Letters in the Grove

by Felicia Rogers

  Teresa cradled her chin in her palm. Thoughts about what it was like when Gustav first left ran rampant through her mind. Rifling through some papers on her desk she found one of his first letters. Coded with their own secret symbols, Teresa had spent hours painstakingly translating.

  After reading the letter more times than she could remember, she now knew the words by heart.

  Mein Engel,

  I have arrived in Caen, France. Jean Broussard has taken me into his confidence and placed me in charge of a special mission. It is as I had always dreamed. The opportunity to change the world for the Lord is at my fingertips. My heart thumps against my chest with excitement, as it did the first time I held your hand.

  How I wish I could see your face! The twinkle of your sapphire eyes is more beautiful than the ocean outside my window. Just to touch your hand and feel the smooth touch of your cheek to mine would make me the happiest man alive.

  Memories of our time as husband and wife keep me strong. As much as I want to come home and be with you, I know my place is here. Here, I can make the world better, not just for you, but for our children as well.

  The letter rambled on with details of his comfortable lodgings, the food he’d consumed, and the color of the French sky. Teresa ran her fingers over the indented parchment. A fresh wave of tears streamed down her cheeks and landed on the letter, mingling with the dried ones from years past.

  If Gustav would come for a visit, or perhaps send her another letter filled with love, things would be better. The last couple of letters she’d recovered from the grove had only burdened her heart more.

  Why did he persist in wasting parchment and ink to ask if the house was in good repair? What would he say if one of these times she responded with, “Nay, the house is falling around my ears and I let all the servants go”? Why had he not told of the grand balls he attended with rich and beautiful women? Was it because Victor’s words rang true and he loved another or because his actions were for the benefit of the cause?

  Thinking of Victor caused her pulse to increase. Would he try to find her at home? Maybe she should gather some things and seek shelter elsewhere.

  Teresa fisted her hands and blew into them, then she ran her hands over her arms. The air in the room was chilly. No fire burned. What most women received from their hearth was devoid here. If she wanted to experience warmth, she would have to gather the wood herself.

  The clothing she wore appeared befitting of the wealthy if one didn’t look too closely. The garment was indigo and made out of the finest satin. Elaborate folds covered the rips and tears in the once luxurious fabric. The dress had been worn many times, too many times.

  Daylight waned as Teresa stowed the ancient letter, gathered wood, and started a fire. Dried meat was left over from a previous meal and Teresa wrenched bites free with her teeth. Sitting in front of the fire, she watched the flames dance. Visions of her wedding day drifted across her memory.

  Encased in the gardens of Maximilian’s glorious estate, she and Gustav had professed their love and said their vows. Friends from both sides had come to offer support. Gustav had cradled her in his arms and everything had seemed right with the world.

  They had returned to this very home, a small but sturdy building, to start their life together. Teresa had decorated the inside with special pieces of furniture, not items that cost a fortune, but ones that held special meaning to her. Each item served a purpose. Gustav never complained about the pieces she'd chosen. He’d wanted her to make the place her own.

  Gustav was a designer of fine clothing for the upper class. Many in high society sought him out. Females were apt to request his services. Every girl wanted a Gustav original for her coming-out party.

  Teresa was proud to be his wife. High society accepted her in their circles because of Gustav’s talent. Then one day everything changed. A Frenchman named Jean Broussard arrived for a fitting. Each day for a sennight he returned. Teresa grew concerned, but Gustav refused to speak on the matter.

  Only after Jean left did Teresa discover the real reason for his visit. A suit of clothing had been merely a pretense. Gustav had been summoned to his previous employment. The French Protestant movement needed his assistance in protecting influential members of their group. Gustav, having been an agent before they met, had jumped at the chance. Teresa had been devastated.

  “I must do this. You understand, yes?”

  Teresa had smiled, stroked his cheek, and agreed. The plan was that Gustav would travel to France and England a few times a year and be a go-between for several other agents. But when one of them unexpectedly disappeared, Gustav was ordered to stay in France and take his place. She hadn’t laid eyes on her husband since.

  At first the letters were frequent. They contained all the things a giddy young wife would expect. Teresa would read them for hours, devouring every word. He would tell her about the Brazilian colony, or how he had thwarted a great caper. Then the missives she gathered at the grove dwindled in content. Their length grew shorter and shorter with the passing of time. The words on the page read like a piece of poetry. They spoke of loving her, of being with her, of holding her. Nothing of his work or the people he cavorted with.

  Oft times she wondered if Gustav thought about how she survived. Didn’t he know how hard it was to be without the aid of a husband? Who did he think took care of her? Took care of their meager property?

  Orange light created shadows on the wall. Teresa settled into the chair and pulled a coverlet to her neck. There was little reason to change or retire to her physical bed. No one would see her — she never had visitors. She remained alone with her haunting memories and the rats that ate crumbs from her floors; even her cat had left for places unknown.

  She shivered. Perhaps she should label herself a widow. She could continue her own work in the Christian movement. Devoting her life to serving God and never looking back seemed like the only way to protect her heart.

  ****

  From the road, the house appeared deserted. Weeds grew along the stone path. Wild flowers leaned against the house in awkward angles. Stones had fallen from the wall and left gaping holes. How had Max’s home fared so well, yet his lay in ruin?

  The door creaked open. Odors of burnt wood assaulted Gustav's senses. Dust particles floated through the air, highlighted by stray beams of light from the windows.

  The foyer still held the long wooden table given to him by Olga on his wedding day. Gloves rested askew on the rough surface. Twisting his neck, he peered into the solar. The fire had died during the night, leaving only a pile of gray ashes.

  The stone house had three rooms: the solar, the kitchen, and the bedroom. Gustav paused at the bedroom door. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. What would it be like to see his wife after all this time? Would she jump into his arms? Would she cry tears of joy? Would she slap him across the face for his recent lack of attention?

  Worry gnawed at his gut. He deserved the latter. He’d left her on her own for too long. All he could hope was that she would accept him back into her life and allow him to make up for lost time.

  The door moved and a whish of cold air blasted him. Gustav frowned. The room was empty.

  He hurried to the kitchen. The eerily silent room caused his worry to increase. Where were the servants? They should be busy making food for the day, taking care of the yard, and all the other menial tasks. He scratched his forehead. His German contacts had never reported Teresa being in distress. The funds he normally sent had dwindled with his letters, but the coin he’d left behind should have been plenty.

  He twisted on his heel. Pain shot along the back of his head and darkness descended.

  Chapter Five

  Teresa fidgeted as she squatted before the intruder. Darkness kept him faceless. She bit her lip. Had Victor broken into her home? She would not put it past him. Why had she even returned home? After her time as a courier she should have known better.

  Tying him to the chair had been an instin
ctive act of survival. A smile tilted her lips. Gustav would have been proud of her skill. A sigh came from the depths of her soul and she stood and paced. Maybe she should part the curtains further or light a candle and see who she held in her clutches. But what then? She could hardly call the authorities, because it could place her in more danger.

  Sighing, she drew her hair back and secured it with a ribbon. Perhaps she should pen a letter to Gustav. If she expressed the trouble that she thought she might be in, how she had assisted with the religious movement in Germany, how people followed her, how a German leader sought her presence, then Gustav would surely return home.

  In the bedroom she pulled out a piece of parchment and penned the note, then quickly stuffed it in her reticule. If she left now, she could deposit the letter under the veil of the dying light. The outer room remained silent and she hesitated to enter. She should gather her belongings and run while the intruder was restrained.

  She reentered the bedroom and shuffled through her drawers. A loud thud echoed behind her and her heart hammered in her chest. On her way to the door, she grabbed a candle. She swallowed and offered a word of prayer for protection as she headed toward the noise.

  ****

  Bound by rope to a wooden chair, Gustav was unable to move. His eyelids stuck to his cheeks. Forcing them open, he was surprised to find he was sitting in his own solar and facing the empty fireplace.

  The wood of the seat creaked and groaned as he rocked. Landing on his side with a painful thump, he worked at his bonds. Whoever had secured them had been thorough. Already, raw places formed under his clothing.

  Light footfalls came his way. Closing his eyes and pretending to be unconscious, he waited for the sound to stop. The tiniest tap was felt on his forehead, but he kept his eyes closed. When he chanced to peer between his lashes, Gustav gasped. Captured by her beauty, he didn’t realize how much he had missed admiring his wife.

  “Teresa,” he whispered.

  She folded her legs underneath her gown and fell beside him. She smoothed hair away from his face. “Gustav. What are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I’m here for you,” he said, the awkward angle making drool hit the floor with each word.

  “Oh.”

  “Why am I tied up?” he asked.

  “I thought you were someone else,” her voice came out in a quiet whisper.

  Gustav arched his brow.

  Leaning over, Teresa placed her lips to his. The slight caress of her smooth skin caused his stomach to clench and his pulse to race. Gustav strained against his bonds. “Free me.”

  Teresa placed her hands on his shoulders and attempted to lift the chair. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and he wished for a free hand to wipe it away.

  She grunted with the effort. Moments passed. She stood and moved away.

  “Teresa? Where are you going? Why are you leaving me like this? Untie me!”

  She moved to a side window. The outside lattice covering that he had taken so much pride in was gone. Now the hole was covered with strips of linen. Wind pushed and sucked at the moist fabric.

  Teresa faced him. Morning sunlight filtered through the opening and struck her golden hair. Pale blue eyes stared back at him. A frown tugged her lips.

  “Why are you silent? Please tell me what is wrong. Why do you not release me?”

  Her voice was strained as she asked, “Gustav, why are you here?”

  “What? Don’t you know? I’ve been relieved of the majority of my duties.”

  She clenched her hands before her. “So you’ve come home to stay?”

  “No,” he answered, looking away.

  “If you’ve not come home to stay, then why have you returned?”

  Her anguished expression tore at his heart and he ached to hold her hands. “If you would release me, this conversation would be easier.”

  “Tell me, what are your plans? Why have you come back and now of all times? Who are you working for?”

  He frowned at the unusual questions. “My plans are to take you back to England with me. When the colony is ready in Brazil we will go there.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What?”

  “Gustav, I’m not leaving Augsburg.” With grunts and an uncommon amount of strength, Teresa hauled the chair upright. However, she kept the ropes intact. Sadness tinged her voice as she settled on a stool across from him.

  “But—“

  Holding up a hand, she said, “I cannot leave, not yet.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. “You mean I’ve come all this way and you don’t want to leave with me?”

  “Yes, that is what I mean. B-but there are reasons, reasons you can’t possibly understand.”

  “How do you know I won’t understand when you haven’t given me a chance?” He studied his wife. Her clothing was ragged, her hair unkempt. Dirt embedded her fingernails and the smoothness of her hands was lacking. Something wasn’t right. He needed to get loose. “Are you going to keep me tied to this chair all day?” She didn’t respond. Trying a different tactic, he said, “And what happened to the other chairs and the window coverings?”

  Teresa sighed and looked away. “I had to sell them.”

  “Why? I know I haven’t sent funds recently, but what of our surplus?”

  “I have been living off of my own ingenuity for some time now.” She studied her hands and his pulse raced between his ears.

  “But I don’t understand. I stayed with friends, ate at their tables, never purchased new clothing, all so I could send more to you in the beginning for a stockpile and now you say it is all gone. We have nothing? How can this be?” Desperately, he ached to scratch his head. “What about the letters? Have you received those?”

  “Yes.” Her voice lowered and she stared at him, her eyes wide with intensity.

  “Teresa, what is it? Please, you must tell me. I will forgive any transgression. Release my bonds and we shall work this out.”

  Insistent pounding reverberated against the outer door. Teresa tensed and jumped to her feet, wringing her hands in her wrinkled gown. She trembled violently, until he could feel the fear in the room.

  Gustav struggled against the ropes. A knot moved. He begged, “Release me so I may answer the door.”

  She walked away without looking at him.

  “Teresa, please don’t go! Don’t answer the door. Wait!” Breathing heavy now, he wriggled, scooting the chair across the uneven floor, but the bounds held tight.

  Hinges groaned and Teresa returned and fell at his feet. In a rushed whisper, she said, “I’m sorry, but I’m in a spot of trouble. It is best if it appears you and I are at odds.” She planted a kiss on his cheek and rose to her feet. He didn’t call out as she strolled to the foyer and blocked the solar’s entrance.

  A thick male voice spoke. “Frau Braun, we meet again. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “No,” said Teresa with a steady, calm voice.

  “I see you are not used to company. No matter, our conversation would be better discussed in my carriage. Come along please.”

  Sounds of a struggle reached him. Gustav worked at the taut ropes, but to no avail. By the time they slid free and he stumbled outside, Teresa and the mystery man were gone.

  ****

  “You are a sneaky one.”

  Teresa stared out the window of the carriage as the horses took her farther away from her husband. She’d been possessed and blinded by fear when she tied him to the chair. When she realized who he was, she had sat and stared at him as if he was an illusion. As soon as she had heard his voice, she should have untied him and dragged him from the house, but instead she’d hesitated and attempted to discern his motivations for returning. How could she possibly believe that her husband had defected and switched sides? That he’d been summoned from England to discover her actions in the grove? Not even Victor could have convinced her husband to turn against the Huguenot movement. But what if…?<
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  No, she would never believe him capable of such treachery. Regret filled her. Gustav had lain at her feet. Wavy brown hair hanging at an awkward angle, his warm brown eyes had implored her for release. If only she had listened to her heart and not her head, if only she hadn’t left him tied to the chair, then he would have surely rescued her. Then she wouldn’t be held against her will by Victor Wulf again.

  “Frau Braun? Are you listening to me? I have caught you in acts against our laws. You will go to trial, lose, and perhaps hang.”

  “Acts? What acts do you speak of? I know of no acts against any German law.”

  “The act of sharing the Protestant faith in an area deemed Catholic. Augsburg may be declared as a safe haven for Lutherans, but other German towns are not.”

  Teresa leaned against the rough bench and folded her arms across her chest, exuding an air of false confidence. “First of all, I have no idea what you speak of. And second, I was unaware of such a decree. Things change so frequently in the German court it is hard to keep track.”

  “Humph.”

  “Since I don’t know what you speak of, I could hardly be charged with an action I don’t remember committing.” Confident in her assumptions, Teresa didn’t worry about reprisal until Victor lifted a rolled piece of paper between his two fingers. With great effort she kept from gasping aloud. How had he come upon that parchment? She had left it in the grove! Only two people knew of the special location, her and the one who retrieved the messages.

  “I see you are aware what this means.”

  “Aye, it means you have found a piece of parchment. You must notify the authorities immediately,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone even as worry caused her heartbeat to accelerate.

  “I enjoy a woman with a quick wit. But I’m afraid it will not get you out of your current predicament. This piece of parchment is a coded letter containing vital information for underground resistance. You are going to decipher the code and tell us what it means.”