Page 21

The storm left a rift of disturbance, leaves and petals, branches scattered about the carefully manicured lawn. From her window,

Clara watched as Piet stooped to collect the debris and gather it in his cart. Did he know that his daughter still walked

these grounds? Did Fenna ever pay him visits as she had Clara the night before?

Trailed by Nela, Clara made a pretense of taking some air and slowly walked along the garden under her window. There was no

indication that anyone had been there the night before. No footprints in the soft earth, no shred of clothing snagged on one

of the thorny rose branches.

Clara looked up long enough from her investigation to see a circle of maids standing around something in the courtyard. Glad

to turn her mind from the gruesome memory of Fenna’s visit, she hurried in their direction.

“What’s this?” she asked, joining them.

Inka turned at her voice. “Found this dog in the kitchen, helping himself to some beef, tucking in like a little prince.”

She took up her broom and gave the pup a light tap on his side with it. “Out with you, shoo!”

“He’s too beautiful to turn out,” Lysbeth said wistfully as she crouched down with her hand out to him.

The dog was indeed striking, with a downy coat of thick white fur and eyes like chips of emerald.

“Beautiful or not,” Inka said briskly, “I won’t have mongrels nosing about the food and making a mess. He must be sent away.”

The dog had found his way to Clara’s side, and was gazing up at her with naked adoration. There was something familiar about

the creature, and suddenly she remembered Hendrik’s promise.

“No need to turn him out,” she said, taking the sweet face in her hands. “He’s a gift from Mr. Edema. He said he was going

to bring me a dog, only I didn’t realize it would be so soon.” It seemed that Clara’s rudeness had not been enough to deter

Hendrik from bestowing another gift on her after the ruby necklace.

Clara picked up the ribbon about the dog’s neck and led him away, though the dog fell into step beside her as nicely as if

they had walked together hundreds of times. Behind her, Inka admonished the girls to get back to work.

“I suppose I should feel even worse now that I behaved so badly to Hendrik,” Clara told the dog as she brought him inside

and up the stairs. “He certainly took some care in picking out the most beautiful dog he could find.”

The dog regarded her with gentle eyes. She sighed. “What should I name you, I wonder?”

Just then there was a knock at the door, and Nela appeared, summoning her to appear before Katrina. Clara shot a worried look

at the dog as he rose to accompany her downstairs. “You had better stay here, I don’t think my mother will take kindly to

a dog in the house, whether you were a gift from Hendrik or not.”

He gave a whine, but she closed the door before he could follow her. She could hear his whimpering and pawing as she followed

Nela.

She found her mother seated at her dressing table, another maid standing behind her curling her hair, and her father off to the side, smoking from a long clay pipe. He gave Clara a weary, pitying look before Katrina launched into her rebuke.

“I would ask you what you have to say for yourself, except I don’t think I could stomach whatever paltry explanation you would

try to come up with. Nela told me about your behavior yesterday, and while I am disgusted that you would so flagrantly disrespect

the man you are supposed to marry, I am not at all surprised. Have you no shame? Have you no gratitude for the good match

your father and I have worked so hard to bring about on your behalf?”

Another day Clara might have tilted her chin up and defended herself, but she was weary, raw after what she had seen the previous

night. What’s more, her own guilt was wrapping itself around her like a constrictive vine. With downcast eyes, she murmured,

“It was very wrong of me to speak to him so.”

Her mother was watching her with the narrowed eyes of a snake about to strike. Clara should have known the warning signs by

now, but it still came as a shock when her mother rose and delivered a blow that sent her reeling backward.

“I can’t look at you,” Katrina said, and stormed out in a huff of curling papers and cloying perfume.

Blood bloomed on Clara’s lip, and curling up with her new pet suddenly was the only thing that didn’t want to make her burst

into tears. Clara was just turning to escape when her father put down his pipe and stopped her. “I thought you liked this

young man.”

For all her mother’s tempers and abuse, Clara at least knew where she stood with her, and there was a certain comfort in that.

As her father’s cool gaze settled on her, she squirmed in her shoes, as if he could see into every little crack in her soul.

“Hendrik is a good man,” she said carefully.

“Yet you spoke to him as if he was an annoyance and treated him like a stable boy.”

She didn’t say anything to this.

“Perhaps you are still harboring some secret affection for the young man with whom you were meeting the other day?”

Her heart thudded in her rib cage. Did he still suspect Clara after her mother had sent Helma away? “There is no one. I suppose

it was only my nerves that made me speak thus to Hendrik.”

Theodor continued appraising his daughter from behind the curl of pipe smoke. He got up suddenly, and for a moment it seemed

as if he was going to come right up to her. But he just tamped out his pipe and nodded. “It’s natural for a girl to be apprehensive

about her marriage and the duties that come with it. Your mother should discuss these matters with you. I will make sure that

she does.”

Her body tightened as he walked toward her, and then headed instead for the door, leaving the rich scent of tobacco in his

wake.

Clara walked with heavy feet back to her bedchamber. When she opened her door, the dog lifted his head, cocking it and regarding

her.

Though it was only early evening, Clara fell into bed with her bodice loosened and shoes still on. Something warm and wet

touched her face.

“I am completely without friends,” she murmured as she absently stroked behind the dog’s feathery ears. “Fenna is gone, and

now Helma. And Maurits, though I suppose I never truly had him.”

The dog had gone still, her ear scratches no longer eliciting any reaction from him. He looked up at her with intelligent

eyes, fierce loyalty already burning within them.

“Pim,” she whispered as she stroked the dog’s impossibly soft fur. “I shall name you Pim, for I believe that you are my resolute

protector.”

A long, slow blink of those emerald eyes, and Clara knew that they understood each other.

“It seems that despite your abhorrent behavior, Hendrik is willing to go forward with the wedding plans.” Katrina sniffed

as they sat down to breakfast the next morning. The night had brought a cooling of her mother’s temper, as well as word from

Hendrik, apparently. “I am sure he is too good for you.”

“Yes,” Clara agreed miserably. “I am sure he is too.” So, it had all been for nothing. She was to marry a man that not only

she didn’t love, but whom she had offended and needlessly heaped abuse upon. There was little reason to try to escape her

future as a wife to Hendrik. At least this way she would be out of her mother’s grasp.

If only Helma were here. She would have put a bright face to the whole matter, distracted Clara with her tales of magic. She

would have provided a bridge from Clara’s old life into her new, comforted her on this strange new journey.

As for Maurits, Clara did not even allow herself to think of him.

Clara stole back up to her bedchamber. Pim circled her legs, brushing against her skirts and asking for kisses. She scooped

him up and carried him to the bed with her. “At least you still love me, though I’ve done little enough to deserve it.” In

reply she got an enthusiastic, if not sloppy, kiss of agreement. “Come, let’s take a walk.”

It was as if the wind saved its breath, and the clouds their bounty of rain, for the times that Clara stepped foot outside

of the gate. For such a placid landscape, Friesland could be a wet, dreary place. The land had secrets it wanted kept, and

took great pains to hide them behind of veils of rain and mist.

Hendrik had been right about one thing: her walks were immeasurably more enjoyable with a dog.

With Pim stopping every few steps to investigate an intriguing scent, or follow the sticky train of a snail, Clara’s walk was transformed into an adventure, a welcome reprieve from the stifling expectations she endured in the house.

She noticed flowers she had overlooked for years, saw the birds with new eyes as Pim excitedly barked after them.

If only there was the exciting possibility of a chance meeting with Maurits.

Without Helma worrying behind her, there was little reason for Clara to stay within the gardens and surrounding grounds. Let

Piet tell her father that she strayed, what could he do to her now? Let her mother kick her like a dog. She had lost all and

was soon to leave anyway. If she wanted to go beyond the gatehouse and explore forbidden territory, she would.

Pim hung back, a whimper in his throat as Clara tentatively passed beneath the stone arch of the old gatehouse. Unwilling

to be left behind, Pim eventually trotted to catch up with her, staying close to her heels.

The breeze wrapped itself around her, the clouds growing dense and heavy. Clara shivered, invigorated as much by the cool

air as the knowledge that she was doing something forbidden. She was not yet a wife, and could still enjoy snatches of freedom

where she may.

She had only ever been on this road from the safety of the carriage, and hadn’t expected it to grow so remote so quickly.

The trees were wilder here, caring not if their tangled limbs obscured the path or what little light the sky offered. The