not have enough to weave a bolt of linen.
“Did he, now?” Eli’s eyes sparkled. “Everything is falling together, isn’t it?” Something in his voice caught Catrina’s attention. She suspected that he alluded to more than the weaving. His hand brushed over hers as she opened a burlap sack filled with raw wool. Catrina hesitated, then let herself smile. “Ja. It’s true.” Her face heated and she looked away. Catrina knew that she meant more than the weaving too.
A knock at the door startled Catrina and she pulled away from Eli’s side. She felt embarrassed and exposed for some reason, even though she had not said anything out of the ordinary. But she knew her heart had meant more. So much more. Catrina straightened her posture and her prayer kappe as Frena opened the door. A very sour Gertrud squeezed past Frena without a smile. “Good morning,” she announced briskly, and headed straight for her brother. “I’ve come to take over.”
“Oh. Well. Hello. We have it all in hand. But thank you. No need to stay . . .” Eli stumbled over his words, then let them die away as Gertrud maintained that steady stare.
“Even so,” Gertrud said. “I’ve come.”
Catrina waited for Eli to argue, but he just sighed a little and shrugged. Gertrud stood over Catrina and waited. Her foot began to tap.
“Oh,” Catrina said as she looked up into Gertrud’s steady gaze. “You want me to move?”
“Ja. That’s the idea.”
Eli flinched but said nothing and Catrina wondered why he didn’t insist that she, Catrina, stay at his side. No reason to stir up trouble, I suppose. Catrina nodded and stood. “I need to start on the baking, anyway.”
“You understand,” Gertrud said without looking at Catrina. “Eli and I have so much to get settled.”
Catrina could feel Eli’s eyes watching her as she crossed the room. She glanced back at him and noticed the slump in his shoulders. There’s something about Gertrud that he can’t stand up to. Catrina listened to the low murmur of conversation between the siblings as she stoked the fire. Red sparks flared upward. Gertrud kept her voice low and Catrina got the feeling that Gertrud was intentionally trying to shut her out from the conversation. Catrina frowned. I’ll just have to wedge myself back in, then.
A few moments later, Catrina stood over Eli and Gertrud with three pewter cups of steeped redroot. The steam whispered upward from the hot water and moistened her face as she smiled. “Refreshments.”
“Ah!” Eli looked up from his seat and grinned. “Wunderbar.”
Gertrud hesitated, then gave a stern nod. “Danke.” She continued to rifle through a burlap sack with one hand. “We haven’t enough yarn to weave the cloth for Bishop Amos’s knee breeches. That’s our first order.”
Eli blew across the surface of the redroot tea. “It’s a good thing that we have a second spinning wheel, then. It will take two spinners, for certain.” He jerked his chin toward the spinning wheel in the corner of the cabin. “Catrina can spin a fine thread, I’m sure.”
“Ja. Catrina is a fine spinner,” Frena said from where she sat at the table, snapping peas from the kitchen garden.
“So that settles it,” Eli said, and grinned. “Gertrud goes back to our camp and uses our spinning wheel, while Catrina uses this one.” He looked at Catrina, then at Frena. “Do you know if anyone else has brought a spinning wheel? It will take a lot of spinning to meet the need here.”
Frena shook her head. “Only drop spindles. No one else was willing to haul a spinning wheel through the wilderness.”
“Hmmm. Drop spinning is slow going.” Eli shrugged. “Well, we will make do the best we can. Anything is better than nothing, I always say.” He glanced at Gertrud as she stared into a burlap sack with narrowed eyes. “Best get going, sister mine. I’ll be home after supper.”
Gertrud’s eyes snapped to his face. “Oh, I think not, brother mine.”
Eli frowned.
“You can bring my spinning wheel here.”
“There is barely room for the loom. How can we squeeze in another spinning wheel? We’ll be elbow to elbow.”
Gertrud hesitated, as if thinking. Then she smiled. “I am sure that Catrina would like company. And I would get terribly lonely by myself in that camp. Anyway, would you have me work outside in the rain? I think not.”
Eli looked disappointed. “Ah. Well. We can’t have that, can we?” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to Georg and Frena. “Can we fit another spinning wheel in? I hate to ask but . . .”
“We haven’t a choice,” Georg said, and laughed. “The women have spoken.”
Gertrud opened her mouth, but a knock on the door stopped her from speaking. She snapped her mouth back into a tight line and continued to ruffle through a burlap sack. Catrina wondered what Gertrud had been about to say, then decided it was better not to know. She rose from the bench and padded across the dirt floor. The room felt too quiet. Gertrud had a way of sucking the comfort from the room and leaving everyone on edge. She means well. Doesn’t she? Catrina frowned. Even so . . .
A bear of a man stood at the threshold when Catrina opened the door. “Why the serious face, darling girl?” he boomed as he grinned widely. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Abram!” Catrina returned the grin. “We were just talking about you.”
“Ah. All good I hope.” He raised one eyebrow, then shouted loud enough for the folks inside to hear, “Been gossiping about me, have you, Frena?”
“Ach!” Frena shouted back.
“Get in here, man. They’ve been talking of weaving for two days straight. Give me something—the latest hunt, where the wolf pack last roamed, the health of Jacob Miller’s new foal. Anything but this confounded talk about linen and looms!”
The middle-aged man bounded into the cabin. His big-boned frame and bulging stomach made the cabin feel even smaller than it was. Or perhaps it was his energy that filled the air and made the room crackle. “What have you got for me, Catrina, darling? I’m near starved to death.” Abram patted his ample midsection.
“Ha! After your last visit, there’s nothing left in the larder.”
Abram laughed and his tangled, bushy beard shook. “Right you are.” He wiped his mouth and dropped onto the three-legged stool in front of the hearth. His massive legs folded up to his chin and made the stool look miniature in size. “I suppose I’ll just sit here and wither away then. Can’t blame you for denying me a decent meal.” He sighed dramatically. “But, a man hates to go hungry.”
“Oh, Abram. You are incorrigible!” Catrina shook her head and began to rummage around the hearth. “I’ve a few cold corn cakes left from breakfast.”
“That’ll do just fine.”
“Indeed it will.”
“Don’t act so happy to see me.”
“Abram. What will we do with you?”
“Set me out to pasture, I reckon. I’ve one foot in the grave, already. Did I tell you I’m near to fifty years old?”
Catrina laughed. “About fifty times already.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Frena said. She snapped a pea and tossed the husk aside. “He’s not a day older than forty-five.”
“Which is almost fifty,” Abram added.
“Ach.” Frena shook her head but her eyes looked merry.
“Now,” Abram said, and shifted on the too-small stool. “I am going to have to disappoint you, Georg. There will be more talk of weaving.”
Georg shook his head. “Came to discuss your flax, did you?”
“Hmmmm.” Abram clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“I saw you at the service yesterday, but didn’t get a chance to speak,” Eli said. “Eli Webber. And I heard you have flax.”
“Indeed I do.”
“And we are in need.”
“That is what I like to hear.”
“The price is—”
“Now, just hold on, young man.” Abram jerked his chin toward Gertrud. “Who’s this fine young miss?”
“My sister, Gertrud.”
Gertrud’s face snapped up. Her eyes looked as if a fire had been kindled within them. “Fine young miss?” she asked with an irritated expression.
Abram laughed. “Would you rather I call you a poor old miss?”
Gertrud’s nostrils flared. “I would prefer that you do not speak of me at all.”
Abram raised an eyebrow. “Not kind to strangers?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, rather like a fish caught out of water. Catrina wondered if anyone had ever stood up to her before.
“Ah, well.” Abram turned back to Eli. “Sadly, your sister is not taken by me.” He shrugged, but his eyes twinkled. “Just as well, I suppose. Being so popular with the ladies can become tiresome, truth be told.”
Eli stared at Abram. He clearly did not know what to say.
Catrina rolled her eyes. “He’s joking, Eli. This old bachelor has never had any luck with ‘the ladies.’”
“Catrina, you wound me.” He looked up at her with a broad, smiling face and rosy cheeks. “Now, where is that corn cake you promised me?”
She passed a wooden trencher to him and a pewter cup of redroot tea.
Abram grinned. “Catrina, you are good to me.” He looked over at Frena and Georg. “What will we do when she marries away?”
“I suppose you’ll make a nuisance of yourself wherever I live,” Catrina answered.
Abram nodded. He did not try to defend himself. His mouth was too full of corn cake. His black, bushy beard shifted up and down as he chewed. Gertrud refused to look at him. She acted as though the contents in the burlap sacks in front of her were intensely fascinating. Abram finished off his food in two big bites, wiped the grease from his beard with his sleeve, and set down the pewter plate with a satisfied sigh. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thick knees. “You may not like me, Gertrud. But you will like my flax. Best flax in the backcountry.”
“It is the only flax in the backcountry,” Catrina said, and laughed.
Abram winked at her. “Even better. No competition.” Gertrud did not turn around while Eli and Abram discussed terms. She refused to look at them. But every once in a while Abram glanced at her straight, steely back and his eyes twinkled.
* * *
After Eli and Abram shook hands on their business arrangement, Abram tipped his hat, winked at Gertrud, and lumbered out of the cabin. She continued to ignore him. Eli chuckled to himself—not loud enough for Gertrud to hear, of course. He wondered if she had met her match with the jovial frontiersman.
Georg headed to the fields, Frena to tend the kitchen garden, and Eli went to fetch the spinning wheel from their campsite. When he returned, sweating and muttering as he wrestled with the bulky, unwieldy contraption, Catrina met him at the door with a cool cup of water. Eli felt his knees weaken. He forgot that he was frustrated and hot. All he saw were shining blue eyes and that cup of cold, clear water. Nothing ever tasted so good.
Soon, Eli, Gertrud, and Catrina fell into a gentle, familiar rhythm. The loom clacked and whooshed beneath his nimble, calloused fingers while the spinning wheels clattered and whirred. They worked without speaking, but the silence did not feel awkward. Rather, it felt comfortable and friendly, as if they did not need to speak to feel companionship. That was how Eli and Gertrud often worked—lost in their own thoughts—and Eli liked to see that Catrina fit right into their way of doing things. Already, she almost felt like one of them.
Eli stopped for a moment to study the pattern of the weave. He cracked his knuckles, stood, and stretched. Gertrud rose from her spinning wheel and walked to the loom to see the progress herself. “Ach.” She shook her head. “You need to watch your work.” She ran a finger over a section of fabric. “See that?”
Eli squinted his eyes and leaned forward. “See what?”
“Should we switch jobs, Eli dear? Perhaps you are overly tired.”
Eli frowned. He jammed his hands into his pockets and glared at the cloth, but did not respond. He hoped that Catrina had not heard, but of course she had. Weaving was the one thing he did not mess up on. For goodness’ sakes, he could not even walk a straight line without tripping over his own feet. But this—this was where he excelled. He would have liked for Catrina to see that he could do something right. He might not be big and burly and fit for the backcountry. But at least he could make a good living with his hands. At least he was skilled at something!
For just a moment, Eli wondered if Gertrud had claimed there was a mistake simply to tear him down in front of Catrina. He pushed the thought away. Bah. What foolishness. Gertrud is stern and set in her ways, but she would never do that . . . would she? Oh well, the damage had been done, no matter what the motive. He had been knocked down a peg in front of the lovely Catrina Witmer. And just when I thought I had regained my dignity after bumping into her twice yesterday.
The pedal on Catrina’s spinning wheel stopped pumping. The soft whir of the wheel died away. Eli turned around as Catrina strode across the room with graceful steps. She offered him a soft smile. Eli rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. He did not want to face her. Catrina leaned over the woven cloth and ran her pale, smooth fingers over it. “Hmmmm. This weave looks perfect to me.” She turned to Gertrud and frowned. “Gertrud, dear, perhaps you are in need of spectacles. Eli is a fine weaver. I would say more to compliment his work, but I would not want to tempt him to the sin of pride.”
Eli grinned and then turned away when Gertrud glared at him. He coughed to cover up a chuckle. Catrina had defended him. Defended him! Oh, it was too good to be true. He could taste the victory—and it tasted sweet! But then, Eli remembered himself. He looked down at the floor and tried to rein in his emotions. Be careful. It’s easy to forget that you owe Gertie everything. You should not hurt her by siding with Catrina.
But even his guilt could not steal the sweetness of the moment, or the glimmer in Catrina’s eye when he looked back up and their gaze locked.
* * *
Catrina clenched her hands into fists to keep herself from saying more. She tried to squeeze all of her emotions into her hands as she tightened them. She forced a placid expression on her face. Sure, it was a small thing. Gertrud had only criticized Eli’s work. The siblings were business partners. Perhaps that was the way they did things—inspecting and criticizing the other’s efforts. But Catrina had never heard Eli criticize Gertrud. No, Catrina had only heard him speak to his sister softly and patiently. Too patiently, to be honest. She wondered why Eli did not stand up, shake his head, and tell his sister enough was enough.
So Catrina had done it for him. Oh, not too boldly. Just enough to make a stand. Catrina made it sound like a neutral observation, not a challenge. And she had kept that placid expression and soft smile on her face the whole time. She refused to stir up a confrontation. But, at the same time, she would not allow Eli to be torn down in front of her.
Catrina walked back to her spinning wheel with slow, purposeful steps, chin held high. She kept her fists clenched as she struggled not to say anything more. Oh, how she wanted to spit out a clever retort to Gertrud! But she would not. She would maintain her dignity. She would be the better person. Even if it killed her!
The spinning wheel began to whir beneath Catrina’s hands again. She pumped the pedal in a steady, focused rhythm. The soft, raw wool twisted and formed between her fingers. The smoothness of the material felt calm and familiar against her skin. As her frustration eased and the wool threaded through her fingertips, she began to realize how good it felt to defend Eli.
Catrina stole a glance at him. He sat at the loom with his back to her. She studied the lean, muscular outline of his torso and the gentle sweep of his hands as they flew across the loom. She had never defended a man before. She had never wanted to—never needed to. The men she had known walked with a swagger and spoke in loud, staccato bursts. They were bold, defensive, quick to prove their strength and masculinity.
Not Eli. Eli did not try to prove anything. Catrina had never heard him raise his voice or square his shoulders as a show of strength. No, he just smiled a knowing smile and looked adorably sheepish.
It was in that moment that Catrina knew for certain that Eli was not like any other man she had known—and certainly not like him, the man from Philadelphia she could not bring herself to name. Eli was not trying to impress her, woo her, lead her on until she was his and he could drop her as he wished.
Catrina’s spinning wheel stopped clacking and spinning as the certainty hit her. Her hands froze and the wool stopped whirring through her fingers. Eli had proved himself to her. And in the strangest of ways! He had taken his sister’s insults like a real man—calmly, with dignity. He did not allow Gertrud to engage him—even in front of the woman he wanted to impress.
And Catrina knew that Eli wanted to impress her. It was written all over him, in the trembling of his hands, the shakiness of his breath, the adoration in his eyes when he stared down into hers. Well, he did it. He has impressed me. Her lips curled into a surprised smile as her foot began to pump the pedal again. Let’s see what he does to impress me next.