Chapter Twelve
Christina and Hilda returned home soon after Catrina left. Jacob Miller walked beside them with a hatchet in one hand and a mallet in the other. Eli remembered meeting Jacob at the worship service earlier in the week. He was a pleasant enough man, if a bit rough around the edges. Jacob was the type of man who would build a cabin with nothing but his own two hands and his will. Indeed, he most likely had. If Eli had been less secure he might not have been fond of him. Particularly when he had heard that Catrina and Jacob had had a brief, albeit failed, courtship. Eli cleared his throat. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to stay behind.
Hilda frowned. “What a surprise, Eli. What are you doing here?”
“Saving your sheep.” He took off his black beaver-felt hat and rubbed his fingers through his hair. “Actually, Catrina saved your sheep.” He looked away when Jacob narrowed his eyes and stared at him. Eli did not feel particularly manly in that moment. “I came along a moment too late, but . . .” He cleared his throat again. “Anyway, I thought I ought to stay and make sure the wolf didn’t return.” He jerked his chin toward the fence. “There’s a loose slat. The wolf nearly got in.”
“A wolf !” The color drained from Christina’s face. She looked behind them, then slid closer to her sister.
Hilda’s frown deepened. “We had just noticed the broken slat and fetched Jacob to fix it. He’s a fine carpenter.” Her eyes swept over the sheep. “No losses?”
“No. Thanks to Catrina.”
“Hold on.” Jacob waved his mallet over the sheep. “You mean to tell me that Catrina saved those sheep?”
“Ja.”
“Catrina Witmer?”
“Ja.”
“The Catrina Witmer that lives here, in this settlement.”
“Ja, ja. That is what I said.”
Jacob’s eyebrows went up. He gave Eli a sidelong glance. “You’re sure?”
“Of course I am sure! I saw it with my own eyes. I heard her scream and I had just made it into the clearing when I saw her fight off a wolf with a stick. She saved the sheep all right.”
“Hard to believe.” Jacob looked perplexed. He wiped his forehead with his arm. “She let a fox get my hen, you know.” He laughed. “Or nearly did. Greta saved it.”
Hilda smiled. “That sounds like our Catrina.”
“If I remember correctly, there was mud between her and the fox. So that was that.” Jacob’s mouth curled into a half smile. He looked like he was enjoying the memory. “You should have seen Greta that day.”
Christina laughed. Her cheeks had regained some color, but her eyes darted back to the tree line. “Is it gone, do you suppose?”
“Ja,” Eli said. “Catrina gave it a good scare.”
“Hard to believe,” Jacob repeated. He looked perplexed as he walked toward the loose section of fence. He stopped and turned back to Eli. “Why do you suppose she did such a thing? What could have gotten into her?”
Eli felt warm satisfaction spread through him. He knew why. But he was not going to tell, of course. Catrina had fought a wolf—had ruined her clothing—for him. She had not done the same for Jacob Miller. Eli tried not to grin. He really shouldn’t gloat. But Catrina had chosen him over a man who could mend fences and plant fields and build a cabin with only the sweat of his brow and his own biceps.
It had been a good day. A very, very good day.
* * *
The next morning, as Eli, Gertrud, and Catrina worked together, Abram Ziegler bounded through the open door. “There she is!” he boomed. “The hero of New Canaan.”
“Abram. Really.” Catrina’s porcelain cheeks reddened. She kept her eyes on her spinning wheel. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing! It’s the talk of the settlement, my dear. No one can quite believe it.”
“No?”
Abram laughed. “It is not exactly like you to do such a thing, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
The wheel shuddered to a stop and Catrina spun around on her stool. “Why ever not, Abram Ziegler?”
Abram put up his hands, palms facing Catrina. “No harm meant, little lass. Don’t come after me with a stick, now. I am not sure I could hold you off.”
“Abram, you do vex me.”
“That is why you like me.”
Catrina gave an exaggerated sigh and turned back to the spinning wheel.
Abram grabbed the three-legged stool by the hearth, walked to Catrina’s side, and set it down with a thud. “Now,” he said as he lowered his oversized frame onto the small seat, “tell me everything.”
Frena breezed into the cabin. “I saw you come in, Abram. Tea? We’ve some redroot.” She untied her scoop and hung it on a peg.
“Thank you. That sounds perfect. Especially if there’s something to go with it.”
Frena laughed. “We’ve some cold apple pudding from last night.”
“Ah. I knew I came to the right place.”
“Go on and tell the story, Catrina,” Frena said as she rummaged around the hearth. “I want to hear it again.” She glanced over at Abram. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Ja. And for the apple pudding, of course.”
“Of course.”
Everyone stared at Catrina. Except for Gertrud. She was the only one whose attention did not wander from her work. Even the loom stopped clattering. Eli wanted to hear the story from Catrina’s perspective.
Catrina thought that it would seem rather anticlimactic, but after she finished her tale, Abram shook his head and let out a long, low whistle. “Der Herr had his hand on you. What were you thinking?”
Catrina shrugged.
“You should have seen her when she stormed into the cabin afterward,” Frena said. “She was livid. Her apron will never come clean. She had mud splattered everywhere—even her face. Oh, you have never seen such a sight!”
Abram chuckled. “Our darling Catrina, covered in mud. I would have thought that you would let the wolf take whatever it wanted before you allowed such a tragedy to occur.”
“Mud is not tragic,” Catrina said with a defensive bite to her voice.
“It is to you,” Frena said.
Catrina frowned. Why shouldn’t she mind dirt? Dirt was, well, dirty. She couldn’t help that it bothered her so. Then again, why didn’t it bother everyone else? Perhaps they were the ones with the problem.
“Why did you do it?” Frena asked. “You never did say. And it is so unlike you . . . Not that you aren’t brave. But you just hate anything . . . unpleasant.”
Catrina had had enough. After all, wasn’t she supposed to be the hero of the hour? And yet, all anyone could do was remind her that she preferred staying clean to staying dirty. As if good hygiene were a crime. She raised her chin a fraction. “If you must know, I did it for Eli. He is a fine weaver and a fine man. And I would not see his wool taken.” She nodded. “I did it for Eli.” There, she had said it. Perhaps that would change the subject.
Instead, it made Gertrud’s breath catch in her throat. Her hands trembled as the wool passed between them. Catrina refused to look at her. She turned back to her spinning wheel, raised her chin a fraction higher, and began to pump the treadle.
Abram slapped his knee. He leaned forward and winked at Catrina. “Ah. Have you found a young man for yourself, then?”
Eli startled in his seat and knocked his elbow against the loom’s crossbeam. He cleared his throat and then rubbed his elbow. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and die. Gertrud shot him a look that could melt stone.
Catrina just laughed. “You are too much, Abram.”
Eli swallowed. He cleared his throat again. Catrina considered putting him out of his misery—it was a terribly awkward moment, after all—but she decided against it. A roomful of witnesses was no place to declare one’s affection. He would have to suffer through it. Besides, Catrina had no desire to hear whatever Gertrud might say. No, best to stay on her good side. After Gertrud’s disapproving looks and veiled references to the past, Catrina feared that Gertrud knew what Catrina had done in Philadelphia two years ago. And, based on the expression on Gertrud’s face, she might use that ammunition if she thought that Catrina had plans to ensnare her darling brother.
Ah, well. There was time enough to entice Eli into a courtship. And, by then, surely Gertrud would come around. Surely.
* * *
Catrina had not clarified the nature of their relationship. Eli had nearly jumped out of his skin when Abram put it so bluntly. Found a young man for herself, indeed. Eli did not know whether to be beside himself with embarrassment, or beside himself with gratitude that Abram had brought the situation out into the open. After all, he was tired of dancing around the subject.
Eli stopped himself. No, you are not. You decided to give up Catrina, remember? Whether she returns your affection or not is irrelevant. Better for you if she doesn’t return it.
And yet, he found himself obsessively replaying Catrina’s retort in his head. You are too much, Abram. What did that mean? Abram is too much because he makes silly, untrue declarations—or because he made a declaration that is true. Dash it all! What was a man to think?
Eli pumped the foot treadle. He wanted to run out of the cabin after so much attention had been drawn to him. He could still feel eyes on the back of his neck. But, leaving would send a clear signal that he was uncomfortable with the teasing. And Gertrud would know how much he wanted to break his promise to her.
Then again, maybe by staying he was showing that he wasn’t uncomfortable with the implied relationship. Maybe he should run out . . .
Hang it all!
Eli let out a sigh of relief when Abram began to talk again. Anything to get everyone’s attention away from his supposed relationship with Catrina.
“It is too bad that Gertrud was not there,” Abram said as he polished off the last bite of the apple pudding. He wiped his long, bushy beard and patted his generous midsection.
“And why is that?” Gertrud glanced at him with a haughty, cautious expression.
“Ah. Since you asked.” He shrugged and gave her an innocent look. “You are enough of a wildcat that you could have fought a wolf without a stick. Just that glare of yours would have been enough.”
Gertrud shot him an icy stare.
“Ja. That one.”
Gertrud made a noise in the back of her throat and turned back to her spinning wheel. Abram grinned and watched her for a few beats. Then he looked over to Eli. “So, my friend, when shall we have dinner together? I always have dinner with newcomers to welcome them. It’s the neighborly thing to do.” He shrugged and put on that innocent expression again. “And, since I don’t cook, it is up to you to invite me to your place.”
“Oh.” Eli swallowed. Gertrud would not like this at all.
Frena laughed. “Don’t look so surprised, Eli. You’ll get used to Abram. Eventually.”
“Tonight?” Abram asked.
“Uh, well . . .”
Abram stood up and slapped Eli on the back with a massive hand. Eli’s body jolted forward. “Wonderful good,” Abram said. “See you tonight.” He began to whistle as he strolled out the door. He stopped in the threshold and signaled to Gertrud. “Meat pies are my favorite. Since you asked.”
“I did not ask.”
“No? I could have sworn I heard you . . . Ah, well. At least now you know.”
Gertrud made that sound in the back of her throat again. It almost sounded like a growl and Eli smiled. Wildcat indeed.
* * *
Eli wanted to talk to Catrina. He felt almost desperate to tell her how proud he was of her, how much it meant to him that she had saved the sheep for him. But, Gertrud hovered beside them all day, and she insisted that he go with her when she left to prepare the evening meal. “If that man shows up, I won’t entertain him alone,” she had said. “It’s your duty to chaperone me. You’ll have to suffer through his company alongside me.”
And that was that.
Eli was not sure that Abram really would show up. Why would he want to spend any time with Gertrud that he did not have to? Eli cringed when he realized what he was thinking. He did not mean to criticize Gertie. She was his sister and he loved her. It was just that sometimes, she could be so . . . difficult. But wasn’t that the way of love? Loving difficult people was not easy. But it was always worth it.
And, of course, Gertie had her reasons for being difficult. Eli, of all people, was duty bound to understand that.
“I smell something in the spider!” Abram’s deep voice boomed across the campsite. Eli jumped. Gertrud looked up from the fire and scowled.
“There’s my wildcat.”
“Your wildcat? Really, Abram. I am not your wildcat.”
“Ah. My apologies. You are your own wildcat. You belong to no one.”
Gertrud sucked in her breath. “That is not what I meant.”
“And yet, it is what you said.”
“Abram Ziegler, I . . . I . . .” Gertrud opened her mouth and then snapped it shut again. Her head shook back and forth.
“It’s all right, little lass. I know that I have this effect on the fairer sex sometimes. Can’t even form words in my presence, eh?”
Gertrud began to shake. Actually shake! Oh, she was frustrated now. Eli tried not to smile. But he did. Worse, his shoulders began to rattle with suppressed laughter. Gertrud had been bested. Oh, how she had been bested! Eli leaned forward. He could hardly wait to see what Abram would say to her next.
Abram settled onto the log beside Eli and rubbed his hands together. The log shifted under his weight. “Now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, let’s eat. Whatever you’ve got there smells heavenly.”
“It is only salt pork and corn cakes,” Gertrud said as she slid the iron spider off the coals.
“Well, it is the best-smelling salt pork and corn cakes I’ve ever smelled.”
Gertrud did not respond, but her expression softened a fraction. “I hope you brought a trencher. We’ve only the two.”
“Don’t worry about that. Serve yourselves and I’ll eat from the spider. Whatever’s left. All that’s left.”
Gertrud shook her head. But Eli thought he caught the faintest trace of a smile on her thin lips. “Suit yourself.”
“Don’t worry, my dear. I will.”
All in all, it was a very strange dinner.
* * *
Catrina had had enough waiting. She needed to tell Eli exactly how she felt and get things moving along. She had been hesitant long enough. Eli had passed more than enough tests. Catrina nodded as she pulled another egg from the chicken coop. It was time to take matters into her own hands. Eli Webber did not stand a chance.
She heard footsteps behind her and backed out of the coop. Her heart jolted in her chest until she realized that the footsteps were too heavy to be Eli’s.
“Collecting eggs to make me a nice cake, are you?”
Catrina shook her head. “You’ve beaten the sun to our doorstep.” The eastern sky was streaked the color of fresh cream. Darkness still clung to the western sky where a few brave stars twinkled in the growing light.
Abram patted his musket. “The deer rise early, little lass.”
“You will bring us some venison?”
Abram shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Catrina brushed a chicken feather from her sleeve, then looked up at Abram and cocked her head. “What has gotten into you, Abram? You look so serious. Are you ill?”
Abram raised an eyebrow. “You could say that.” He set the end of his musket against the ground and leaned against it. “Tell me about the Webbers. Have they no game?”
“What?”
“The Webbers. Why haven’t they any fresh meat? Why are they still living off salt pork?”
“Oh.” It was not a question that Catrina had expected to hear. “I doubt that Eli is much of a hunter.”
“Hmmmm.” Abram shifted his feet, picked up the musket, and slung it over his shoulder. “As I suspected.”
“He really is not like any man I’ve met before.”
Abram winked at her. “That, little lass, is why he is perfect for you.” And with that he turned on his heels and strolled away. Catrina stared at him as he left and tried to think of what to say. But he was already at shouting distance. And it would be ridiculously undignified to shout a protest across the clearing. Especially when they both knew that the protest was utterly untrue.
* * *
Catrina watched the sun rise through the open window as she waited for Eli. The fresh, wet, morning air billowed into the cabin. Her eyes kept drifting to the field between her front yard and Eli’s campsite. He should have appeared by now. Finally, she rose from her spinning wheel, stepped to the window, and leaned out of it in a most undignified way. She looked far too eager to clap eyes on a young man and scolded herself for her lack of propriety. But, alas, she could not think of propriety at the moment. She could only think of him.
“Where is Eli this morning, Grandmother?” She leaned out the window a bit farther. Any more and her toes would be off the ground and she might tumble out the other side.
“Do you not know? He is not coming today.”
Catrina’s attention snapped to her grandmother. She raised her head so quickly that it hit the top of the windowsill as she drew it back inside. Catrina rubbed her scalp as she spun around to face Frena. Her skirts swished. “Why ever not?”
“Where on earth have you been, Catrina? In your own world, daydreaming, I imagine.”
“Ach, just tell me where he is going today.”
“He is not going anywhere. Everyone is going to him. Today is the day the menfolk build the Webber cabin.”
“Oh.” Catrina’s heart sank into her stomach. She swallowed. “Oh.” Once the Webber cabin was built, Eli would move the loom there. They would not work side by side anymore.
“You ought to start baking. The men will need to be fed.”
“Ja. Of course.” She slid between the spinning wheels and bumped her hip against the loom as she made her way to the hearth.
“It will be a godsend to have space to breathe again, ja?” Frena smiled, then let her face drop to a frown when she saw Catrina’s expression. “You can still see him, you know. He doesn’t have to work here every day for you two to have a courtship.”
“We should cook a chicken. The men deserve to be well fed for their efforts.”
“Catrina, you ignored what I said.”
Catrina sighed. “Gertrud does not want him to court me. That is obvious, is it not? If he is not working here, I do not know that I will see him at all any.-more.”
“Ach. Gertrud cannot keep him from courting you.”
“Can’t she?”
Frena hesitated. “Maybe. She has a powerful influence over Eli. He is devoted to her.” She frowned. “It is almost as if she’s got some sort of hold over him.”
Catrina’s brows snapped together. “What do you mean?”
“Ach. I should not have said that. Forgive me.”
“But what did you mean?”
Frena shook her head. “I have already said too much. I will not allow myself to speak ill of a neighbor.”
“No. Of course not.” But Catrina could not help wishing that Frena had said more. Catrina had also been wondering if Gertrud had some hold over Eli. Perhaps he was just a devoted brother with infinite patience for his poor, widowed sister. The furrow in Catrina’s brow deepened. No one could have that much patience. There was more to this story than was being told.
* * *
Catrina brought a rabbit stew and griddle cakes to the Webber worksite at noon. She did not have time to bake bread—an all-day affair—and had decided she could not spare a chicken. Fortunately, Georg had taken a fat rabbit the previous evening. A pinch of salt, flour to thicken the broth, a few root vegetables—Catrina was able to stretch the meat to fill a worksite full of hungry bellies. Getting the stew across the clearing was the greatest challenge. Dash it all! Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
After some deliberation, Catrina filled the wooden water buckets with stew, balanced the yoke over her shoulders, and trekked back and forth between the Webber place and hers, until she had transferred all the stew from her cauldron to Gertrud’s. All she had to do was reheat it over their campfire, and the men would have a good, hot meal.
Next time, she would make something easier to transfer. Meat pies, perhaps. But stew stretched the meat so much further. This wilderness business really was not her style. It could be so very vexing. There was a butcher shop near her father’s place in Philadelphia. It had been a lovely, sensible shop. And it never carried rabbit.
Ah, well. Some things can’t be helped.
The worksite echoed with shouts and thuds. Smoke billowed into the sky—after passing through Catrina’s nose and lungs—from the fires used to burn brush. The settlement’s children scampered around the roaring bonfires. They kept watch over stray sparks and dragged fresh branches into the flames as the men cleared a space large enough for a cabin.
The men had already felled the trees and had stripped the bark from the logs. They had chosen carefully—the trunks had to be tall, sturdy, and relatively similar in diameter. Catrina stirred the stew and thanked der Herr that she did not have that job. Chopping trees seemed altogether dreadful. It was exhausting work. And dangerous. Those monstrous trees crashed down with the force of an avalanche. A man had to make sure he worked the tree just so, or he could be crushed. She was glad that she had not been present for that. It would have worried her to see Eli beneath the bulk of a towering, unstable tree, chopping away until the entire thing collapsed beside him in a dreadful, roaring crash.
Jacob Miller had the most building experience, so he led the work. The other men fell into their jobs with enthusiasm and collective grit. Catrina appreciated the effort—especially since she did not have to participate. The men swarmed the clearing like busy ants, carrying this and that, hauling debris, shouting orders, and slapping one another’s backs when something went well.
Catrina coughed. The wind had changed direction and swept the smoke into her face. Her eyes burned. She pulled out her white linen handkerchief and breathed through it until the wind shifted again.
As the smoke whipped away in another direction, she saw Eli standing beside Jacob. Jacob rubbed his chin as he pointed to one log, then another. They looked to be the widest and straightest logs. Then, Jacob nodded and picked up his ax. Poor Eli looked terribly out of place as he picked up his own ax. He watched Jacob and imitated his movements. Catrina smiled. What a dear man, trying his best to fit in where he clearly did not belong.
They were two peas in a pod, Eli and her. Her smile widened. How could she have ever doubted that they were right for each other? Oh, sure, a woman like her might choose a man who welcomed heavy labor and dirty chores, but those men would never understand her outlook. They would wonder why she couldn’t just settle down to the farm life and ignore the dirt and deprivations. But Eli, he understood. He was as out of his element as she was. They would make a perfect team. She was sure of it.
Catrina watched as the men hacked a U-shaped chunk from both ends of the log. Jacob motioned toward a square of bare, level ground and Eli nodded.
“They’ll have the walls up by nightfall.”
Catrina looked up from her seat by the campfire and saw Greta Miller standing beside her. “I don’t like to watch,” Catrina said. “It looks so complicated. And dangerous. How will they ever stack the logs high enough?”
“After they stack the first few, they will use some logs to build skids—ramps—and roll the logs up.”
“What if they roll down again? And crush the men rolling them?”
Greta waved away the smoke that billowed toward her face. “It happens.”
“Ach.” Catrina leaned forward and stirred the rabbit stew. “I’ve had enough.”
Greta laughed. “Jacob knows what he’s doing. They’ll be fine.”
“It is not Jacob that I’m worried about.” Catrina nodded her chin toward Eli. “It’s Eli. He isn’t cut out for this. It is a miracle he hasn’t cut off his foot yet.”
Greta laughed again. “He isn’t even holding the ax right.”
“Let’s feed them so we can go. I can’t take it anymore. Eli is an accident waiting to happen.”
“At least they have Abram,” Greta said. “He knows what he’s doing, same as Jacob.”
“He could probably build a cabin alone. He’s big enough anyway. He must be six feet five, if he’s an inch.”
“Taller, I’d say. You know, some men do.”
“Do what?”
“Build a cabin by themselves. Not everyone gets to settle in a community like ours. Those men, the ones who strike out alone, or with just their wives and children, they take a week or two to do it, but they manage. Somehow.”
Catrina shook her head. “How remarkable.”
“Ja.”
“Working together, our men will have it done in a day or two.”
“I’ll be glad when it is over. It makes me nervous. Silly, isn’t it?” Catrina felt a moment of embarrassment. She and Greta had become fast friends, despite their rocky start, but Greta still seemed so much more capable than Catrina. Catrina was not jealous exactly, she just could not understand how anyone could manage the hardships of the backcountry and not be driven to exasperation. Greta did not seem to mind dirty aprons or muddy hosen or fingers that turned red from scrubbing the linens with homemade lye soap.
“No.” Greta put a hand on Catrina’s shoulder. “That’s not silly at all. It’s dangerous work. Anything could happen.” Then, she smiled and squeezed Catrina’s shoulder. “But nothing will happen. You’ll see.”
Catrina nodded. She did not want to think about it anymore. “I wonder if Abram managed to get a deer this morning.”
Greta settled onto the log beside her. “Ja. Abram was made for the backcountry.” Greta’s eyes followed Jacob’s movements as she spoke. Catrina noticed and smiled to herself. She was glad that those two found each other. It was a good marriage—a love match—not a hasty relationship pushed upon them out of necessity. It was not uncommon for men and women to marry in the backcountry out of convenience. Although labor division was not as strict in the wilderness as in proper society, men and women did different work and they needed one another. It was not easy to make a go of it alone.
Yes, it was a good thing that Catrina had not gotten more entangled with Jacob. She would never have loved him as Greta did. That intangible spark was missing. He was handsome and tall and brooding—but she had had enough of handsome and brooding. She wanted a best friend. She wanted someone who understood her and cherished her. She wanted Eli Webber.
“He gave it to the Webbers,” Greta said.
“Gave what?” Catrina had been staring at Eli in a most undignified manner. She had forgotten what she and Greta were talking about.
“The deer. It seems that the Webbers are still living off salt pork.”
“Ah.” Catrina smiled. “Ja. I imagine so.”
“It is true, then. Eli does not know how to hunt?”
Catrina laughed. “No. I should think not.”
Greta’s face became serious as she watched Eli struggle to ease a log into place. “Do you think that he will make it out here? There is plenty of work for him back east. He could make a good living.”
Catrina stared at Eli’s unsure movements. He grimaced as he held the log steady while Abram and Jacob wedged the notched end into place atop another notched log. Eli’s beaver-felt hat was missing and his red hair stood straight up. Mud covered his black boots and the knee of one woolen hose had torn. He had removed his waistcoat and sweat dampened his white shirt. He looked altogether exhausted. “He will make it,” Catrina said.
“How do you know?” Greta asked.
“I just do.” She could not explain it any better than that. But deep down, she knew. He would not be defeated and neither would she. They would survive the backcountry. Together. Even if he did not know it yet.