Badenburg, 27 March 1635
"It was a brawl, Helena," the neighbor said. "Willibald objected to some things that people were saying about Dietrich—what he was involved in, over in Grantville. Defending the family honor. I don't think anyone meant to kill him, but these things can get out of hand. Meinhard was swinging a bottle. Just to hit him with, but it broke against the corner of the bar when he brought it around. It was sharper than any knife, what was left in Meinhard's hand. A point of glass. Thick glass. It just kept coming around, that swing. It slashed his throat."
"Helena?" Jergfritz asked. "Helena, what are we going to do now?"
She didn't say anything.
His voice got shriller. "What?"
"Right now?" She looked around the shop. "It's closing time. I'd better bar the door and pull the shutters closed." "Right now, I'm going to fix supper. All of us have to eat. Mama, you, NaNa, our half-sister and brothers, Martin's children. Me. No matter what happens, we still have to eat. The watchmen will be here soon enough."
Badenburg, 30 March 1635
The baby was crying. The midwife handed it over to Helena to clean up. She took a look. Another girl. Warm rose water. Dim light. A gentle welcome to a difficult world for this last child of the late Agnes Bachmeierin, verw. Fraas, verw. Hamm.
Twice a widow. Ten times a mother in two marriages. Seven children alive to mourn her.
"Helena," her sister asked. Her name was Anna Clara, now nineteen years old, but everyone had called her NaNa since she was a baby. "What are we going to do now?"
She finished swaddling the baby and turned around. "Hire a wet nurse. We don't have any time to waste. Get down to the pastor's house and tell him we need one right now. Get a couple of references. Whatever else happens, she'll need to eat if she is to live."
NaNa walked across the room to look at the baby. "What are we going to call her?"
Helena looked over to where the midwife was starting to prepare her mother's body.
"Willibald wanted to name Mag for his mother, but Mama wouldn't. We'll call her Herburgis." She looked back at her sister. "On the way back from the pastor's, stop at the sexton's. We'll need his horse and wagon for Mutti's funeral."
Grantville, April 1635
"Clara, I tell you," her brother said. "That man is not only still stopping in Badenburg to see Helena every single time he passes through, but he was married. His wife died in January. She's been taking care of his children ever since. And now, with Willibald and Agnes both dead. And Dietrich, too. The shop isn't bringing in a cent. There's nothing to sell. Willibald concentrated on meeting special orders—he didn't have much stock on hand. We have to do something."
Clara eyed him consideringly.
What should she say?
Her first temptation was to ask "which wife," but she was prudent enough not to.
Maybe she had learned something from Wesley.
At eight months pregnant, she was not going to risk Wesley's precious baby by running up to Badenburg to handle this, either.
"I'll do something," she promised. "Something drastic. The very instant that I have time. But with all the problems—Mayor Dreeson, Reverend Wiley. The person I would usually ask to assist me is Veronica, but she has her own difficulties. It was hard enough going up for the funerals."
He got up to leave.
"Wait," Clara said. "Just in case they don't have enough cash on hand to hire a really reliable wet nurse for the baby. I saved quite a lot, really, while I was in Fulda." She handed him a purse.
Badenburg, May 1635
"Don't keep standing up," Helena said. "It doesn't make sense for you to stand up. I have to keep walking. She cries unless I walk with her. All night, sometimes."
Martin didn't sit down, but he did lean against the wall. "It's the only thing that makes sense," he said. Coaxing. "Come to Frankfurt. Mother my children. They have become very attached to you."
"How can I leave my brothers and sisters?"
"How can you stay?" he asked practically. "Are you willing to marry a man chosen for you by the pewterer's guild?"
She looked at him. "You already have two wives."
He inclined his head. Slowly. "But I am free to marry."
"You are also the sexiest damned man I have ever met in my life."
He smiled.
"What about the people who know? Aunt Clara. Mrs. Dreeson. Young Kastenmayer?"
"You will be my legal wife. In Frankfurt. The one my mother and sisters know about."
Herburgis's wails gradually subsided to sleepy sniffles. Her head drooped onto Helena's shoulder. Carefully, very carefully, she put her in the cradle. "And that will pardon the existence of the others in their eyes?"