Chapter Twenty
Catrina tried not to agonize over whether or not it was right to protect Eli from her past. She had not told him anything on their walk yesterday. Instead, she had listened to him tell her how much he loved her. It had felt wonderful and terrible. She did not know if she was helping him or hurting him by staying silent. But she had kept her agreement with Gertrud and said nothing. Now it felt too late to change her mind.
Catrina tried to put aside all thoughts of the past. Today was the flax harvest and she felt grateful for the distraction. She would pretend everything was all right. Just for one day, at least. Tomorrow would be another day and she would deal with it when it came.
Sunlight shone from a crisp blue sky and warmed the fields that surrounded Abram’s cabin. The flax smelled of fresh laundry and ripe grass. Their bright yellow stalks waved happily in the breeze. Catrina took a deep, long breath and closed her eyes. Spring was a wonderful time. The sun, the warmth, and the promise of new linen shifts, aprons, and prayer kappes from a good flax harvest. She was not so keen on the actual harvest part, but that could not be helped.
Abram, Eli, Gertrud, and Catrina stooped in the sun to pull up the narrow stalks by the roots. A sickle would cut the stalks too short. It took a good, hard pull to free the plant from the earth, and sometimes she ripped the stalk from the roots. Catrina felt more than a little satisfied when she brought up the entire root cluster intact. Then she shook the bundle of stalks to free the dirt. She tried to keep the dirt from sifting onto her skirt and bodice, but soon gave up. When she couldn’t hold any more stalks in her hand, she tied a stalk of flax around the bundle and stacked it alongside the other bundles.
They could harvest the field in half a day, working together. But Catrina felt that was far too long. Her back began to ache from the constant stooping. Her fingers ached from gripping the stalks. The sun’s rays no longer felt warm and kind. They became sweltering and harsh. She worried that her skin would burn and kept adjusting her neck cloth to cover the sliver of pale skin beneath her upswept hair.
After a while—she thought it must have been hours, but judging by the sun’s position, it was not nearly so long—Catrina stopped and stretched her back. “I think we need some water, ja? I’ll fetch it.”
Gertrud cut her a look, but Eli and Abram each gave her a grateful nod. Catrina watched their hands fly over the stalks, pull them, shake them, tie them, toss them aside, then repeat the process. I am simply not cut out for this. Really, I am no good to anybody. I move twice as slowly no matter how hard I try. Everyone is much better served if I do something that I am good at to help. Surely there is more that I can do than fetch water and fumble over the harvest.
She thought about her role as she picked up Abram’s yoke and balanced it over her narrow shoulders. The wooden buckets felt heavy even without water. Truth be told, I am not cut out for this, either. I wish that I could be tougher and stronger. At home, Eli or Gertrud fetched the water. Catrina kept to the indoor chores: baking, cleaning, mending, and of course, spinning and weaving.
The buckets were far heavier on the return trip from the creek. Catrina stumbled over a log and sloshed water across her bodice. She managed to catch herself before she fell to the ground, but the buckets swung from the yoke and knocked against her ribs as she straightened back up. Catrina flinched and sucked in her breath. There would be bruises across her rib cage by the morrow. Ah well, that was life in New Canaan. Catrina thought about what her fate might have been without New Canaan and she felt grateful, even as the damp wool of her bodice began to make her skin itch.
What if things had turned out differently with the man in Philadelphia? She would not have lived with the shame that came after his desertion. But she would not have found Eli, either. She would have lived in a nice house along cobblestone streets with a servant to draw the water, scrub out the fireplace, and beat the linens.
And she would have felt empty. Her life would have had no meaning.
Catrina smiled as she rolled her shoulders to adjust the yoke. Everything had worked together for the good. If she had stayed with him she would have lived a life without love or adventure or challenge. Bruised ribs were a small price to pay for freedom. And freedom, she realized, was what she had earned. She had found a sanctuary in the wilderness where she was free to make her own choices, forge her own path, marry the man she wanted to marry.
And she had married the right man. He would always see her as an equal. He would always encourage her to be herself. So what if she wasn’t as stoic as the other women in the settlement? So what if she couldn’t bear to spend her days mucking out manure or scrubbing laundry until the lye stripped the skin from her fingers? She did not have to. She had forged the perfect path. She had found love and a career. Marrying a weaver meant she would always be needed at the spinning wheel or loom, not the fields or barnyard. Today was the exception, and it reminded her to be grateful.
After her realization, Catrina picked the flax with a bit more enthusiasm. Just a bit, mind you, but every bit helps. The men had been grateful for a cup of cold, clear stream water, although Gertrud had seemed more irritated than thankful. She still drank, however, even if she did so with a face that looked as if the water were flavored with lemons.
“Something is eating away at our dear Gertrud,” Abram said as he tossed another bundle of flax on the pile.
Gertrud stiffened as she finished swallowing the ladleful of water. Abram winked at Eli. “Then again, something is always eating away at poor Gertie. Best learn how to make the best of things. Life is hard. That cannot be changed, but how we react to it can be.”
“Ach.” Gertrud dropped the ladle back into the bucket and waved her hand. “What do you know of it, Abram?”
“Enough.” He sighed as his meaty hands tied a bundle of flax with a quick, deft movement. “More than enough.”
Catrina knew a little of Abram’s past. Ten years ago, the girl he was to marry had broken the engagement at the last moment. She was not willing to venture to America and take her chances in the backcountry. She stayed in Germany, married another, and settled into a predictable life of the hardship she knew, rather than the hardship she did not know. Abram had spoken of her a few times during the year they had known him. He still wondered what had become of her. But the last time he spoke of her it was to tell Georg that he was glad she had chosen to stay behind. “Some people are made for adventure and some are not,” he had said. “She would have been unhappy all her days. And I would have been unhappy all my days if I had stayed. I had to see what was beyond the sea, beyond the tree line, beyond the next mountain.”
Catrina thought about that conversation as she watched Abram’s interaction with Gertrud. Gertrud would not have stayed behind. She did not stay behind. She had come to America and taken on the risk and challenge of the backcountry. Gertrud was not afraid to work hard. She knew how to do what must be done. Catrina felt sure that her sister-in-law could find shelter in a blizzard, patch a waistcoat when there was no needle to be had, or forage food from the wilderness. She was a survivor.
This realization did not make Catrina fond of her sister-in-law, but it did give her a grudging admiration for her. That was a start, anyway.
More importantly, Catrina realized why Abram could not stop teasing Gertrud. He admired her too. He had almost married a woman who could not share his life or vision. Did he think that Gertrud would? She was certainly capable of making it in the backcountry. But what about that sour nature of hers? Catrina shook her head. Sometimes she did not understand men. Ach, well. Perhaps I am putting the cart before the horse. Abram teases everyone. That does not mean he wants to marry everyone!
Catrina was determined to do her share of the harvest. But as she watched Abram’s hands fly over the flax bundles, she felt that she was barely contributing to the effort. She managed to put together a few more bundles before she stretched her back again, wiped her forehead with her sleeve, and announced that she would see to lunch. Now that was something that she could do right.
Eli grinned. “I was just thinking how hungry this makes a man.”
Abram nodded. “See what you can do. I’ve a little of this and a little of that in the larder. But I know you can work wonders in the kitchen.”
Catrina smiled and wiped her hands on her linen apron. She had found something to contribute.
* * *
Catrina felt satisfied with her endeavors when she returned to the field to call the others to the noon meal. Abram had been right when he said he had “a little bit of this and a little bit of that”—there was not enough of any one ingredient to make a proper recipe, and yet she had managed. She always did when it came to cooking. That was where she shined. Especially baking. Yesterday, she had baked a cake to celebrate her wedding, and a pie for the work party. Eli had helped polish off most of the cake. Now, the pie sat on the table beneath a cloth, looking delightfully tempting. Perhaps she would have two slices instead of one. That would make the day almost enjoyable.
Eli and Abram bounded into the cabin with grins and grimy hands. She ordered them to wash in the bucket by the hearth as she ladled venison stew into wooden trenchers and pulled the iron spider from atop the coals. Lard sizzled against the cast iron. It had fried the corn cakes a lovely golden brown.
The men jostled to reach for the nearest trencher. Abram nearly knocked over a pewter cup.
“Careful, now,” Catrina said, and laughed. She wiped her hands on her apron, closed her eyes as Abram said the blessing, and then watched the men devour the meal. They shoveled the food into their mouths as if they hadn’t eaten in days. Broth ran into Abram’s beard and he dabbed his whiskers with his sleeve, then poured another spoonful of stew down his throat.
Catrina broke off a piece of warm, greasy corn cake and crumbled it into her stew. It was a good day, after all.
“We found the work much slowed in your absence,” Gertrud said when she walked into the cabin, took off her scoop, and hung it on a peg.
“Oh?” Catrina’s gaze jerked up from her trencher to Gertrud. Her sister-in-law took a place at the table and sampled the stew. “The food’s good. But a good day’s work in the field is better.” She slurped the spoonful of broth and swallowed. “You’ve done little today.”
“Done little today?” Catrina had spent most of the morning crouched over a hot fire, sweating, choking on the wood smoke, burning her fingers, and trying to coax a meal from a handful of ingredients.
Gertrud stared at Catrina from across the table and raised her eyebrows. Gertrud looked as if she believed every word she had said.
Catrina turned her face toward Eli. He would say something, wouldn’t he? Gertrud was his sister, but she was his wife. Catrina waited. She felt her face burn and knew her pale skin had flushed red. Why did her complexion give her away so easily? How she wished she could pretend not to care!
Catrina continued to wait. She heard the sound of chewing, of a pewter spoon clinking against wood. The room was very quiet. And still, Eli did not speak. Abram sighed and set down his spoon. He wiped his mouth. “Catrina worked in the way that she works best.”
Gertrud’s eyes cut from Catrina’s to Abram’s. They narrowed along with her lips.
“Everyone has different talents. Hers are in the home, at the hearth. Yours might be in the fields, but that does not make your contribution any more valuable. A body’s got to eat, doesn’t it?”
Catrina was torn between satisfaction at Abram’s defense and disappointment that Eli had not defended her himself. But, the conflicting emotions were forgotten when she watched Gertrud’s reaction. Shock made her forget anything else.
Gertrud stared at Abram for a moment, then looked down at her wooden trencher. The room was even more silent than before. Catrina felt the tension swell like a soap bubble, until something had to burst. Gertrud picked up her spoon and dredged it through the stew. Steam curled upward and carried the scent of roasted meat. She shrugged and her face softened. “Ja. It is very good food.”
Catrina nearly gasped. Had Gertrud just complimented her? Had Abram made Gertrud see things in a different light? The thought was shocking. Too shocking. Gertrud was not the type to take someone else’s opinion to heart. And yet . . .
Eli looked as shocked as Catrina. Their eyes met across the table and he shrugged, then grinned. Catrina could not return the grin. Her stomach felt heavy. How could he act so nonchalant? Perhaps he did not realize how much Gertrud’s accusation had hurt.
Ah well, Gertrud had almost acknowledged her wrongdoing, even if she had not gone so far as to apologize. It was a good start. Catrina watched the relief on Eli’s face as the conversation turned to other things and they all resumed eating. Perhaps she would find a time to tell him that she wanted him to defend her. A marriage should be built on honest communication, after all. Catrina stopped chewing. The food stuck to her throat. What a foolish bind she had created. Her marriage was not built on honest communication. But what could she do about that now?
* * *
Eli felt satisfied as he watched the flax field transform into neat clusters of bundled stalks that stood upright to dry beneath the spring sun. His back ached from the constant tugging and his arms burned, but they had accomplished the job. Perhaps everything would be all right. Catrina seemed happy and they had a good harvest of flax to support them. Along with the wool from Hilda and Christina’s sheep, their weaving business should prosper. It was a good, simple life and it was almost perfect. Almost.
Every time he caught Gertrud watching Catrina, Eli felt the weight of almost. After Abram defended Catrina at lunch, Catrina had seemed distant. She still smiled when he looked at her, but he could sense a wistfulness in her eyes. And could he blame her? Of course not. He had failed her. What kind of husband lets his sister criticize his wife—especially in front of another person? Eli jerked the flax with sharp, frustrated movements. Why hadn’t he said something? He had had the perfect defense in his mind. His mouth had almost opened to say it. Instead, he had remained silent and let Abram stand up for Catrina. Abram had said almost exactly what Eli had wanted to say. But that just made him feel worse.
Eli wanted to explain to Catrina why he could not stand up to his sister. Would she understand? Was that a risk he could take? He had lived with the shame and regret for so long that he could not fathom speaking it to another person—much less the woman he loved. What would she think of him if she knew what he had done? He already felt as if he did not deserve her. Eli frowned as he tied a stalk of flax around the bundle with a quick, overhand knot. He tossed the bundle beside the others and stole a glance at Catrina. She looked beautiful in the afternoon sun. The rays bathed her skin in a soft orange glow. He did not deserve her.
But Eli would think about that later. This evening, on the walk home, he would apologize and explain, no matter how ashamed he felt. For now, he would distract himself with other thoughts. Like the way Gertrud had stopped her criticism and agreed with Abram. Now that was an interesting development! Could the rough-and-tumble frontiersman be getting to his sister?
After the last of the flax had been bundled and stood upright to dry, Eli took off his straw scoop and freed his hair. His scalp felt itchy and damp from the heat. It would feel good to collapse onto the straw pallet tonight. Later, after the flax dried, he would have to help Abram ripple the flax to deseed it, ret it by soaking it in water to rot away the outer husk, and then beat it into soft, silky threads. But tonight, he would sleep like the dead.