He seemed to think about that, staring past her for a moment. She held her breath while she waited for him to speak.
“I should have let God heal me of the pain of being compared to my brother. Others said Valten was stronger, more of a warrior, and more responsible than I was. And I let that affect me more than I should have.”
She caressed his cheek with her fingertips.
“And I think I let my guilt over my sister’s death make me do stupid things and give up on myself instead of trying to be everything I should have been.”
“Oh. Why would you feel guilty?”
“I was there when she died. I could have saved her if I’d only known she was drowning. I was six years old and I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. But I so wished I had saved her. I felt responsible for her. I wished I could have spared my mother the pain of my sister’s death.”
Sophie’s stomach twisted at the pain he must have felt, at the pain she could see in his eyes now as he was looking away from her. She hugged him close, pressing her cheek against his neck and whispering, “It wasn’t your fault.” His arms tightened around her, and they sat like that for a long moment.
She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “You must let God heal you of this guilt. Because I think you’re very strong and capable and very responsible.”
He gave her a tiny half smile. “And I think you’re beautiful. Everything the duchess said was a lie. You are clever and resilient, yet so sweet, it makes my heart ache just to look at you.”
“Then we shall both give our pain to God and let him heal us.” She hugged him again. “Thank you telling me all that.” As she hugged Gabe tighter, she wasn’t thinking. She was only feeling … floating … sealing up the broken places of her heart with God’s love … and Gabe’s.
Sophie held the bag of food she had packed for him — nuts, apples, cheese, bread, dried fruit, and dried strips of venison — while Gabe made sure Gingerbread’s saddle was tight. He took it from her with a murmured, “Thank you,” and tied it to his saddle. Then he mounted his horse. He’d hugged her and kissed her, but her heart had been so heavy, it was hard to enjoy it, especially when she knew the Seven were watching them out the kitchen window.
“Don’t go anywhere without one of the men,” Gabe told her for the fifth time. “The duchess might still be looking for you.”
“I know. I won’t.”
“I’ll be back for you as soon as I can, or I’ll follow you to Hagenheim.” He stared hard at her. “You must trust me. I need you to trust me.”
“I know. I will, Gabe.” She reached up to him and he clasped her hand in his. “I think you’re one of the most responsible people I know. And the bravest.”
He leaned down and kissed her.
Then he left, urging his eager horse forward, disappearing through the trees.
The days seemed to stretch out long before her. But she had promised herself she wouldn’t be sad. She would hold on to her happy memories of Gabe, and she would trust him to work things out and come back for her.
She sighed and went back into the kitchen, deciding to bake several fruit pies and custards and perhaps some extra bread. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to cry.
The men seemed to be making an effort to be cheerful that night. Siggy played only fast-paced music, and some of the men danced a jig, making Sophie laugh at their antics. She was so tired that night, after keeping herself busy all day, she fell asleep while praying for Gabe and his safety and success.
Two days after Gabe left, the sky was overcast and dreary, but as Sophie worked in the kitchen, preparing food for their night’s dinner, she concentrated on remembering every conversation she’d ever had with Gabe, starting with the first day he had arrived at Hohendorf Castle. She was thinking of the day he’d gotten shot protecting her, when she saw an old woman approaching the back of the cottage. The woman was bent over, hugging a basket to her middle, a hump protruding from the place where her right shoulder blade should have been.
How odd to see another human being of any kind, but especially a woman. Sophie hurried to the back door and opened it.
“Guten Morgen,” Sophie called.
The old woman barely raised her head, as though her neck didn’t work correctly. Something about her reminded Sophie of Pinnosa, the old woman who used to help Petra with the baking at the castle. She immediately felt a pang of sympathy for the poor woman, remembering how kind Pinnosa had been to her.
“Good mother, won’t you come in?”
The seven had warned her not to let anyone in the house, but Dolf was somewhere nearby, and Bartel was in the chapel praying, or doing whatever he did in there. Surely she could not be in danger from an old woman.