and horses and manure. Kader Gerhardt was a gentleman.
“You cause me a great deal of difficulty,” he said, taking the book out of her hand.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you,” she said, still distressed that her unannounced presence had offended him so.
“Does…Avery know you’re here?”
“Avery? No. Avery’s in town buying seed.”
He had smiled then, and he’d been so kind. And how she had craved his kindness. She had been so grateful for it that she took the full responsibility for his passion. The thing that had happened between them was her fault. She had come upstairs to the schoolroom alone. She had let him kiss her. She had let him take her. She had let herself be completely overcome by her need for him, and she had lost herself in the touches and kisses and the rush to free her from the layers of wool and muslin that kept them apart.
And then it was abruptly over, and he’d left her lying alone, oblivious to the fact that she was shaken and still needing him so badly. She had tried to cover herself. She could hear children running and playing in the churchyard below.
“It’s nothing,” Kader said, intent now on righting his own clothes. “Just the boys playing war. They won’t come up here.”
And then he explained to her how this had all come about.
“You made it impossible for me, Caroline,” he said sadly, as if she had deliberately set out to ruin him. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“I…love you, Kader,” she said, and it was a long time before he answered.
“We will have to be strong, Caroline,” he said finally, not looking at her. “We must behave properly—for your sake.”
His idea of propriety had been to rush her from the schoolroom as quickly as possible before someone saw her there. And to make certain that she had no notion of mentioning anything to Avery. She had been devastated by his coldness. She had given him everything, and he’d only wanted her to get out.
And someone had seen her there. Eli Graeber, Frederich’s nephew, who thankfully didn’t speak enough English to understand. Since that day Kader had all but forgotten she existed. There had been no more offers to loan her books, or newspapers with the latest war news. No requests for her help with the younger children in his class. No attempts to engage her in conversation behind Avery’s back at Sunday church services. No wishes for her good health sent via William. She wondered if he knew how dire her need for good health was now.
She realized suddenly that Leah had said something that required her comment. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said I could loan you something of mine to wear.”
“The dress I have is fine, Leah. I…don’t much care how I look.”
“Then I will go to your house and get some of your own things,” Leah decided.
“No. Please—”
“I will go, Caroline,” she insisted. “Avery won’t say no to me.”
No, Caroline thought unkindly. And vice versa.
“Eat,” Leah chided. “Please eat some more.”
Caroline shook her head. She was feeling light-headed and queasy again. “I’ve had enough, I think. Please tell your mother it’s—How much I—”
“There,” Leah said brightly, as if Caroline hadn’t been about to cry again. “The fire’s going. I’ll go tell my father to come up. Are you all right, Caroline? You are so pale.”
Caroline managed a painful smile, but she didn’t reply.
Why are you doing this? she wanted to ask. Avery certainly isn’t going to love you for it.
But she said nothing. She stared into the fire instead, feeling the heat on her battered face, and she braced herself for yet another ordeal. Leah left the door ajar, and after a moment Caroline could hear her downstairs, then John Steigermann’s heavy treading up the steps to the second floor.
“Please, come in,” she said when he was about to knock on the door. She saw immediately that his wife stood behind him. Mrs. Steigermann was such a frail-looking woman, her fragility exaggerated by her husband’s great size.
John Steigermann motioned for his wife to precede him, and he gave her the only other chair in the room. He remained standing, towering over them both. He stared openly at the bruises on Caroline’s face. It was all she could do not to turn away.
She forced herself to say what needed to be said. “I want to thank you—” she began, but he held up his hand.
“What I have done, anyone would do,” he said, but they both knew that was far from the truth. Anyone might have intervened if a man were beating his horse, but not his unwed and pregnant sister.
“There is something you need to know. Frederich is going to withdraw his pledge of marriage to you,” Steigermann said bluntly.
Caroline looked at him, not knowing what her response should be.
“There is no marriage pledge,” she said after a moment.
“Avery gave his word on your behalf,” he said. “The agreement will be set aside in the church Sunday, Caroline. You will have to be there.”
“I?” she said in alarm. “I had nothing to do with Avery’s agreement.”
“Frederich is the injured party, Caroline. And he…says he doesn’t want you. He says the baby you carry isn’t his. I know you have never said that is so,” Steigermann said when she would have interrupted. “But if the baby is his, you can say so before God in the church. You can hold him to the pledge.”
“No. I don’t want to marry Frederich. I never wanted to marry Frederich.” Her face hurt to talk. She bit down on her lower lip to stop her mouth from trembling.
“You have to be there, Caroline.”
“Why? I didn’t have anything to do with this. I didn’t even know there was a marriage planned until—until Avery—” She broke off to keep from sobbing out loud.
“There are people who believe that you and Avery were going to fool Frederich—”
“The marriage was Frederich’s idea,” Caroline said, incredulous that she had been reduced to repeating anything Avery said as the truth. “I didn’t know about it—”
“You must go to the church. It is the only thing you can do for the reputation of your family. Not for Avery, but for Ann’s daughters and for your little brother, William. You must say that the withdrawal of the marriage pledge is acceptable to you, that Frederich has done nothing dishonorable.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“You can,” he answered. “God judges us, Caroline. No one else has the right. I believe this. My wife believes this,” he said, gesturing in her direction. “But there
