A month after their wedding, the ice started to break up in the North River. Soon Wynter noticed a number of sloops making their way to New Amsterdam. The weather, though still quite cold, was bearable when the sun warmed the landscape and colored it with its yellow hue.
Wynter began to love Lindenwyck, the warmth of their neighbors who paid unexpected calls, the kindness of Lindenwyck’s farmers. She also grew fond of Gerta. The woman was friendly, and Lyntje responded to her from the first minute Gerta held her in her arms. Sometimes Wynter caught Gerta watching Rolfe with eyes of love, and Wynter knew then that her first impression about Gerta had been correct. She loved Rolfe. How Rolfe felt about her, Wynter didn’t know. But she hoped that if Rolfe and Gerta were lovers, Rolfe found some happiness with the woman. Certainly he didn’t find any contentment with Katrina.
Wynter and Katrina had called an unspoken truce, or so it seemed. Katrina was never outwardly hostile to her. In fact, at the table she was quite pleasant. Though Katrina attempted to mask her feelings, Wynter realized that she still loved Cort, and she pitied her. She knew now that Cort didn’t love Katrina and would never return the emotion. However, Wynter was puzzled as to why Katrina suddenly seemed to take an interest in Mikel and bragged to Cort about how the boy’s governess exclaimed over his intelligence. At one point, Katrina even ordered Vrouw Tyssen into the room to tell Cort herself about Mikel’s progress in the classroom. At other times, she’d encourage Mikel to engage Cort in a game of nine pins or cards.
Wynter found this behavior baffling, and soon realized that whenever Cort held and played with Lyntje, Katrina and Mikel were near at hand.
One early March afternoon, a servant called Wynter from the nursery with the news that a visitor had arrived. “It must be Vrouw Andressen,” Wynter said to Gerta. “She told me last week at church that she might pay her respects this week.”
She hurried downstairs, her housewife’s keys clinking at her waist. The large smile on her face wilted when she beheld her guest, sitting primly in the sitting room. Though Lucy had on a cloak with hood, Wynter would have known her sister anywhere.
Lucy stood up when Wynter entered the room.
“Don’t look so horrified, Wynter. I’m really here.”
“I can’t believe it. What are you doing at Lindenwyck?”
“Begging.” Lucy pulled the hood from her head to reveal a few auburn tendrils which had escaped the tight knot of hair at the nape of her neck.
“Lucy, tell me what happened.”
Wynter sat next to her sister and listened to the news of Debra’s death, of how Adam had gambled everything away until the debts had to be paid with Somerset House and McChesney Manor. “There are still many debts that haven’t been paid,” Lucy told her. “I doubt if they will ever be, but I shall not stay married to him another minute. I intend to file for divorce, annulment … whatever I can get without a great deal of difficulty. Do you think you can let me stay here awhile, Wynter? I’d like to start life anew.”
Wynter felt touched that Lucy would confide in her. Of course, Lucy might be using her to escape an unpleasant situation at home, but Wynter sensed that Lucy had come to her because she cared about her. Wynter wouldn’t turn her out, no matter what had happened in the past.
“I’d be delighted for you to stay here. Cort will be glad to see you again.”
Lucy giggled. “Captain Van Linden is your husband. I can’t believe you married that man, but, Wynter, I think he is a good man, a better man than Lord Somerset could ever hope to be. Fate plays tricks on us sometimes.”
Wynter could attest to that sentiment. Though gladness to see Lucy again filled her, her eyes misted with tears. “McChesney manor is lost to us now.”
“Yes. Lost as if it never existed.”
“One more reason why I loathe Somerset.”
“Dear Wynter, I have a thousand reasons to detest the man!”
Their conversation was interrupted by Dirk, who appeared in the doorway.
“Sorry, vrouw,” he said and doffed his cap after Wynter introduced him to Lucy. “But I have finished the wooden rocking horse for Lyntje. It is in the vestibule.”
Wynter exclaimed over the superb craftsmanship after she and Lucy followed Dirk to examine the hand-crafted horse. “You do lovely work with your hands,” Lucy complimented him.
“He always has. Dirk makes many of the furnishings at Lindenwyck now,” Wynter told her. Seeing a servant, Wynter halted the woman and followed her up the stairs to help prepare a room for Lucy.
Lucy watched in fascination as Dirk’s hands moved over the smooth wood, stroking it like a lover. She found Dirk to be a rather unkempt-looking man. His hair was stringy and long, and most certainly his clothes needed mending. But when he looked up and smiled shyly at her, her heart melted.
“You have strong but gentle hands,” she said without thinking.
He appeared offended and stood up. Grabbing the wooden horse, he made a slight bow and scurried from the room like a frightened mouse.
Lucy didn’t see Dirk again for the next few days, but whenever she chanced to think about him, she imagined his hands moving across the wood … moving across her own body.
The sound of barking dogs roused Wynter from dreamy slumber. Turning onto her side to snuggle against Cort’s warmth, she found only the chill of the sheets.
She opened her eyes. The hearth fire had long since burned out and a damp chill permeated the room. She noticed that the bedroom door had been thrown open in apparent haste and that Cort’s wardrobe door was ajar. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her slippers and robe and went out into the dark hall.
All was silent except for relentless barking of the dogs. She shivered and found her way down the two flights of stairs to the vestibule. Lena stood with a candle by the front door and peered into the starless night.
“Has something happened?” Wynter asked in alarm when she noticed the flicker of torches streaming like comets across the grounds.
Lena nodded, her night cap bobbing slightly with the motion. “Someone sneaked into the smokehouse and stole a ham. One of the servants saw the man and reported the theft to Rolfe. Rolfe has called the dogs on the thief.” Lena clucked her tongue. Wynter felt that those were extreme measures for a ham. She inquired as to Cort’s whereabouts.
“On the lawn. He refuses to hunt down the man and is much upset by Rolfe’s tactics.” Lena raised her hands in a gesture of futility. “But Rolfe is the patroon and must be obeyed.”
Pulling her robe closer about her, Wynter rushed outside, oblivious to Lena’s call to stay inside the house. She noticed Cort immediately, and when he saw her, he frowned.
“You should not be outside. The night is cold, and you might catch a chill.”
“I wanted to see what was happening,” she told him.
He placed a protective, warm arm around her shoulders. “My cousin is protecting his domain, I fear, in the worst possible way. The dogs were used when my uncle was alive only to hunt down those who stole something of value, or to track down rebellious Indians. Never to kill a hungry man.”
“You must stop him,” Wynter urged.
“I tried, but Rolfe wouldn’t listen to me.”
They waited with arms around one another until the voices of men and growling dogs, heard in the distance, grew closer. Rolfe stalked ahead of a group of tenants who carried the prone figure of a man. She recognized two of the men who led the dogs on leashes as Larsen and Fredrik, the tenants who controlled the animals. In the gleam from the torches, Wynter saw a devilish spark of triumph in Rolfe’s eyes. But when he realized she watched him in repugnance, he stopped still. The men placed the dead man on the cold ground before the patroon.
The picture of the bleeding man was more than Wynter could bear. She turned her head away from the gruesome sight but felt Rolfe’s hand on her arm. “I’m sorry you had to see such a scene, Wynter, but this man must be a lesson to all that no one steals from Lindenwyck.”
“The man may have been hungry, Rolfe. He might have needed to feed his family. There was no need to use such deplorable means to catch a thief.”
Rolfe’s face hardened. “I see you mimic your husband’s sentiments.”
“Wynter has a mind of her own,” Cort interjected, none too gently.
“I want to go inside.” Wynter laid her face against Cort’s chest.
Cort and Wynter turned to leave, but she heard Rolfe’s voice and trembled because his words sounded ominous, like a warning directed towards her and Cort. “No one steals anything which is mine and lives.”
“I fear Rolfe is slightly insane,” Cort told her after they were in bed and safe in each other’s arms.
Wynter thought that Rolfe was very sane and very heartless.