Chapter nineteen
Her father’s breathing was getting worse.
His lungs rattled with each inhale, and there was a low wheezing sound when he exhaled.
Katrina sat by his bedside, holding his hand.
Steam from Marta’s hot chocolate on the bedside table wafted into the air.
The sweet aroma couldn’t comfort her tonight, not when her thoughts tangled with despair.
She wasn’t sure how much hurt a heart could take.
Ever since she discovered the news about her father’s failing health, everything had fallen apart.
All she ever wanted was to right her wrongs—to find the closure she desperately needed with her brother, but it appeared she only managed to ruin things.
Her throat tightened at the memory of Willem riding away and abandoning her in the forest. Somehow, she’d said all the wrong things to scare him.
Desertion or not, his past did not affect her opinion of him—he was still the same caring man in her eyes.
She wished she had started with that when she saw the devastation in his slumped shoulders.
Willem rode away before she could tell him the rest of what the witch had told her.
“Why did you curse him?” Katrina asked, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. How powerful was this witch if she could wield such magic?
Hildegard’s brows drew together, her mouth disappearing into a grim line. “Because I was grieving my son who’d passed at the time. The pain was raw when Willem stumbled across my cottage. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He felt my wrath and has paid for it since.”
The witch elaborated further on how she discovered Willem squashing one of her pumpkins and his desertion. Katrina pursed her lips.
“Why? Why would you curse a frightened child?” she asked.
“Because, at the time, I believed it would take away some of my anguish for my fallen son. I thought I was righting an injustice, but it did nothing to ease my pain.”
Katrina’s heart squeezed in sympathy and frustration. She understood the anger that followed grief like a sullen cloud. She’d had many nights where she cursed herself and the cruel world around her for taking her brother. But that did not excuse the witch’s actions.
“Can you undo it?” she asked.
Hildegard folded her arms and sighed. “No. The lad has suffered enough, but I cannot undo what has been done. Only he can break his curse by confronting the ghosts of his past. He must return to White Plains and face what he’s done.”
Something fluffy brushed against her skirt, and bright orange eyes gleamed at her.
“Oh, Smudge,” she said. “What am I to do?”
Smudge meowed, raising himself on his hind legs to paw at her. Katrina picked him up, and he curled in her lap. The soft, rolling purrs vibrated into her legs, and tears pricked her eyes.
Father let out another concerning wheeze, and she squeezed his hand. The thought of losing him—of everything she wished to say and do with him before he departed from this life—bore down on her chest. Time was too short.
A tear slipped down her face and landed on her father’s hand. His eyes fluttered open and landed on her.
“Now, what’s this about?” he asked, his voice raspy.
He raised his hand to the tears pressing against her eyes.
The pad of his thumb gently wiped them away before his palm cradled the side of her face.
She leaned into it, memorizing the feel of his hand.
Their strength had weakened, but he was still the caring Papa she’d always known.
“It’s but dust in the air,” she said. “I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep.”
“But can dust do this?” he asked, rubbing at the crease between her brows. “Or this?” His thumb traced the path of her frown.
“No,” she said sheepishly. But she could not tell him what was in her heart—about him, Brom, or Willem. Bearing the secrets of her feelings had been a terrible, lonely burden. “But it matters not.”
He studied her long and hard, and she swallowed nervously.
“Has it to do with your nightly escapades?” he asked. “I’ve seen you through the window when I have trouble sleeping.”
Her breath caught in her throat. A spike of fear flashed through her heart before she hung her head in defeat. There would be no avoiding the inevitable questions, so she asked one first.
“How long have you known?”
“Since after All Hallows’ Eve.”
“And you said nothing? Does Mother know?” she asked.
“No.”
Her head tilted. “But… why say nothing?”
Compassion glimmered in his eyes. “You’ve been distant, and these nightly walks appear to make you happier. I know I ask so much of you, so I thought I’d grant you this freedom.”
Katrina swallowed, her thoughts drifting to the conversations with Willem, his interest and patience as she chatted about her day.
Their stargazing together, their walks, the sweets they shared, and the drawings of her warmed her heart.
But most of all, she could not forget his quiet but sincere words about seeing her light.
He saw her for who she truly was.
“Thank you,” she said, “I needed the escape.”
He coughed with a rasping sound before nodding. “I do not wish to cage you, my dear. But I must know if you are safe.”
Katrina hesitated as thoughts of Willem’s strong arms surfaced, of how they wrapped around her in a protective gesture. Shaking her head, she could never tell her father these things. He’d forbid her from leaving the house again.
“I am. I know it’s strange, but I feel like angels protect me somehow.”
Father squeezed her hand. “Yes, I believe your brother is watching over you. He wished to protect you with every breath. It’s why he went to war. He wanted a better future for you.”
Her throat grew hot as tears pricked her eyes.
Even in death, she felt her brother had sent Willem to be her protector in his stead.
Self-loathing washed over her; how selfless and caring Johannes was compared to her self-centered thinking.
Memories of when he taught her how to balance a hoop with a stick, of when he’d push her on the swing, and of when he'd dry her tears when she was injured flooded her mind. He protected her from boys pulling her hair and playing marbles on rainy days. He’d always been a caring soul who put others before himself.
She did not deserve a brother like him. Perhaps that’s why he was taken from her.
Her tears flowed freely, dripping down her chin and staining Father’s linen sheets. A sob tempted her throat, but she swallowed it down. She did not need to give her father more reason to worry about her.
But the words she’d held in for so long trembled from her lips.
“I miss him, Papa,” she said. “I miss my brother.”
Father’s eyes took on a glassy sheen as he clasped her fingers in her warm hands. “And I—” His chin quivered. “I miss him too.”
Katrina could no longer contain her swell of emotions, gently nudging Smudge from her lap, she embraced her father.
It was the first time they had admitted such things to one another in years. Many tears spilled, but love filled her heart.
Soon, she released her father and watched him drift to sleep. The outpouring of emotion must have exhausted him, and she kissed his hand before leaving. When she closed the sick chamber door, she sagged against it with renewed resolve:
There was not much time. She would find Willem and travel to White Plains together. Only then would they both find the peace they so desperately needed.