She could see that Melchior was distraught. Wendla immediately felt bad about being tardy. Melchior was sitting by Moritz's grave. It seemed like he was talking to himself or perhaps to Moritz. She heard him talk about the baby and it made her smile. Her body felt strangely warm and only then did she notice the butterflies in her stomach. She remained hidden from his view.
He moved on to look at another grave, still musing to himself aloud about how strange it was to be in a graveyard. He noticed the fresh grave … the grave of Herr Wernher Berger, the mason who had died the week before. "Wendla … Bergmann," she heard him read and then subsequent sobbing. It was so dark, he only had the light of the moon and it was easy to misread the grave marker. This was a grave misunderstanding. She had to go to him.
Her nervousness intensified as she reached his side. In all the scenarios she had pictured, she had never imagined that he would confuse Herr Berger's grave for hers! Who would kill Wendla? The butterflies in her stomach had transformed into the nausea she had been feeling for a month. She put a hand on his heaving shoulder. Melchior was still crying, yelling "No" over and over again. Her queasiness faded as love filled her. He still cared for her as much as she cared for him or else why would he grieve so?
Melchior was dazed with grief. He did not notice her hand on his shoulder. He honestly believed that she was a ghost. Exhausted, his perception was blurred from reality to the supernatural. Wendla realized that she needed a concrete way to prove her existence. Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. She tasted the salt on her lips and he felt warm lips on his cheek. Then and only then did he snap out of his trance. He knew that she was alive.
He hugged her fiercely, still weeping. Tears filled her brown eyes as she melted into the embrace. "I thought for sure I hadn't gotten to you in time," he whispered. She had no idea what this meant. "Melchi of course I'm still alive, whatever do you mean?" she inquired.
"Hush, don't concern yourself with such thoughts. I have you and you're safe. They won't get to you," he assured her and himself. He knew they should move away from the graveyard but he just wanted to hold her. "What do you mean?" she persisted. He could not answer. He waved her question away and took her hand. "Come away with me, we must leave," he commanded. It was very late, they should be getting back … but back to where?
After some quick thinking, Melchior decided it would be best to return to his house. He did not want anything to do with his parents, so they could not go to his childhood home. Where could they be together, independent of their parents? He took Wendla's hand and led her away. He also stole a glance at her stomach; she was very slim so perhaps she was showing already. She was not. Then the answer came to him … the hayloft! He would sneak into his house while his parents were still fast asleep and gather many blankets from the coat closet. Maybe his mother had even baked bread for their breakfast.
He led her back to the field closet to his house. Wendla was confused and a bit happy. They were going back to the hayloft? She did not want to rush or bother Melchior with her questions. She should be patient and wait for what he would say. When they got inside of the barn, he let go of her hand. She sat on a bale of hay, still waiting for his explanation. "I thought it would be best to stay here awhile, until I can think of where we can go," he declared in a mature voice. "Here? We're going to sleep in the hay?" she asked, a bit hysterical. "Yes, I will fetch some blankets. Moritz and I used to camp here when we were boys. It is actually quite comfortable," he replied. She was convinced. He rushed out into the dark night and ran into his house. He grabbed the thick woolen blankets without incident.
Melchior came back into the barn; his arms piled high with blankets. Wendla took some from his arms and spread them on a pile of soft hay. They slept soundly with their hands entwined and neither worried about what the morning would bring.