Luther and Katharina (20 page)

K
atharina had no choice. She would stay in Grimma even though everything within her screamed in protest at the thought of living on the doorstep of Marienthron. She couldn't forsake Aunt Lena, not now, not after all that had happened to her.

Katharina smoothed a hand across the older woman's cheek. Aunt Lena hadn't spoken a word in the three days since they'd found her. Katharina had spent every waking moment by the woman's side, doctoring her wounds, revolted anew at the evidences of abuse the woman had suffered.

“I've decided not to return to Wittenberg—not until you're better,” she whispered.

Aunt Lena stared at the ceiling, unblinking, unmoving.

Katharina touched the pulse in her aunt's neck. A steady thump against her fingers reassured her of life—a small flicker of something in the battered body. She straightened the bandage covering the woman's scalp and the deep cut, which she'd sewn closed. If only the gash had been the worst of her injuries.

“Sister Katharina?” Magdalene von Staupitz's gentle voice came from the doorway. “Doctor Luther is waiting for you.”

Katharina reached for Aunt Lena's hand and hesitated.

“I'll stay with her for a little while.” Sister Magdalene's voice was a whisper as she stepped to the bedside.

Her aunt's hand was cold and heavy. Katharina pressed it and hoped for the merest of responses.

There was nothing.

“Go now. You need a break.” Sister Magdalene helped Katharina to her feet and turned her toward the door.

Weary from lack of sleep, Katharina stumbled into the main room of the small house.

“How is she?” Doctor Luther's dark gaze searched her face. He stood near the door and stooped under the low ceiling. He'd spent the past days meeting with the leaders of Grimma, making arrangements for the care of Aunt Lena. He'd secured the house, which had recently belonged to an Augustinian monastery but had been deserted when the monks had abandoned their vows. Now Doctor Luther had gained permission for Aunt Lena to stay there with the promise that Sister Magdalene would start a school for the girls of Grimma.

Sister Magdalene hadn't spoken a negative word about her stay with her brother Gunther at his Motterwitz estate, but the former nun had been more than eager to accept Luther's offer not only to teach the girls of Grimma but also to help care for Aunt Lena.

Katharina rubbed a hand across her eyes. When she had managed to sleep during the past nights, her dreams had always turned into nightmares of Aunt Lena. “She's still not speaking.”

Luther's expression was sober and his eyes deep wells of sadness. “Then you still insist on staying?”

She nodded. Fear prickled through her again, as it did every time she thought of being close to Marienthron and to Abbot Baltazar. In her secret thoughts she was ashamed for wishing Abbot Baltazar had been in the cage hanging from the oak instead of one of the priests who'd resided in the Predigerhaus. But the abbot had been safely away at his primary residence, the Cistercian Pforta monastery.

She'd heard that he'd returned to the abbey after the attack and had begun the arduous task of restoring it for all the nuns who remained, the sisters who'd been able to hide and avoid attack. The peasant uprising hadn't deterred him from his duties. Instead, rumors had reached her ears that he was more zealous than before.

But she'd decided if Sister Magdalene was brave enough to live within the shadows of their former abbey, then she could do the same, at least until Aunt Lena was well enough to move.

“I must stay,” Katharina said, rubbing her hands across her arms to bring warmth to her limbs. The hearth fire across the room barely flickered with light, much less with heat. “I cannot leave her in this condition.”

Doctor Luther's weary expression spoke more than words could. He knew, as she did, that Aunt Lena and Sisters Maltiz and Pock had sacrificed themselves to protect the other women. If the three hadn't hidden the younger sisters in the cloister prison cells, and if they hadn't taken the brunt of the abuses themselves, the others would have fared far worse.

“I'll pray for her healing both in body and in mind.” His voice was low. “And I'll pray for you, Katharina, that the Lord will keep you safe.”

“And I shall hope that God answers your prayers, Doctor Luther.” She was grateful for all his help over the past days. Not only had he spoken out against the violence, but he'd also provided for Aunt Lena, rallied the support of the townspeople for her and Sister Magdalene, and gathered assurances that the men in the area would watch over them. If anyone deserved God's mercy, Doctor Luther did.

“Will you promise to stay close to the house?” he asked.

“I'll do my best. And you must remember to write to the elector about freeing Thomas.”

“It's as good as done the moment I arrive in Torgau.”

She wanted to instruct him to watch for Jerome's return to Wittenberg. Should he arrive while she was away, she needed someone to deliver the news of her whereabouts.

But his eyes had grown blacker and were regarding her in a way that seared her insides like a hot tonic. Without breaking his gaze, he stepped away from the door and crossed the bare room toward her. Each of his heavy footsteps escalated her heartbeat.

When he stood before her, his body exuded a strength and warmth that made her heart race too fast. He was near enough that she could see the shadows under his eyes and the layer of scruff over his cheek and chin.

“Katharina.” His whisper was tinged with something she couldn't identify. When his attention flickered to her lips, her breath caught in her throat. Did he want to kiss her? Surely he wouldn't.

“Will you promise to return to Wittenberg?” He lifted ink-stained fingers to her face.

“I'll try.”

His fingers skimmed her cheek.

Her legs quivered.

“You won't return to a wasted life in the abbey, will you?”

“Of course not.” Her voice was only a whisper now too.

A glimmer in his eyes illuminated the deep darkness and gave her a glimpse of the power of his desire.

He would kiss her, and she had no wish to resist him. Quite the opposite. She had a sudden, sharp need for him that tightened her entire body.

As his head lowered toward hers, her stomach flipped, and she leaned forward in anticipation.

“Martinus, are you ready?” From the doorway, Melanchthon's question cut through the room.

Katharina stumbled a step back and slipped her hands over her warm cheeks.

“I'm saying good-bye to Katharina.” Doctor Luther didn't turn to look at his friend.

“We need to be on our way.” Melanchthon blew into his hands and then rubbed them together.

“I'll be out in a few minutes.” Doctor Luther didn't budge. His attention was focused upon her with an intensity that burned into her and made her want to forget all reason. “Can I have one moment of privacy? Is that too much to ask?”

Melanchthon cleared his throat, and his slender red face seemed to grow redder until it nearly matched the unruly hair that had wrestled loose from his winter cap. “I don't want to be the one to remind you that Katharina von Bora is promised to Baumgartner. And it's in everybody's best interest to leave it that way.”

Doctor Luther leaned closer, the warmth of his breath taunting her. His eyes seemed to plead with her to dispute Melanchthon.

For an instant she longed to make Doctor Luther happy, to keep the peace, to hold on to his pleasure. Past experience had taught her that any mention of Jerome would only gain his scorn.

But her hesitancy was all it took for his eyes to fill with disappointment. “Then it really is time for me to say good-bye.”

How could she respond? She didn't want to anger Doctor Luther, and yet she had promised herself to Jerome.

“You're right, Philipp.” Doctor Luther stepped away, taking his warmth and solidness, leaving her cold again. “I need to accept the facts.”

She braced herself for Doctor Luther's usual onslaught of derision toward Jerome. And she desperately wished that they didn't need to talk about him, that they could ignore everything and everyone else for a moment.

He stared at her, sadness deepening the lines of his face. “Good-bye, Kate.” The words sounded permanent.

“I'm sure I shall return to Wittenberg soon.”

“No, this must be good-bye.” After a final search of her face, he turned. The cloak covering his habit swished decisively as he strode to the door.

She started after him, then stopped. What else could she say?

Without a glance back he pushed open the door and stepped outside.

Melanchthon nodded at her. Although his eyes were kind, something in them warned her not to come after Doctor Luther but to accept the fate that had been handed to both of them. It was no secret that some of Doctor Luther's advisors cautioned him against marriage. Apparently Melanchthon was one of those.

She swallowed hard and pushed down an ache in her throat. She couldn't begin to make sense of the sudden feeling of rejection that swept through her.

Melanchthon turned to go.

“Wait.” She stepped toward him.

With his hand on the door, he paused and looked back at her expectantly.

“When Jerome returns to Wittenberg, I must have someone explain to him my absence and where he can find me.”

He nodded almost too eagerly. “Have no fear, my lady. I shall share the tidings with him the moment he arrives.”

As he left, Katharina stared at the door. A sense of abandonment spread like a heavy coverlet over her face and suffocated her. She could hear a five-year-old girl crying and begging. For an instant she could feel the scratch of the blanket mingling with heat and tears and could breathe the odor of dust and horseflesh. Why hadn't her father listened to her pleas? Why had he thrown a covering over her head and ignored her?

She took a deep breath and exhaled the memories. “I shall marry Jerome.” Her voice wavered in the silent room. He would come for her, and when he did, she would finally have a family again, and this time she wouldn't let anyone take it away from her.