Copper Star

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  A nagging thought kept popping up but I squelched it. Was I listening to God about my future? Of course I was! I assured myself. I was convinced God would want me to return to Germany as soon as the war was over.

  Reverend Hubbell came over after the service for a light supper of soup and sandwiches before driving back to Douglas. After the blessing, we passed around dishes, and I waited for an opportunity to ask him something that had been needling me.

  “Reverend Hubbell,” I asked, “do you know a minister in Douglas named Sid Carter?”

  “Sid Carter?” he wheezed. “No, can’t say that I do.”

  “Are there many ministers in Douglas?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. Just a handful. I know just about everyone in that town. Never heard of a Sid Carter.”

  I knew it. I just knew it.

  After he left, William and I spent the afternoon at loose ends. Finally Miss Gordon spoke up. “What is the matter with the two of you? You’d think someone had died. For the love of heaven, he’ll be back before you know it.”

  I laughed and turned to say to William, “Do you miss your Dad? You look sad.” I made a greatly exaggerated sad face.

  “Dad home?” he asked.

  “He will come home in three weeks. Twenty-one days,” I answered, pointing to the calendar on the wall and counting off the days to underscore what I was saying.

  William sighed.

  Miss Gordon was right. We needed to get our minds on other things. When she went upstairs to take a nap, I took William out for a bicycle ride. I ran alongside him, up and down the street, Dog galloping along beside us. William didn’t really need me trailing him, so I sat down on the grass with Dog and watched him ride. “Not far,” I said, using my hands to gesture that he should stay close.

  “Okay,” he yelled as he pedaled madly down the street toward town.

  Rosita came outside and sat down with me. “Louisa, did William just say ‘okay’?”

  “Yes! That is one word that he can say clearly. Isn’t it amazing?”

  She smiled, eyes locked on William. “Father Gordon must be so happy.”

  “He is.” I had stopped correcting her title for Robert long ago.

  “Seems empty here with him gone.”

  “He’ll be back soon enough,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

  “Louisa?” she asked with a shy grin. “I have some happy news. You are the first to know. Ramon and I, we are expecting a baby!”

  I hugged her. “Oh, Rosita! That is wonderful news! That is the best news I have heard in a long while.”

  She chattered away about the baby as I watched her, soaking up her happiness.

  Suddenly, I remembered William. I hadn’t seen him bicycle back toward me in the last few minutes. Any time he had a little taste of freedom, it meant we ended up with a visit from Herr Mueller. An irate and apoplectic Herr Mueller.

  I excused myself from Rosita and went down the street to look for his red bicycle. I found it leaning against the Muellers’ fence. Herr Mueller’s car was parked on the street. I looked around for William but couldn’t find him. Then I saw him scurry around to one of Herr Mueller’s car tires, preparing to let the air out of the tire. Quickly, I rushed to him. “William,” I said with a stern look of warning. “No!”

  He looked back at me with complete innocence written on his face. He grinned and ran to get his bike. He pedaled home as I followed behind him.

  What I didn’t realize was that he had already flattened one tire by the time I interrupted him. Nor did I notice the baked potato from last night’s dinner stuffed into Herr Mueller’s car tailpipe. Herr Mueller informed us of those indiscretions later that day in another angry outburst that left Miss Gordon nursing a violent headache.

  On Wednesday morning, Miss Gordon and I took William to Bisbee to meet Mrs. Morgan. Violet, she told us to call her. Her personality was just like the flower. Soft and warm like a spring day. She wanted some time alone to evaluate William, so I took Miss Gordon over to the Prospector’s Diner. Wilma winked at me when we sat down. “Hi, Wilma,” I said, greeting her like an old friend.

  “Hey ya, dollface. When are ya coming to work for me?”

  “The diner is just a little too far from where I am living, but I thank you for the offer.”

  “Whatcha gonna have?”

  “I’d like boiled leaves. What would you like, Miss Gordon?”

  “Actually, I’ll have a cup of joe and a life preserver,” she answered.

  “You got it, dollface,” Wilma said, working the gum in her mouth over to one cheek.

  “Miss Gordon, you never cease to amaze me!” I said, laughing.

  She tried not to look pleased, but smiling eyes betrayed her. Wilma brought her back a cup of coffee with a doughnut and a cup of tea for me. We sat in the quiet, enjoying the atmosphere of the diner. I hesitated to disturb the pleasantness of the moment, but I had been longing to ask her something. I had learned, through experience, it was always best to wait until she was in a good mood. The timing seemed right so I plunged ahead. “What was she like?”

  “Who?” She looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

  “Ruth.”

  Miss Gordon stiffened her shoulders, reminding me of Robert. It was the first mannerism I’d ever observed that they shared. “You should ask Robert,” she said in a clipped tone.

  “I have. He has told me a little about her. I just wondered what your impressions were of her.”

  She sighed and looked out the window for a long moment before answering. “Well, she was beautiful. Like a movie star.”

  I hoped she would elaborate. The Gordons could never be accused of sharing more information than was absolutely necessary.

  “Did you like her?”

  “Like her? At first, I suppose. She could be charming when she wanted to. She and Robert were sweethearts in high school. They seemed like a perfect couple. He so handsome and she so pretty.” Her face softened, as if lost in a sweet memory. Then it hardened again. “She was determined to have him, that’s for sure.” She stopped and sipped her coffee, dipping her doughnut in the steaming brew, slowly chewing. Maddeningly slow.

  “So she changed after they married?” I prompted.

  She breathed in and out. “Before, I think. They were engaged while he was in seminary and then when his folks died, he decided to come back to Copper Springs.” She took a long sip of coffee.

  I knew I had to wait patiently for more details.

  “She was furious with him for not being willing to leave Copper Springs.” She folded the napkin on the booth. “I’m not sure she ever stopped being angry.”

  “But they married despite that?”

  “Robert had promised to marry her. He’s a man of his word.”

  That was certainly true. That’s why I was here in his home. He had kept his promise to Dietrich, too.

  “I guess she figured she could persuade him to go back to New York after they married. But he wouldn’t budge.” Then, resuming her businesslike manner, she asked, “why are you asking me about her?”

  “It’s just so hard to imagine a woman who could leave her own child, much less a husband.”

  “Robert certainly deserved far better. He deserves far better.”

  I nodded.

  She put her coffee cup down and peered at me with those arched eyebrows. “I wouldn’t want to see him hurt again. Nor William.”

  Her comment caught me off guard, partly because I had not considered Miss Gordon to be overburdened with perception and partly because I shared her concern. My eyes welled up with tears. I looked down at the now tepid tea cup in my hands. “I never meant for this to happen,” I whispered.

  “Love doesn’t come with a warning,” she said in a brisk tone, but there was tenderness in her eyes.

  “That’s not it…” I started. “I belong back in Germany.”

  “Seems to me everyone you knew in Germany is either dead or arrested,” was her dry response. “Seems to m
e you were rescued from a doomed life.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Now, let’s be off. It’s time to get William.” She slid out of the booth and went to pay Wilma.

  I just sat there for a while, holding my tea cup, stunned by her harsh closing words. Kindness was fleeting with Miss Gordon.

  When we arrived back at Violet Morgan’s house, we found the pair still hard-at-work. Violet was complimentary about William’s progress but gave us specific assignments to improve his enunciation.

  I had an ulterior motive of my own in wanting William to be able to express his thoughts. I wanted to get to the bottom of why William always targeted Herr Mueller for pranks. So far, all I’d been able to get from him was “Man bad.”

  That much I knew.

  Once, as we watched Herr Mueller from the broken window in the library, William said to me, “Man bad. Girl go. Man take Girl.” It made me wonder if William had ever seen Herr Mueller with Glenda when we’d been in the library.

  “You can’t rush this, Louisa. It’s best to keep building the foundation of vocabulary,” advised Mrs. Morgen, without even knowing there was something I was trying to understand from William.

  Patience, I sighed—a quality I had always had in short supply.

  As we left her house, I noticed a little “room for let” sign by the door. Tuck that away for later, I thought to myself, as an idea started to blossom.

  Chapter Eleven

  I jumped out of bed one night to run downstairs and find Robert. I had been reading information about schools for the deaf. Gallaudet University in Washington D.C., founded by Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet as a school for deaf students, had a football team.

  Back in 1894, the team’s star quarterback invented the concept of the football huddle. The quarterback worried that other teams—deaf and hearing—were stealing his hand signals at the line of scrimmage. He gathered his players in a huddle to keep his sign language private. Other teams borrowed the idea; soon the huddle became as much a part of the game as helmets and pads.

  Robert would love to hear this story. He enjoyed football and had taken William and me to the local high school’s games last fall, even though the Copper Springs Coyotes hadn’t won a game since he had graduated over fifteen years ago.

  “It doesn’t matter if they win or lose, Louisa, we need to support our team,” he would say, loyal to the end.

  I almost got down to the last step before I remembered he wasn’t home. He was still in North Carolina.

  The next two weeks inched along. I kept fighting off a strange feeling of anxiety, like something terrible was coming. The last time I had that persistent dread was just before I left Germany, when I first realized that the Gestapo was watching me.

  For a week, a grim looking man followed me from place to place. He didn’t try to keep himself hidden; he was purposely trying to intimidate me. As I thought back to that Gestapo agent, I realized why Herr Mueller’s presence made me so edgy. Herr Mueller had the same disconcerting manner of appearing out of nowhere, watching me, unconcerned if I noticed.

  We finally received a postcard from Robert, addressed to William with a message added for Miss Gordon, but nothing written to me.

  A significant omission.

  I woke up one night from another bad dream, turned on my light, and picked up my Bible, opening it up to Psalm 68. “God setteth the solitary in families,” wrote the Psalmist.

  That couldn’t be meant for me, Lord. I’m not lonely. I’m fine on my own. I just want to make a difference. I’ll do that if you will just get me back to Germany.

  I didn’t feel the peace that I usually found in prayer. Why did God seem so distant? Why didn’t He respond like He usually did?

  Reverend Hubbell had added a remark at the end of last Sunday’s sermon that kept gnawing at me. “When you’re churning,” he roared out in his pulpit voice, “God’s truth can’t find an anchor.”

  The next afternoon, I drove the Hudson, quite skillfully I felt, to visit Glenda and Betty. I scarcely recognized Glenda. Her eyes had a lightness of spirit I’d never seen before in her. We sat down to have tea under the shady porch.

  When Betty went inside to make another pot of tea, I unveiled my plan. “There’s a room to rent over in Bisbee in a woman’s house. Her name is Mrs. Morgan. She’s a retired schoolteacher from the Southwestern School for the Deaf, and she is tutoring William a few times a month. And Glenda, that’s not even the best part! I can help you get a job at a diner near Bisbee!”

  I expected Glenda to look delighted, but she looked indifferent. I felt terribly disappointed. “What’s wrong? I thought you might like this idea.”

  “Miss Louisa, I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do.” She gazed at me. “But I just ain’t ready.”

  “But you’re healed now! And this plan would help you get Tommy back. Don’t you want to get him back as soon as possible?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Yes, I do. And I got something that’ll help me get him back.” She looked directly at me, an unusual thing for Glenda. “But not ‘til I’m ready.”

  The “something” she referred to must be the ring. Did she know I had taken it? I would’ve loved to question her about it, to confess I had removed it from the sweater in her closet, to ask if Herr Mueller had been the one who hurt her and ask why she took the ring in the first place.

  For a moment, I felt we were dancing around the subject. But I said nothing. I had made a promise to Robert to leave it alone. And a promise is a promise.

  Glenda interrupted my thoughts. “I do thank you for your trouble, Miss Louisa, but I just ain’t ready,” she repeated.

  Not ready? Not ready? What was the matter with people in this town? No one seemed to be ready for change. When I first arrived in Copper Springs, Robert didn’t want William to be taught how to communicate because he didn’t think William was ready. He was wrong. Glenda had been beaten up at the tavern where she worked but wasn’t ready to make a change. And here I had a job and a place to stay for her!

  Lord, give me patience! I silently demanded.

  “Miss Louisa, the thing is that Miss Betty’s been teachin’ me a lot about the Bible, and I just ain’t ready to leave it yet. I spent a life without it and got myself into a heap of trouble. It just seems as if it wouldn’t hurt me none if I took a little more time to get acquainted with it before I get on my way.”

  Just then, Betty came outside with the teapot and poured us each a fresh cup.

  “The truth is, Miss Louisa, I just never figured God thought much of me,” added Glenda.

  “And He sure does,” reassured Betty. “One of the great mysteries of all time is that God cares about each and every last one of us. Says so in the Good Book. Am I right, Louisa?” she asked, looking to the pastor’s houseguest for official confirmation of theology.

  My heart sank; it felt as heavy as a brick. ”Yes, Betty,” I said. “Yes, you’re right.” Oh Lord, what was the matter with me? What was happening to me that I thought I had the right answer for everybody? About everything?

  I felt a sting as I thought of that verse Reverend Hubbell pointed out at church, when I could have sworn he looked straight at me as he spoke: “A fool’s voice is known by a multitude of words.”

  Chagrined, I stood up to leave and reached over to hug Glenda. “Of course I understand, Glenda. I’m sorry if I pressured you. I just want to help. I’m much too eager. It’s one of my worst faults.”

  * * *

  The following day, William and I were returning back from the library when we spotted Robert standing on the front porch, home from his trip, talking to Miss Gordon.

  William galloped to greet him, and Robert scooped him up for a hug. But as soon as I reached him, I could tell things had changed. Or rather he had changed toward me. He greeted me almost like a stranger.

  “How was the meeting?” I asked with interest.

  “Good. It was excellent. Well worth the trip,” he answered without elaborating.

 
“Did they thoroughly cover dispensationalism?” I asked.

  “Thorough is just the right word for it.”

  “And Peter Marshall? Did you get to meet him?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” Then he turned to his aunt. “Aunt Martha, Dr. Marshall had the thickest Scottish burr I’ve ever heard. Just like Grandfather Gordon’s.” And with that, they went into the house, as Robert continued his stories from his trip.

  As I remained alone on the front porch, it struck me that just a few weeks ago, he would have wanted to share these stories with me.

  The next week reminded me of when I first arrived in Copper Springs. Robert stayed away from the house, insisting he needed to catch up on work. There was probably some truth to that, but I knew there was more to it. He was avoiding me. I had hurt him, and I didn’t know how to get things back where they used to be.

  One morning, as I was getting dressed for breakfast, I could hear Robert’s and Miss Gordon’s voices downstairs in the kitchen. It caught my attention because Robert didn’t like to talk at breakfast. He liked to read the morning paper in the peace and quiet of a new day, he often said.

  Do not eavesdrop, Louisa. Do not eavesdrop, I told myself over and over, as I inched closer to the radiator. But then I heard someone mention my name. I carefully unscrewed the cap of the radiator and leaned my ear against it.

  “Robert, put down that paper and listen to me,” I heard Miss Gordon order. “I said that Cousin Ada wrote to ask if Louisa could come and stay with her this summer. She says she’s been pining for company since her Teddy died last winter. I thought I should write her back today but I don’t know what excuse I should give her to say that Louisa can’t come. You know how insistent Ada can be when she gets something in her head.”

  I heard the rustle of the newspaper as Robert put it down on the table. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”

  “What? Why would you say that? You know how devoted William is to her.”