Luther and Katharina (12 page)

It didn't take long for Anna to fall asleep. Katharina made quick use of the window of opportunity to work on the girl. She cleaned the wound and sewed several small stitches. When she finished, she bent over Anna and stroked the girl's cheeks. He couldn't stop staring at the bare stretch of Katharina's neck and the loose tendril floating there. The skin seemed to beckon him to graze it, but the very thought of such brazenness made him squirm.

He cleared his throat, hoping he didn't look as foolish as he felt. “I didn't know the color of your hair was so fair.”

She smiled. “Neither did I.”

“Then you're adjusting to normal life?”

“Well enough.” Something in her tone told him she would have complained about her living situation with the Reichenbachs had they been alone.

Anna was still asleep, but Katharina continued to stroke the girl's cheek. “I suppose it must be a relief to be out of the barn and back in your own bed.”

“I didn't mind staying in the barn for you.” His voice came out breathier than he'd intended. What was wrong with him? His mind scrambled for something to say, anything that could cover the awkwardness of his admission.

She spoke before he could. “You seem to have a natural way with children.”

He loved the way Anna was snuggled against his chest, and he couldn't resist caressing her hair again. “I've been with her since she was born. She's like a daughter to me; I suppose as close to a daughter as I'll ever get.”

“Maybe you'll have your own one day.”

As much as he wished he could agree with her, he could only smile wryly. “I think you're forgetting something.”

She lifted her innocent eyes to his and quirked a brow.

“The natural God-given order is to have a wife before begetting children.”

She rapidly dropped her attention to Anna, and her cheeks flushed a faint pink.

He wanted to pummel his palm against his forehead at his donkey-brained comment. Melanchthon's frown only confirmed the stupidity of his words and his inadequacy in talking with women, especially a refined woman like Katharina.

“Have you any news about my maidservant, Greta?” Katharina had the grace to change the subject and ease his discomfort. Her eyes held a hopefulness that made him wish he could give her good news, but instead he shook his head.

“Where could she have gone?” Katharina persisted.

“Unfortunately, there aren't many options for an unchaperoned woman.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she released a long sigh that had a hint of chamomile.

“We must commit her into God's hands,” he urged, wishing he could do more to help Katharina find this wayward servant, touched that she even cared.

She was silent for a long moment, and he had the feeling that his time with her was coming to an end. The thought filled him with more regret than he cared to admit.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispered.

“I'll come anytime.”

“Even when you're angry at me?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Perhaps I'm not as angry as I once was.”

Luther followed her gaze. A finely dressed young man leaned against the doorframe. His smooth face was familiar, but it took a moment to remember his name. “Jerome Baumgartner.”

The man straightened and stepped into the room, then gave a slight bow. “Doctor Luther.”

At the sight of Jerome, Katharina's lips parted in a soft smile, and light filled her eyes.

A weight settled on Luther's chest.

Baumgartner had the same dashing aura about him he'd always had. “What are you doing here, Baumgartner?” Luther demanded.

Baumgartner flipped Katharina a grin. “My dear Katharina needed an escort, and I very willingly offered her my service.”

“Wolfgang was escort enough.”

“Not for a lady like Katharina.”

Her smile widened at his flattery. “He's staying with the Reichenbachs, and I've had plenty of opportunities to gain his acquaintance over the week since his arrival.”

Plenty of opportunities? “Find another place to stay, Baumgartner.” Luther glared at the man.

“He'll do no such thing.” Katharina stood and Luther glimpsed the admiration in her eyes as she faced Jerome. “He's quite the gentleman in every way.”

Luther snorted. “Baumgartner has a reputation, but it's not as a gentleman.”

“And I suppose you're now the expert on what it means to be a gentleman?” Her words, although said with a smile, had a sting to them that he didn't like. Was she putting him down for his class?

He stiffened at the insult whether she intended one or not. “You're right. I'm not a gentleman. But at least I've retained my integrity.”

She didn't reply in words, but her eyes told him everything he needed to know. Jerome Baumgartner was the kind of man a woman like Katharina prized. He was nobly born, wealthy, handsome, young, and he had an opinion of himself that was bigger than the Vatican.

Baumgartner would make the perfect match for a proud woman like Katharina von Bora. Indeed, he could think of no man more suited.

“T
he rumors get bigger every day,” Margaret said as she prodded the soaking linens with the handle of her battledore.

Katharina leaned into the cushion of grass along the shore of the Elbe River. The June sun bathed her face with its warmth. The companionable laughter of other women nearby mingled with the rippling of the wide but gentle river. The grassy plain that led to the walls of Wittenberg was dotted with children playing and running, free of the crowded confines of the city. She took a deep breath of contentment.

Margaret straightened and towered over her as tall and thin as a willow branch. Without her wimple and headband, her face had lost some of its severity, even though she still wore her short dark hair pulled back tightly under a head cap.

“I shall not mind in the least if the rumors come true.” Katharina combed her fingers through her own hair that had come loose and tickled her neck, and she gazed at the brilliant blue of the cloudless sky. Although she offered extra prayers at the Divine Hours for considering her appearance, she still fought the new feelings of womanliness and couldn't deny she rather liked them. “Indeed,” she said, relishing the breeze against the bare skin on her arms where she'd pushed up her sleeves, “I shall be a very happy woman should the rumors come true.” Her time teaching the Reichenbach girls had only intensified her longing for daughters of her own.

“You wouldn't like the rumor I overheard this morning.” Margaret's kind eyes brimmed with worry.

“The ladies are jealous, just like Elsa.” But Elsa was more than jealous. She'd become unbearable. If Jerome hadn't made frequent use of his charming influence over the woman, Katharina was sure Elsa would have found a way to make her work as hard and as long as humanly possible.

“Some of the apprentices were talking in the workshop,” Margaret continued, “and I couldn't help but listen.”

“And why were you in the workshop? You're now taking up painting?”

A shy smile brought light to Margaret's face. “I found a portrait of Doctor Luther. Master Cranach isn't finished with it yet, but the likeness is so astounding I can't stay away from it.”

“Then you're truly smitten.”

“Doctor Luther's the most amazing man I've ever known.”

Katharina's thoughts returned to the last time she'd helped Doctor Luther. A portrait of him was painted in her mind—him sitting on the hard infirmary bench with Anna Melanchthon in his arms, his ink-stained fingers combing tenderly through the toddler's hair.

Inevitably Katharina's thoughts diverged to the way Doctor Luther had looked at her when she'd first walked into the infirmary. There had been something in his eyes, something intense, that had told her he was seeing her as a woman and that he liked what he saw. Her belly sparked with a strange heat just thinking about that moment.

She scrambled to conjure Jerome's face in place of Doctor Luther's, which should have been easy since she hadn't seen Doctor Luther often since that day in the infirmary. He was apparently busy traveling and preaching in the surrounding towns. She'd heard he was venturing out even though the risk was high. And yet she couldn't keep from wondering if his distance was due to more than just his travels, for even when he was in Wittenberg, he never sought her out, although she wasn't sure why she expected that he would.

“I would consider myself blessed by Saint Priscilla and the Virgin Mother herself for the chance to marry him,” Margaret said wistfully.

Katharina sat up, and as she studied the eagerness in her friend's face, her muscles tightened in a protest she couldn't understand. “Has he shown you any interest?”

Margaret sighed. “Not in the least. I can't remember when he's ever even looked at me.”

Strangely, a whisper of relief loosened the tension in Katharina's spine. At least she could say with confidence that Doctor Luther had looked at her. He'd looked at her long and hard and—dare she say—with desire.

With a shake of her head, she shoved herself off the ground and stood before Margaret could glimpse her thoughts. What did it matter if Doctor Luther had paid her attention on occasion? He wasn't looking at her anymore. And she didn't want him to. If Margaret wanted to marry Doctor Luther, then she should have him.

“We shall have to find a way to make Doctor Luther notice you.” Katharina reached for her battledore and used the end of it to ladle her linens out of the shallow pool at the edge of the river where she'd been soaking them.

“How will he ever notice me?” Margaret rose and began to fish her linens out of the river too.

“We'll think of something.” Katharina wrung the water out of the undertunic, then spread it on the washing stock, a small flat table Margaret had borrowed from Master Cranach's house.

“Now tell me the rumor about Jerome.”

Margaret glanced around. The riverbank was crowded with clusters of women from the town who were taking advantage of the warmth and sunshine to launder bedding and undergarments. The townswomen had peered at them from time to time but had thankfully left them undisturbed on the fringe.

Margaret lowered her head and voice. “The other Cranach servants have placed bets on you and Jerome.”

“Go on.” Katharina rubbed her tunic with the heavy block end of the battledore, loosening the odor and grime that had accumulated since the previous washing weeks ago.

“Jerome has made claims that he'll bed the virgin nun before the feast of the Visitation.”

“I've heard such nonsense already.” Embarrassment infused Katharina as it had the first time she'd overheard the whispers.

“Then you don't think it's true?”

“It is complete and utter foolish talk.” At least she desperately prayed it was. “Jerome has been kind and considerate in every way.”

“Then his intentions toward you are truly honorable?”

“I have reason to believe he may propose marriage soon.”

Margaret's eyes widened.

Katharina began pounding the linen. “He cannot stay in Wittenberg much longer. And he's hinted at taking me to his family estate in Nuremberg.”

“Oh, Katharina, how divine.” Margaret smoothed a pair of hose onto the washing stock next to her. “I know life with Jerome will be exactly what you've wanted. You'll finally have a family of your own.” She paused and her voice caught. “But I shall miss you if you move to Nuremberg.”

They'd been together since their families had abandoned them, scared little girls who'd found comfort in their forbidden friendship amid the strange rituals and cold silence of the convent.

“I'm sure we'll visit Wittenberg from time to time. Jerome is always talking about how he misses his university days.” Katharina's arms ached from sledging the battledore against the clothes. After only a few minutes, the bat had grown so heavy it felt as if it were made of bricks instead of wood. Her breath grew choppy until finally she stopped.

“How do the other women do this?” she asked. “I've laundered just one garment, and I'm already tired.” She peered at the others along the riverbank, at the naturalness and efficiency with which they worked. Servants had done the laundry for them at Marienthron, servants like Greta. She'd never realized how hard those lay sisters had to work, how much effort went into something as simple as washing clothes.

She sighed. Maybe she'd made Greta work too hard. Or maybe she hadn't shown her servant enough appreciation for all the tasks she'd done daily. Perhaps if she'd shown Greta more compassion or if she'd reassured Greta that somehow they'd make things work out…She certainly hadn't treated Greta the way Elsa treated her, had she? What if she'd done more for her servant? Maybe then Greta wouldn't have run away.

Katharina narrowed her eyes at the sight of two men approaching a cluster of women near the wooden bridge that spanned the Elbe.

Margaret pounded her hose. “I rather like doing the washing and the other jobs Mistress Cranach assigns me. The work makes the hours pass more quickly. My days are much more interesting now than they were at the convent.”

The men spoke with the townswomen. Then one of the housewives turned and pointed toward her and Margaret.

A shiver streaked up Katharina's backbone.

“I never realized the monotony of our lives.” Margaret hammered her linens, raising her voice above the racket. “So much of our time was taken with services and prayers and embroidery.”

The men nodded at the townswomen, then turned and began strolling forward again.

From a distance they were not recognizable. Their gaits were unhurried, and yet Katharina's pulse picked up speed. Should she order Margaret to gather their dripping linens and run? She glanced across the span of grass to the thick wall of the town and the gate leading inside. They could make it if they hurried.

“Do you miss anything about our life at the convent?” Margaret dropped the battledore and massaged her arms.

Katharina shook off the trepidation. Surely they had nothing to worry about—not when they were surrounded by so many people.

“Of course I miss Aunt Lena.” Katharina wished she could discover how the dear woman was. She ached every time she thought of the words of love her aunt had whispered during the night of the escape, and she longed to hear them again. But attempting any contact would only put Aunt Lena in greater danger, and she wouldn't risk that again.

“I miss the other sisters.” Margaret picked up another linen and began smoothing it out. “And I admit, there are times when I miss our devotion to God. Here, outside convent walls, it's too easy to get swept away in the busyness of our lives and neglect to give God the attention and prayers He deserves.”

Katharina nodded, having felt the same tug. But her attention again strayed to the men drawing nearer. Something about them looked familiar. Too familiar. Fear slithered up her arms, making the pale hairs there stand on end.

“Margaret, collect your laundry.”

Margaret looked at her with wide eyes and then followed her gaze. “Isn't that the woodcutter from Marienthron?”

Katharina's chest tightened. Margaret was right. The shorter man with thick arms
was
the woodcutter. The missing earlobe and scar along the jaw could belong to no one else. The other was one of the unskilled laborers who sometimes worked with the convent's sheep and goats.

“I wonder why they're here.” Margaret let her linen dangle into the grass.

The woodcutter said something to his companion, and their strides grew longer and quicker.

“We need to run, Margaret. Now.” Katharina grabbed a fistful of her skirt and scrambled up the bank.

“What about the laundry and equipment—”

“Leave it.” Katharina spurted forward through the thick grass, stumbling in her haste.

A cry from Margaret froze her steps. She glanced back, and her heart plummeted at the sight of Margaret on the ground, tangled in the overturned washing stock, struggling to free herself.

“Hurry, Margaret!”

The men were running now too, closing the distance.

Katharina raced back and slipped down the bank.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
With shaking hands she shoved the bench off her friend and yanked her to her feet. “Hurry!”

But Margaret was twisted in the wet linens and tripped again.

Katharina clawed at her friend's arm and dragged her forward. The pounding of her heart ricocheted through her head.
Holy Mary, Mother of God. Be with us now.

“Where do you think you're going?” The woodcutter's greeting was followed by his pinching grip on Katharina's wrist. “It's not polite to leave without saying a proper greeting.”

He spun her, forcing her to relinquish her grip on Margaret.

“Uh-huh, Cal, not polite at all.”

The taller laborer hauled Margaret to her feet. In the struggle his broad straw hat fell off, revealing thin black strands of hair that didn't fully cover his balding scalp.