Page 53 of Heart of Snow
“What is it?” His forehead creased with worry. “Did I—Have I offended you?”
“No, it’s nothing you’ve done.”
He silently waited for more, fear and vulnerability shaping his features. I couldn’t stand to see him that way. Turning aside, I watched the leaves nodding in the rain, wrestling with whether or not to admit the guilt of my past. Was Belinda right? Had my offense made it impossible for any man to love me?
“Margaretha, what’s wrong?”
“I’m only worried about...” I squeezed my eyes shut, the confession rolling to the front of my tongue just as Friedrich’s fingers traced along my cheekbone, robbing me of my breath and my courage.
“You worry how to explain your choice to stay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I agreed, gratefully taking hold of anything to delay speaking the sickening words. “How could I justify myself to Father when I’m the only one capable of saving his son?”
Friedrich looked heavenward. “After what he did to you today, do you really think your father cares about anyone but himself?”
“Friedrich, that’s not fair.” My tone was empty, wearied out by this old argument. “He knows how much I love Belinda. I should be happy to have her as my mother.”
Friedrich’s features hardened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he dug into his jerkin.
“You have no idea the kind of man he is. It’s time your delusions about him end.” He handed me a worn, faded paper. “Read this.”
Furrowing my brows, I unfolded the paper and leaned it toward the haze of moonlight outside the nook. It was a letter of some kind, written in elegant French script. I read it quietly to myself.
Dearest Lord Philip,
I find myself at your mercy once more. My neighbors, whose eyes were once merely suspicious, now look upon me with unfettered hatred after the illness of your child. It would seem that you, too, have come to doubt my innocence, if rumors prove true. Let me defend my name, swearing by all that is righteous that I have prayed the Lord’s blessings on you and your family. You well know how tirelessly I worked to save your wife and baby, God rest their souls, and I did the same for your sweet little one, using all my skills of healing against her ague. I didn’t even leave her bedside until the worst of her fever had passed, and only then with strictest instructions for her care. I have never—
My pace slowed as I took in the next words.
—consorted with the devil. I have never cursed your family. I do not know where the lies began, but I deny them vehemently. I beg you would publicly speak out against these rumors, lest the paranoia of the villagers leads them to violence. I serve God, and I loyally serve you, a most honorable count.
Ever your friend and servant,
Lady Gertraud
There was a pounding in my ears as I looked up at Friedrich. “What is this? What does this mean?”
“It’s the evidence I suspected, isn’t it? It proves your father is not the man you thought he was, that he let the people murder the town healer over naught but rumors. She was innocent, but he did nothing to save her, and I plan to confront him with his treachery.”
“But this letter. Where did you get it?” I demanded, shaking the paper at him.
He looked down at his hands. “She gave it to me, telling me to deliver it to the count at the mines. I waded half a day through snow, but by the time the count had read the letter and tossed it to the ground, the townspeople had already burned”—his last words were a whisper—“my mother.”
When his eyes met mine, all that he’d said came together in one awful moment of understanding. Despair plunged down into my gut as heavy as a fist to the stomach. “But you said... you told me your mother died of the plague.”
He cocked his head, confused. “I only meant that she died at the time of the plague, a victim to it, though not in the way you have imagined.”
“But... what of...” It couldn’t be true. And yet it had to be. Friedrich’s past, his years alone, his hatred of nobles—and of my father in particular. It all fit.
My mind returned to the awful scene, to the woman who’d burned because of my lies. Eyes pricking with pain, I brushed my hand over my nose. “The healer had a child,” I whispered, looking down at the paper in my hands. “You’re the healer’s child. I didn’t know. God, forgive me, I didn’t know.”
I shook my head, pushing the letter into Friedrich’s chest. “This was folly to think I could remain here. I must go to Brussels, now more than ever.”
Shoving past him, I raced into the storm. Friedrich chased after me, catching me by the elbow and spinning me around to face him.
“What does any of this have to do with Brussels?” he asked, the rain streaming down his face. “Do you think banishing yourself will somehow make up for your father’s doing? He bears the shame, not you. The consequence is all his.”
“Idid this, Friedrich.” I huffed. “Itold the lies that got your mother killed. My father is innocent.” Warm tears mingled with the cold rain on my cheeks while I watched emotions of confusion and doubt play over Friedrich’s face.
