The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest by Melanie Dickerson Page B

of Odette’s virtues, and everyone grew quiet. “More than fifteen years ago, my beautiful niece’s father and mother died in the Great Pestilence. As I had been in the Orient, it took four years for word to reach me.” He looked down at Odette. “Bringing Odette to live with me here, in this house in Thornbeck, was the best thing I ever did. No man could ever ask for a better niece, and indeed, she is more like a daughter to me. She is kind, intelligent, and never idle, either in mind or in body. The man who can finally convince her to marry him will be a fortunate man indeed.”
    Everyone around the table murmured their approval. Odette’s cheeks turned pink.
    “For the joy that she gives to me and to everyone privileged to know her, please raise your goblets and drink to my niece, Odette Menkels.”
    Jorgen lifted his goblet with the rest of the guests. Odette was blushing redder now. She smiled and allowed her gaze to meet the eyes of the guests around the room. When the conversation started to rise again, she fidgeted with the cloth napkin across her lap.
    “It is a lovely evening,” Jorgen said. “Your uncle seems to think very well of you.”
    She looked up, a glint in her eyes. “I am blessed to have him as my guardian. I’m sure most would never allow me so much . . . freedom. And, ja , it is a lovely evening. I hope the sky is clear for your journey home tonight. How far is it?”
    “Less than half an hour.”
    “Do you live alone?”
    “My mother lives with me.”
    “I see. Is she in good health?”
    “ Ja , for a woman of her age.” He smiled.
    She smiled back. “And do you have brothers or sisters?”
    “I had a sister. But she died. My adoptive mother was unable to have children. She often helped the poor children who came to her door looking for food. When I was ten years old, her husband, the old gamekeeper, brought me home and they adopted me as their own. I was also orphaned by the Great Pestilence.”
    Odette had been staring alternately at his eyes, then his lips, as he spoke. She seemed to listen intently.
    Mathis’s voice broke into their conversation. “I wondered if you would tell Odette how you spent your childhood on the streets, stealing from vendors and shopkeepers.”
    Like a rat. It was the taunt Mathis and his friends had used to plague Jorgen when he was a boy attending the town school. The priests who ran the school would sometimes scold the boys, but Jorgen had been forced, many times, to defend himself with his fists after lessons were finished. Mathis laughed as though it were all in jest.
    “But that was a long time ago.” Peter suddenly joined the conversation. “Jorgen is doing well for himself, impressing the margrave. As for Mathis and me, we have done little to distinguish ourselves besides go to parties in our fathers’ stead.”
    No one spoke. Finally Odette broke the silence. “The gamekeeper and his wife sound like good people.” She lifted her chin in Mathis’s direction. “And I am sure they were blessed to have Jorgen for a son.”
    Mathis squirmed but was quick to say, “As your uncle has beentelling me, you are a compassionate woman, very concerned for the poor. That is an admirable quality.”
    “Children deserve to be treated kindly, whether they are rich or poor. A child cannot control his own fate.”
    Mathis nodded meekly. He reminded Jorgen of one of those miracle players who performed on the church steps or in the Marktplatz , playing a part to elicit a reaction.
    Some minstrels came into the room and began to play and sing a soft ballad, and the last course of the meal was brought in on platters—cake with apples and dates decorating the top, and a subtlety made in the shape of a swan. The guests all applauded the intricately devised bird made entirely of white almond paste, except for the black eyes, which appeared to be sultanas, and an orange beak, perhaps made of carrot. The feathers were quite detailed.
    Odette clasped her hands