Fall came, and so too a message from Guntar. He was fine but wouldn’t be home. Nothing about Anders. Nothing from Anders himself.
Mustering her courage, Alva visited Guntar’s mother, a pretty but quiet woman she didn’t know well. Everyone knew her as the captain’s wife and, as such, treated her with respect. She was kind enough to share the letters from Guntar with Alva and even offered to ask her son if he had news of Anders.
Despite the last visit, she swung by the hovel Anders’ mother lived in, only to find the woman and all her belongings gone. Apparently, someone in the family had taken her away.
Yuletide came and went. The birth of the new year occurred, and for the first time since she was a child, Alva spent it alone.
That dark time between Yuletide and spring hit her hard. Her mood sank, making it hard to hold on to hope.
The following spring, she packed the trousseau away. Her parents said nothing. Her friends and acquaintances didn’t have the same restraint.
“Probably dead.” The men.
“He ran off with a hussy.” The women.
Worse than the speculation were the pitying looks. They thought Alva deluded when she said that Anders was alive and would return.
So long as she believed it, he’d come back to her.
He’d promised.
Two years passed.
The village assumed Anders dead without saying so, and the men began their attempts to court her. She reminded them that she was promised. They laughed at her, often with derision.
At night, she tried not to cry.
By the end of the third year, she had no more tears and only the barest flicker of hope.
A few weeks before the third Yuletide without Anders, when the first snow started to fall, Guntar returned home.
CHAPTER SIX
Despite no one saying it to her face, Alva knew that Guntar walked into town alone.
It took her almost a week to muster the courage to knock on his door. The moment she did, she almost ran away. Her actions spoke of desperation. Still, what if there was a reason she hadn’t heard from Anders?
Perhaps he’d been injured and was recuperating. What if he’d lost his memories because of a head wound?
Could be the king, impressed by him, had immersed him in work so intensive that he had no time to send her word.
Or… Other reasons didn’t bear thinking, or she might start crying.
Just as she readied herself to spin and flee, the door opened. Light, warmth, and the smell of dinner spilled forth.
A young girl with blond curls in ringlets held back by a ribbon eyed her. Drusilla? Something along those lines. It had been years since she’d last seen her, as Guntar’s mother rarely visited the bakery, being one of those who tended to make her own meals.
Disdain and a smirk crossed Drusilla’s features, making things worse. “You must be here for my brother. Guntar!”
“Um.” She realized that Drusilla had the wrong impression. “I’m not one of his lady friends.”
“As if those women are ladies.” Drusilla snorted.
“I guess you don’t remember me. I’m Alva,” she reminded since the girl seemed to have forgotten meeting her.
“Alva who?” Drusilla’s nose wrinkled.
“The baker’s daughter.”
“Ah, I’ve heard of you.” The girl lifted her nose. “Didn’t your fiancé run off?”
“He joined the army.”
“Not what I hear.”
Her face definitely burned, and she started to turn, only to hear a deep voice.
“Alva. What a surprise.”
“Hello, Guntar.” She eyed him and noticed a handsome boy had become an even more attractive man. Thick in all the right places. His blond hair cut short, accenting his masculine features.
“I guess I know why you’re here.”
“Anders?” She said just the one word.
“Of course. Let me grab a jacket.”
Fall had slid into December and the start of winter. While the snow had held off, it wouldn’t be long before they were coated and preparing for the Yuletide.
Another one without Anders. How long would she keep delaying her future? While she waited, her friends had all married and begun their families.
“How are you?” she asked, suddenly shy. They strolled side by side up the road, lit by the windows and the spaced streetlamps with their burning oil.
“I’m good.” He paused. “You?”
“All right, I guess. It’s been a long time.” She made useless conversation as she balked, delayed asking what she really wanted to know.
“Three years,” he murmured softly.
“Has it been that long?” Her laughter sounded false.
“This is the first time I’ve been home since I left.”
“With Anders,” she prodded.
Guntar sighed. “You want news of him.”
She stilled and nodded. “I’ve heard nothing. Not a single word since he left. It’s not like him. He promised he’d write whenever he could.”
Guntar looked away, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Troubled. His words were low as he said, “Truth be told, I don’t know where he is. Last I saw him was in a storm on our way to the training camp. We lost sight of each other. I ended up digging myself a hole in a thicket to wait out the blizzard. The next day, when I emerged from my cocoon of snow and ice, I called for him. I looked for tracks. But it was as if Anders disappeared. I spent a day looking before continuing on my way to join the army. I kind of expected him to be there, waiting to mock me for being slow. But…”
“He never became a soldier?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think he made it out of those woods.”
“And you never thought to tell anyone?”
“How do you tell people in a letter that you think your friend is dead?”
She clasped her hands so hard they should have cracked. “He’s not. You never saw a body.”
“No, but I never saw him after, either.”
“He’s probably lost in there.” It happened. The Briar Forest could be tricky, even to those who knew it. Don’t stray from the path.
Guntar snorted. “Lost for three years? More likely, he decided that soldiering wasn’t for him and, rather than face the shame of explaining, chose to make a new life for himself.”
Hot tears fell as the truth she’d denied for so long hit her. “But why?” she whispered as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “He promised.”
He’d promised nothing would keep them apart…
As she sobbed, she felt alone. Devastated. Betrayed.
And then Guntar was hugging her, stroking a hand down her back, murmuring, giving her a shoulder to cry on. A long cry that left him soaked, and her looking a mess.
Her cheeks flushed as she pulled away. “I’m sorry.
“Don’t be. It’s my fault. If only I’d not lost him during that storm.”
“If anyone knows how to survive in bad weather, it’s Anders. I’m afraid you’re right, and I’ve been a fool. He wouldn’t be the first man to get a taste of the bigger world and not come home.” Her statement held more sorrow than bitterness.
“I’m sorry.”