“If what I hear is true, the elders should discipline Frieda,” said Mother Kaufmann, with a sneer. “It hath come to my ears that she hath often spoken with Joseph Hoff.”
Frieda Bergen bent her head over her work. A telltale blush overspread her delicate skin, and her hand trembled as she took up her distaff.
“Frieda Bergen hath the right to love Joseph Hoff if she chooseth,” said Mother Werther, rising from her chair and walking the length of the room to the place where the girl sat. “Love may be a foolish thing in the eyes of Zanah, but it bringeth its reward.”
“Thou art teaching heresy, Sister Werther,” said Mother Schneider. “If the elders knew of thy heterodoxy thou wouldst have to do penance through some hard task.”
Mother Werther smiled in a tantalizing way. She drew in a long breath as she were about to retort, and then, thinking better of it, went back to her work.
“If Frieda is wise she will follow the example of some of us who have served God faithfully all unmindful of man,” said Mother Kaufmann. Her remark was too much for Mother Werther. Dropping her flax, the innkeeper’s wife put her hands upon her hips and laughed.
“And hast thou always been unmindful of Gerson Brandt?” she inquired.
“Mother, thou shouldst put an end to this unseemly talk,” said Gretchen Schneider.
“Yea, thou hast something to fear lest it be remembered how narrowly thou hast escaped love,” said Mother Werther.
“Stop thine unruly tongue,” admonished Mother Schneider.