Tante Klegg put her hand out as if to separate them, but Gretchen’s mother had already shoved her away. Gretchen fell back in her chair, rubbing her jaw and staring at her mother with wide, wary eyes.
“You and everyone in this country lived a blessed life before the war,” her mother said, heaving from the table. “But we knew, your Tante Klegg and I. We left that behind. And now look, we live it again. There is no stopping human nature. What if he kills us in our sleep?”
“We’re taking care of him,” Gretchen protested. “He wouldn’t kill us.”
“Taking care of a man does not earn his loyalty. And if he has no idea of his past, it does not give you the right to take his identity from him!”
“What identity?” Tante Klegg said. “He said he remembers nothing.”
Gretchen’s mother closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “What if he wakes up, and his name is not Karl, and he is the man who shot the president? Do you realize what you subject us to if we do not turn him in? This is treason!”
Gretchen gnawed on her bread. “What if he never remembers?” she asked around the bread remaining in her mouth.
“Do not speak with food in your mouth. What if he does remember?” Tante Klegg said.
Gretchen’s chewing slowed. “If he remembers, then we’ll have to see what he remembers. If he killed the president, we turn him in. If he didn’t, we can’t turn in an innocent man.”
“He might be a fugitive from Camp Chase,” Tante Klegg pointed out.
The woman was infuriating. “Tante Klegg, you’re the one who told me to bring him in the house,” Gretchen said.
Gretchen’s mother began shouting in German. The way Tante Klegg frowned and Gretchen’s mouth dropped open made Karl assume Gretchen’s mother was swearing up a storm. When she finally stopped, everyone looked at each other, impressed.
Trying to downplay her mother’s fury, Gretchen popped a thick slice of onion into her mouth. “He’s too weak to escape, memories or not.”
“Food, Gretchen,” Tante Klegg ground out. “Chew it.”
“We have no reason to keep him here,” Gretchen’s mother said, glowering at Karl. “He speaks and moves well enough. He should take his chances.”
There was no way he would survive another night without shoes, or a hat, or some water. Karl settled his spoon beside his plate and stared at his lap. If this was how a bunch of women treated him, what would happen if he ran into a bunch of angry soldiers?
“And what are your thoughts on this?” Gretchen’s mother demanded of Karl. “You would allow my daughter to ruin herself, attached to a criminal?”
“I’m not attached to him!” Gretchen said, exasperated.
“Gretchen, you would do well to shut your mouth before she grabs you again,” Tante Klegg said.
“Don’t know as I’d say I’m a criminal, ma’am,” Karl said.
“You were in prison. You must have done something,” Gretchen’s mother pointed out.
Gretchen nibbled on her fingernail.
“Lots of men go to prison in war, ma’am, for lots of reasons,” Karl said.
“Papa would be unhappy with us for quarreling this way, Mama,” Gretchen said. “He believed in our president’s goals for a unified nation.”
Her mother scoffed. “He is our prisoner. He will do as we say until we are certain he did not shoot the president, and that the war will not start again.” She leaned forward, pointing at Gretchen. “You play in a world you do not understand, kleines mädchen. But you will learn soon.”
She took her plate of onions and boiled chicken with her as she left the room. She slammed her bedroom door. They heard the ropes creak as she plopped onto her bed.
“So I am to sleep in a bed smelling of onions,” Tante Klegg said. Ever since Gretchen’s father had left, Tante Klegg had taken to sharing a bed with her sister, leaving the attic to Gretchen.
Gretchen glanced at Karl and frowned. “What are we going to do with him?” she asked Tante Klegg. “We can’t hide him forever.”
Tante Klegg made a point of eating the rest of her meal before responding. Even though Gretchen fidgeted, she respected the silence. Karl, feeling his stomach churn now that Gretchen’s mother had left the room, dug into his food.
“You remember when Mr. Lincoln came to Columbus,” Gretchen said. “We read it in the papers. He wanted a united house. A house can’t get more united than ours right now, a Reb with a bunch of Unionists. He’s trying to get home, like Werner. Like Papa. Mama acts like I’m doing this to try to hurt her.”
“You do not have to try to hurt your mother, but it happens anyway. That is the problem,” Tante Klegg said and she patted her lips with her washing rag.
Gretchen leaned back in her chair, her expression the saddest thing Karlhad seen since leaving the prison.
“You will come to church with us tomorrow,” Tante Klegg told Karl. “You will sit in our pew. You will act as if you sing our songs.”
Gretchen cocked her head to the side. “Why would he do that?”
“Alina has seen him. She has told her father, we must assume this. Tomorrow is Easter, and we must go to church. Alina’s father the pastor will question why we have not brought our poor soldier friend.”
Gretchen pondered this. “But why should Karl have to pretend he knows our songs? ”
“He must show an effort to learn our ways, or no one will believe he is your verlobter.”
Gretchen hunched over her plate. “Oh, go on, pile on the agony. No one will believe we’re engaged no matter what we do. Everybody knows I’m going to be a spinster.”
Tante Klegg tapped her fork on the back of Gretchen’s hand. “Perhaps that would have been true yesterday, but yesterday, you did not undress in the presence of a man.”
“You can’t make me marry this man. That’s the rest of my life with a stranger! A stranger without memories!”
“What did you think was going to happen, bringing him in?” Tante Klegg asked.
“I thought… I thought we would give him time to heal, to make his way home.” Gretchen scratched the back of her head, disturbing her braids. “I wanted to help him, hoping someone would help Papa.” She looked out the window. “What if this doesn’t work? What if his memories come back and he is a murderer?”
“Men disappear all the time,” Tante Klegg said.
Gretchen blinked at her aunt, stunned.
“Do you understand me, Karl?” Tante Klegg asked. Her voice was gentle, and her gaze did not waver.
Karl looked up from his plate, his face red and his eyes sparking. “Yes, ma’am.”
President Andrew Johnson's Speech
Sunday, 16 April 1865 / Washington City, District of Columbia
THE POLICY HE IS LIKELY TO PURSUE.
In this morning’s Statesman we reproduce the speech of Andrew Johnson, now President of the United States, delivered by him on the 5th of April, at Washington City, on the reception of the news of the fall of Richmond. It will be seen that in this speech he took the position decidedly, that if the power were in his hands, he would arrest, try, convict, and hang the leaders of the Rebellion.
“Death to the conspirators” — “Death is too easy a punishment” — “for his that is willing to list his impious hand against the authority of the Nation” — “the halter to intelligent, influential traitors,” were utterances to which he gave emphasis. He seemed to regard it a duty to mold public opinion in conformity with these views. They are the views that have found special favor in the eyes of radicals in his party.
In view of the great calamity that has befallen the country in the assassination of President Lincoln, it is not likely that President Johnson will be moved to adopt a more humane policy toward the Rebels…
Ten
Sunday, 16 April 1865 / Grove City, Ohio
Gretchen hid a yawn behind her gloved hand. She squeezed into place between Karl and Tante Klegg on the church pew. While Tante Klegg had tended to the cow and chickens that
morning, Gretchen had fashioned their mourning accessories for church. Karl wore a black armband while Gretchen, her aunt, and mother tacked black ribbons to their bonnets. Gretchen wove the extra black ribbons in her hair, which she wore up. She could not remember the last time she had felt so tired or had seen the church so packed.
No, that was not true. Every Easter the congregation size swelled, only to trickle down again by the next week. Even so, the church was filled to bursting, no doubt because of Mr. Lincoln’s death.
Gretchen yawned again.
Pastor Baumbach frowned at Gretchen from the pulpit. He was tall, with a respectable beard and healthy belly. He spoke to the congregation, a brow raised in disapproval.
“This is a time for reflection and prayer now more than ever,” Pastor Baumbach said in his thick accent. This was his second meeting of the day. Usually, the German sermon happened on the week opposite of the English sermons. Today, the German sermon had preceded the English one, and everyone remained. There was hardly space for Gretchen’s family when they had arrived.
“It was only Friday when we celebrated the end of this terrible war and a Good Friday it was,” Pastor Baumbach said. “Yesterday, we heard of the great Republican martyr. Today, we mourn the loss of a great man and leader, the only soul who knew how best to heal this scarred country. Mr. Lincoln proclaimed freedom, and there was freedom! He led this sinning nation to the promised land. Yet, like Moses, he was not permitted to see the fruits of this promised land himself.”
Pastor Baumbach turned from Gretchen finally, and she released a breath she did not know she held.
“We know not what sort of evil condoned and conspired to carry out these terrible actions. But we all have seen how war changes a man.” Pastor Baumbach nodded to a returned soldier who sat in the front pew with slumped shoulders and one leg. “All we can do now is pray. Pray for our sacrificed leader, pray for all the dark souls involved in this crime. Encourage each other to turn to Christ for hope in this dark time. Watch for your families as they return home from battle. May we never see a war the like of this ever again.”
Pastor Baumbach sighed at his congregation and continued with regular worship.
Gretchen’s nostrils flared while hiding yet another yawn during the singing. Tante Klegg elbowed her. Gretchen grabbed the pew in front of her to keep from tumbling into Karl. Her fingers scratched the shoulder of the elderly woman in front of her, who turned to scowl.
Gretchen smiled her apology and released the pew. She rubbed her side, her expression mulish when she glanced at Tante Klegg.
Karl shivered beside Gretchen, and she saw great drops slide down his face and neck.
They sat for the sermon when the music concluded. Karl frowned the entire time until they stood again to leave the little wood frame church. Gretchen pushed Karl so he stepped into the aisle. She knelt to genuflect to the front of the church, mimicking her mother and aunt.
When Gretchen stood and looped her hand through Karl’s arm, he swayed. He waited for her to lead the way.
“Fräulein Miller, you must introduce your friend,” Pastor Baumbach said to Gretchen.
Karl froze. Gretchen let her hand slip a little, trying to step away from him, but Tante Klegg nudged them both closer to the door.
“Remember,” Tante Klegg whispered behind them, “you mustered out at Camp Chase. You are returning home to Ironton.”
Gretchen gulped as they inched closer, feeling sweat dripping down her back. She was not ready to lie to her pastor, though she often lied to Alina to pass the time.
Pastor Baumbach knew Gretchen’s every sin, since her mother delighted in telling him. And besides, Gretchen had admitted enough of her faults over the years. That she harbored a Confederate who could be Mr. Lincoln’s murderer was difficult. Lying about it to Pastor Baumbach’s face seemed to put Gretchen’s soul at even more risk.
Alina’s squeal bounced into the conversation from behind the pastor. “Oh Papa, you do not know? This is Gretchen’s verlobter!” Alina jumped into view. Her wide skirts swung as she dragged her mother by the arm up the few stairs to meet them in the doorway.
Gretchen pressed her lips together as everyone stared at her. Someone whispered they never thought the Miller girl would find herself a husband.
Pastor Baumbach’s eye twinkled in the glinting sunlight. He ran his hand down his short beard and asked, “Is this so, Gretchen?”
Gretchen dropped Karl’s arm and refused to step forward despite Tante Klegg poking her. Where would Alina have come up with such an idea? They had said no such thing yesterday before she left. Gretchen turned to swat at Tante Klegg and caught sight of her mother’s little smile. Gretchen’s stomach dropped, and her mind raced.
There could be no reason why her mother would say such a thing to Alina. Her mother wanted Karl out of the house as much as she wanted Papa and Werner back in it. Telling Alina that Karl and Gretchen were engaged would keep him around longer!
Then again, if Gretchen went along with Alina’s nonsense, it would be a great distraction while they helped Karl remember who he was. Arranged marriages were not that out of the ordinary, especially among German families. Other women married to take care of family farms while their fathers and brothers left for war. Some women even seemed to like their husbands.
Karl could have been someone Gretchen’s father selected before leaving for war. It could have happened.
Tante Klegg chuckled, which made Gretchen’s hair stand on end. “Dear Alina, so determined to marry off everyone.”
Alina reddened and straightened an invisible wrinkle in her skirts.
Pastor Baumbach studied Gretchen. “I have not seen him before, Gretchen. This is sudden.” He rubbed his beard. “But then, war forces us to make sudden decisions.”
Gretchen understood his undertone. He wanted to hear her say that this stranger meant something to her.
“This man is like Werner,” Gretchen said. “He is an injured soldier looking for home.”
Pastor Baumbach nodded. He noted the bandage around Karl’s head and the sweat beading at Karl’s temples.
“It is clear he is too ill to fight,” Tante Klegg chimed in, moving to grab Karl’s arm before his knees buckled.
“He is ill?” Pastor Baumbach asked, drawing a handkerchief from his sleeve to cover his mouth.
Tante Klegg shook her head. “He suffers from terrors, waking and sleeping. He does not know who he is. He does not know where he is. We brought him to church for healing of his mind.”
Gretchen stared at Tante Klegg. Her falsehoods were so smooth that even Gretchen believed them.
Pastor Baumbach reached forward to pat Karl on the shoulder, but Karl jumped back. “Do not worry, child. I mean only to give you blessings.”
“Reckon I’ll feel blessed enough from here, thank you,” Karl said.
Pastor Baumbach frowned. “Where did you say he was from?” he asked Gretchen’s mother.
“I did not say.” She picked up her skirts and inched around the small party.
“Do you approve of these doings?” Pastor Baumbach said to Tante Klegg once Gretchen’s mother left the church. “She is a child.”
“I’m fifteen,” Gretchen said.
“This is why we wait for her father,” Tante Klegg said in a sweet tone. “Her mother worries she is not ready, but I have seen her run the farm as her father would have wished. Gretchen is ready for more responsibility.”
Gretchen glanced at Karl. More responsibility sounded like adding another chore, not caring for a strange man in a strange land during strange times.
Karl was rigid, hands clenched at his sides. Sweat pooled under his arms and on his chest, and he vibrated with tension.
“He doesn’t know where he’s from,” Tante Klegg said, wrenching Gretchen out of her thoughts. “His head won’t let him remember.”
Pastor Baumbach’s mouth twisted.
“It’s like you said in the sermon,” Gretchen rushed, “we’re encouragin
g him to hope. It must be so scary to not know where you’re from.” She took Karl’s arm and inched around Pastor Baumbach and Alina. “I’m sure when he feels better we will have you over to visit. When Papa returns.”
“Gretchen!” Pastor Baumbach said, stopping Gretchen and Karl a few feet from the church door. “You must be careful in these dark days. We do not know who we can trust.”
Gretchen nodded and scurried away, dragging Karl with her. “We’ll need to figure you out sooner than we thought,” she said when they reached the wagon. She hitched her skirts, about to hike up onto the wagon seat to drive the horses back to the farm.
On second thought, she turned to shout, “Coming, Alina?”
Eleven
Sunday, 16 April 1865 / Grove City, Ohio
“Poor creature,” Alina crooned, dragging her fingers across Karl’s hand. They sat close together. Alina had not stopped touching Karl since entering the house.
Karl looked much better now that Tante Klegg had given him a bowl of stew.
“To not know who you are,” Alina said, shaking her head, “or where you are! It was so good of Gretchen and her tante and mütter to take you in, so good!”
Gretchen squirmed when Alina glared at her.
“Almost too good,” Alina said.
Tante Klegg, who stirred the evening stew, straightened but did not turn around.
“It must be so nice to be among friends again,” Alina said.
Karl nodded. He was careful not to look at Gretchen. He did not want to make it obvious that he had no idea what he should say.
Alina squinted at him. “Do you remember who told you to come to this house?”
“We said he doesn’t know who he is,” Gretchen said. “How could he remember who told him to come here?”
Karl raised his hand to silence Gretchen. “I can speak for myself, thanks.”
That made Tante Klegg whip around, dripping ladle in hand. Her brow quirked.
Gretchen shrugged as if to say, “Fine, it’s your hanging.”
The Last April Page 6
