Behind the Mask (10 page)

“Now what’s on your mind?” Georg asked, startling her from her thoughts.

Not surprised by his perception, Abbi inquired, “Do you know why Papa disowned my father?”

Again Georg lifted his brows in surprise. “What brought this up?”

“I was just wondering.”

“I assumed you knew.”

“No one ever told me. I suppose I just took the situation for granted, but . . .”

“There isn’t much to tell. As far as I understand it, Gerhard gambled a little; nothing serious. But Josef simply considered him too frivolous and had bailed him out one too many times. I suppose it was a combination of Josef not wanting to risk the estate, and the idea that if Gerhard were on his own it might teach him some responsibility. At least that’s what my mother told me.”

“So, it had nothing to do with
my
mother?”

“Heavens, no. Josef loved your mother. She was like a daughter to him. I believe he took it nearly as hard as your father when she was killed. You know how he kept the old piano in the winter parlor tuned all these years—as if he almost expected her to come back and play.”

“Yes, I remember,” Abbi replied thoughtfully as she mounted Blaze. “Do you know anything about the situation my father is in now?”

Georg’s eyes became strangely alert while Abbi waited for a reply. After a long silence he said abruptly, “I’m afraid not. I doubt there is much to tell.”

Abbi had to wonder from his response if there was something he hadn’t told her. “You know that he . . .”

“That he what?” he asked when she faltered.

“Nothing.” She laughed tensely in an effort to cover her near slip. Though she couldn’t imagine what harm there would be in telling Georg about the documents, her father’s urgency in the matter came back to her and she felt it best not to mention them.

“What?” he pressed, but she was spared from having to answer when a pigeon flew through the loft window, lighting on a perch near the cote of birds Georg had always kept.

“I don’t believe you’ve ever told me why you keep pigeons, Georg.”

“Well,” he said easily, “they don’t eat as much as horses.”

“One of them’s out.”

“He won’t go far.”

“How do you know?”

“They’re homing pigeons. They always come back.”

“Interesting,” Abbi said, only momentarily fascinated as she pushed Blaze toward the wide doors. She waved to Georg, who answered with a relaxed salute just before she broke into a gallop and headed toward the covered bridge.

Since the day Abbi had sworn to never return to the mountain lodge, she hadn’t ridden anywhere near the trail that led to it. But now her thoughts were more focused on the mysterious man she’d met that day, and she felt drawn to the fallen tree and beyond, up the trail through the thick pines. She recalled that he’d only made her promise not to climb through the rock wall up to the ridge. Now the thought of returning to the meadow below the ridge gave her a formless thrill. Feeling the same surge of emotion that had pushed her up the forest trail the first time, she moved Blaze at a brisk pace. Each stretch of the forest looked much the same as the last, but she was overcome with exhilaration as the trees suddenly moved behind and the meadow opened up.

Blaze broke into a gallop, and Abbi relished the wind in her hair. She could feel the rise in elevation by the cooler air, and the leaves were already turning colors and beginning to fall, unlike in the valley where the seasons were not so harsh.

Blaze slowed down and took on the circumference of the huge meadow several times, then Abbi heeled him into a gallop to ride the length of the rock wall one last time. The stallion stopped midway and began pawing at the ground with determination. Disturbed by his behavior, Abbi fought with the reins to move him back toward the forest, but Blaze continued his game, as if he were fighting the barrier of rock. An uneasiness came over Abbi. She’d never seen this kind of behavior in Blaze before. Sensing that he was frustrated by his inability to go up the path to the ridge, she realized that she felt much the same way.

Abbi was finally able to settle Blaze and guide him toward the forest. She trotted hesitantly across the meadow, unable to rid herself of an uncanny feeling that she was being watched. Just before entering the forest she halted Blaze and turned her head, carefully scanning the top of the ridge. But she saw nothing, no one. Had knowing that someone lived up there simply sparked her imagination? Or could he possibly be watching her from the trees? Telling herself that she mustn’t let her imagination run wild, she stirred Blaze on and started down the forest trail, forcing herself to remember that she’d sworn to stay away.

A few days later, Georg came to Abbi’s room with a package that had just arrived for her.

“Thank you,” she said with enthusiasm, setting it on the bed to tear it open while he leaned in the doorway of her room, obviously curious.

“I take it you were expecting this,” he said.

“A long time ago.” She laughed as the sketchbooks and special pencils came into view.

“What is it?” he asked, moving closer.

“Do you remember some years back when I had that governess who insisted I learn some drawing techniques?”

“I remember. You spent quite a lot of time at it for a while.”

“She told me I had some talent. Maybe I do. I don’t know, but . . . well, I’ve had the desire to work at it. They didn’t have any suitable drawing materials in town, but one of the merchants knew of some in a catalog and ordered these for me.”

“They’re very nice,” Georg said. “So, what exactly do you intend to draw?”

“Nothing in particular. But perhaps it will fill some empty hours.”

She really meant that part of her motivation was the hope that it might help fill some of the time she would have normally spent with her grandfather. She’d found her aunts poor replacements for his company, and the evening hours had dragged since Papa’s death. Georg gave her a sad smile and she felt certain he’d guessed her thoughts.

While Georg idly examined her new pencils, Abbi’s mind recounted images she’d been longing to put on paper. There were places she had been led to in her dreams—which constituted the other portion of her motivation. She was surprised at the tangible ache she felt as her mind wandered habitually to the man she’d met on the mountain. She became so absorbed with her thoughts that she was startled when Georg said, “Abbi, what is it? You look as if . . .”

“What?” she asked, perhaps fearing he might lure her thoughts into the open. She pondered her promise to keep the mountain lodge and its solitary resident a secret, and she hoped that Georg’s perception wouldn’t outwit her honest nature. Gazing into his expectant eyes, the ache of turmoil that she was trying to avoid surfaced fully. She was haunted by her dreams and the memories of where they had led her, and yet she felt utterly helpless to do anything about it.

“Abbi?” Georg chuckled tensely. “What’s wrong?”

She turned abruptly away, wondering how she might discuss her concerns with Georg and not let him in on her secret. A thought that had occurred to her a number of times in recent weeks gave her the perfect diversion.

“Do you believe in God, Georg?” she asked.

He looked so astonished that she wondered if the question was somehow ridiculous. “Of course I do,” he said.

“I know you go to church and all, but . . . I mean . . . do you
really
believe in God?”

“Yes, Abbi, I do,” he said with conviction and sat down in the chair near the bed to face her. “Why . . . this interest, all of a sudden?”

“Well,” she shuffled her toe over the floor, “you know Papa never took me to church. I seem to recall going with my mother before she died, but the memories are so obscure. And lately, I . . . well . . .” She struggled to find the words to explain. “You know that story in the Bible . . . about Joseph and his coat of many colors?”

“Yes.”

“You told me to read it years ago. Do you remember?”

“Of course I do. You have the gift of dreams, like Joseph.” Abbi felt warmed to hear him say it like that, especially when it hadn’t come up even once since he’d first mentioned it.

“Do you think Joseph’s dreams came true because he trusted in God, no matter how horrible his life became?”

Georg thought about it. “Yes, I believe that has a lot to do with it. I’m certain he got discouraged, but he never lost faith—at least that’s the way it seems from what little of the story is in the Bible.”

“So, if I needed God’s help with something, is it enough to have faith, and to trust in God?”

Georg looked deeply at her. “Forgive me, Abbi, but . . . is something wrong?”

“No,” she said, looking away, “I just . . . want to know what I need to do to get God’s help with something . . . generally speaking.”

“Well,” Georg tilted his head, “it’s difficult to sum up in a few minutes everything I’ve learned about God through a lifetime. But I guess it comes down to faith and prayer.”

Abbi’s interest peeked. “Do you pray, Georg?”

“Yes, I do.”

“How do you do it? I mean, is there some formal way that you have to learn so you won’t offend Him, or—”

“I’m certain there are many different ways of praying, and many different beliefs. I suspect that all religions have some truth. But for me, it’s always felt right to simply . . . talk to Him. Sometimes it’s just directing my thoughts toward Him while I’m working. Sometimes I kneel to pray. Sometimes I do it silently. Sometimes aloud. For me, it’s just . . . conversation. You thank Him for what He’s given you, and ask for what you need. Then you try to listen.”

“Listen for what?”

“It’s hard to explain, but . . . I think God speaks to us through our feelings. Or maybe you could call it instinct, or conscience. It’s as if He inspires our minds and touches our hearts. And somehow we just know that it’s from Him. I guess you have to experience the feeling to understand it.”

“You mean . . . if I prayed about something and . . . I just felt really good about it . . . then maybe that’s God trying to tell me the answer?”

“I think so. He’s given each of us a brain, and I think He expects us to use it. That’s my personal opinion, anyway.”

Abbi became lost in thought until Georg nudged her. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course,” she insisted. “I just . . .”

“What?” he pressed.

In a reverent voice, Abbi answered, “I had a dream . . . earlier this summer. I know I’m supposed to do something related to it, but . . . I can’t talk about it. I made a promise that I wouldn’t.”

“A promise to whom?” he asked.

“The person I dreamed about,” she said. Then she laughed softly. “It’s just a silly thing, Georg. Don’t worry about it. Thank you for your advice.”

“I hope it helps,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you.” She smiled and he left to see to his work.

That evening, Abbi sat down to sketch the mountain ridge that stood between her and this strange man who haunted her thoughts during the day and her dreams at night. For several days she worked on the drawing in between her other activities, putting great detail into the trees lining the top of the ridge and the foliage covering much of the rock wall. She did some rough sketches of the covered bridge, the fallen tree, and even the mountain lodge. But she spent most of her time on the drawing of the ridge, always careful to work on it only when she was alone. She kept her drawing materials hidden beneath her bed.

While Abbi drew, she contemplated the things Georg had told her about prayer and faith. She began asking God to help her know what she was supposed to do with these dreams and the feelings stirred by them. She didn’t get any obvious answers, but she concluded that it had taken many years for Joseph in the Bible to understand his dreams. Therefore, she simply needed to be patient and trust in God and His timing. In the meantime, she prayed for the man on the mountain—that whatever his circumstances might be, God would watch out for him.

Chapter Four

LOST

A
s autumn deepened in Bavaria, Abbi wondered occasionally what the Duke of Horstberg might be doing. She wondered if she would ever see him again, or if the events of their last encounter had put an end to his interest in her. She couldn’t deny her own attraction to Nikolaus and hoped she was not furthering her own naiveté to believe that in spite of what had happened between them, he felt something for her as well. The fact that she hadn’t heard from him left her questioning his character, but she had to consider the possibility that he might be with Lance, who was still out of the country on some military assignment. But perhaps their absence was best. She had no desire to entangle her feelings for Nikolaus with matters she had no understanding of, and she had even less desire to entertain Lance while he considered Ramona’s desire for them to marry.