The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [112]
Chloe nodded, suddenly unable to push words around the lump in her throat. Martine believed that Johann had died of heart failure without ever knowing what was taking place in the farmyard. And she believed that when that happened, after seventy-one years of marriage, Frieda’s heart simply stopped beating as well. Chloe had barely known the Frietags, but she missed them. The bond they’d shared made Chloe’s heart ache in ways she didn’t fully understand.
After seeing Martine win a medal, Markus and Chloe left the shooting area and wandered through the festival grounds. Children in regional folk costume darted past. The air smelled of brats and beer and pastry. As they neared the stage the alphorn performance concluded, and an accordion band took their place. When they launched into a lively tune, Markus took Chloe’s hand. “Will you dance a schottische with me?”
She smiled. “A schottische sounds good.”
After one or two hesitant steps, Chloe and Markus moved together as if they’d never been apart. They knew when to hold hands and skip-hop forward together; when to swing close and twirl. Chloe let the music sweep the sadness from her heart. By the time the piece ended, she was laughing and breathless.
“Let’s sit the next one out,” Markus said, and tugged her away from the crowd. Only then did he lean close and kiss her. She put her hands on his cheeks, feeling the angles of his cheekbones—almost forgotten, utterly familiar.
Finally he pulled away. “I have something for you,” he said. “Close your eyes.”
Chloe hesitated. “Markus, I—”
“Please.”
She felt a tiny whisper of unease, but obeyed. Markus placed something small and square on her palm. Her eyes flew open. She held a small jeweler’s box.
Markus swiveled the box lid open to reveal a diamond ring. One facet of the oval-cut stone sparkled in the sunlight. “Chloe, will you marry me?”
She struggled to find words. “Markus, we just—we can’t—”
“We can. We can make it work.” He spoke earnestly, the words coming faster and faster. “I wouldn’t ask you to move back to Switzerland. I’ll move here. I’ve already talked to Claude about it—”
“You’ve already talked to Claude?” The air suddenly felt insufficient for her lungs.
“—and I’ve talked with people in New Glarus who are planning to create a center for Swiss history and genealogical studies.”
“Markus—”
“I’ll have to work on a project basis for a while, picking up research jobs, but I can make that work. I can do family history stuff for people, too. And—”
“Markus, stop!”
“What?” He stared at her.
“You’ve done the same damn thing you did a year ago!”
“No I haven’t!”
“You’ve made all kinds of decisions for both of us. Last year you decided we were done. Now you’ve mapped out our future without even—”
“I wanted to prove how serious I am!” he protested.
“You talked to your boss before you talked with me. You talked with people at the historical society here before you talked with me.”
Markus stared over the festival grounds, then back at her. “I’m trying to take responsibility for what I did. Trying to make a formal commitment. And you still won’t forgive me?”
“I do forgive you, Markus.” Chloe spoke with a sense of wonder, because she hadn’t realized it was true. “I forgive you, but … I don’t want to marry you.”
“Take some time to think about it. Please. You don’t have to decide anything today.”
“Living with you in Switzerland was a wonderful adventure. But what we had there was all you, Markus. Your historic site. Your friends. Your country. I’m a stronger person than I was during our time together. I think … I really think we’re done this time.”
“Things can be different now!” he insisted. “I know we can make it work.”
“You didn’t even ask me if I like diamonds.” Chloe closed the jewelry box and pressed it back into his hands. “I don’t.”
The accordion band began a cheerful rendition of the Beer Barrel Polka. Markus opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Chloe kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Markus,” she whispered, and fled.
_____
Chloe tried