Before she realized it, the sun had begun to set, painting the sky a deep orange. The city was quiet; the rations had extended to lamp oil and firewood, meaning that the nights were dark and cold.

She arrived at her assigned house, the entrance empty. She could hear the refugees in other rooms talking amongst themselves through the thin walls. Krause entered her room, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. Annemarie slept peacefully in her arms. The young French woman had left shortly after the death of her son, meaning that the room was the Krause family’s alone.

The sun was setting through the window, Henry casting a long shadow against their dining table in the hazy orange light.

“Julia, where were ya?” he asked.

“I was out getting our rations, and—”

“Ya should put Annemarie ta bed. We need ta talk.”

Krause watched her husband cautiously as she walked across the room to Annemarie’s crib. He was backlit by the setting sun, his face shrouded in shadow. Annemarie opened her eyes slightly as Krause lowered her into her crib, smiling and closing them again when she saw her mother above her. Krause smiled back nervously. She didn’t think she was prepared for what Henry had to say.

“Come sit down,” Henry said. “Where were ya?”

“I told you, I was at the market getting—”

“Ya think me a fool?”

Krause began to reply, but Henry cut her off.

“I know ya haven’t been gettin’ ya food from the rations. Ya bring home far too much, and I have no idea where ya actually get it from… Ya know, it feels like we haven’t talked, really talked, in months. Ya’ve been so distan’. At first I thought it was just me ‘maginin’ things, but… ya haven’t been the same since we got here, Julia. It’s like I don’t even know who ya are anymore.”

Krause sat silently, her mouth agape, eyes cast down, trying to think of how to respond to her husband. She couldn’t tell him where she had gotten their food from, or where she had been that evening. She couldn’t tell him the truth.

But if she couldn’t tell him the truth, what could she tell him?

“Ya’d tell me, righ’?” Henry asked. “If ya had… something… else ta attend ta...” There was an edge to his voice as he struggled to get the words out. His face was still cast in shadow, the deep orange light from the sunset slowly fading behind him.

Krause remained silent, thinking. Had he found out? Maybe she had not been as careful as she thought she had been. Maybe he saw her one evening, entering Saint Nicholas’ Church for a meeting. Even if he did, that alone wouldn’t be suspicious, would it? He would have assumed that she was merely attending church. He wouldn’t have immediately assumed that she was a member of the Church of the Beanmeister, would he? And if he did, he would have confronted her sooner. He had been open about his opinions toward the Church while they lived in Horb. Maybe he saw her entering Saint Nicholas’ Church and assumed she had joined the congregation without telling him, or maybe this conversation had nothing to do with the Church, and he had become suspicious of the increasing emotional distance between them.

Then, for a sickening moment, Krause thought about her family. She had felt this way before, the morning of the Bean attacks after Loretta confronted her in the cabbage fields outside her house. Maybe the Church really was getting in the way of her life, maybe the Church really was hurting her relationship with her husband, her daughter. Maybe the Church really was stopping her from being the mother Annemarie deserved, the wife Henry needed to help him through these difficult times. Was she using the Church as an excuse for how she was treating her family and friends? Was the Church so important to her that she would hurt her husband and neglect her daughter?

Henry sounded close to tears. “Ya’d tell me if there was... someone… else?”

A wave of relief washed over Krause.

Then, instinctively, she reached for her necklace. The small, silver cross was cold in her hands, the ruby in the center smooth from months of sliding her thumb over it. The relief that had flooded over her was quickly replaced by guilt and confusion. She felt tears streaming down her face before she realized she was crying. Her throat was tight, and she was barely able to choke out “Oh, no, Henry… No…”

The sun had set, bathing the table in the early stages of twilight. The room came into focus despite her tears. She could see her husband’s face clearly now. There was no sign of anger, only a tired sadness.

“That’s all ya have ta say?” he asked.

She couldn’t meet his eyes.

His hair was disheveled and greasy, matted with dirt from his long day of working with livestock. His face was equally dirty, the grime on his forehead streaked with lines of sweat, the dirt on his cheeks streaked with lines of tears. His hands, lying crossed in front of him on the table, were shaking slightly.

She looked into her husband’s eyes, who looked back at her, framed by dark bags. His beautiful hazel eyes, the eyes she fell in love with, were staring back at her with a mix of heartbreaking emotions. He looked miserable, his gaze distant, begging her to tell him the truth.

Above everything else, he looked exhausted. And she knew, at least partially, that it was her fault.

No.

It was completely her fault.

Krause realized she wasn’t breathing. She blinked, taking a sharp breath in. Her hands, still holding the necklace, were wet with tears.

Krause opened her mouth to explain herself to her husband. She knew exactly what she had to say.

A wave of cold washed over her body.

She closed her mouth. She knew that she was going to say something Henry wanted to hear, something to minimize the situation, deflecting the blame from herself at the expense of her husband. She knew she was about to say something that she would regret.

Henry stared at her.

She stared back, attempting to find a way to explain herself.

Henry got up from his chair. The sun had set fully, the twilight dying steadily outside the window. The room was dark now, Henry’s face again cast in shadow. He made his way to the door. “I’m going ta go on a walk… ta clear my head.”

“I’m sorry… I love you,” Krause said.

Henry closed the door before she could finish.

Krause stood still for a moment, the twilight dying around her, staring at the door her husband had just left through. She felt numb, standing there, all alone in the dark.

The first thing she thought once she returned to herself was that she would have to be more careful next time.

She hated herself for that.

Her daughter stirred in her crib. Krause wandered over to her, feeling as though she were floating outside her own body. Krause stared at her. She looked like her father; they had the same eyes, the same nose, though she had Krause’s mouth. She would be getting hungry soon, and Krause would have to feed her.

Her daughter lay in her crib, half asleep, smiling up at her mother. They really did have the same mouth. After she fed her daughter, she lay in her own bed, numb, waiting for sleep to take her.

That night, she dreamt of the Beanmeister.