Chapter Eleven
Eli had made a decision. It was the only decision he could make. He would have to forget all about Catrina. What else could he do?
Oh, sure, he could break his sister’s heart again. He had been the one to break it four years ago. She had crumbled because of what he had done. She had lost her husband and her son. She had never been the same again.
No, there was no choice. He would do his duty. He would give up his feelings for hers. He did wonder, briefly, if this choice might hurt Catrina. What if she had begun to fall for him? She had seemed so enamored of that gift of sugar. Her eyes had sparkled and she had leapt into his arms—no, he mustn’t entertain dangerous, painful thoughts.
What were the chances that she had fallen for him, anyway? He was not the type of man that women—much less Catrina Witmer—fell for. Telling himself this helped take the edge off the longing. She would find someone better suited to her. Someone who was free to love her. Someone who deserved her. Whoever it was, that man would be strong and tough and unyielding. He would be able to wrestle down a wolf pack with his bare hands and build a stout log cabin without any help—just the sweat of his brow and the power of his own biceps. Eli was not that man.
Would that man be kind, though? Would he consider Catrina’s feelings? Her needs, her fears, her dreams and hopes? Eli frowned and jammed his hands into his pockets. He slouched as he stalked back to his campsite. Why was he imagining Catrina’s future husband? What foolishness. What nonsense. She would find the right man for her. And of course he would be handsome and dashing and rugged. And if he was not thoughtful, well, that could not be helped. That was not Eli’s problem. It couldn’t be. He had Gertrud to consider.
He always had Gertrud to consider. What he would give to be free. He pushed away the desire. It was his fault that he was in this situation. His fault. If he had not made that terrible mistake then, Gertrud would have a four-year-old child by now, maybe a new baby as well. She would have a devoted husband, her own home and hearth. Yes, he had made his bed and now he must lie in it.
Gertrud was already at the campsite when Eli arrived. She usually left her spinning an hour before Eli quit weaving so that she could get supper for them both. He did not know how to react when he saw her. She looked peaceful and satisfied. Relieved. He had made her happy.
He just wished that making Gertrud happy did not make him so unhappy.
“You’ve put in a good day today,” Gertrud said as Eli approached.
“Ja.”
“I . . .” Gertrud frowned and stirred the cauldron that hung above the fire. Eli wondered what was inside. Some sort of watery stew. “I know that you did the right thing today,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “And I know you did it for me.” She looked at him. “Thank you.”
Eli nodded. His chest felt heavy. Was this what it felt like to do the right thing?
Gertrud took a step toward him and stared into his eyes. She put a hand on his sleeve in a pleading, hopeful gesture. “But you did not just do it for me. You did it for yourself. Because this is what is best for you. I promise.”
Eli just stared back at her. He knew if he said anything it would only start another quarrel.
Gertrud’s hand tightened on the sleeve of his black coat. “You have decided not to pursue her, haven’t you? When you refused to go after her—that meant something, didn’t it?”
Eli swallowed. But the lump in his throat did not go away. “Ja. I won’t pursue her. Not when it hurts you so much.”
Gertrud closed her eyes and exhaled. “It hurts me because it would hurt you, Eli. I promise you. It would have hurt you to pursue her.”
He nodded again, but his lips stayed in a tight line. He wished that he believed her. It would be so much easier if he could. “I think I’ll take a walk.”
Gertrud’s expression quivered. She did not let go of his sleeve. “You’ll be thankful one day, Eli. Trust me. You have saved yourself a bitter future.”
Eli released a long, slow breath. He gently extracted his sleeve from her clenched fist.
“Your supper’s ready. It isn’t much, but I tried to make what you like.”
Eli nodded. He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “It’ll keep.”
Gertrud watched as he stalked away and disappeared into the woods. She did not call after him.
Many men were afraid of the woods. And with good reason. They hid all manner of hungry, creeping beasts well armed with teeth and claws. Or, even without the beasts to worry about, one could get lost in the vast, old growth wilderness. Trees as wide as four men standing abreast towered into a distant sky, covered by a silent canopy of leaves and needles.
But, Eli was not one of those men. He had never been afraid of the vast silence or the animals that stalked the damp shadows of the forest floor. Eli savored the solitude and beauty. Even so, he should have brought his musket. Ah, well. If he met a bear, so be it. He was feeling rather too fatalistic this evening. But it wasn’t every day that one decides to put a clamp on one’s heart for the sake of duty.
He briefly wondered if there could be any truth to Gertrud’s warnings. Bah. Not his Catrina. Or rather, not Catrina. He had already determined that she could not be his Catrina. She was pure and perfect and beautiful, inside and out. Like the purple evening sky that he could just make out through the dark silhouette of the leaves above him. Oh, for heaven’s sake. What foolishness. He had to stop thinking of her.
That was impossible, of course.
Eli jammed his hands in his pockets and stalked deeper into the forest. There was no path, but the canopy was thick enough that very little could grow beneath its shadow, so the forest floor stayed clear. A wolf howled in the distance. The eerie, otherworldly shriek made the hair stand up along the back of his neck, even though Eli knew there was little to fear. Wolves did not hunt humans, not unless they were rabid or starving. The Old World tales of bloodthirsty wolf packs were quite unfair, really. Still, he should have brought his musket.
Eli sighed and had started to turn for home when he heard the shout. No, it was a scream. A woman’s scream. He jumped a good foot into the air at the sound. Everything in his body tensed. His stomach constricted into a cold, hard knot. Someone was in danger. There was not time to go for his musket. He began to run.
* * *
Catrina had tried to concentrate after her realization that she loved Eli. But how could one concentrate with such thoughts on one’s mind? Even worse, Eli made no move to speak to her—or even look at her—for the rest of the day. How very vexing.
Well. She would find a way to get his attention. That was the least of her problems. The real problem lay with Gertrud. It was clear the woman did not care for Catrina. No. It was worse than that. Far worse. Gertrud did not approve of Catrina.
Did Gertrud know?
Catrina had tried to keep that question from her mind all day. It was a terrible, pointless question. If Gertrud did know, there was nothing that Catrina could do about it. Which, of course, made it even worse. The powerlessness that Catrina felt was altogether unbearable. She could not change what she had done in Philadelphia. And she certainly could not change who knew about it. Many people had heard. But, how hopeful she had been that no one here, in this isolated wilderness, would have caught wind of it. Oh, the scandal. The humiliation!
Once Eli left for the day—after barely nodding a hasty good-bye to her—Catrina had decided to call on a friend. She needed a distraction. She wished that she could tell Greta or Christina everything. But that, of course, could not happen. She would keep her secret a secret, as one must. But, at least she could settle in for a chat and even a good laugh. Friends always made one feel better, even when they did not know what was wrong.
Catrina had promised her grandparents to be home before evening chores and had slipped out with her wool cloak and a clean, fresh apron. She had decided to walk to the Miller cabin, and perhaps stop by Christina’s on the way. Perhaps she would check on the sheep. She did have a vested interest in their welfare now, after all.
Really, it did not matter what she did. She had just wanted a distraction. So, when the footpath wound by Christina and Hilda’s place, Catrina had picked her way down the sloped ground and into their dirt yard. Hilda kept the dirt neatly swept. Catrina certainly approved of the tidiness. She had lifted her skirts to avoid the damp dirt and a territorial hen, strode across the clearing, and knocked on the door. No one had answered. Well, they might be around back, minding the livestock, Catrina had thought.
She had wandered around the back of the house to the sheep pen. For the most part, settlers fenced in their kitchen gardens and fields and let their animals run free. They kept their animals out, rather than in. But sheep were different. Sheep were helpless, pitiful creatures that would skip right into a wolf’s gaping jaws. So Christina and Hilda penned them in at night, then set them free to graze during the day.
Catrina had frowned when she scanned the backyard. Something felt wrong. The evening felt too still, too silent. As if something waited, just out of sight. The sheep seemed to feel it too. They were restless and afraid. They bleated and pushed against one another in anxious, nervous motions. Where were Christina and Hilda? And where was their old sheepdog?
Catrina heard a rustle at the tree line. She froze and squinted into the shadows. The evening sun had dropped beyond the ridge and darkness filled the spaces between trees like a heavy fog. That darkness was creeping closer. Soon, the entire clearing would be plunged into the black of night. She glanced upward. The sky had bruised to a soft purple. It was later than she had realized.
The undergrowth at the edge of the woods rustled again. Catrina took a step back. She should not have come. She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. She took another slow step backward. She did not want to make any noise. She did not know what stood in the shadows beyond the tree line and she did not want to know. The sheep’s fear was evidence enough that no good could come of it, whatever it was.
A low, wet growl erupted from the shadows. Catrina’s hands clenched. Her knuckles whitened as her fingernails dug into her palms. She knew what that was.
The undergrowth rustled again and a wolf burst into the clearing. Catrina saw the whites of its eyes gleam beneath the rising moon. She heard the hot, hungry whiffle of its breath and sensed the desperation, the hunger in its movements. She screamed.
* * *
Eli did not stop running. He jumped over a fallen log and stumbled over a ditch. A branch whipped across his forehead. He wiped his face and felt blood on his fingertips. He did not slow down. The woman screamed again. Eli’s feet pumped faster. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. His shoulder slammed into a tree. He flinched as his body spun around. He righted himself and kept running.
The forest was growing darker. Tree branches reached for him with bony, shadowed fingers. He could not see where he was going. He pushed himself to run faster. His chest would burst. He wiped the blood from his forehead again. And then, thankfully, the spaces between the dark trunks began to lighten. He could make out an opening ahead. And then he was out of the forest, stumbling into a clearing and the faint remnants of daylight.
A woman stood in front of a sheep pen. She stood with a straight, indignant spine and a stick in her raised hand. Her eyes flashed with fury. Eli gasped. Der Herr, it was Catrina. His Catrina. Yes, he thought as a protective wave washed over him. His Catrina. He watched, powerless, as a wolf raced around her and lunged through a broken railing. It growled and snapped its jaws at the sheep inside. Eli could hear the clang of its teeth. He did not stop running.
Catrina stumbled to the wolf and swung the stick down with all her might. The wolf yelped and twisted its body out of the way as the stick crashed down beside it. Mud splashed upward, splattering the wolf’s matted gray fur and Catrina’s crisp white apron. Catrina shouted. But this shout did not sound like the ones before. It did not sound afraid. It sounded positively furious.
The wolf spun around and darted away from Catrina’s stick as she heaved it down again. The wolf was gone before it hit the ground. Mud splashed up once more, this time splattering Catrina’s bodice and white neckcloth. She stood, trembling, with the stick raised over her head, as the wolf raced across the clearing and disappeared into the woods. She screamed again—it sounded like deep, guttural rage—and threw the stick with all her might. It landed halfway across the clearing with a dull thud.
Eli did not hesitate when he finally reached her. He threw his arms around her and pulled her against him. He would never let her go again. Never. He felt her body soften. A great shudder passed through her and she went limp against him. He held her close with one hand and stroked the back of her head with the other. Her prayer kappe had come loose and her raven-black hair tumbled out in glorious disarray. Her hair felt like silk beneath his fingers. “Shhhh. It’s all right. It’s all right now.” He breathed in the scent of her. She smelled like lavender and sky. “The wolf’s gone now. You don’t have to be afraid.”
She stiffened and pushed back from him. “I am not afraid. I am furious.”
“Oh.” Eli frowned. Had he done something wrong? Was it because he had not reached her in time? He had left her to fend off a wolf, all by herself. A wolf! And she had done it! “I am so sorry I was not here.”
Catrina shook her head. “How could you possibly know to be here? What a silly thought.”
“But you said that you are furious.”
“Not at you, Eli. At this!” She picked up the corners of her apron and held it up to him. “I am filthy. Filthy!”
“Oh.” Eli smiled. He tried not to. But his lips curled up on their own accord. “Oh.”
“Do not laugh at me, Eli Webber! Don’t you know how much I hate mud?”
“Ja.” He forced his lips into a frown, but his eyes still twinkled.
“My apron is ruined. Absolutely ruined.”
Eli cleared his throat. “You really should wipe your face.” He motioned to her cheek. She rubbed her skin with her hand, looked at her fingers, and groaned. “This is just too much. For heaven’s sakes.”
“Catrina, I think that you are forgetting something.”
She frowned and patted at her face with the hem of her apron. “What?”
“You fought off a wolf.” He gave her an incredulous look and threw up his hands. “That was . . . remarkable.”
“Oh. That. Well, it was nothing, really. It was the getting dirty that proved problematic.”
“Proved problematic? Catrina! You went after a wolf with a stick!”
“Hmmm. Yes. One does what one must. And now, I really must find some clean water.” She looked around, distracted and irritated.
“You act as if the only part that bothered you was getting dirty.”
Catrina shrugged. She licked a finger and rubbed at a spot of mud on her white linen neck cloth. “It was only a wolf.”
“How very strange you are, Catrina Witmer.”
Her eyes jerked up to his. “I can assure you that no one has called me strange before. Prissy, yes. Persnickety. Difficult, even. But never strange. I find myself to be perfectly normal, thank you very much.”
“It is definitely not normal for a young woman to chase a wolf with a stick.”
She shrugged again. “I don’t see why it shouldn’t be.”
Eli shook his head and stared at her. Here was a side that he had never seen. Had anyone? “Trust me, it is quite out of the ordinary.”
“People have such strange priorities.” She went back to rubbing her neck cloth with a wet finger.
Eli shook his head again. “Why did you do it? You could have run, or jumped behind the fence, or done any manner of things besides going after that wolf with a stick.”
Catrina stopped rubbing her neck cloth. She furrowed her brow and looked into his eyes. “You don’t know?”
“No. I have no idea what could have possessed you.”
“I did it for you.”
Eli’s mouth fell open. A few beats passed before he remembered to close it again. “For me?”
“Of course. For who else would I ruin my best apron and neck cloth?”
“But . . .” He felt so many things at once that he was not sure he could feel anything at all. For him? She had fought a wolf for him? Correction. She had ruined her clothing for him. Apparently, that was the greater sacrifice.
“Oh, Eli. Surely you would not expect me to let a wolf carry off your wool? All I could think was that you needed that wool.” She shrugged. “What else was I to do?”
What else was I to do? Eli could think of about a hundred things she could have done besides going after a hungry wolf with a stick.
“Catrina, you are a wonder. An absolute wonder. I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“How about thank you?” She flashed a dazzling smile.
“Thank you! Thank you so very much.”
“And, you could say that you will weave me a fine bolt of linen straight away to replace this.” She shook her apron at him.
“Straight away.”
She nodded. That lovely smile stayed on her lips. She could have gotten anything with that smile. Eli swallowed. If he did not maintain control he would go down on one knee, right there in the mud, and ask for her hand in marriage. She was a wonder. Truly.
“Now, I must away.”
“Wait until I can escort you. I need to make sure the sheep are secure. Until Christina and Hilda return with their sheepdog, that wolf is likely to return. Wait until they come back and I will walk you home.”
“You cannot expect me to wait here to be received looking like this.” She shook her apron again for emphasis. “I will see myself home, thank you very much.”
Eli frowned. “I’m afraid that the wolves are still about.”
Catrina raised an eyebrow. “Then I shall carry a stick.”
Eli could not argue with that. “You are not going to let me dissuade you, are you?”
“No. Of course not.” And with that, she turned on her heels and marched away.
Well.
Eli watched her until she left the clearing and disappeared behind the trees that lined the wooded footpath. At least there was still some daylight left. Eli started to worry, then told himself not to be foolish. She had managed just fine, hadn’t she? What an extraordinary woman.
Perhaps it was best that she had run home to clean up. If she had stayed another moment he might not have resisted the urge to declare his love for her. He had a vague memory that he had decided to push her away.
What a silly decision that had been.