“You did good, sweetheart.”
“My head hurts…and my throat.”
Etta spoke, moving a little farther from them. “Your throat hurts, Cassie?”
His daughter’s voice was strained. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And she has a fever?”
Her forehead burned against his palm, but he didn’t tell Etta.
“It hurts,” Cassie moaned again as she closed her eyes.
The train jolted forward again, slowly gaining speed along the tracks as he held his daughter. As the minutes passed, Cassie’s breath waned, and fear gripped him again. Alarmed, he whispered her name to wake her, and when she didn’t respond, he began to gently shake her. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and confused, almost as if she didn’t recognize him.
“Hang in there, sweetheart.” He held her close and rested his face on the top of her head. “I’m going to find someone to help you.”
Even as he said the words, he didn’t know where he was supposed to get help. If they got off the train in a farming town, no one would want to help a transient with an injured leg, nor would they want to come near his very sick girl. They would tell him to keep on riding, away from their town, and he couldn’t blame anyone for putting him back on a train. His daughter might be contagious, and he couldn’t afford a doctor’s bill to get her better.
He needed to press on to Des Moines. Perhaps they could find help in a public hospital.
Smoothing his hand over Cassie’s auburn braids, tears sprang up from a reservoir he thought was dry. If something happened to her…the end of her life would be the end of his too.
Cassie opened her eyes, her voice clear. “Do you see her, Papa?”
He followed her gaze to the dark corner of the car. “See who?”
“She has the prettiest blond hair.”
His heart lurched. “Who has blond hair?”
She pointed at the corner. “The angel.”
Cassie rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes once more, but her words shook him. Why was she dreaming about angels?
Etta gulped down a swig of her whiskey and glanced at him. “You’d best get off at the next stop.”
“I need to find work,” he stated, as if Etta didn’t already know how desperate he was.
“Next town is Homestead, Iowa. One of them Amana Colonies.”
“Amana Colonies?”
“You ain’t heard of the Amanas?”
He shook his head. He hadn’t heard of them, nor did he particularly want to hear about them right now. A plan was what he needed. Help for Cassie.
“They’re a strange folk,” Etta rambled. “They live in a world of their own, but they’re always good for a meal.”
He swallowed. Always good? Perhaps they would be good to Cassie and him.
“You’ve been to Homestead?”
“Oh no.” She chugged the whiskey again. “I ain’t needin’ no pity or piety.”
“Piety…” The word tumbled off his lips.
“Those Amana folks got all sorts of rules and prayers and traditions. They might give me a meal fast-like, but I’d muddy up their religion if I stayed too long. Probably boot me right out of their pretty little town before suppertime.”
What if he got off the train here and they booted him out of town? Then where would he go?
No, he couldn’t get stuck in the middle of Iowa’s farms and fields. He needed a city doctor who knew what to do. It wouldn’t be that much longer until they reached Des Moines.
The train started to slow again, but Jacob didn’t move toward the door.
“What are you doing?” Etta asked.
Cassie moaned against his chest. “I’m going to get off in Des Moines.”
As the train stopped, Etta moved closer to him, her finger waggling in his face. “You gotta git that girl of yours off this train before it’s too late.”
Without battle there is no victory; without night, day cannot follow.
Christian Metz, 1833
Chapter Five
The whistle of the Rock Island train snapped Liesel back to reality. How long had she been standing in the drizzle, staring at the railroad tracks? Three mill workers and two covered wagons waited by the depot, ready for the transfer of crates filled with woolen blankets from Amana onto a boxcar, but no one else lingered on the streets. Most of the villagers rested after the midday meal.
She brushed her hands over her wet sleeves. She should be in her room now as well, out of this dreary weather…but the thought of going back to her room seemed even lonelier than standing in the rain.
The whistle grew louder and the ground vibrated underneath her. The engine was still hidden behind the curtain of tree limbs, but its brakes squealed in the distance. Steam puffed over the crowns of the trees, and it looked like a dragon was about to surge into the sky.
Seconds later, a black engine pushed out of the forest, its wheels screeching against the tracks. For the briefest of moments, Liesel wondered if Sophie and Conrad had changed their minds. Perhaps they had turned around in Cedar Rapids and taken another train back home.
But this was the Rock Island line—coming from Chicago instead of Cedar Rapids—and it was a freight. The only passengers on those trains were hobos. Most of them wanted food, but very few wanted to do the work the Elders offered in exchange. Every once in a while someone opted to work in the fields or the mill, though these men rarely stayed longer than a month or two. The temptation of worldly pleasures lured them away from the Amanas.
The train stopped in front of the depot, and the mill workers unloaded their wooden crates into an open boxcar. The brakeman slid the heavy door shut, locking it behind him, and one of the workers lifted his cap at the engineer as the train edged forward. In two hours, Amana’s woolen blankets would be at their distributor in Des Moines, ready to ship across the country.
Guard against mental and physical idleness as a state in which the Enemy is able and likely to overpower you most easily.
She glanced down at her arms, the wet sleeves covered with soot. She didn’t want to move, but any minute the bells in the Glockenhaus would ring and the colonists would emerge from their homes to return to work. Even in the rain, she would join the other women in the garden, and the work would be good for her. A guard against the enemy’s power and threat in her life.
As she stepped toward the lone dirt road that traveled through their village, a groaning sound rumbled across the grass, followed by a cry. A sheep stuck his head over the fence, and Liesel reached out and rubbed her fingers over his matted head as she scanned the heads of the flock in the pen for an injured animal. None of the flock looked wounded or cast down.
The cry came again, and she strained her ears. The sound…it wasn’t an animal bellowing. Instead it sounded like a human cry.
Swiveling, she faced the tracks again, and on the other side, she saw the head of a man peering out over the tall grass.
Was this man crying? No, that didn’t seem right. He looked confused, but he wasn’t crying. He was calling something out. Cassie.
Standing still, she stared at the man. Why was he crouched down in the grass like that, shouting this word?
She glanced quickly around her. The mill workers were already riding away from the station. She raised her hands, trying to signal the men, but they didn’t see her waving, nor did they seem to notice the transient man as they headed north, toward the village of Main Amana.
Liesel took another small step toward the tracks and then another, watching the man on the other side. The prophet Isaiah commanded God’s people to defend the oppressed, and their Society cared for the transient men whenever they could. She’d talked to these men and ministered to them, but she’d never approached a transient by herself. She didn’t want to scare him.
She stopped walking.
What if she didn’t scare him? What if he threatened her instead? She’d read stories about dangerous men and heard of them, as well, from people passing through their town. She glance
d at the doctor’s residence behind her, across the street from the depot, and her confidence surged. If she screamed, at least Dr. Trachsel and his wife would hear and come running to help her.
The man was trying to stand up now. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore a brown sack coat over his matching waistcoat. Almost like he was a traveling businessman.
But why would a businessman be riding on a freight?
The man reached into the grass and then hoisted a lumpy bag over his shoulder. When he lifted his head, his eyes locked with hers. He wasn’t that much older than her and might even be a comely man if it weren’t for the sorrow etched in his gaze.
She stepped closer, staring at the load on his shoulder. At first she thought it was a bag of flour or clothes, but now it looked like he was holding…
Lord, have mercy.
It looked like he was holding a child.
Jacob’s leg buckled under him, so he crawled forward, searching until he found Cassie in the wiry grass. Her face was ashen as she struggled to breathe. Smoothing his hand over her hair, he pulled her close to him. If only she did have a guardian angel to help them both.
“Can’t breathe…,” she rasped when he lifted her in her arms.
He couldn’t carry her far, not with his injured leg, but perhaps he could signal for someone to help them. He hoisted Cassie farther, over his shoulder, and then scanned the village across the tracks, searching for some place to take his daughter.
On the other side of the tracks he saw a woman staring at him. Her hair was hidden under a long bonnet that enveloped her head and shoulders, and she looked frightened. When her gaze wandered from his face to the shoulders of his daughter, she picked up her skirt and raced toward him.
Cassie whimpered on his shoulder, and the woman gently placed her hand on Cassie’s back. “Ist das Kind krank?
Pain pierced the back of his leg as he tried to take another step. “What?”
“Ist das…” She hesitated. “Is your Kind sick?”
Kind? The word slowly sparked a memory. Kind. Child. The woman spoke German—the language his grandparents had spoken when he was a child.
“Ja,” he said, limping toward the tracks. “She’s very…sehr krank.”
Her eyes traveled down to his knee and then to the blood-soaked hem of his trousers. “You are ill too?”
“Nein,” he started, but there was no use lying. It was obvious he’d injured his leg. “It’s a small wound.”
“Not so small,” the woman said, before holding out her arms. “Let me carry her.”
He shook his head, clutching Cassie to him. It didn’t matter how much his leg hurt. No stranger was carrying his daughter.
The woman glanced around their feet, and when she spotted his satchel, she flung it over her shoulders as if the bag was filled with cotton instead of clothes and books. Then she turned back to him, her arms outstretched again. “Let me have her.”
He lifted his leg over the track, trying to ignore the pain. Cassie’s breath was shallow as she lay against his chest. “I need to carry her.”
The woman studied him, as if she might wrestle Cassie out of his arms, but she relented. Looping her arm under his left arm, she helped him maneuver across the tracks.
“The doctor lives over there.” She pointed at a stately brick home across the street. “He can help you.”
Relief washed over Jacob and he moved faster, leaning on her for support. They strode toward a weathered barn surrounded by a slew of fencing and sheep. The animals gathered to the side of the fence to watch them, but Jacob’s eyes were on the home in front of them. If he had to, he’d get down on his knees and beg the good doctor to help them.
“If Dr. Trachsel is away, his wife can help.”
A lump formed in his throat. The doctor had to be home today, and he had to help them.
The woman released his shoulder to knock on the door, and within seconds an older woman answered, wearing a dark calico dress identical to the woman at his side. Her hair was pulled back sternly away from her face, but her eyes were kind.
“Liesel?” She glanced back and forth between him and Liesel and then she focused on Cassie’s braids. “Was ist das?”
“It’s her throat,” he said. “She’s having trouble breathing…and she has a fever.”
The woman reached for his shoulder and pulled him into the door. “Quickly now.”
She led them to the second room in the house, and he laid Cassie on a narrow bed. His daughter opened her swollen eyes, peeking out at him, and he kissed her hot forehead. “It’s going to be fine.”
She tried to smile back. “I know, Papa.”
Liesel handed him a wet cloth and he looked up, surprised that she had joined him in the room. Her bonnet was on the countertop and strands of her pale blond hair stole out of her hairnet, but her eyes were wrought with worry as she examined Cassie’s face. For a moment, it felt good to have someone worry with him.
He wiped the cold cloth across Cassie’s forehead, and his daughter reached for his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back.
The doctor rushed into the room, his unkempt hair pressed to his scalp. Slipping a pair of spectacles over his nose, he glanced down at Jacob’s bloody pant leg. “Sprechen sie Deutch?”
Jacob handed the wet cloth back to Liesel. “Ein bisschen.”
“So we speak English, ja?”
He didn’t care what language they spoke as long as the doctor could make his daughter well again.
“You have injured your leg, yes?”
The doctor crouched down to look at his calf, but Jacob waved him toward the bed. “My daughter is sick.”
The doctor stood, his gaze pivoting from Jacob’s leg to Cassie’s face. Stepping rapidly away from Jacob, the man retrieved a tongue depressor off the counter. In rapid sequence, he listened to Cassie’s heart, felt her forehead, and probed the sides of her neck.
His daughter gasped, struggling against the man’s strong hands.
“Rosa!” the doctor shouted over his shoulder, and seconds later, his wife entered the room with a basin of water in her hands and clean cloths draped over her arm.
As he rattled off instructions in German, Rosa set the basin on the counter and riffled through a cabinet until she removed several bottles and a hard rubber tube. She handed the tube to the doctor, and without even glancing at Jacob for permission, the man slid it down Cassie’s throat.
Jacob jumped, reaching for the tube, but the doctor blocked Jacob with his arm. “Halt, mein Freund.”
Cassie gagged at first, choking, and for a moment Jacob was back in that drab hospital room in Chicago, dying inside himself as he tried to help Katharine breathe her last breath.
The doctor was hurting Cassie. Suffocating her. He’d brought her to a doctor for healing, not to make her worse. He struggled against the doctor’s arm. Losing his wife was too much. He couldn’t lose Cassie too.
He pushed harder, intent on overpowering the man, but in the midst of his struggle, Cassie’s breath filtered through the tube and into the air. It was a small breath at first, but then she breathed again, deeper this time. Her body fell back against the bed, and Jacob slumped into a chair.
The doctor barked out another order, and his wife handed him a syringe. Jacob stared at the needle. He should be doing something—consulting with the doctor and asking questions before they treated his daughter—but the doctor didn’t even glance his way. Something was terribly wrong, and Jacob decided not to fight the man.
The doctor held the syringe in the air, checking the measurements in the light before he poked the needle into Cassie’s upper arm. Cassie bolted upright in the bed, screaming, and the doctor yelled for help. Liesel rushed to his side, bracing Cassie’s arms as the doctor emptied the medicine into her skin.
Helpless. The feeling returned with a vengeance, the same feeling that had haunted him for a year. All he could do was sit to the side and hold Cassie’s hand; he was unable to give her much comfort
or help make her body better. He was a useless father to this precious child.
“Let her go,” the doctor said in English, and Liesel released her hold on Cassie’s shoulders. Cassie’s eyes flickered shut, and Jacob stared at his daughter.
This was how it happened before. He was with the doctor trying to save Katharine, when she slipped away from them. He’d lost his wife in those healing hands and now…
He buried his head in his hands. He couldn’t bear to lose his daughter too.
The doctor clasped his shoulder. “She is resting, my friend.”
Jacob lifted his head and looked into the man’s kind face. The doctor turned toward Liesel and his wife. “You both need to leave this room.”
His wife nodded and shuffled out, but Liesel didn’t move. “What is it?”
The doctor glanced between Liesel and Jacob. “She has diphtheria.”
Jacob’s heart plunged. Diphtheria… Diphtheria lingered on the threshold of death’s door.
“Where are you from?” Dr. Trachsel asked.
Jacob’s gaze lingered on Cassie’s still face. “Chicago.”
“You have had diphtheria there, ja?”
“A few cases, but not in my neighborhood.”
“It spreads like fire.”
Jacob opened his mouth, wanting to ask something, but he didn’t know what to say.
Liesel stepped forward, addressing the doctor. “Will the antitoxin cure her?”
“We must pray that God will cure her.”
Jacob was good at praying, but God wasn’t very good at answering his prayers.
“You need to go home, Liesel.” Dr. Trachsel washed his hands in a basin. “This girl must be quarantined. Sofort—immediately.”
Liesel’s chin rose a notch. “Someone must care for her.”
The doctor glanced over at him, like he was doubtful Jacob would be much help. “Her Vater will assist me.”
Liesel pointed at his leg. “Her Vater is injured.”
Harsh fragments surged out of the doctor’s mouth like rocks plunked into a riverbed. Sick. Danger. Death. Jacob almost wished he couldn’t understand German.
Love Finds You in Homestead, Iowa Page 4
