The peasants dream, p.1
The Peasant's Dream, page 1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise for Melanie Dickerson
Also by Melanie Dickerson
Copyright
Chapter 1
Adela stood watching her brother Steffan marry his true love, Katerina of Hamlin, memorizing how the autumn sun bathed everything in warm light and made the stained glass windows of Hamlin Cathedral spark and glow. She would begin to capture this moment with her paints and brushes as soon as she went to her room in her brother and sister-in-law’s home.
The scene was perfect—a lovely wedding on the steps of the Cathedral. Katerina’s violet gown brought out the rich color of her chestnut hair, and even Steffan looked handsome, in spite of the fact that he was her irritating older brother.
The two stood on the steps of the Cathedral and smiled at the townspeople of Hamlin, who loved them very much, judging by their teary-eyed gazes and cheers.
And no wonder they loved Katerina. She had saved her town from a nefarious mayor. Steffan, who had always been so contentious with Father and so teasing with her and her sisters, had needed to mature in order to be worthy of her.
But perhaps Adela shouldn’t be so smug about Steffan’s former bad behavior. After all, she was the youngest of her family, besides Toby, and she’d heard the servants’ whispers once or twice about her being spoiled. Perhaps they were right. She was a duke’s daughter and therefore accustomed to getting whatever she needed—and usually what she wanted as well.
What she truly wanted was adventure and a chance to prove herself as a great artist. Each one of her siblings had done something striking, courageous, adventurous—and then they married and their lives had become uneventful. They’d set up homes, had children, and every day seemed much the same, from what they told her. Before settling into a mundane life such as that, Adela longed to prove herself, to have her own adventure, though one different from her siblings, who had found themselves in some very perilous situations. Adela didn’t crave danger. Instead, she longed to travel around the region painting scenes, painting portraits, making a name for herself, and showing that a woman could be just as talented as any man.
If Steffan could find his own adventure—and true love—surely Adela could as well. Steffan had to leave Hagenheim to find those things. Adela needed to do the same.
As the daughter of a duke, Adela was expected to obey her parents, who would hardly let her out of Hagenheim Castle. Convincing them to allow her to leave Hagenheim to wander the region, painting landscapes and portraits, would be difficult, but they might allow it if she were accompanied by her father’s guards.
She glanced around at the townspeople of Hamlin who had come to celebrate the wedding. They were not waited on by servants. They took care of themselves, as did the people of Hagenheim. Adela had always had servants to take care of her. Would she be able to manage without them? She could take a female servant with her, and the guards would find places for them to stay. She could also sleep in the outdoors. She’d done it before when traveling to visit her siblings.
If she wanted to prove that she was a capable painter, then she would have to take matters into her own hands. And now was the time to do it, because once she was married, she’d be trapped in the dullness of daily life.
After all, her nobleman husband, whoever he turned out to be, would never let her wander the countryside painting.
* * *
Frederick used the rough side of the chisel to smooth an uneven spot on the wood door he’d been carving. He’d worked on it for months.
Now, as he stared hard at it, he imagined how he might paint it, what colors he’d use to highlight the shapes. But he realized he liked it as it was, natural, the grain of the wood giving the piece character and beauty.
He blew out the candle and opened his window. The sun was up.
He jumped to his feet and hurried into the kitchen to grab a bit of food before rushing out into the field to tend the cows.
Two hours later he was helping a mother cow clean her newborn calf, using an old piece of coarse linen to rub the rest of the afterbirth off its hindquarters as the mother vigorously licked her baby’s face. After what he’d had to do to get the calf, which had been turned the wrong way, out of its distressed mother, he was surprised the cow wasn’t lowing and kicking him. But she seemed to understand that he’d helped her and did not object to him touching her calf.
Frederick smiled as the calf stood up on its own, wobbled, then immediately tried to suckle. The cow gave up her attempts at cleaning her new calf and let him eat.
Looking down at the mess on his hands and arms, Frederick’s smile turned to a grimace. He used the cloth to wipe himself off the best he could and started back toward the house to change his shirt and wash up.
“Where are you going?”
Frederick’s father stood propped against a tree, a straw clenched between his teeth, which were a yellow brown from all the wine and ale he drank.
Frederick stretched out his hands. “Breach calf. Going to get cleaned up.”
“You’re not courting a lady. Go finish raking the hay. You can clean up when the work is done.”
Frederick’s chest tightened. “When have I ever not finished the work?” He continued on his way to the house, passing by his father and refusing to look back at him.
Once inside the entryway of the kitchen, he quickly poured some lukewarm water into the basin, then dipped a cloth into the water and scrubbed his hands up to his elbows to rid himself of the slime. Good thing he had not been wearing sleeves, even though it was a cool late autumn day. Unless the air was cold, he wore his sleeveless tunic when he worked.
As he dried his arms, he heard voices in the house. He couldn’t make out any words, as the two buildings were five feet apart, but the tone let him know that something was wrong.
He hurried through the empty kitchen, crossed the pathway to the back door in two giant steps, then burst into the house. He passed through the empty back room and into the entryway, where Mother stood embracing their neighbor, Christa, who was sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” Was there something he could do to help? Her tears made his chest ache.
Christa looked up at him with wide eyes rimmed with red. “The baby is sick.”
“How bad is it?”
Even his stalwart mother had tears in her eyes. It must be bad. Poor Christa. She and her husband had three previous babies, and all had died before they were a month old. This one, baby Jaspar, was six months old—he knew because they’d celebrated the half-year mark last week.
God, don’t let this baby die too.
“He’s struggling to breathe. He’s turning blue. I don’t know what to do.” Tears slid down Christa’s face and her lips trembled.
“I’ll go get a healer.”
“The nearest one is in Hagenheim.” She said it as though the situation were hopeless.
“I can get there in half an hour by horse.”
Christa’s eyes brightened for the first time. “But I have no money to pay a healer.”
“Let me take care of it.” Frederick rushed down the narrow hallway to his bedroom. Thankfully, he had not built a fire this morning, so he reached barehanded into the back of the fireplace and pulled out the loose brick. He dug the leather pouch out of the hiding place he’d made, took out some coins, and shoved the pouch back in. He carefully replaced the brick, then ran out of the house and headed for the stable.
His father had not moved from where he’d last seen him, now whittling a stick with his knife. He looked up as Frederick entered the stable, grabbed his saddle, and readied his horse. Frederick mounted his steed inside and ducked low as he rode out through the stable door, urging his horse to a fast trot before he was even on the road.
Was that his father calling to him? He didn’t look back.
As his horse increased his speed, Frederick gave him his head and leaned forward, the wind blowing his hair into his eyes—perhaps it was time for a haircut. He said a prayer that the sick baby would not die.
His horse was fast and loved to gallop. His hooves ate up the road to Hagenheim. Frederick slowed him down at the town gate so as not to look suspicious and to let the horse rest. The animal still had to carry him all the way back, and Frederick was not a small man, being both tall and muscular from all the work he’d been doing on the farm since he was a small child.
Did he look like the rough farmworker that he was? It didn’t matter. He needed to get to the healer and help save Christa and Johannes’s baby.
Thank goodness he’d cleaned up after the birth of the calf.
He rode at a fast trot through the cobblestone streets. Hagenheim Castle rose
above the town on a hill surrounded by another wall, the gate guarded by Duke Wilhelm’s men. Frederick had once thought if he ever became desperate for work—or desperate to get away from home—he could offer himself as a soldier. The duke needed guards who were large and could fight. Frederick fit that description well.
As he walked his horse up to the castle gate, a man stepped out of the guardhouse and held up a hand.
“Halt. What is your business?”
“I need the healer. That is, my neighbor’s baby is sick, and I’ve come to fetch the healer.”
The guard exchanged a look with the soldier next to him. Had he said something wrong?
“Frau Lena is the healer, and she will perhaps give you a remedy, but a person does not ‘fetch’ Frau Lena.”
“Very well. May I pass?”
“Go to that tower there.” The guard pointed to the castle tower closest to the gate, then stepped out of Frederick’s way.
Frederick hurried forward, dismounted when he reached the door of the tower, and went in.
A young woman about his own age was talking to a woman of forty or fifty, who looked up at Frederick.
“May I help you?” The older woman’s hair was a pale rust red streaked with white.
“My neighbor’s baby is very sick. He can barely breathe.”
Though he was more focused on the healer, he couldn’t help but notice that the young woman with the healer was beautiful. Her skin was pale and delicate, and her features were perfect. And she was staring at him.
“How old is the child?” the healer asked.
“Six months.”
“You say he can barely breathe. Is he laboring to breathe? Or is he too weak to breathe?”
“I don’t know. He has been sick, and his mother said he was struggling and turning blue, and she was afraid he was dying. Won’t you come with me? It is only half an hour’s ride from—”
“I cannot leave, but I can give you something for the child.” She turned and went toward the back of the round tower chamber.
“You don’t understand. This woman has lost three babies already. She needs your help.” He took a couple of steps farther into the room.
The young woman was still looking at him. When he met her eye, she didn’t glance away. Her eyes were a pretty blue, her lashes thick and black, while her hair was long and blonde and hanging unfettered over one shoulder. But it was the expression on her face, the depth of her gaze, that made him want to talk to her.
He shouldn’t be thinking about this young woman. He had to get help for baby Jaspar.
Frau Lena emerged from the back room. “Here are some herbs for better breathing. Put them in a bowl of water that has just been boiling and let them steep for a few minutes. Put it as close to the child’s face as you can—but see that you don’t burn him. Once it is cool enough, dribble some in his mouth and have him drink it. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Frederick took the pouch of herbs from her.
“And rub this salve on the baby’s chest.” She handed him the smaller pouch in her other hand. “Boil lots of water and try to get the baby to breathe in the steam.”
“Won’t you come with me? I’m sure you could help—”
“It is not difficult. Just do as I said—should I repeat the instructions?”
“No, that is not necessary. I have it.”
“Shall I go with him, Frau Lena?” the young woman asked.
“You, Adela?” The woman’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.
“Perhaps I could help.”
“No, no. Besides what I have told him, there is nothing more anyone can do. And your father . . .” She scrunched her brows down low over her eyes in a severe, almost scolding look.
Frederick could think of no reason to take the girl with him—though he wished he could—so he said, “Thank you, Frau Lena,” then nodded to the girl. “Thank you.” He dug in his pocket and presented two coins to the healer.
The healer stared at the money in his hand. She shook her head. “I do not accept payment. You can put the money in the poor box, if you wish.”
He had never heard of someone who did not accept payment for a service or goods. Did she think him too poor? But perhaps Duke Wilhelm paid her for her healing work.
He nodded to her and took one last glance at the pretty young woman, then left, hurrying to get on his horse and get back to Christa and her baby.
* * *
Adela watched the young man go. Though he was obviously a peasant, she was sure she’d never seen anyone so handsome. With his muscular frame and his strong jawline, chin, and cheekbones, he reminded her of a knight who’d been training his body for war. His brown hair was thick and hung down on his neck, and his eyes were a clear dark blue. He looked back at her in such an honest way, as if he had nothing to hide. As if he felt the same strange desire to speak to her as she did to him.
Adela’s cheeks heated as she remembered how she’d offered to go with him and how horrified Frau Lena looked. But she longed to go tearing out of the town gate on her horse with this stranger to help him however she could with his neighbor’s sick baby. That would be an adventure, something useful and not dangerous. But Father would not have approved at all, would have thought it very foolish. Yet, in her opinion, the only thing that made it foolish was the fact that she knew nothing about caring for a sick baby.
It was not just that she found this young man handsome, or that his passion to help save his neighbor’s baby compelled her to want to help. She needed a purpose, some way of contributing to the world. She didn’t want to always be the spoiled daughter of the Duke of Hagenheim who never did anything but stay locked up in the castle waiting for her father to marry her off.
Would she ever see the young man again? By the looks of his clothing and his muscular frame, he was accustomed to hard work. He must be a farmer or some other kind of laborer, but one who cared enough to come rushing all the way to Hagenheim to get help for a neighbor’s sick child.
She didn’t even know his name. But the memory of when their eyes met filled her with a wistful longing.
Chapter 2
Frederick rode hard and arrived at Christa and Johannes’s small wattle-and-daub house. He dismounted and rushed through the door, almost in one single motion, without knocking.
Christa was holding the baby and crying, while Johannes was leaning against the wall, his face buried in his arm. They both looked up as he entered.
“Boiling water. We need boiling water.” Frederick proceeded to tell them what the healer had instructed him to do.
They put the salve on baby Jaspar’s chest, which smelled of mint leaves. He did not react. Soon they had a large pot of boiling water and were holding a bowl of the dried herbs and hot water near the baby so he could breathe in the vapors.
While Christa and Johannes were both hovering over the baby, Frederick took the large pot of boiling water and poured it into various containers and set them near the child. The air in the room became steamy and moist. He then fetched another bucket of water, poured it into the cauldron, and set it back over the fire to boil. “I think the herb water is cool enough for the baby to drink now. Do you have something I could use to strain out the dried herbs, a cloth or sieve?”
Christa told him where she kept her cheesecloth, then Frederick and Johannes strained out the herbs and put the water in a cup. Christa tried to coax the baby to drink it. Was it Frederick’s imagination, or was the baby looking less pale? His lips were no longer blue gray but were now pale pink, and he was breathing a little easier.
She managed to get some of the water into the baby’s mouth, but he soon screwed up his face and started to cry.
“Maybe it tastes bad,” Frederick offered. “Could you put a little honey in it?”
“Yes, good idea.” Christa instructed her husband to get the honey, and he put a little in the water and stirred it. Soon the baby was drinking the water.
“His breathing has improved, I think.” Johannes looked hopefully at his wife.
“I think so too.”
Certainly the baby was better than when Frederick had first arrived.
There didn’t seem to be anything else Frederick could do. He made sure Christa and Johannes saw where he was leaving the herbs and salve, then said, “I should go. But I’ll come back later and see how he’s doing.”
Christa and Johannes both thanked him, their eyes wide, as if they were fearful to trust that the treatment was working. He left quickly, afraid Christa was about to start crying again.
