The Fairest Beauty

by Melanie Dickerson

  Cleaning up after meals was his new favorite activity.

  She ended the kiss and she pressed her face into his shoulder.

  “How is your wound?” she whispered.

  “It’s getting better. I can lift my arm without pain.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be leaving soon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Won’t you tell me where you’re going?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t be away from you a moment longer than I have to. I can promise you that.”

  Her brows came together, forming a slight crease of worry above the bridge of her nose. He reached up and smoothed it with his finger. She wanted to know more, but if she would just be patient, he was sure it would all work out. The only problem was, he couldn’t tell her how it was going to work out yet. Because he didn’t know.

  Bartel came to the back door, and Gabe and Sophie broke apart and pretended to be cleaning.

  Tomorrow he’d be gone. But Sophie would be safe, and God would help him discover the truth about Sophie’s identity.

  Please, God, help me work things out for Sophie and me to be together. He hadn’t wanted to seek God’s will, had been afraid that God truly didn’t intend for them to be together. But now he knew he needed God’s favor. You said all things work together for the good of those who love you. I wasn’t listening to you before, but I know I need you now. Please let it work out, God, for me to marry Sophie. God, I will follow you, no matter what you ask me to do.

  Chapter 22

  Sophie went about her work, and though she had been happier last night than she had ever been, a heaviness filled her today — worry, even fear, that things would not turn out as wonderfully as Gabe believed they would. There were so many things that could go wrong. And the fact that Gabe wouldn’t tell her where he was going hovered over her like a black cloud.

  Was he going to see Brittola? She couldn’t think where else he could be going. What if he arrived and decided he wanted to marry Brittola after all? What if he couldn’t break their betrothal without angering the girl’s father and placing himself in danger? When he saw Brittola, the privileged daughter of a count who had been raised knowing how to handle herself in Gabe’s privledged world, he wouldn’t be able to help comparing her to Sophie. After all, she was little more than a scullery maid. Her skills were limited to making meat pies and fruit custards and knowing how to scrub wood tables and stone floors. The duchess had always told her she would never marry, that all she was good for was scrubbing floors.

  Perhaps her romance with Gabe had been doomed from the start.

  The thought of Gabe leaving her to go to Brittola, even if he intended only to tell her he wanted to break their betrothal, filled her with pain so intense she had to stop chopping leeks and wrap her arm around her middle. “God, please help me.” Help me to bear whatever pain is in my future.

  Don’t borrow trouble, Petra had once told her. Sophie rarely had to borrow trouble, because it was always with her, but Jesus had also said in the book of Luke, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” And Gabe had told her that Jesus had also said, “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for each day has enough trouble of its own.” Still, Sophie couldn’t seem to shake this feeling of foreboding, that a wonderful future of love and marriage to Gabe was too good to be true.

  Sophie had told herself she didn’t believe what the duchess said about her being unlovable, but the words were like burrs, stuck in the corners of her mind, so embedded that she didn’t know how to get them out. How could Gabe, who was so handsome and desirable and kind, who had grown up with loving parents, ever love someone like her? Of course he would choose Brittola over her.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but one fell on her arm, and soon they were dripping down her face.

  Gabe walked through the door at that moment and the air rushed out of her. How could she let him see her like this? How could she explain these tears? She tried to turn away from him.

  “Liebling,” he said, using a term of endearment she’d rarely ever heard.

  He pulled her into his arms while she tried to wipe away the tears that were still streaming down her face. He took the knife she’d been holding in her other hand and laid it on the table while she struggled to control herself.

  He nestled her against his chest and murmured against her head, “Why are you crying? Please tell me. Did something happen?”

  “I’m sorry.” Sophie was ashamed of her tears, but at the same time, a warmth having more kinship with anger than anything else, welled up inside her.

  “You can tell me,” Gabe crooned, stroking her back.

  “It is nothing. I am well.”

  “Please tell me.”

  “Nothing! It is nothing!” She pulled away from him, wiping her face with her apron. She turned her back on him.

  There was only silence behind her. What was he thinking? That she was not worth his trouble?

  “Are you angry with me for leaving?”

  “Yes. I mean, no.” She shook her head. “I’m not angry.” What reason did she have to be angry? Could she be more undignified? More unreasonable?

  He pulled her back against the hardness of his chest.

  “You’re leaving me.” Shut up, Sophie. Don’t say any more. “You won’t tell me where you’re going.”

  “Sophie, please. I —”

  “Go back to your Brittola! Marry her! Why would you marry me when you have her?” She threw the words at him like she was hurling rocks. She knew she should stop but the words continued to flow from her mouth. “You don’t deserve to have a scullery maid for a wife. Go on.”

  Gabe let go of her shoulders. She didn’t dare turn around. Had he left? Had he gotten sick of her crying and her cruel words and walked out the door? She wouldn’t blame him. She was an imbecile, a lackwit. How could she say those things to him? The pain inside her grew until it had overwhelmed all reason and restraint.

  She wiped her face. Turning, she found Gabe still standing behind her, leaning against the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, resting his elbows on the wood and leaning his face in his hands.

  What have I done? Her stomach twisted at the obvious anguish he was feeling. He probably would decide to go see Brittola now, even if he wasn’t before. She was a lackwit.

  He looked up at her, dropping his hands from his face. He gazed at her sadly, his brown eyes tearing at her heart. She had thought herself all cried out, but she had to bite her lip to keep from crying again. If she couldn’t control herself, she’d never find out what he was thinking. Why didn’t he say something? She couldn’t look him in the eye after all the stupid things she’d said. Why must I always doubt him? Doubt myself?

  Instead of speaking, Gabe simply stretched out his hand toward her.

  She stared at his hand, held out to her, waiting. She moved toward him and he slipped his arm around her waist. He drew her down on his lap and buried his face in her hair.

  Sophie wrapped her arms around his neck. Listening to his breathing, feeling the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, her heart gradually slowed to normal. She breathed him in.

  He was leaving.

  She couldn’t let him leave without apologizing for her ridiculous outburst.

  “Forgive me, Gabe. I’m sorry for what I said.” Still, he didn’t move. “I’m afraid you’ll marry Brittola instead of me. Please say something.”

  With a deep sigh, he pulled away and loosened his hold on her. “Sophie, I love you. I don’t love anyone but you, and you will marry me, if I have anything to say about it. So stop trying to get rid of me.” He dropped his head so their foreheads were touching. His expression was serious. “But I do expect you to trust me.”

  “You’re right. I should trust you. I’m sorry. I know I behaved badly. I let my fear take control, and what I said was ridic —”

  He stopped h
er with a kiss, pressing his lips firmly to hers. Then he pulled back and captured her gaze with a penetrating and somber look. “I know your stepmother did some bad things to you. She said things to you that weren’t true.” He spoke quietly, but unwaveringly. “My mother once told my sister, ‘You must let God’s love heal you.’ ”

  Sophie touched his cheek, and he reached up and cradled her face in his hands. “You must let God’s love and the blood of Jesus heal you of all those things the duchess said and did to you.”

  Sophie swallowed. “I will.”

  “My mother’s childhood was a little bit like yours. She had to let God heal her, and you have to do the same. You don’t have to believe those lies. You can give them to God.”

  Give them to God? “How do I do that?”

  “God says we should cast our burdens on him and give him our cares. And you have some heavy burdens you need to give to God.” He sighed. “And so do I.”

  “You do? What?” They were both whispering, and Sophie didn’t want to break this magical moment, feeling as if Gabe was not only revealing God to her, but he was about to reveal himself to her.

  He seemed to think about that, staring past her for a moment. She held her breath while she waited for him to speak.

  “I should have let God heal me of the pain of being compared to my brother. Others said Valten was stronger, more of a warrior, and more responsible than I was. And I let that affect me more than I should have.”

  She caressed his cheek with her fingertips.

  “And I think I let my guilt over my sister’s death make me do stupid things and give up on myself instead of trying to be everything I should have been.”

  “Oh. Why would you feel guilty?”

  “I was there when she died. I could have saved her if I’d only known she was drowning. I was six years old and I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. But I so wished I had saved her. I felt responsible for her. I wished I could have spared my mother the pain of my sister’s death.”

  Sophie’s stomach twisted at the pain he must have felt, at the pain she could see in his eyes now as he was looking away from her. She hugged him close, pressing her cheek against his neck and whispering, “It wasn’t your fault.” His arms tightened around her, and they sat like that for a long moment.

  She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “You must let God heal you of this guilt. Because I think you’re very strong and capable and very responsible.”

  He gave her a tiny half smile. “And I think you’re beautiful. Everything the duchess said was a lie. You are clever and resilient, yet so sweet, it makes my heart ache just to look at you.”

  “Then we shall both give our pain to God and let him heal us.” She hugged him again. “Thank you telling me all that.” As she hugged Gabe tighter, she wasn’t thinking. She was only feeling … floating … sealing up the broken places of her heart with God’s love … and Gabe’s.

  Sophie held the bag of food she had packed for him — nuts, apples, cheese, bread, dried fruit, and dried strips of venison — while Gabe made sure Gingerbread’s saddle was tight. He took it from her with a murmured, “Thank you,” and tied it to his saddle. Then he mounted his horse. He’d hugged her and kissed her, but her heart had been so heavy, it was hard to enjoy it, especially when she knew the Seven were watching them out the kitchen window.

  “Don’t go anywhere without one of the men,” Gabe told her for the fifth time. “The duchess might still be looking for you.”

  “I know. I won’t.”

  “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can, or I’ll follow you to Hagenheim.” He stared hard at her. “You must trust me. I need you to trust me.”

  “I know. I will, Gabe.” She reached up to him and he clasped her hand in his. “I think you’re one of the most responsible people I know. And the bravest.”

  He leaned down and kissed her.

  Then he left, urging his eager horse forward, disappearing through the trees.

  The days seemed to stretch out long before her. But she had promised herself she wouldn’t be sad. She would hold on to her happy memories of Gabe, and she would trust him to work things out and come back for her.

  She sighed and went back into the kitchen, deciding to bake several fruit pies and custards and perhaps some extra bread. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to cry.

  The men seemed to be making an effort to be cheerful that night. Siggy played only fast-paced music, and some of the men danced a jig, making Sophie laugh at their antics. She was so tired that night, after keeping herself busy all day, she fell asleep while praying for Gabe and his safety and success.

  Two days after Gabe left, the sky was overcast and dreary, but as Sophie worked in the kitchen, preparing food for their night’s dinner, she concentrated on remembering every conversation she’d ever had with Gabe, starting with the first day he had arrived at Hohendorf Castle. She was thinking of the day he’d gotten shot protecting her, when she saw an old woman approaching the back of the cottage. The woman was bent over, hugging a basket to her middle, a hump protruding from the place where her right shoulder blade should have been.

  How odd to see another human being of any kind, but especially a woman. Sophie hurried to the back door and opened it.

  “Guten Morgen,” Sophie called.

  The old woman barely raised her head, as though her neck didn’t work correctly. Something about her reminded Sophie of Pinnosa, the old woman who used to help Petra with the baking at the castle. She immediately felt a pang of sympathy for the poor woman, remembering how kind Pinnosa had been to her.

  “Good mother, won’t you come in?”

  The seven had warned her not to let anyone in the house, but Dolf was somewhere nearby, and Bartel was in the chapel praying, or doing whatever he did in there. Surely she could not be in danger from an old woman.

  The woman ambled slowly toward her, and as she drew closer, Sophie still couldn’t see her face. She wore a headscarf of brightly colored cloth, and from underneath it peeked strands of white hair. Her hands appeared crippled and gnarled, and the handle of her basket hung on her wrist.

  “May I help you inside?” Sophie moved forward to take the old woman’s arm so she could help her the rest of the way, but the woman seemed to bristle when Sophie touched her, as though her help was unwanted. But surely Sophie imagined it.

  “You mustn’t mind an old woman.” The woman’s voice squeaked as though rusty from disuse. “I can manage. But I would like to come inside and rest a moment.”

  “I should think so. Did you walk far? I wasn’t aware there were any other houses around here.”

  “Oh, I am on my way to visit my sister. She lives in a village over that way.” She moved her head to indicate the direction she was heading, but Sophie hadn’t heard about a village, there or anywhere else nearby. She must still have a long way to go.

  Sophie helped her inside the kitchen and led her to a wooden chair. The old woman sank down heavily on it and groaned. Poor thing. She shouldn’t be walking so far on such a warm day.

  “Let me get you some cool water.”

  Sophie filled a clean tankard from the bucket of water she’d just brought back from the well.

  “Here you are.” Sophie tried to see underneath the woman’s scarf, but the old woman reached up to pull it lower over her forehead. Sophie noticed that her hand wasn’t nearly as wrinkled as she had initially thought. Perhaps the woman wasn’t as old as her hunched back would indicate.

  The woman shook her head and refused to take the water. “I have something to give you, since you are so kind to allow an old granny to rest in your kitchen.” She uncovered her basket and showed Sophie a single red apple resting inside.

  The hair on the back of Sophie’s neck prickled, she wasn’t sure why.

  “Thank you.” Sophie held out her hand for the gift.

  The abbot took the letter Gabe handed him, the letter Bartel had written, and read it. Then the abbot
stared.

  “So you are Gabehart Gerstenberg, second son of Duke Wilhelm of Hagenheim.”

  Gabe nodded respectfully.

  “I had the pleasure of meeting Duke Wilhelm once. He is a fine man and great leader.”

  “Thank you for saying so. He is indeed.”

  Gabe waited. The man stared down at the letter again. Finally, he rang a bell and a young monk entered the room through a side door.

  “Go to Brother Baldewin and ask him to come. Have him wait in the anteroom.”

  The young man bowed and walked away.

  “You may wait here.” The abbot rose and left the room.

  Gabe sat in the only chair available and waited. The monks had welcomed him and let him share their food. They had shown him to a room with a small cot where he had stowed his things, assuring him he was welcome to rest after his long trek. But he could not sleep until he found Duke Baldewin.

  Was Sophie the duke’s daughter? He found himself wishing more and more she wasn’t, not only to lessen his guilt, but also the number of other meetings he would need to orchestrate to make Sophie his bride.

  He should soon find out. Unless the duke refused to see him.

  Gabe tapped on the arm of his chair, humming a song and thinking the words in his head. He got up and paced around the bare room, counting the cracks in the walls. The floors were very clean, but a spider with furry legs was busily building a web in the corner. Gabe watched it, impressed with the creature’s structural techniques. Finally, he walked back to his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “How much longer, O Lord?” he asked aloud, just as the door opened.

  “Brother Baldewin will see you now.” The abbot’s assistant stood in the door, his hands hidden in his robe.

  Gabe crossed the room and followed the monk down a long corridor to a small chamber. Once he was inside, the abbot’s assistant closed the door, leaving Gabe alone with a still form. As his eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof, he saw the form was actually a man wearing the same brown robe as the monk who had brought him here. The man was kneeling at the back of the room facing a small crucifix on the wall, his head bowed over his clasped hands.