Finally, gasping, it ended. Karl poured me another glass of wine to replace the one spilled in our tussle. I could not even blame the wine for what we had done. I hadn’t had that much. I had wanted him.
That night, Karl walked me home, and we planned to meet again.
We met the next week and the week after, and it was always the same. The picnic lunches, our embrace. Karl never again mentioned his father’s plans for him, or his wish that I would wait for him. I wanted to ask him, but my happiness was such a new and fragile thing that I didn’t want to blow upon it, lest it break. I hoped—I did not know what I hoped would happen, something that would allow us to marry soon. I began to hope that even more fervently when my monthly flow did not come. I knew from my sisters’ whisperings that this meant I was going to have a baby.
How I longed for the time when my life had moved slowly, like the river, always the same, always the same.
3
When I told Karl, he was stunned.
“You cannot be,” he said.
“Of course I can.” I picked at the blanket beneath me. It was my week to bring the picnic, but I had felt nervous and a bit sick that morning and had burned the bread, dropped the butter. Still, I had not expected his denial. “What we have done is known to result in . . . babies.” Even a poor miller’s daughter knew that. A smart student like him should.
It occurred to me, not for the first time, that I had been stupid, that I knew nothing of this man, other than that he had a handsome face, charming manners, and that he loved me, said he loved me. If he chose to abandon me in my condition, what recourse would I have? I could follow him, perhaps, but once there, what would I do? If he left me, I would be like one of the leaves I tossed into the river, floating untethered, bobbing for a while until I would eventually sink.
I might as well throw myself into the river.
I did not want to believe that he would abandon me. Karl was good. Karl was kind. He had told me his own fears. He couldn’t belittle mine.
“Are you not going to marry me? You said you loved me.” I tried not to cry, but the effort made my face feel swollen, like a bee sting. “I thought you were honorable.”
I knew I had no reason to believe that.
“I do.” He rose. “I am.”
But he did not say, I will.
He began to pace, like a chicken trapped in a coop. He had no reason to stay, and I knew that if he left, it would be forever. In the distance, I saw a mother deer and her fawn, perhaps the same ones we had seen that day. I wished I could go back to when I first saw them and do everything differently.
“I do love you.” His eyes were those of a frightened child. His face was almost unrecognizable to me. This was not the man I thought I loved. He was not a man at all, just a terrified boy. “I just . . . my family will never approve. I shall be in so much trouble.”
And he began to weep, still pacing, mumbling incoherently until I wanted nothing more than to run away, forget I ever knew him.
At least he did not seem to realize the delicate position I was in, that he could simply leave and be gone. At least he was taking his responsibility seriously.
But then he said, “I must go.”
“You can’t. You cannot just leave me.”
“I need time. I will come back next week.”
He began to walk again, but now he walked away, down the path and through the forest, out to the marketplace, answering my cries only with, “Next week!” I followed him, but when we reached the marketplace, he continued walking.
I knew I would never see him again.
I stumbled toward, then away from, the lively stalls. I could not go crying through the market. People would see me, people who knew my family. And I had left the blanket, the basket, the items I had purchased, everything. I stumbled back to the woods to retrieve them. Habit steered me like a horse heading home, for surely, it did not matter if I had the vegetables or the fish when the world had ended and the stars had exploded. Still, I went, for I had nowhere else to go.
When I finally walked through the market, I felt no calmer. But I had a plan. I would live the next week as if Karl were honorable, as if he had not run from me, as if he were going to come next week and pledge to marry me.
And, if he did not, there would still be time to throw myself into the river.
With this grim thought, I headed home.
The road was lonely, and though it was not yet night, the sky was dark with threatening clouds. I felt a sudden chill across my arms like rain about to fall. I shivered and walked faster, though I had no wish to return home.
“What is the matter, my child?” The voice came from nowhere. I looked around and saw nothing. There was no one there.
But then suddenly there was a woman where I was sure no one had been. She was dressed in a black lace gown with a severe collar. Still, above it, her face was kind.
I recognized her. The lady bookseller. Kendra. I had never seen her on this road before. Had she followed me? Had she seen me crying?