"A curtain will need to be hung across the room for your privacy," Otto said. His voice was taut. His hands pushed the thin strands of hair back from his high forehead as he hastily stood up and moved to the packing boxes.
Delila shoved Anne toward the hearth, saying, "Elise, chile, come fill that skinny body of yo's."
Elise looked first to Otto, who rummaged busily through the boxes, then to Anne for permission. Anne smiled affirmatively, and the child moved to the table.
While Otto tacked a bolt of sail cloth over the center crossbeam, Anne found her brush and began removing the pins from her bound hair. At first she enjoyed the relaxing sensation of pulling the boar bristles through her waist-length hair, but she grew uneasy as she sensed Otto's devouring gaze on her. However, when she looked up, his face reddened and he turned back to his work.
After Elise and Delila had finished dinner and retired behind the curtain, there could be no further delay. Anne rose from her place at the hearth and extinguished the guttering candle. Otto turned his back, ostensibly to bank the fire, and she slipped into the satin and lace gown Delila had laid out for her wedding night. There was a lace nightcap that went with it, but Anne never had liked wearing them and put the nightcap aside.
From the groping and sudden flash of white, she knew Otto had donned his nightshirt. The dim form of white moved toward the bed. For a moment the two of them lay stretched on the uncomfortable mattress, their bodies not touching. The wind whistled mournfully through the chinks in the mud walls. Then she felt the freckled hands fumbling at her satin covered buttons―the cold fingers that slid hesitantly up her thighs.
Anne stiffened. Distaste filled her mouth like stale coffee.
"Please," his voice came as softly as a child's moan. "Be good to me, Anne."
VIII
The March days had taken on the slightest hint of the warm summer to come, the slightest promise of longed-for spring. From the forests that rimmed three sides of Adelsolms came the ringing sound of the axe against wood, as the men felled trees to complete the Vereins-Kirche.
"The Vereins-Kirche must be finished first," Otto had explained to Anne. "So, like a fort, it can protect us against the Indians."
But countless times in the last three weeks Anne had wished the men would start on the homes so there would be better protection against the weather. Lots had already been drawn for the land sections, and Anne was pleased to learn that Matilda and Professor Bern and Lina drew the sections to either side of the league of land she and Otto had. And fortunately Gustav and Zelda Jurgens had drawn a section of land far on the other side of the plaza, which was dominated by the steadily rising fortress.
Adelsolms was beginning to take on the appearance of a small town, Anne thought―if one could ignore the stumps in the middle of the street where trees had been quickly cleared. And ignore the fact that there was no mill, no smithy, no clothing shops, no market for food ...food, Anne thought, feeling the sudden increase of saliva in her mouth.
But Otto had promised her things would get better. Adelsolms was less than thirty-five miles off the Camino Real, the old Spanish "royal highway" between San Antonio and Nacogdoches. When the weather improved, Otto said there would be travelers on this Old San Antonio Road, as it was now called; travelers who would come through Adelsolms sometimes, bringing their business with them. And with their business the commercial interests of Adelsolms would improve.
Yet, if they had to wait on the weather for everything else to improve ...dear God, but she was hungry.
Anne bent to pick up a shirt on the line from the laundry basket, but when she rose to hang the shirt on the line stretched between the two hackberry trees, vertigo seized her. She caught hold of the line, steadying herself. When had she last eaten? It was―yesterday at noon. They had finished off the last of the wild game―tough squirrel meat―that Peter had provided before returning to Velasco.
With great encouragement on Johanna's part, Peter had at last requested permission to court the attractive German girl and had promised to return within the month. Could the settlers hold out another two weeks? Already the provisions the settlers had brought with them―flour, coffee, salt, and lard―were running dangerously low.
Anne's dizzy spell passed, and the willows and cottonwoods along the San Bernard's banks came back into focus. She blinked her eyes. But it was indeed Brant Powers moving out of the treeline toward her. Dazed, she watched the lithe, graceful way he moved. Power restrained. Like the great buck she had seen drinking from the river's edge that morning. If only one of the settlers had been a good enough marksman to get off a shot, there would have been venison for dinner that night. And with the thought of food again, Anne realized Brant had the carcass of a wild turkey slung over his shoulder.
When he was close enough, she could see the scowl that etched the sun-browned face. He halted before her, towering over her, dominating her with his masculine presence. Colin she might be able to control through feminine guile. Otto she could ignore―at least emotionally, if not physically. But there was no controlling Brant, no ignoring him. Anne's hand clung to the clothesline, supporting her, as she looked up into Brant's face.
"Why are you out here alone?" he demanded.
She glanced back up toward the rear of the cabin. Delila, she knew, would be outside in front, boiling the remainder of the soiled clothing in the harsh tallow soap―stirring the clothes in the big iron cauldron and looking like a witch in a fairy tale. And Elise would be playing at Delila's feet with the corncob doll the black woman had fashioned for her.
Anne turned back to Brant. "I'm safe enough," she replied with more calmness than she felt.
Brant grimaced. "Lady, you don't know just how unsafe you are. Are all the men in the forest splitting rails?"
Then he had already scouted the area. She nodded. What good was it to tell him that Otto could not protect her if he were there? He did not own a firearm, did not believe in killing. And so they went hungry.
Her eyes looked greedily to the limp bird Brant held. If she could snatch it from him, she would eat the bird raw, she was sure. All of it. And guilt sweep over her as she remembered the others―as hungry as herself. Delila and Elise―and Otto. If an accident were to befall Otto, then there would only be two to share ...Oh, God! what kind of monster lurked inside her?
As if reading the hunger in her eyes, Brant dropped the turkey at her feet. She did not snatch at the carcass after all but stared stonily at Brant. "Is the bird a gift," she asked scathingly, "or is it to be charged against my account also?"
He ignored her. Pulling the pistol from its holder at his hip, he handed it to her, horn grip first. "The Kickapoos are on the war trail. Keep this with you at all times."
Anne held the pistol as though it was a loathsome garden snake. "But―I don't know how to use this."
Disgust flashed in the long eyes, and Anne could not help but wonder if he was comparing her to Dorothy, who she was sure would be as capable of firing the pistol accurately as she would be of handling all other problems unique to a frontier settlement.
Brant moved to Anne's side, so close that she could once more smell the male scent about him―the elusive odors of tobacco and leather. Odors that brought back the memory of that day in the forest when he had almost crushed her with his weight, when he had thrust her from him in contempt.
"You poke the powder in here," he instructed. "Tightly." He removed a lead ball from the leather bag at his neck. "Next goes the minié," he said, loading the ball into the pistol's barrel. ''Then you take aim." One arm came around her, raising her right arm up at eye level. "Like this."
Anne jerked, scalded by his touch. Brant's eyes narrowed, his gaze probing deep within her as if looking for the answer to something that puzzled him.
"I―I didn't expect the pistol to be so heavy," she said lamely.
Brant's voice turned brusque. "You'll have to learn how to use it, Mrs. Maren. Yesterday San Felipe was raided by the Kickapoos. Two young gi
rls on their way to school were scalped and had their breasts cut off."
Anne shivered―whether from fear or from hearing such an intimate word on the lips of the man, she did not know. ''This makes more than once you've tried to frighten me," she said in a whisper. "Why?"
There was the slightest smile to the lips that was not a smile at all. "Maybe I'm still irritated with you. Your selfish demand that we take time out to escort you cost the town of Bastrop the lives of several of its citizens."
Anne's fingertips flew to her lips. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't think about―"
"Your kind never do. So you see―it's hard for me to treat you properly―as a lady should be treated." He pulled the hat over his eyes. "Goodbye, Mrs. Maren."
Anne knew then, as she watched the dark figure move silently as a wild animal back toward the river's forested bank, that the scout held her in the lowest contempt. As much as she disliked the man ...as much as he disliked her ...she felt drawn to him, more at ease with him in the seclusion of the river's tree-lined banks than in her own cabin with ...and the thought of what awaited her filled her with repugnance.
Perhaps that was the answer, she thought. With Brant, who despised her, she knew she was at least safe from the unbearable defilement of her body.
IX
The warm, invigorating May sunlight streamed through the elm and oak leaves to fall in dappled patterns on the people assembled below for Sunday services. Behind the altar table stood Otto. His eyes were as fiery as the everlasting brimstone he promised. His voice―and he purposely spoke in English―held the people of Adelsolms spellbound. He was a forceful speaker, his words drawing the attention in soft-spoken tones at one time, then compelling, urging, motivating his congregation, his sheep, with gripping, reverberant oration the next.
However, at least one among the flock remained unmoved. Anne sat on one of the benches reserved for the minister's family and town officials, wishing she were among those forced to stand. If she were, she mused, she would keep to the back of the congregation and while all attention was diverted to Otto, she would slip away, stealing down the now worn path to the river bank. And with no eyes to watch, she would take off her shoes and stockings and, like a little girl again, wade in the water. She would no longer have to be the proper, dutiful wife of Adelsolm's pastor.
Wistfully, she forced her thoughts back to them an before her, her husband. If she could not control her mind, and her heart, she could at least control her body; could make herself perform as the wife of the Reverend Maren should...
The altar cloth on the rustic table decorated with vases of Indian paintbrush and bluebonnets attested to her wifely efforts. Anne's nose wrinkled in a rueful grimace as her glance fell unerringly on one of the many knotted stitches in the black cross she had embroidered on the tablecloth's white background. Well, at least she was trying. Delila had often tried to help her, but she always insisted on doing things herself. She would prove she was as capable as the next woman on the Texas frontier.
Had she not already learned how to dress a turkey and mold candles? And though the candlewicks sputtered and died and the foul-smelling bird still retained some feathers by the time it reached the dinner-table, Otto did not complain.
Only Delila complained. "Baby, yo' doing too much! Just look at yo'self. Yo' mama'd have my hide, if'n she could see the fine young lady she raised right now!"
Anne did not have to see herself to know what she must look like. Though the Maren cabin did not have a mirror, she knew her skin was no longer the color of magnolia blossoms as one suit or had once told her. In spite of the poke bonnet she donned whenever she went outside, her face and hands had tanned. Worse, though, she had grown thinner so that when she lay in bed her concave stomach emphasized her protruding pelvic bones. Disgusting, she thought. Brant Powers had been right. She was going to age out here in the wilderness.
Beside Anne, Elise shifted impatiently. "Sssh, dear," Anne whispered, laying a calming hand on the girl's leg. "Worship is almost over."
"But Auguste wants to play," Elise whispered back. She cradled the corncob doll tightly against her chest, and Anne returned the girl's pleading smile. "Auguste will just have to wait to play until Mr. Maren finishes."
But Otto's sermon came to an end quicker than he had planned. For far in the back of the crowd came the cry, "Visitors coming! Visitors!" And then even Otto's vocal hypnosis did not hold his flock.
Like stampeding buffalo, the people headed for the rutted road that paralleled the river. They were hungry as buzzards for news of the outside world. And the pastor's wife was in the lead. Her blue serge skirts flew behind her as she cut through Mr. Meusebach's field of sweet potatoes. Coming toward her on horseback were two men in buckskins. Anne slowed to a halt. Disappointment clouded her fine features as she recognized the visitors. The others flowed past her, and she turned back toward her cabin.
Otto blocked her way. His skin was suffused with anger. But when he spoke, it was in composed tones. "Why are you not with the rest? Are you not interested in what news these gentlemen may bring?"
"Their news will spread about soon enough."
Ironically, Otto was in some way very much like the South's riverboat gamblers. His eyes were sharp, his senses finely attuned to the inner tensions of others. Anne had learned not to underestimate her husband's perception. So with the disappointment of learning that Colin was not one of the visitors, she forced an indifference in her expression, even in her heart. After all, what had she expected? It had been three months since she had put Colin from her. And in spite of his protestations, did she really expect him to try and see her again? She had been a pleasant diversion for him in a provincial country. She must harden her heart to those facts of life.
Otto's pale eyes searched her face with speculation, but Anne resumed her pace and he was forced to fall in beside her, her long legs covering the ground to the cabin as quickly as his. Inside the darkened room, he put a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Something has upset you, Anne."
She shivered and turned away only to find his arms about her. .
"Why are you so tense when I'm around?" he demanded hoarsely, his arms tightening. "At first, I was delighted you were shy and modest. It proved you were the maiden the Lord had picked for me. But now―Anne, do you not understand the Almighty wants us to have children, to procreate?" He buried his head in the hollow of her neck.
Anne's fingers curled into the palm of her hand, concealing their desire to leap out, to claw like some wild thing. "I'm sorry, Otto," she whispered at last, staring straight ahead. "I know you want children. It's just that―that I'm tired all the time. I haven't been used to this type of life. And then there's always someone ar―"
He shut her mouth with his moist, hungry kisses. Anne felt herself propelled to the bed; felt Otto fumble beneath her skirts. Listlessly she lay and watched thin fingers of sunlight probe through the chinks in the yellow daubs of clay in the roof. Once, a gasp escaped her at the pain inflicted by Otto's furious thrusting at her dry vaginal cavity.
Hopeless. Futile. The words repeated themselves in her numbed brain with each of Otto's spasms. Colin. Colin.
Finally Otto rose from atop her and meticulously cleaned himself with his handkerchief before donning his coarse linsey-woolsey work pants and leaving the cabin. Silence claimed the room. Then the door opened again. A bright shaft of sunlight shot across the cabin's floor. Anne cringed inside. Not again.
"Tante?" Elise's small voice called from the doorway.
Quickly Anne sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Yes, dear?" she said, smoothing down her skirts.
"Those two men that came―the big one with the curly beard. He said to give you a message―from a Sir―oh, I can't remember."
Anne reached out for the girl's hands. "The message, Elise?"
The girl stood up straight, parroting the words she had been told. "Great Britain still has an interest in the Texas Republic." She looked at the woman. "Did I say it ri
ght, you think?"
"Oh, yes, Elise! Yes!" A spring of laughter bubbled up in Anne's throat as tears of relief trickled from the corners of her eyes. "Your English has vastly improved!"
Just to know Colin still cared―that thought would be enough to get her through the most difficult of times.
Otto burst through the doorway. "He's coming! Sam Houston's coming here, Anne!"
Anne put aside the cotton she had been rolling for the wicks. The candle-making would have to wait. It was rare when Otto became this excited.
"Who is Sam Houston, dear?" She wiped her hands on her apron and moved to accept Otto's perfunctory kiss on her cheek. The sweat stood out on Otto's sun-pink forehead and plastered his thinning hair to his skull. He's working too hard, Anne thought. And his cough doesn't seem that much improved.
"Anne! He's our President!" Otto rested the axe he carried with him into the fields just inside the doorway. "He's the President of the Republic of Texas―and he's coming here―to Adelsolms!"
"Oh, of course." She remembered now hearing Colin telling her of the man―but how long ago it seemed. With the work that seemed to never end―from sunup to long after the sun had deserted the sky―there seemed no time to give thought to politics. The coastal capitol of Houston was far removed from that desolate outpost on the edge of civilization.
"Would you like lye hominy with hickory nut kernels for lunch, Otto? And there's half a middling of bacon in―"
"Anne!" Otto cried impatiently. "Do you not realize the importance of Sam Houston's coming here? It means Adelsolms will be recognized as an important town of the Texas frontier. That my work as organizer for Adelsolms will be recognized by Prince Carl Zu Solms-Braunfels as successful. It will pave the way for immigration of other persecuted Germans."
"I hardly think the passing of Sam Houston through Adelsolms, Otto, is any kind of recognition of Adelsolms' importance."
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