“They are very beautiful.” Odette touched a petal with her fingertip.
Mathis broke one off and held it out to her. “For you.”
“Thank you.” Odette brought the flower to her nose. “It smells wonderful.”
He led her to a fresco painted on the wall facing the courtyard, a scene of two lovers embracing in a garden of flowers.
“It is well done and looks quite real. The artist is very talented.”
“My mother loves color. Father commissioned the artist to come all the way from Heidelberg to paint it. My father loves my mother very much.” Mathis leaned closer. “I would like to make a love match when I marry. I do not care so much about a dowry, as long as the woman is able to love me, and I her.”
Odette placed her hand to her chest and cleared her throat. “That is very commendable.”
“I believe I could love you, Odette, the way my father loves my mother.” He moved even closer, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Oh.” She leaned back. “Your feelings do you credit, and I thank you for the honor of expressing the thoughts of your heart to me, but—”
“Do you think you could love me, Odette?” His eyes were large and round, and he seemed to be holding his breath.
“I do not know. This is very sudden for me, and I am not as sure about my feelings as you seem to be.”
He nodded and backed away a few inches. “I understand. So does that mean you may feel . . . something for me? Perhaps?”
“I cannot tell you anything of my feelings, as I am unsure of them myself.” Jorgen’s face flashed through her mind like a bolt of lightning. But she could not be thinking of him. She cleared her throat again as she tried to clear her mind.
“I can give you time.” He touched her arm, staring into her eyes. “You are the most beautiful and sought-after maiden in all of Thornbeck. If you will promise to think of me, to consider me, I will wait for you.” The breathlessness of his voice seemed to prove his sincerity.
Odette couldn’t block the stirring inside her at the fervency in his manner, but she suspected it was more pity than anything else. “Very well. I promise to think of you.”
“As a possible husband?”
“Yes.” But even as she said the word, the stirring became more of a churning in her stomach.
The men who had been examining the pony were walking toward them. “I believe that is my uncle.” She was uncertain who the men were, but it was the first thing that came into her mind to say to distract Mathis. “We had better go back inside, I suppose.”
“Ja.” His tone seemed a bit deflated, but he smiled.
Mathis took her elbow, and they walked back toward the door while the men walked several feet behind them. When they reached the narrow corridor that led inside the house, Mathis whispered, “May I kiss you?”
Her heart began to beat so rapidly she felt dizzy. “Not tonight. I need time to think.”
As he led her the rest of the way inside, he said, “A maiden has a right to choose when she wishes to be kissed.”
Odette quickened her step as she heard the voices of the people again. She entered and went to stand beside Anna. Mathis did not join them.
She stayed near Peter and Anna the rest of the night. She spoke with other people, including a few that Rutger introduced her to, until he was ready to go home. Mathis kept his distance, only once bringing her a goblet of wine when he saw that she had misplaced hers when they had gone into the courtyard.
Rutger said his farewell to Mathis and his father, while Odette nodded politely to Mathis and allowed him to take her hand and lift it to his lips for a brief kiss.
Once they were on the street, she let out a long breath. She was not quite ready to tell Anna what had happened. She let her jumbled thoughts keep her company while Rutger chatted with Peter and Anna all the way home.
Odette stood at her upper-floor window. When she saw Brother Philip walking toward her home with a cloth-covered bundle hugged to his chest, she hurried down the stairs, holding up her skirts and taking the steps two at a time.
Rutger had sent a note to her monk–tutor offering his favorite treat to entice him to return. He had not been to tutor her since she had argued with him by quoting Scriptures. She guessed by the bundle in his arms that he must be bringing her a new book to read. Her heart beat fast at what it might be.
She opened the door for him herself and ushered him into the large open room. Then she pulled the table out from the wall and provided a stool for each of them.
“I brought the Old Testament books of First and Second Chronicles.” Brother Philip unwrapped the bundle and laid the parchments reverently on the table.
“Oh, I have not read these.” Odette sat down eagerly. But Brother Philip was still standing. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen, Brother Philip? Cook has made a nice pork roast with spicy plum sauce especially for you, and I believe she has just taken a loaf of bread from the oven. I can smell it from here.”
He kept his eyelids half closed, as if uninterested. “I suppose I cannot disappoint her.”
“Indeed not. You must go and sample it or she will be grumpy for the rest of the week.”
Brother Philip needed no further encouragement. He headed out the back door for the kitchen.
Odette sighed and set about to read the new treasure.
The Chronicles were familiar, as she had read similar accounts in the books of First and Second Kings, and in her studies with Brother Philip she had learned that they both chronicled the same period of time and the same kings. But she relished the very real stories of human mistakes, failures, and sometimes triumphs. The triumphs mostly came because the kings were obeying God, and failures came when they ignored God.
How wonderful it would be if God spoke directly to her the way He had spoken to the prophets. The kings of old simply had to inquire of God and He would tell them what to do. When she came to the story of Jehoshaphat in Second Chronicles, she was struck by how many times he was reminded to “seek God.” When he had sought God, things went smoothly and God worked everything out, but when he had not sought God, disaster threatened.
Brother Philip strolled into the room, moving slowly and rubbing his belly. “Your cook is the best in Thornbeck, certainly better than my fellow monks who take turns cooking at the abbey.”
“Brother Philip.” Odette stared down at the text before her. “Why did God say that His wrath was on Jehoshaphat when all he had done was try to help King Ahab?” She had her own idea about the answer to that question, but she knew it would flatter Brother Philip to be asked.
“Let me read it again.”
Odette pointed out the passages. Brother Philip sat and read it over silently. “King Jehoshaphat must have known that King Ahab was wicked and did not follow God. He was foolish to follow King Ahab into battle with his enemies. The conclusion we can draw is that we must never be loyal to a wicked person.”
Odette nodded, thinking of Jorgen. Was he doing what Jehoshaphat had done? Was Jorgen being loyal to a wicked person—Lord Thornbeck?
But she also couldn’t cease thinking about God’s admonition to seek the Lord. Had she sought the Lord before deciding to start poaching? If the same held true for her as for Jehoshaphat, then she might very well meet with disaster.
When Jorgen arrived the next day at the clearing near the south wall of the town, Odette was already there talking with the children, who were gathered around her and staring up at her with adoring faces.
Did she know how beautiful she was? Her hair shone in the afternoon sun, and her voice was soft and kind. What a wonderful mother she would be. But he should not be thinking about that.
Some of the children caught sight of him standing there watching her and exclaimed, “It’s the forester! Jorgen!”
Odette turned, a smile on her lips. “I’m just finishing up my lesson. Come, children. Show Herr Hartman how you write the words you learned today.”
They all began to write Wald, Frau,
and Mann with their sticks.
Jorgen looked at their work and praised each one. When they would grin up at him, he would wink or give their shoulders a quick squeeze.
“What is in your sack?” they asked as he dropped his burden, which he had carried slung across his back.
“I shall tell you later, when the gamekeeper comes with another just like it.”
The children exclaimed their excitement, trying to guess what was inside. “Toys!” “Sweets!” And one little boy guessed, “Rats!”
“Ew!” several of the girls cried.
“You will just have to wait and see.”
“Will you tell the children a story?” Odette asked him.
He had the children all sit on the grass, and he told them a new story he had thought up since the last time he had been with them. They kept their eyes on him—including Odette, who sat with the children.
Just as he was finishing, Herman, his newest gamekeeper, emerged from the trees carrying a sack identical to his own across one shoulder.
Jorgen stood. “The margrave has kindly allowed us to bring thirty skinned hares for you all to take home to cook and eat.”
Before he could continue, the children, especially the older ones, let out a loud whoop, cheering and jumping up and down. Why, then, did he feel this overwhelming sadness and shame, like a memory from the past?
Images began to assault his mind. A vendor’s face rose before him, a man who had yelled at him for trying to steal some fruit from his stand. A baker who had ordered him from his shop and called him “a filthy beggar.” A woman who had wrinkled her nose at his little sister and told her to move out of her way. The face of his sister, Helena, her big eyes staring up at him in horror and pain as she lay dying.
He could not allow those memories to overwhelm him now. Those things had happened long ago. He was no longer the despised orphan child he had been then. But as he gazed upon the children who looked much like he and his little sister must have looked, a fist seemed to grab his insides and twist.
Focus on the task. He had already counted the children and knew there were fourteen of them. He cleared his throat. “Each of you may take home two hares to your family.”
The gamekeeper opened his sack, and Jorgen did the same. They began to distribute the game to the children, who grabbed them eagerly by a hind leg, talking excitedly about having hare stew or roasted hare on a spit for supper.
Jorgen stepped closer to Odette. “There will be two left over. Who should I give them to?”
Tears were shining in Odette’s eyes as she watched the children. She turned to him and blinked rapidly. “Oh. Let me think.” She studied the children for a moment. “Pinnosa here and Fritz there.” She called to them and motioned them to come toward her. Jorgen gave them each a third hare, trying not to think how much the little girl looked like his sister. Her eyes were shining, but she was pale and she didn’t smile. When was the last time she had smiled? No child should ever have that haggard expression.
“How can I ever thank you?” Odette was gazing up at him. The sheen of tears was back in her eyes.
“I shall tell the margrave how thankful the children are.”
“But I am sure it was you who asked him to donate this food for the children. Lord Thornbeck would not have thought of this on his own.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He never has before.”
“It was I who suggested he give some of the hares we were trapping to the poor, but the margrave was kind enough to agree to it.”
“Of course. Please give him our thanks.”
The children were dispersing, hastening home with their bounty, and the gamekeeper gathered the sacks and turned to leave. He and Odette said farewell and parted.
Even though it had brought back painful thoughts and made him remember things he wished he could forget, he was not sorry he had been able to give away the food to the children. Odette had inspired him to do it. If only she could be his inspiration for a long time to come.
11
TWO DAYS LATER, Odette was teaching her lesson to the children when Jorgen appeared at the edge of the forest. He stood leaning against a tree while she finished up.
Odette had been unable to refrain from thinking about the margrave, about the rumors that he had killed his own brother so he could claim the title of Margrave of Thornbeck. Anyone who would do such a thing must be evil and capable of any deception and cruelty. It was yet another reason why it was unfortunate that Jorgen was the margrave’s forester.
When the children had all gone home and she and Jorgen were alone, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from asking, “Have you seen any more evidence of poaching?”
Jorgen sighed, staring down at the ground with a morose look. “Sadly, yes.” He glanced up at her as he shifted his feet. “I found an injured deer with the same type arrow as the one I found before.”
“Injured deer?” Her stomach sank, and her heart thudded sickeningly.
“He was dying so I had to finish him.” He stared at the trees several feet away. “I do not like doing that—shooting an animal that is helpless and cannot even flee—but I didn’t want him to suffer anymore.”
“Of course,” Odette whispered. “You did the right thing. I am sure he would have died, and you kept him from further misery.” Even as she said the words, her breath shallowed.
“But you do not want to hear about suffering animals and poachers. We should talk about something more pleasant.” He turned a smile on her that was like the sun breaking out from behind a cloud. But remembering that deer, she wasn’t sure she deserved to see the sun or feel its warmth.
“I am interested in anything that interests you,” she said honestly. Thanks be to God, he did not know she had injured that stag. Her knees trembled at the thought of him finding out.
“Something that interests me is that the margrave is giving a ball at Thornbeck Castle.”
“A ball? He’s been the margrave for almost a year now and he has never given a ball.”
“He’s giving one now. The chancellor advised him to do it, even though the margrave doesn’t dance because of his bad ankle. Nevertheless, he thinks it will be a good opportunity for him to meet all the more prominent people of Thornbeck.”
“Ah.” Who would that include?
“I was surprised I was invited, and of course, you and your uncle. The Burgomeister and his son will be there too.”
“Oh. It sounds like it could be . . . pleasant.”
“I hear it is to be a masquerade ball. That was also the chancellor’s idea.”
“A masquerade.” What would she go as? She had never been to a masquerade. “What will you be dressed as?”
“I suppose I cannot go as a forester.” He said it like a question.
Odette laughed. “You will find something, I am sure. When is the ball?”
“Not for a few weeks. The margrave is inviting some nobles from other regions and wants to give them enough time to travel here.”
“I shall look forward to dancing with you then.” Memories flooded her, of how much she had enjoyed dancing with him at the Midsummer festival, his hand around hers. A tiny shiver raced across her shoulders. “In the meantime, I will work on my costume.”
“What shall you be?”
Odette thought for a moment. “A swan.” She could start searching for feathers for her mask now. “A white swan. And now you shall know how to find me at the ball.”
He smiled at her. But there was sadness in his eyes. “My father liked swans. There used to be a pair of them that lived in the lake near Thornbeck Castle. He would take me to feed them bread crumbs.”
It was wrenching to see the smile change to anger. He stared down at the ground, his mouth twisting. She had never seen him angry before.
“I am very sorry.”
“I believe this new poacher is the same one who killed my father, and I will not let him get away unpunished.”
Her stomach twisted.
What could she say without arousing suspicion? “It could not be the same person. That was years ago.”
“Only four years ago. That poacher shot at my father, then chased him and shot him through the heart. He showed no mercy. And then he disappeared—until now.”
Odette forced herself to breathe, forced her voice to stay steady. “Why do you think it is the same man?”
“The feathers on the arrows were the same.”
She thought for a moment. She had to be careful what she said. “But . . . were the feathers so unusual? Couldn’t more than one person have the same kind of feathers on their arrows?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if considering how to answer her. “I suppose it might not be the same person. White feathers are common.”
“Of course! White feathers are very common, probably the most common.” Her voice was too loud. She had to calm herself. “Very common,” she said quietly.
“My father was a good man. If it is within my power, I will avenge him.” He said the words without looking at her. “He did not deserve to die that way.”
“Of course not.” If only she could comfort him, put her arms around him or touch his hand. Her heart thumped against her chest, both at the longing inside her, and at the guilty feeling of knowing his painful thoughts at the moment were caused, at least in part, by her. “I wish it had not happened. I am so sorry.”
After a few moments, he nodded, then cleared his throat.
“I want to thank you for giving me the idea of bringing the animals we snared to the children. It is a joy to know they will eat well tonight.” He was looking intently into her eyes. “The world needs more people like you, Odette.”
She smiled to lighten the mood. “And you, Jorgen Hartman.”
“I should get back to my job now.” He took another step toward the forest.
“Will you come next week?”
“I have to meet with the margrave on Wednesday, but I shall see you on Friday, perhaps.”
Odette only hoped he would not have found more evidence of her poaching by then.
The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest Page 9
