“Of course I can, if he truly does.”
“If he truly does, I would hope that he can live up to his love’s demands under his own power. And if he does not . . . Well, nothing satisfying can come from a match born of such strong-armed persuasion.”
“What, then, do you propose?”
“I will wait.”
“For how long?”
“Until he has had a chance to fulfill his promise. That we would announce our engagement at Christmas. Until that has passed, he’s broken no vow to me.”
“Did he not also promise to write?”
“And implored me to do the same.”
Still I kept secret the letter I’d written today, for fear Luther would question the wisdom of it, as I myself did.
“So, you would like to stay here until Christmas?”
“If you could arrange it. I know I’ve long outlasted my welcome. But I’ve been a good teacher for the children, and I would take no shame in being considered one of the servants rather than a guest. I’ve tried always not to overstep my boundaries there.”
He shifted away, bowed his head for a moment, and I felt him searching for the right words in the silence.
“As much as it pains me to say it, my Katie, Frau Baumgartner has turned many of the well-wishers against you. She’s made you out to be some sort of a ruthless, lowborn—”
“My family is every bit as good as hers. Better, maybe, if we listed our legacies side by side. I come with a good name.”
“But no dowry.”
“The fact that I come with love and health and chastity means nothing?”
“None of those can be measured, my dear. And Jerome’s mother is one to carry a scale as easily as she carries an opinion.”
“Knowing this, why did you ever promote such a match?”
“Because I’m used to getting my way.”
We both laughed, and were brought to sobriety only by the introduction of a new voice.
“What would people think, hearing such unchecked levity coming from a former priest and a former nun in a chapel? Surely you’re not mocking the Church?”
“Surely not, my friend,” Luther said, rising. “I’ve no need to increase the bounty on my life. Let me introduce you to Miss Katharina von Bora.”
“At last.” The gentleman extended his hand, and I offered mine, accompanied by a small bow, which he returned. “I cannot tell you, Fräulein, how many miles were passed with stories about you. Your bravery, your strength. I half expected you to look like a cross between a bear and a brawler. I am pleasantly surprised.”
I suppressed the urge to chide Luther for allowing a portrayal that overlooked any measurement of my beauty. I’d already won the man over with a pleasant face; no need to slice him with the sharpness of my tongue.
“Luther is always too free with his praise,” I said. “He tends to overestimate the qualities of his friends and build up impossible expectations.”
“Dare I ask, then, what he has told you of me?”
“Not a word, sir. As yet, not even your name.”
“Nikolaus von Amsdorf,” Luther said, with the merest hint of indulgence. “A longtime friend and traveling companion. And most important, a crack shot. Good for securing food and safety.”
“Very nice to meet you, Herr von Amsdorf. And I thank you for Luther’s safe return.”
He was a handsome man, roughly Luther’s age, though he carried a touch more gray in his hair and beard. His manner of dress differed from Luther too, with an overall attention to fashion. His breeches showed no sign of wear; his vest and coat fit impeccably over what appeared to be a fine, athletic form underneath. All of this I studied in the gathering of seconds when his attention turned again to Luther.
“I apologize for interrupting your conversation. The mistress of the house said I would find you here. She’s been kind enough to have a meal prepared this late in the morning, and I’ve been sent to see if you would like to join me.”
“I would, indeed,” Luther said, as if he hadn’t eaten with me less than an hour ago. “If you would allow us a few more minutes.”
“Excellent.” Herr von Amsdorf offered another nod of his head. “So nice to have met you, Fräulein. I’m looking forward to hearing some of your stories from your own mouth, as our friend here can be prone to exaggeration.”
“And I look forward to hearing what he’s said.”
With that, Herr von Amsdorf left, my eyes following his every step until the heavy arched door closed behind him.
“What a charming man.” I spoke at first to myself, then to Luther. “Why did you not think to marry me off to him?”
Luther recoiled at the idea. “He is nearly twice your age. A good year older than me.”
“I would never deem you undesirable because of your age.” My teasing tone surprised me, and I prayed he wouldn’t ask me just what I would find undesirable, because I had no ready answer.
“Is your young man so soon forgotten, then?”
“By no means.”
“Then what would you have us do?”
“Us?”
“I feel a certain responsibility for your happiness, Katie. Or at least your settlement. I will speak and act on your behalf however you wish, but only in accordance with your command.”
“Then speak to Elsa and Herr Reichenbach. Elsa, the more pressing. Convince them to let me stay in the way that we discussed. As a governess. Just until after Christmas. Not because of Jerome—rather, she doesn’t need to know of Jerome’s promise. But because you cannot arrange for a new situation until that time.”
“But that’s not the truth. I could—”
“Then give her no reason. Jerome’s family will take great satisfaction at seeing my position diminished. I’ll move into the children’s room, if need be. I’ll send Marina back home, as a governess has no need for a lady’s maid. I simply cannot leave.”
My voice rose in the course of my plea, and by its end, tears threatened again. Luther, however, remained utterly impassive, waiting for me to say my piece.
“Very well. It is always best to wait on the Lord, and that we shall do.”
“Does that mean you’ll wait with me?” The notion hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment, but I seized upon it as if it had been my greatest desire all along. “Stay here? So I’ll have someone to talk to? Somebody who appreciates my company?”
“You believe I appreciate your company?”
He was teasing now too. “Of course you do. All the more because you’ve had so little time to experience it. Elsa and Philipp love you.”
“And the Baumgartners do not. You’ll not further your case with them if I am a constant presence here.”
“I do not wish to further my case with them. They will accept me or not, as they choose. Their son and I have pledged our love to each other, and promises were made on that pledge. I simply want to see those promises fulfilled.”
“And if they are not? My Katie, I want to spare you from hurt, but it is entirely possible that Jerome has taken the young man’s cowardly path to disentangle himself from a promise made in haste.”
Perhaps Luther forgot the power of his words, how workings of his mind and heart inflamed the Church and put his very life in danger. His words commanded attention and obedience. He changed minds and hearts. His tongue was a tool of inflammatory persuasion, his hands purveyors of unprecedented truth. So when he spoke such a sentence out loud, giving voice to all my silent fears, I swatted him away.
“Don’t say such things.”
“I only meant—”
“If, indeed, it was a promise made in haste, we should give it balance—a leisurely time for it to be fulfilled or abandoned. And I promise you, by Christmastime, I shall be equally at peace no matter the outcome.”
“You owe no promise to me.”
“Then I promise to myself. Only, be here with me?”
“It is a comfortable house, good food and warm people. I shall be proud to
wrangle an invitation.”
CHAPTER 24
LUTHER NEEDED ONLY to express his desire to return to his small, mildewed room, and Elsa Reichenbach insisted that he stay.
“Until the last of the summer is out,” she said. “And then stay with us to welcome the rest of the harvest. It’s so much more festive to celebrate God’s bounty with people who labor in his name.”
Over a matter of weeks, most of my visionary plan came to fruition. I was, indeed, given full responsibility as governess to the children, a task I found rewarding, as their bright minds seemed eager to learn. Remembering my own childhood education, with the ever-present fear of punishment and abuse, I endeavored to make myself a patient instructor. I patterned my lessons after those I had with my beloved Sister Elisabeth, being quick to reward responses, even those that were more clever than correct. I was also able to fill in some of the gaps left behind from the nuns’ religious emphasis, and together we read passages of anatomy and botany, relishing the scientific study of God’s perfect creation.
I was not, however, relegated to a bed in the children’s room. Elsa insisted I keep the room I’d learned to call my own, and with the cooling weather, I was even allowed a ration of firewood for my comfort, and a servant assigned to building a fire each morning before I woke. Luther’s presence softened her speech toward me, and after a time we resumed the same ease we’d enjoyed during the early days of my visit. Her rediscovered friendliness proved all the more welcome, as Marina returned home to her family, their need for her greatly outweighing mine. She promised, though, to write, and her promise proved true as no more than two weeks ever passed without word from her. It pleased me to see the continuing improvement of her letters and spelling, and I returned correspondence in kind, offering challenging vocabulary where I could.
From Jerome, however, I heard only silence. There’d been no reply to my first letter, nor to my second, which I sent just in case Marina had sought secretly to spare my pride. The third I sent as an apology for the first two, asking him to forgive my brevity and assumption that he knew my feelings were unchanged. The fourth was an assurance that I still kept my residence with the Reichenbachs, even though I did not engage much with them or their friends in social situations. The fifth an acknowledgment that December loomed ever closer, mere weeks until our proposed reunion, and an expression of my hopes that his heart, like mine, had not changed in the intervening time.
I told nobody about these letters. I wrote them at night, the scratching of the quill the only sound in my quiet room. I took them to the post while running other errands for the household. Once, when Luther offered to escort me, I hastily composed a note to mail to Marina, to give the excuse to enter the shop. The pitying look in his eyes made it clear that I hadn’t fooled him in the least, but neither of us said a word.
Luther’s friend Nikolaus von Amsdorf accepted his invitation to stay on as well and proved to be a masterful addition to the household. For all of our months together, I never saw him at a loss. Literature, theology, philosophy, mathematics—all areas of academia were fields sown with knowledge. He entertained my questions equally with those of the youngest Reichenbach child, and his wisdom encouraged a deeper sophistication in the search for our own. He lacked the charisma of Luther, making it clear why one would bear the title of “reformer” while the other rested in the shadows, but on more than one occasion, I witnessed their heads bowed together, and I could only stand by and marvel at the exchange of ideas.
During the long stretch of evenings, when the house was well dark by the end of supper, we would all gather in the chairs around the fire in the great hall. Here the children would pepper the two for stories about their travels, or answers to the mysteries of creation, or a response to a question of philosophical import. For example, which was the greater danger: to be a frog in a boiling pot of water, or a deer in the sights of a hunter. Luther and von Amsdorf would choose opposing sides, build ridiculous arguments, and present them with practiced flair of brilliance. Here, I liked to lean my head against the back of my chair and let their voices lull me by the firelight. These were the times my mind could be free of its haunting by Jerome. I fixed my thoughts on Luther—his voice, his mind, growing as familiar as my own.
As Elsa Reichenbach began to prepare her home for Christmas, I gave new thanks to God for allowing me to be a part of the household. Truthfully, the idea that Jerome intended to reunite grew dimmer along with each new winter’s sky, but I’d never truly celebrated the holiday in such a homey fashion. Fir branches lined the mantel and the windowsills, bringing a fresh, green fragrance into the house. The children and I dipped tapers made of red and green wax to be used at the table for holiday meals. One afternoon, Elsa came into our classroom and told the children it was time to bring out the special decorations. I followed behind, forcing myself not to match their bouncing gait, and met her in the front hall. A large, wooden trunk sat open, straw spilling from its side. One by one, Elsa removed smaller boxes, each of which held a piece of golden fruit. Apples, pears, plums, each perfect in size and color; each reflecting fire. The fruit was arranged on an ornately carved tray and, surrounded by a nest of fir branches, adorned the dining room table. Never had I beheld anything of such beauty, and I took any excuse I could to wander into the dining room just to behold its opulence.
“It is her pride and joy,” Luther said. He’d come up behind me after the table had been cleared for the noon meal. “I could live out the rest of my life on its value. The pears alone could sustain me.”
Brazenly, I’d removed an apple from the tray, its gold now warm against my palm. “But isn’t it nice to have pretty things? To enjoy them for their own sake?”
“Is that your aspiration? To have such things?”
“For me, to have a life where I can hold a real apple. Eat it or not, as my choice. That is all I desire.”
He plucked the fruit from my hand. “Good answer. Now, go put on your warmest boots and cloak. We have an important chore to do for the mistress of the house.”
Luther refused to offer any more information, only encouraged me to hurry to my room, change, and meet him in the drive at the front of the house.
It was a cold day, mid-December, with a fresh snow on the ground and a hint of more to come in the air. Elsa had handed down a pair of fur-lined boots, which I wore over warm wool stockings. I also donned an extra wool petticoat and a cloak with a hood lined in rabbit fur. This, too, had been a gift from Elsa, as she noted my lack of a cold-weather garment and her newest one was lined with mink. I had no gloves, but the cape had deep, warm pockets. On an impulse, I dropped in a handful of roasted hazelnuts, in the event that our errand lasted until supper.
Luther waited in the front drive, along with Albert, the horse groomer with whom I’d posed for Christoph’s portrait of Rebekah at the well. He stood next to one of the larger workhorses, which had been harnessed to an empty travois.
“Would you care to ride, Katie?” Luther offered with a grand gesture. The horse had no saddle, but its back seemed broad enough for comfort. “I’m not sure how long the walk will be.”
“Not far,” Albert said, attending to the harness.
“I still don’t know where we’re going. Or what we’re doing.”
“We’ll walk on ahead.” Luther directed his words to Albert, then took my arm companionably. “As to the first question, we are going into the uncleared land of Reichenbach’s property. A place of deep, dark forest. We are on a hunt.”
“A hunt.” I bent back to study him further. “And yet we have no weapon.”
“Ah, but we do. In the horse’s pack, a hatchet and a saw.”
“We’re hunting a tree?”
“Precisely.”
“Do you mean to say that now, to earn our keep, we must fetch and chop wood?”
“Fetch, yes. Chop, no.”
We’d come to the edge of the drive, about to step into the road stretched along the dense woodland. I stopped in the mix o
f snow and mud, churned with the tracks of wagon wheels and hooves, refusing to take another step. “Tell me.”
“We are going to get a tree.”
“A tree? How does one get a tree?”
“One goes into the woods, finds it, and chops it down.”
“But they already have trees. All along the front of the house, and in the back garden.”
“We need an evergreen.”
“There’s a solid wall of evergreens along the side.”
“This is for inside.”
Somehow, we’d started walking again. I didn’t even remember taking the first new step, but his response was so odd, I thought surely I’d misheard him, due to the crunch of the snow beneath our feet.
“Inside, where?”
“Inside the house. In the great hall.”
The thought of it seemed too ridiculous—and wonderful—for words. I laughed, sending a puff of steam into the air.
“Why is that so funny?”
“Nobody brings a tree inside the house.”
“I thought so, too, but apparently it is becoming quite the thing.” As he said it, I could hear Elsa’s insistence. “We’re to decorate it, just as she did the trees in the front of the house. Ribbons and fruit and the like. She wants it in place for the weeks’ festivities.”
“She is planning a party, then?”
“More than one, I expect. Philipp told me he might have to sell one of the golden fruits just to pay the butcher.”
“And do you think . . . people . . . will attend?”
“Christmas is a time of renewal. A celebration of Christ’s birth and the fulfillment of the promised Messiah. It is quite something to see how many grudges are forgotten when there is roasted pork and plenty of ale.”
Loving Luther Page 22
