by Kris Tualla
Confusion and helplessness defined his expression, as if he wanted to give in to his son but didn’t know how. What could she say to him? The decision wasn’t hers to make. She shrugged and tried to convey her support with a small smile.
“But…” Nicolas paused. He frowned.
Stefan picked at his father’s sleeve. “But what, Pappa?”
Nicolas shook his head slightly, then continued. “If you want to take care of him, and be serious about it, I reckon I could let you try.”
“Really?” Stefan began to bounce.
“Listen to me, son.”
Stefan’s eyes locked on his father’s.
“We won’t try to save this one’s life because he’s a cute baby animal that we want for a pet, but because he’s our livelihood. We’ll get wool from him, and we’ll either let him service the ewes or we’ll butcher him for meat. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Pappa.” The bouncing increased.
“If he lives, we can decide later.”
Stefan nodded enthusiastically, sending his wavy auburn hair flying everywhere.
“It won’t be easy, now,” Nicolas cautioned. “There’s a lot of work to do, caring for an orphaned animal.”
“Show me.”
“Sit down on the floor.”
Stefan dropped cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen and Nicolas settled the lamb in his lap. He set the milk bucket next to Stefan and handed him the handkerchief.
“Soak it in the milk, and then give it to the lamb to suck on. Be careful to keep it wadded up so he doesn’t swallow the fabric and gag on it. Do you understand?”
Stefan was the epitome of responsible concentration as he followed his father’s instructions. After a few tries, he accomplished it very well. Nicolas stood and turned to Sydney, who remained quiet by the kitchen door so as not to disturb the atypically tender father and son interaction.
“I need to skin the wolf, and butcher the ewe. Tell Addie there’ll be fresh chops for dinner.”
“I shall,” Sydney assured him.
With a wink, Nicolas disappeared out the back door.
May 27, 1819
The sound of his bedroom door as it creaked open, then clicked closed, woke Nicolas from a dreamless sleep. He opened his eyes to see a white ghost with long dark hair float around the foot of his bed. He rolled onto his back and watched the apparition.
Outlined only by starlight that ventured through his bedroom windows, the ghost hesitated, and then slid onto its knees over the covers of his bed. As the wraith moved closer, its warmth belied its spectral appearance. A catch in its breathing made Nicolas reach out to it.
“Is something amiss, Sydney?” he whispered.
He felt her shake her head. Her hot cheeks were damp.
“Sydney? What’s happened?” Nicolas sat up as alarm shot through him. “Have you remembered something?”
She shook her head again. Nicolas relaxed against the headboard, bemused. He fumbled in the dim light for her trembling hand, and waited for her to tell him.
She cried quietly. One arm moved in constant wiping motions timed by regular sniffs. Quivering gasps marked the minutes.
Nicolas’s concern deepened. He cared for Sydney; there was no point in denying that. She was now a fixture in his days. Her presence at meals and in his study at night became pleasant interludes in a life that had been devoid of pleasantry for a very long time. Her wordless tears warned him that things were about to change. And change scared him.
“What sort of horrible wanton must I truly be?” she croaked suddenly.
“Wanton?” Nicolas repeated, confused. “What are you talking about?”
She sniffed and wiped again. “To come crawling to your bed, unbidden, of course.”
“Is that all it is?” Doused by equal parts relief and arousal, the contrasting emotions battled for dominance.
“How can you say that? Don’t you understand?”
He squeezed her hand. “No.”
“It’s so completely wrong!” Sydney blurted.
She attempted to pull her hand from Nicolas’s but he held tight. He had no answer to that. And his rampant desire for her was not helpful.
“And I’m all to pieces ashamed that I’m not able to keep myself from doing so!” Sydney disappeared inside a cacophony of shoulder-shaking sobs. She was broken, beaten by the sensual need he had unwittingly awakened.
It wasn’t his fault; their assignation was unplanned. And even so, how could he anticipate her unusual response? Nicolas pulled her close, using physical strength to align her resistant body along his. He tucked her head against his shoulder and rested his chin on her hair to keep it there. He waited for her to tire of fighting him. He waited until she succumbed to the inevitable.
“It’s a powerful thing, Sydney,” he whispered. “Not everyone experiences it, you see; not even all husbands and wives.” He winced, but Sydney did not respond to that unintentionally revealing statement.
After a long shuddering pause, she murmured, “I don’t know all about myself, that much is true. But I do feel certain that I’m not the kind of woman who beds multiple men on a regular basis.”
Nicolas nodded against her head. After her reaction to their first copulation, that was a very safe bet.
Sydney’s voice was muffled as she curled against Nicolas. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”
At that, Nicolas retreated and rolled on his side to face her, though it was too dark to see her features.
“What I think of you?” He unerringly brushed tears from her cheeks. “My dearest Sydney, I think—no, I know that you’re a warm, passionate and caring woman. You were created to love and be loved. I don’t think badly of you at all.”
“But, Nicolas, that’s intended for marriage.”
“Consummation is intended for marriage, I’ll not argue with you there. We did err in that, to be certain.”
They rested for a pace, quiet again. His body, pressed solidly against hers, seemed to calm her and he thought she had finally stopped crying.
“But what you did on the porch that night; that wasn’t consummation,” she ventured.
“No.”
“And it wasn’t fornication?”
“No. How could it be? I didn’t enter you.”
Sydney whispered, “But it was quite intimate.”
“Very.” Nicolas smiled at the memory. His arousal, dimmed by Sydney’s tears, brightened again.
Sydney drew a deep breath. “Was it a sin, Nicolas?”
Nicolas thought about that for a while. “I don’t know for certain, Sydney. To some it might be. But if I was to be honest? I would say it was an amazing gift.”
Sydney melted against Nicolas. His words hung in the air between them, full of opportunity. She began to comb her fingertips through the curls on his chest, raising gooseflesh. His desire for her set his skin on fire.
Nicolas spoke his impending nightmare into Sydney’s ear. “I won’t touch you again, if that’s what you prefer.”
Moisture on his shoulder indicated she might be crying again. “I’m so confused, Nicolas. I want… what I don’t want… to want.”
Nicolas kissed her forehead. A compromise might help. “Would it be easier if, on occasion, I paid a visit to your room?”
Sydney hesitated.
He knew a ‘yes’ meant she held every expectation that she would be physical with him again. Could she admit that? Or was he pushing her too far? And what would he do if she said ‘no’?
He’d spend a lot of nights out on the porch with his prick in his hand.
At last, her nod bestowed his relief.
“I’ll not press you, Sydney, should you ever say ‘no.’ And I promise we won’t join again. Will that do?”
Sydney hesitated, then nodded again.
Relieved, Nicolas slipped his hand to that most desirable of places; with a throaty hum, she opened for him. Suffused with her sensual warmth, he did not have care about what anyone mi
ght think about it.
May 28, 1819
“I need to go to church.”
Nicolas turned to Sydney, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Do you? All right.” He handed her a glass of wine. “The preacher comes this Sunday, in fact.”
“What sort of church is it?”
“Lutheran.” Nicolas sat, as always, in his favorite leather chair. Habits kept him from having to think about his life.
Sydney contemplated the deep burgundy wine. “I’m Catholic.”
Nicolas leaned back and considered her. “You’re a Papist?”
“I believe so.”
“Hmm.” Nicolas sipped his brandy, careful not to reveal too much of what he thought about that.
“Do you believe I could go anyway? To the Lutheran service, I mean?”
“Well, seeing as how it’s the only church in the township, they cannot be exclusionary about who attends, then, can they?”
“I reckon not.”
“Very well, we’ll go on Sunday.”
“You’ll go, as well?”
Sydney’s surprise was unexpected and Nicolas took a bit of offense. “What’s that meaning?”
“I didn’t mean aught by it. It’s just that, well, have you gone lately? I mean since you found me?”
“Once. The Sunday after Lily’s dinner party. The preacher comes but every other week, after all, and I didn’t go the morning after the May Day Bal—” Nicolas clipped the word short and wished to God he could pull those particular words back out of the air.
“I’m sorry, Nicolas, I wasn’t aware.” Sydney blushed, her cheeks matching her wine.
Nicolas waved his hand as if to erase the comment. “It’s all well and good, Sydney. We’ll go this Sunday. Together.”
“Do you believe the preacher would hear my confession?”
Nicolas spit brandy. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his shirtfront and looked at Sydney like she had just asked if she might set his hair on fire.
“Do you know anything about the Lutherans?” he asked, incredulous.
“I’m not certain…”
“Have you heard of Martin Luther? His ‘Ninety-five Theses on the Practice of Indulgences’ against the Pope?” Nicolas expounded.
Every inch of Sydney looked so stricken that he immediately regretted the way he responded. He tried another tack.
“Sydney, anyone is welcome in the church, but there are some Papist practices that Lutherans don’t hold to.”
Sydney dropped her eyes to her wineglass. She didn’t ask which practices those might be.
“But if you have concerns, I’m certain the preacher will talk with you and pray for you,” Nicolas continued, hoping it was helpful. She nodded. Apparently it was.
Chapter Seventeen
May 30, 1819
Sydney stood outside the schoolhouse-cum-church staring at the door. Panic gripped her and she had no idea why. The building felt dangerous, as if it waited for her to enter to destroy her. Her pulse sped up and she had the urge to bolt.
Bunkum. It’s naught but wood and shingles.
She took a deep breath, tightened her grip on Nicolas’s arm, and walked inside. The room looked familiar; but then it looked just like every other territorial meeting room, she reasoned. So why wouldn’t her heart slow down and give her some peace?
Nicolas escorted her to a pew in the rear. She sat next to him with her back straight, stiffened against the unexplained threat.
“I wonder if the service will be familiar to me?” she murmured.
He shrugged.
Still, she couldn’t shake an oppressive inkling of illicit sexual activity. It must be her own guilt over Nicolas, she decided. This was a children’s schoolhouse, for Heaven’s sake.
To her great relief, Sydney enjoyed the service. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the hymns, the prayers and the message. And she enjoyed Nicolas’s bass voice singing harmony beside her. The earthquake had a fine sense of pitch.
When the service ended, several parishioners made a point to greet Sydney and express their pleasure at seeing her again. Lee Matthews was among the last to say hello. Fanny rested in the pew, her hand on her abdomen. Sydney approached her.
“Hello, Fanny. How are you feeling?”
“Not very well, I am afraid,” Fanny winced.
Some certainty inside Sydney slipped into place. “Where does it hurt?”
“Here,” Fanny held the bottom of her swollen belly.
“May I?” Sydney rested her hand on Fanny and felt her stomach tighten. Fanny whimpered in response.
“Fanny, what you’re feeling are birth pains.”
Fanny’s eyes slammed wide open. “Now? Here? Oh, my Lord!”
Sydney leaned toward Fanny and waited until the girl’s panicked eyes met hers.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll tell Lee to take you home and have Nicolas fetch the midwife.”
Sydney had no idea if that was possible, but it did calm Fanny. She hurried over to Lee and whispered in his ear. He sprinted to his wife’s side, his face gone white as a full moon. Sydney joined Nicolas and the pastor.
“Hello, Miss Sydney. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Pastor Fritz Mueller was a trim man in his mid-forties. His gray hair had almost completely disappeared, but a few hardy strands held their ground. “How might I help you today?”
“Well first off, I must ask Mr. Hansen to fetch the midwife for Mrs. Matthews.”
Nicolas spun around as Lee helped Fanny through the church door. His cheeks retreated into his jaw and his face paled to match Lee’s.
“Nicolas?”
Nicolas shifted his dark gaze back to Sydney. “What?”
“Her pains are quite strong and Lee is taking her home. There is a midwife in Cheltenham, isn’t there?”
Nicolas nodded.
“Might you fetch her?”
“No. No, I can’t.” He looked around the remaining church crowd. “Is Rick here?”
“I believe he left… Nicolas? What’s going on?”
“I can’t go for the midwife. Send someone else.”
Sydney’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
Nicolas’s stony expression was as serious as she’d seen it. “Jess! Margaret!” he called out.
The Browns crossed the emptying room. “Hello, Nick. Sydney,” Jess nodded in greeting.
Nicolas sat down hard on a pew. “Fanny Matthews needs the midwife.”
A puzzled Margaret looked to Sydney. She relayed her brief conversation with Fanny to the couple, ending with her offer to send Nicolas for the midwife.
“Oh! Of course, Nick. I'll go fetch her off the reel.” Jess tugged Margaret to the door and they were gone.
Sydney stared at Nicolas. His sculpted features were set hard; his skin had gone from pale to flushed. She sat on the pew beside him. Something was very wrong.
“Go talk to the pastor,” he growled.
She rested her hand on his arm. “Are you ill?”
“Go. I’ll be fine.” He pushed her decidedly away from him.
She squelched her exasperation for the moment. After all, that was her reason for being here.
Fritz Mueller listened while Sydney confessed her transgressions during the past two months. He expressed concern at what he heard, but the confidentiality of his position prevented him from interfering. Then he bowed his head, rested his hand on Sydney’s shoulder, and prayed with her.
Nicolas waited in the pew where she left him. “Have you finished here?” he asked when she approached.
“We have.” Sydney faced Pastor Mueller. “Thank you, Father.”
“God bless you, Sydney.”
Nicolas didn’t speak at all on the ride back to his estate, giving Sydney far too much time to wonder what in particular had unnerved the man so.
June 14, 1819
June sauntered in and the weather grew steadily warmer and wetter. Fanny delivered a healthy boy but Nicolas never mentioned his odd react
ion when he gave Sydney the news. She didn’t press him on it. It was too hot to risk starting any argument.
He was able to ride Fyrste now, and she had to let him. Deprived of her regular task, she wandered somewhat aimlessly around the Hansen grounds, and searched without success for a reason to get up each morning.
Stefan’s lamb lived. He named it Wolf because it survived the attack on its mother. The lamb did not thrive on cow’s milk, so Nicolas bought a nanny goat from Rickard. Now healthy and growing, Wolf followed Stefan all around the estate, his tail wagging a frantic salute. Watching the unlikely pair was one thing that did make Sydney smile.
Unfortunately, there was still no word from any quarter concerning a missing woman, and no significant gains in her memory. Her life had no direction and she floated through her days adrift as a rudderless ketch. The situation so depressed her, that Sydney took to her bed and slept through the hot, humid Missouri afternoons. She felt sluggish and unwell. Even Nicolas commented that she looked pale and her appetite was quite diminished.
One night at dinner, he presented an idea.
“St. Louis?” she repeated. “Why do you wish to take me to St. Louis?”
“Well, I haven’t been there myself in quite a while and I believe it might be a good diversion. We could buy supplies for the estate, go to dinner, perchance there’ll be a play or an opera. What do you think?”
Sydney considered the excursion truly might lift her from the funk she’d fallen into. “How long would we be gone?”
“Well, it’s just over ten miles, a two-hour carriage ride, or so. Two, perhaps three days, if we see a reason.” Nicolas reached out to take her hand. “Are you up to it, Sydney? I’m a bit worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately.”
Sydney didn’t jerk her hand from his grasp, though his thoughtless words made her want to tear around the room, naked and screaming. Of course she hadn’t been herself! Didn’t he understand? She didn’t know who ‘herself’ was!
Instead, she inhaled a steadying breath, determined not to verbally eviscerate her benefactor. At least, not until after the proposed journey.
