Where was he? Cal struggled to move. The blankets were heavy. They lay across him like boulders, and he imagined his lungs constricting under the pressure. The room was dark. His feet pressed against something warm and solid, and he wondered at it. The bed was large, the mattress firm, much better than the ground, though it felt like nothing he'd ever slept on before. Obviously, they hadn't been found by their captors, which left the question, where was he?
He raised his head slightly and looked around, squinting against the darkness. He could just make out the shapes of furniture, but that was all. He knew the other side of the bed was empty. Where was Rose? Why wasn't she with him?
Slowly, Cal pulled himself up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, unable to go any further. He shivered. His bare feet brushed the cold floor, and he considered getting back in bed. Rose was probably fine. He was in a nice bed. Surely, she was as well. If someone found him, they had to have found her.
No. He couldn't think that way. He knew better. Why was he still so quick to worry about only himself? Cal didn't quite understand unlearning a lifetime of selfishness and self-absorption would take more than a few days.
"Rose?" he called into the darkness. He gripped the bedpost, gasping at the pain in his leg. "Rose?" He limped forward, hands out in front of him; he was sure he would fall, if he didn't collide with something first. Cold air and more darkness greeted him when he opened the door. "Rose?" His voice was louder now.
He wasn't outside. He could tell that much. It seemed to be a hallway. At the far end, he saw a window; dim moonlight peeked through the curtains. He leaned against the wall as he went. "Rose? Are you here?"
He saw a light go on beneath a door. There were whispers, followed by footsteps. Cal shrank back, suddenly afraid. It wasn't Rose coming out to meet him. He knew, almost without realizing it, that she wouldn't have left him by choice. She wouldn't leave him to wake up alone, in the dark, in a strange place. That was something he might do, but not Rose.
Emma held up the lamp. Cal's eyes widened. He'd been expecting someone threatening, or at least, someone male, but not this petite woman with a youthful face. She spoke, but all he heard was gibberish. "What?" he said. "Who are you? Where is this? Where's Rose?"
Emma gave him a puzzled look. She understood some of what he said, but most of it was incomprehensible. He spoke too quickly for her to make out the strange, English words. "Rose?" she said. Her accent was thick. German, he would've said, with a touch of something else. Cal didn't care much for Europe as a rule; it was too old and pretentious, with everyone going on about Culture and Art. To hear them talk, you'd think putting paint on a canvas was an accomplishment.
"Yes, Rose," he barked. "Where is she?"
Amos stepped out behind Emma. He glanced at Cal and put his hand on her shoulder. He spoke in a low voice. Once again, Cal struggled to understand. Annoyed, he drew himself up to his full height, his features rearranging themselves in a scowl. He'd already forgotten the debt he owed these strangers.
Emma nodded quickly. "Oh. Yes. Deine Frau?" she said, turning to Cal. "Your wife?" she added in English. "Rose."
"No, she-Yes," Cal said. "My wife. Rose is my wife." It was a lie, but so what? They came to that conclusion on their own, and besides, it seemed like the only way he'd get to see her. These people, whoever they were, had separated them for a reason. His leg ached, and he longed to slump down and let the wall hold him up, but he didn't dare appear weak. Never mind that his kind hosts were already well aware of his injury.
"She's sleeping," Amos said. "In here."
Cal hobbled past him. Emma held up the lamp, allowing him to see into the room. A large bed stood in the middle of the floor. Rose's curls peeked out above a pile of quilts. Cal let out a relieved sigh. He leaned against the door frame, gazing at her.
"You can stay here," Amos suggested.
"I'm going to," Cal replied.
Without waiting for a response, he closed the door. It never occurred to him such an act might be considered rude, particularly under the circumstances. Even if it had, Cal might not have cared. These people had helped them, but was that so extraordinary? Rather than feeling grateful, he felt entitled, as usual.
Cal slipped into bed, careful not to disturb her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Rose curled up against him. He wondered if she sensed his presence. Did she know they'd been separated? Did she care? He hoped she cared.
...
He opened his eyes to find her watching him. Their faces were only inches apart. For a moment, Cal couldn't move. He didn't want to. He just wanted to lie there, holding her, and he feared the inevitable change coming.
Rose smiled. "You're awake," she said softly. "I've been waiting."
"For a long time?"
"Not really," she said. "I like the way you look when you sleep."
He felt a rush of warmth at her words. "Where are we?" he asked.
"I don't know. I thought you might."
Cal shook his head. "I woke up last night in bed. Alone," he added.
"How did I get here?"
"I found you," he replied.
Rose looked amused. "You didn't throw a tantrum, did you?"
"No, I didn't," he said. "I just made sure I found you. The people here, they seem nice enough. They don't really speak English. I think they're German. I'm not sure."
"I wonder why they brought us into their home," Rose said. "We're such pitiful specimens. Or maybe that's why. What's the last thing you remember?"
"I remember we sat down. I was so exhausted I could hardly move. My body ached. I thought I was dying. I almost hoped I was. And then, nothing until I woke up."
"That's about what I remember too," she said. "I almost remember something, being carried. Voices. I couldn't understand them. I wasn't afraid. I'm not sure I was really awake."
"Why do you think they separated us?" he asked.
"I suppose they thought we'd rest better that way. With your leg-" Her brow furrowed with concern. "How is your leg?"
"Fine."
"I know it isn't," Rose said. "Let me look at it." She moved to sit up, and he let her go reluctantly. "They've bandaged it," she said, her voice tinged with gratitude. "It looks like a splint."
"It still hurts."
"I'd imagine it will for a while longer," she said. "But this has to help."
"I don't like this."
"What?" she said.
"Being here. Not knowing who these people are," he said. "Or what they want."
"Cal, I doubt they want anything. What could we possibly give them?" Rose laughed. "Look at us!"
"There's always something," he aruged. "They may know who we are. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they knew exactly who we were when they took us in. Our abduction must be in the news by now. There's probaby a reward for anyone who comes forward with information, or better yet, who returns us safely."
"Do you honestly believe that's why these people are helping us?" Rose shook her head. "Must you be so cynical?"
"It isn't cynicism, Rose," he replied. "I'm simply looking at our situation realistically. Anyone who helps us stands to gain a great deal. Who wouldn't like to claim the small fortune that's no doubt being offered?"
"There may be some truth in that, but not everyone acts purely out of a desire for personal gain. Some people genuinely want to help others."
"I'll believe that when I see it," Cal said.
"Let's go find out."
"What?" he said.
"You heard me. Let's go meet our rescuers," Rose said. "See what find of people they are."
Cal hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"We can't stay in this bed forever. I don't know about you, but I have to eat something soon. And a bath would be nice," she added. She looked down at the flannel nightgown she wore. "Here I am, absolutely filthy, in this clean bed and these clean clothes. Such a shame."
"If you really think we should..."
"You aren't afraid, are you?" she asked.
"What?" he said quickly. "No. Of course I'm not. How could you ask such a thing?"
Rose gave him a look. "I'll help you walk," she offered.
"I can manage."
...
Cal was able to manage, with the aid of the wall, but when they reached the stairs, he was forced to accept Rose's arm. She was gracious about it; the expected "I told you so" never came, for which he was grateful. The scene that followed was strange, and not a little awkward. Rose reflected on it as she soaked in the tub.
It was quite literally a tub, unlike any she had ever seen. At first, she didn't believe it was meant for bathing. Surely, they couldn't expect her to climb into that thing. She'd barely fit. Where would the water come from? But of course, the water came from a pot, which was heated on the stove. She should've known that. She'd read about this manner of bathing. It wasn't so very uncommon, even now, with indoor plumbing more accessible than ever.
And she was supposed to be the reasonable one.
Rose rubbed soap into her hair. Well, compared to Cal she was extremely reasonable, though that wasn't saying much, was it?
To his credit, he'd remained calm and polite while they spoke to Amos and Emma. He wasn't exactly friendly, but if they minded, they didn't let it show. Emma understood English better than she spoke it, and she understood most of what he said. She said little during the exchange, letting Amos do the talking.
"Where are we?" Cal asked.
"Lancaster," Amos replied.
Cal gave him an incredulous look. "Lancaster County? We can't be that far from home."
"Why not?" Rose said. "We drove for a long time."
"But even so," Cal argued. "Who are you?"
"I'm Amos Beiler, and this is my wife, Emma. This is our home." Amos spoke slowly, deliberately. Rose wondered if it was so he would be understood with his accent, or if it was because he doubted Cal's intelligence. She had to admit, she found the second option rather amusing.
"Do you live here alone?" Rose asked. "It's just the two of you?"
Amos nodded. "For now. We've only been married a short time." He glanced at Emma and smiled. A light blush spread across her cheek. Rose couldn't help smiling. They were so obviously in love. She felt a stab of envy. What must that be like?
Sighing, she dunked her head in the water.
...
The dress Emma laid out for her was a deep blue, with long sleeves. It was pretty, but plain, a far cry from her own clothes. The undergarments were white, with none of the lace and frills Rose was used to. Instead of silk and satin, these were heavy cotton. Or perhaps it was wool. She wasn't sure. They were clearly made with warmth in mind.
She felt strange in these borrowed garments. She studied herself in the mirror. It was too small to fully see herself, but what she could see, wasn't recognizable. Rose didn't know if that was good or bad.
...
Cal knew. He didn't like it at all. He didn't like the stiff, black suit, or the heavy shoes. He didn't like the scratchy cloth. He didn't like the lack of zippers. He didn't like the way he looked, or the way he felt. The clothes fit well enough, but they hadn't been made for him. The cut was all wrong. He frowned at his reflection. Would the indignities never end?
He combed his hair back, but it refused to stay in place. It fell forward around his face, giving him a much younger appearance. It looked nice, he had to admit, but he still didn't like it.
...
Rose stood awkwardly at the top of the stairs. She knew she should go down, but she couldn't bring herself to. Their rescuers were kind, generous people, and she didn't know how to begin thanking them properly. She also didn't know what to say to them. Their ways were so different. She'd only seen part of Please, the house, but it was obvious they lacked all modern conveniences, and she suspected money wasn't the cause. They were healthy, prosperous-looking people. Despite its old-fashioned appearance, the farmhouse was nice. Clean and well-built. It would last for centuries. Unlike the gilded mansions she'd been raised in.
"Rose?"
She stifled a laugh. "Cal, is that you?"
His frown deepened. He shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, unfortunately, it is," he said.
"You look so-"
"Don't say it. Please. I don't want to hear it," he said.
"You don't know what I was going to say."
"I do," he said.
Rose's voice was firm. "You don't."
Cal gazed at her for a moment before saying, "Shall we go down?"
"Should you be walking around?" she asked. "How's your leg?"
"Fine."
Rose tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't believe that. It didn't miraculously heal overnight, bandage or no bandage."
"The bandage helped."
"I'm sure it did," she replied, undeterred. "You're still in pain."
"You don't know that, Rose."
In fact, he was in a great deal of pain; just standing there was a challenge. But he'd never admit that, especially not to her.
"I see it in your eyes," she said. "You should be resting."
"I'm hungry, actually."
His words took her by surprise. It wasn't the admission she was looking for, but it was something. "So am I," she said. They'd eaten a large breakfast, but it only dulled her hunger; it wasn't cured.
"Let's see about lunch then," Cal suggested, offering his arm.
"You need to rest afterward."
"I need to see about getting us home," he replied.
"Rest," Rose insisted.
...
Cal didn't quite know why, but everything was different now that they were back in civilization. Well, almost civilization. He wasn't sure what to call their current surroundings, so he kept his mouth shut, for fear of offending their hosts. It was perhaps the first time he'd ever held back an opinion.
He didn't care about that so much; what he minded was the loss of intimacy with Rose. If that was the word for it. He wasn't sure about much of anything anymore. He glanced at her across the table. She was talking with Emma and didn't notice him. It was as if he wasn't even there. She didn't need him anymore. Whatever progress they'd made in their relationship, he realized, was only temporary.
He stared down at his plate, no longer hungry.
...
"We should be asking them to take us into town," Cal grumbled. "There's no reason to stay here."
"You're hurt," Rose reminded him. "That's a reason." Gently, she lifted his leg and placed a pillow under his knee. "Try not to move too much." Their eyes met, and she had to resist the urge to brush his hair back. He looked so young. Vulnerable. Touchable.
That wasn't really him, she reminded herself. It was the situation making him act this way. She'd seen a change in him already. He was reverting back to himself, and they weren't even home yet.
"I'm perfectly capable of traveling," he said.
Rose sighed. "Must you do this?"
Cal's face softened. He knew how close to death he'd been when Amos and his cousins found him. At first, they believed he was dead. His breathing was so shallow it was nearly undetectable. He was cold to the touch. And yet, they'd brought him back. He was still unconscious when they carried him into the house, but he was alive. Hot soup had been poured down his throat. Someone rubbed his hands and feet to restore circulation. His knee was bandaged, and he was put to bed. Alone. Cal owed these people more than he could ever possibly repay, and still, his separation from Rose gnawed at him. What right did they have to keep them apart?
"I'm sorry," he said.
Rose hid her surprise. "Just let yourself heal," she said. "We're safe. We'll get home soon." Her hand brushed his, and he wanted to take it but didn't. Panic welled up within him as she turned to go.
"Rose?"
"Yes?" she said.
"Would you mind staying?" he asked. "I don't want to be alone."
She looked into his eyes. "Alright."