Rapture's Betrayal Read Online Free

closed with a click; Agnes Van Atta had left the room.
    Kirsten stretched and wondered why she was so tired. Her eyes widened as the memory of the injured soldier came to her. Was he all right? She hoped he was comfortable and that he hadn’t somehow stumbled from the sanctuary of the mill.
    He’ll need the poultice . . . and something to eat. Kirsten began making a mental list of supplies for her patient. Then she gasped, remembering that she’d left her mud-encrusted shoes to dry on the front stoop. There would be an awful scene if her mother discovered that she’d been out last night.
    â€œKir-sten!” Her mother’s high-pitched shrill made Kirsten flinch.
    Drat. It was too late; her mother must have found the footwear. “I’m coming, Moeder .”
    Kirsten opened the alcove doors and peered out cautiously. As she’d feared, her scowling mother stood not far from the bed, a damp shoe in each hand.
    â€œGood morning!” The young woman beamed at her mother. “A wonderful day, isn’t it?”
    â€œDon’t you good morning me, young woman! Not when you can see what I’m holding!”
    â€œYou mean my shoes?”
    Agnes Van Atta’s lips twitched with annoyance. “Of course, your shoes!”
    â€œAre you upset?” Kirsten padded in her bare feet across the cold floor to the kast , the wardrobe, from which she took out the day’s clothes. She laid these garments carefully on the bed before she pulled off her nightgown.
    â€œOf course, I’m upset!” her mother said. “You were out during the night again!”
    â€œThere was a storm.” Kirsten sat on a chair to put on her stockings.
    â€œWhat were you doing?” Her mother looked concerned. “Your vader will not like this.”
    â€œWhat are you going to tell him?” Kirsten blinked in pretended innocence. “That he should be angry because I saw to the animals? That I finished the milking before you rose from your bed?” She turned from her mother as she slipped on a second striped petticoat. Next, she donned a dress of blue calico.
    â€œYou’ve finished the milking?” Agnes asked, sounding surprised. Kirsten nodded as she slipped on her apron and tied the strings.
    â€œAnd the chickens—they are fed?” her mother asked.
    â€œOf course, Moeder. That reminds me—I must tell Vader that we need more feed.” Kirsten straightened her bedding and closed the alcove doors. She could sense that her mother’s anger had cooled as she put away her nightgown and shut the kast. The spring nights were cool, and the need for warmth made quilted bedcovers and light flannel gowns customary.
    There had been no need for her lie. She had seen to the animals before going to bed so that she could sleep later in the morning. But Kirsten would have fabricated an excuse if necessary. A man’s life was at stake.
    She braided her hair and then pinned up her silver blond plaits. When she was done with her toilet, she grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and proceeded to sweep the bedchamber floor.
    â€œAnd just what do you think you’re doing?” her mother asked. She had not yet left the room.
    Kirsten sighed as she met her mother’s gaze. She was tired of being treated like a child. Her parents meant well—she knew they feared for her safety—but . . . “I’m doing my chores, Moeder .”
    â€œWhat about your shoes?” Wrinkling her nose with distaste, Agnes raised the muddy footwear. “Really, Kirsten, you should take better care of your belongings.”
    â€œI’ll clean them.” Flushing, Kirsten reached for her shoes.
    Her mother shook her head. “Never mind, daughter. Go ahead with your sweeping. I’ll put them outside—you can clean them later.” She moved toward the door. “When you’re done sweeping, you had best clean the hearth. You’ll need a clean