Trailing the Hunter: A Novel of Misconception, Truth, and Love

by Heidi Eljarbo

  Clara released her clenched fists. “Thank you for bringing him here.” She spoke almost in a whisper. Peter was alive. A piece of her broken heart was put back into place.

  John huffed. “They should never have let you out. What a man like Angus Hill saw in you, I will never understand.” He kicked the horse’s sides and left, heading down the road away from the village.

  Siren helped Clara get Peter into the cottage. They laid him down on Clara’s bed. Poor Peter. What he must have suffered.

  Clara sat down next to him. “What do you think, Siren? Will he be well again?”

  Siren had already pulled the tray out from under her bed and began going through the assorted flasks and pouches with dried herbs for remedies. She picked out a few and put them on the table.

  “We need to clean up that wound first,” Siren said. “It seems to be infected. Can you take his coat and shirt off? They are so filthy.”

  Peter’s arm had a long cut, yellow puss crusting around dried blood and swollen skin. Clara gently cleaned the wound and threw the dirty rag into the fireplace. Siren covered the wound with leaves of hazel and black currant, bound a dressing around the arm, then bent down and listened to Peter’s chest.

  “He struggles with his breathing; no wonder he is weak and fatigued. He has had some rough treatment, your friend.”

  Clara put a hand to Peter’s forehead. “He feels quite warm.”

  “Keep him cool with damp cloths on his forehead. I will make a soup. Can you boil water and make a poultice? I will tell you how.”

  Clara nodded and wiped her cheeks. He had to get better. She propped another pillow behind his head when he started coughing then hurried outside and filled the smaller iron pot with water from a barrel at the corner of the cottage.

  Peter had told her he had come by his own choice. Still, guilt nagged Clara. She let out a long breath. She’d better get on with the task Siren had asked her to do.

  Clara added a kindling of twigs and dried grass to the open fireplace. When the flames were vibrant enough, she hung the pot on an iron rod above the fire.

  Siren handed Clara a handful of leaves then sorted several piles of dried leaves and flowers on the table. “Make a soft porridge. Add this bugloss to pull out the sickness in his lungs and southernwood for inflammation in the chest.” With a sweeping motion, she gathered one of the piles into her hand and dropped it into the pot Clara was stirring.

  Peter was still unconscious and only moved when a bout of coughing seized his body.

  “Add some honey and cool it off a little.” Siren fetched a thin linen cloth and placed it on Peter’s chest. “Now, carefully pour the gruel on the cloth. Make sure it is not too warm, as we do not want to scald him.”

  After a few minutes, Clara touched the gruel. It was moderately warm. She slowly spooned the porridge onto the rag. “It smells nice.”

  “That’s the southernwood. I like that scent. It tends to open the nostrils.”

  Clara held Peter’s hand while Siren went outside then returned with her hands full of garlic. She hung another pot on the iron rod and let the water come to a boil.

  Siren seemed to know exactly what to do.

  “What will you put in the soup?” Clara asked.

  “This is called soup of life. The garlic has power to heal. Then I will add thyme, rosemary, and a laurel leaf to the water.”

  The herbal sprigs floated around, and the young woman waved her hand above the water and mumbled undecipherable words. Siren’s approach to making the soup did not matter, as long as Peter recovered.

  There was a knock on the door, and Clara went to see who was there. Christian stood outside.

  “I heard Peter was brought here. Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he said.

  “Siren seems to know what he needs. Peter has not spoken yet, but we have not given up hope.” She tilted her head. “Do you want to come in?”

  “No, I just wanted to come by. Mother sends her love.”

  “Thank you, Christian. Will you and Dorthea pray for our Peter?”

  “We will.” He stroked her hair and gave her a warm smile. “Your friend is in good hands here. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Take care, Christian.”

  Then he left.

  Clara sat by Peter’s side until night fell. She soaked a rag in cold water and carefully dabbed his forehead. Siren tended to Hassel and fed Peter a few spoonsful of broth every hour. Although he had yet to open his eyes, Peter managed to swallow the soup.

  Sitting on the floor next to the bed, her head resting on her arms on the mattress, Clara fell asleep.

  ✽✽✽

  Clara woke up early the next morning as she felt someone tap her shoulder.

  “Clara… Clara…”

  She opened her eyes and stared up at Peter’s fatigued but sympathetic smile.

  “How are you, Peter?” She took hold of his hand.

  Before he could answer, Siren said, “He will mend well, Clara.”

  Clara squeezed his weak hand. “Peter, because of Siren you are going to get better. We’ve been so worried.”

  Siren bowed her head. “I had good help.”

  A lump formed in Clara’s throat when she took a closer look at Siren. The young woman was dressed in her traveling frock. The time had come. The babe was swaddled in a warm blanket, and the bag with remedies and the small trunk Clara had given Siren with clothes were next to her on the floor.

  “We are leaving now,” Siren said.

  “I see. Where will you go?”

  “Home to Fredrikshald. I’m going to face my life there and start something new with little Hassel. Finding work of some kind should be easy with the new fortress being built.”

  Clara let go of Peter’s hand and stood up to face Siren. The young woman was still a mystery. Clara hoped they would meet again under calmer circumstances without the kind of danger and horror the past few weeks had brought.

  “I want to thank you,” Siren continued. “I know I have not been easy to live with but want you to know how grateful I am to you for finding me, for understanding about my predicament, and for taking me in.” She looked lovingly down at the babe in her arms. “And thank you for saving my boy. Because of him, I believe I can continue. Maybe one day, I will be able to have a glad heart like yours.”

  “Happiness is a choice.” Clara’s eyes were full of tears. She drew the black book out of her pocket and handed it to Siren. “Ellen said this is yours now.”

  Siren froze, her eyes went wide, and she tilted her head as if she tried to understand. “You knew?”

  Clara nodded. She had to respect Ellen’s wish, but the black book was no ordinary volume. It had already caused trouble. How would Siren make use of its instructions?

  “Make sure you keep it out of sight. And I mean it, Siren. This is important. Don’t let anyone know about this book.” She paused then continued. “And another thing, use it only for good. Be careful.”

  Then Clara put her arms around Siren and Hassel. “Fredrikshald is within reach. I will be seeing you and Hassel again. I am sure of it. You can come and visit—”

  A shadow crossed Siren’s face. “I will never come back here. I could not.”

  “Then I will come and visit you and Hassel in Fredrikshald…if you want me to.” Clara kissed the babe’s soft cheek.

  Siren nodded, and a genuine smile warmed her beautiful face.

  Clara watched them leave. Strong, willful Siren—had she learned to be more careful? Oh, how Clara would miss them and pray for their safety. Surely, their paths would cross again.

  CHAPTER 26

  ✽✽✽

  CLARA WAS HAPPY to see Peter back on his feet again. After a few days of resting, eating good meals, and strolling in the cottage garden, he approached Clara.

  “I am returning to Okinawa. How would you feel about going back with me? They would all love to see you over there.” He gave Clara a tender smile. “I am asking you to be my wife.
”

  Clara sat down on a chair and watched the face of the man she knew so well. He had accompanied her on her travels and had come to her rescue more times than she could remember. She loved him dearly but was not in love with him. Not like that.

  “Peter, you have been in my life since I was a young girl, assisted my father, always been loyal to our family.”

  “Is our age difference a problem?”

  She shook her head. “No, I do not fuss over how old someone is, but you are like a brother to me.”

  “I see.” His face seemed to sag, and his posture drooped.

  “There’s another thing,” Clara continued. “I feel like I have come home. I belong here…in this country…and need to help the people here. You were there when I needed you, and I am forever grateful.”

  She carefully touched the wound on his arm. It was healing nicely. “I am so sorry for your suffering. It was an unnecessary act by a man whose understanding of righteousness was bent and tarnished. If Angus had not misunderstood, if I had only…”

  Peter responded with a nod of acknowledgement. “It’s not your fault, Clara. You need to stop bearing everyone else’s burdens. I wish you joy and certainly hope to see you again. I will still be traveling between here and the Far East. Then maybe…”

  She could not bear the thought of never seeing him again. This goodbye was temporary, not for always. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief from her pocket then flung her arms around his neck. “I would like that. You will always be my Peter.”

  ✽✽✽

  Clara stood by the gate and watched Peter ride away. It was early in the morning when the sun colored the horizon in hues from pale yellow to crimson. Eager birds chirped to announce the dawning of a new day. She would miss him, but she’d made the right decision. In a couple of days, he would be on a ship, heading back to the life he knew and loved. In his saddlebag he carried a letter for Clara’s brother, Nathanael. She had painstakingly taken the time to describe her summer in Berg. Hopefully, her next letter would be less dramatic.

  The last couple of years had been full of obstacles and tribulations but not without learning. A good life was a dedicated life. Happiness could be found in commitment to service, good deeds, and her faith. She was certain of it.

  Dashing back inside, she grabbed her hat and shawl, closed the door behind her, and started toward town. Her mind was filled with Christian’s image as she walked the rutted road. She was anxious to see him again. But before heading for Ivershall, she would linger in the village for a little while.

  A stone fence separated the field with grazing sheep from the settlement straight ahead. Clara could not speak for the villagers, but she suspected the atmosphere on Market Street was different than before. She sat down and crossed her ankles on the grass by the well and watched the world go by. The blows of the blacksmith’s hammer rang from across the square, and a farmer dragged along a bleating sheep.

  Pushing a hand cart, a peddler shouted out, “Fine brooms. Brooms for sale.”

  No comments about flying brooms? Not even in jest? Clara breathed out. At least, in Berg the witch hunts were over for now.

  Even though people were hurrying, bickering over prices, and taking care of everyday living, she sensed an upbeat atmosphere in the village. Was it just her, or did the villagers feel the same? The witch-finder was gone. For now, they were safe, provided they would remember to be good neighbors.

  “Clara.”

  She turned her head. Else and David walked toward the baker’s shop, talking and laughing. Clara returned Else’s wave. Thank heavens for brave and kindhearted people like those two.

  Clara got up and walked the road out of the village, passed the meadows and the lake, then took a shortcut across a field dotted with grazing sheep.

  The Ivershall estate looked dignified and majestic in the sunlight as she walked the upper part of the lane toward the house. She stopped for a moment. What a beautiful place. A calm went through her, and she smiled as she walked the last few paces up to the front. Holding a bouquet of wild roses she had picked along the way, she knocked on the door.

  “She is in the study,” Marna said when she saw Clara on the steps. “I will get a vase for your flowers.”

  Dorthea was resting on the settee but opened her eyes and looked up as Clara entered.

  “Clara, how nice to see you. I sat down to read but must have fallen asleep.” She reached for the book that had dropped onto the floor. “Come, sit next to me.”

  Clara sat down and faced Dorthea.

  “How are you, Clara?”

  “I feel better than I have in a long time. People probably thought me silly as I grinned all the way through the village. But how are you?”

  “Just a little sleepy. My leg kept me awake during the night, nothing else.” She sat up. “I have had a talk with the girls you brought here. Two of them have decided to stay at Ivershall; the other four have already left. I am not sure where they went, but they will find work elsewhere and go on with their lives. I gave them a week’s salary and wished them well.”

  “Are you content with that?”

  “Yes, it’s an excellent arrangement. The two who are staying are diligent and kindhearted and contribute something good in our household.”

  “Thank you for all you have done.”

  Where was Christian? She stood up and walked across the room to the window. Amund was off to the side, brushing a horse’s mane. She stretched her neck. The black stallion was in the paddock.

  Dorthea shuffled across the floor. “Clara, dear, Christian is in the garden.”

  Clara started laughing. “This situation is quite contrary. You are here in his study, and he is in your garden?”

  Dorthea smiled. “You will find him in the gazebo. Go on.”

  “Thank you.” Clara gave her a quick hug and walked out the back through the double doors in the parlor. She followed the path past a row of flower patches to a grassy area where the summer shelter was. Christian stood inside, watching the ducks on the lake beyond. Clara entered the gazebo and stepped up beside him.

  “Mother told me about all the ducklings earlier this summer. I never took the time to come and see them until today. Look at them. The mother is very protective of her babies. They plunge their heads into the water below, looking for fish that swim in darkness.” He turned around and faced Clara. “Kind of like you.”

  “And they run fast. I have done that a lot lately.”

  “How are you faring, Clara?”

  “I’m well…considering everything that’s happened. Last night I had a good night’s sleep for the first time in a long while.”

  “Excellent. Tell me about Peter.”

  With Christian’s warm gaze fixed upon her, she had good news to tell about both Peter and Siren.

  “I was not sure he was going to make it, but Siren…she has a healer’s knowledge.”

  Christian nodded. “And John Pywell also left. On my recommendation, the bailiff banished him from Berg.”

  “Thank goodness. When I first met him, I did not know he had such evil in him.” She shuddered at the thought of the man. “John proved to be even worse than Angus.”

  She would never have guessed John would have turned out to be a prodigious adversary. What a surprise. He had behaved like an ill-tempered and bitter man with his own agenda.

  Christian frowned. “Trying to get rid of you was part of his plan. If it had been up to me, I would have seen that man in jail or hanged, but the bailiff took care of that matter. There wasn’t enough proof that he’d killed the witch-finder. At least, Pywell won’t come here again.”

  “I suppose. But I wonder what really happened at the lake between John and the witch-finder. There’s something amiss. I have not picked up on anything that suggests someone from this area killed Angus.” She sighed and sat down on the bench in the gazebo. “Oh, well, maybe I will find out…one day.”

  Clara looked out at the quiet lake with the ducks. A butt
erfly flew in and landed on the bench next to her. Grasshoppers made chirping sounds in the tall grass on the shore.

  “I have spent the whole summer here in Berg, trying to work a good plan, but the entire time I have had to extinguish one fire after another. It turns out, the only plan I had was to rescue as many women as possible from Angus’s wrath.”

  “Sounds like your plan was just right. Many are grateful for what you have done and accomplished.” Christian sat down next to her. “I feel I know you. I have seen what you are capable of and admire the way you do everything in your power to help others. I am in awe of the sensitive yet practical way you put everything around you into motion.”

  She looked down. How could she respond to such sweet and silken words?

  He gently put a finger under her chin and lifted it up. “You are neither a woman any man can own, nor a treasure to be put on display. My life has changed since I met you. With you I am whole.” He took her hands in his. “Clara Dahl, will you spend always by my side?”

  A proposal? She could hardly breathe. A thousand times she’d wondered what it would be like to hear those words from Christian. But what would their future be? They’d been through horror and danger together. Was that enough to know? She was about to open her mouth, but he put a finger to her lips.

  “Not now, I want you to be sure. Please think about it.”

  She nodded. “I will. This evening, I will give you my answer.”

  They walked back to the house. Dorthea must have noticed something was going on. Clara saw her peeking around corners and snickering. During dinner, Dorthea asked an awful lot of questions. Had they seen the moose with her twins? How many ducklings had they counted by the pond? Did they think it would rain later? She was clearly curious about the two of them. Clara suppressed a giggle and tried to answer as politely as she could, although thoughts of Christian’s question preoccupied her mind. He had asked her to marry him. How should she answer him?

  As they finished dessert, Dorthea suggested, “Why don’t you two go for a walk? It is a lovely evening.” She stretched. “I would go with you, but I am a bit tired.”