Tante Klegg nodded. “And when the stakes became life threatening, you stopped consulting me. You gave him a name. You adopted him as your project. You decided you knew better. You decided he should be your friend, without knowing anything about him. All you knew was that he needed your help.”
Gretchen leaned over the well, her fingers gripping the edge as she faced Tante Klegg. “What’s so wrong with that?”
“I would have said nothing, if no one had gotten hurt.”
“No one’s going to prison. We’re not conspirators, and Karl didn’t shoot the president! No one got hurt!”
“Are you no one, liebchen?”
Twenty-One
Wednesday, 26 April 1865 / Grove City, Ohio
Harsh sunlight made Gretchen squirm under the covers. Her head pounded from nightmares about witches and conspirators and imaginary mothers. She rubbed the space between her eyes.
Sunlight. Gretchen sat up, slamming her head into the rafter above her bed. She fell back with a yelp. She had overslept. Tante Klegg was going to tan her hide. And poor Karl, trapped in the hayloft…
Gretchen scrambled around the room, throwing her petticoat and dress over her nightshift. She banged her knee on her trunk when she reached for her shoes. She did not need shoes anyway.
Gretchen tumbled down the stairs with her bodice half-buttoned. Tante Klegg was in the middle of handing Karl a plate of toasted bread.
Tante Klegg dropped the plate on the table before Karl could take it from her. “Make yourself decent!”
Gretchen whipped around so Karl could not watch as she closed the last of her buttons. She raked her fingers through her hair, throwing it into a braid so it would stop falling around her face.
Tante Klegg motioned at the chair opposite Karl. “Sit.”
Too embarrassed to disobey, Gretchen slid into her seat.
“Rough night?” Karl said when Gretchen turned around again. He could have been sarcastic, but he was not. She appreciated that.
“Overslept.”
Tante Klegg made a plate of toast for herself and another for Gretchen. She sat beside Karl, who shifted in his seat.
“Mama not joining us?” Gretchen said, glancing at the doorway. She noticed Tante Klegg’s frown. “What? Do you want me to call her Tante Miller?”
Tante Klegg had the nerve to smile with a satisfied nod.
“What?” Gretchen said.
“I see you are more sensible than to indulge in Adelaide’s dramatics.” Tante Klegg crunched her toast and slurped her coffee.
Gretchen grunted. “Is the cow milked?” She blinked at the glass of milk at her place setting. There was a bowl of fresh eggs in the middle of the table. She winced.
“Do not fret. I did not do your chores,” Tante Klegg said. “When I released your Karl, he had the pail full and eggs tucked in his shirt.”
Gretchen grinned at Karl, forgetting her embarrassment.
“Wasn’t kicked or pecked once,” he boasted.
Gretchen shared a smile until she realized Tante Klegg scrutinized them. “He’s not my Karl,” she said, gulping her milk.
Tante Klegg made a clucking noise and flicked her hand at Gretchen as if to call her silly. She pushed a plate at Karl and stood. “Do you want flapjacks?”
When he nodded, she retrieved a couple from the pan staying warm on the stove. This was the first solid food Karl had kept down since arriving on the farm eleven days ago.
Gretchen’s frown deepened. “You should slow down,” she warned. “You’ll get sick if you keep eating that fast.”
“Now that we all know that you are not John Wilkes Booth, there is no rush for you to leave.” Tante Klegg dropped a dollop of batter onto the sizzling pan.
“Ma’am?” Karl said after choking for a moment.
Gretchen put her fork down. She was starting to feel like she was still dreaming.
“We, well, Gretchen needs help around the farm. I spend my hours tending to the farmhouse.”
“Mama will never stand for it,” Gretchen said.
“You have always been free to leave,” Tante Klegg said to Karl, ignoring Gretchen. “But why would you? We are the only people you know.”
Karl snorted. “Hardly could have left tied to a chair,” he said.
Tante Klegg dropped a large flapjack on his plate. “Eat.”
“Don’t seem right,” Karl mused. “Leaving good cooking for an unknown fate.” He grabbed a forkful. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure y’all don’t kill each other before Werner comes home, right?”
“Why are you two being nice to each other?” Gretchen said.
“Your ma, I mean, your aunt, came back from her walk this morning saying Alina’s going to visit, and she’s bringing her preacher pa,” Karl said.
Tante Klegg nodded. “We must maintain our roles for Alina and Pastor Baumbach. I am your aunt. He is your verlobter. Tante Miller is your mother.”
Adelaide swept into the room before Gretchen could protest. “This place is filthy,” she said. “Are we to entertain guests with the house in such a state?”
“You can’t be serious,” Gretchen said. She pushed away her food, appetite lost. “You’re worried about appearances with Alina? The one you said could only set foot in the house if Werner himself dragged her here?”
Adelaide poured a deep saucer of steaming coffee and motioned at Tante Klegg. “Your daughter needs a lesson in manners.” Adelaide tipped the saucer to her lips and giggled. “Your daughter. I thought I would never say those words.”
Gretchen’s gaze dropped to her lap. Adelaide’s cattiness should not have surprised her, but it did, and it hurt. “Don’t you care for me at all?”
Adelaide set her saucer on the table and took Gretchen’s chin in her fingers. “You were a distraction from my Werner.” She sat as graceful as a petal. “If situations were different, I could have learned to love you. Your enthusiasm has a charm. But when you pushed that boy into the trough and gave Werner the opportunity to volunteer and then on the day our president dies, you adopt a damn Confederate!”
“I’m not a pet,” Karl interrupted.
“No one asked you,” Adelaide said.
Tante Klegg slammed the pan on the stove. “That is enough.” She pointed at her sister. “Stop taking your bitterness out on the child. If you must be nasty, direct it at me.”
“I’m not a child,” Gretchen said.
“You cannot have it both ways,” Adelaide said to Gretchen. “You are an adult, and you are ready to handle the consequences of your actions. Or you are a child, and someone else will speak for you.”
Gretchen started laughing.
Adelaide rose from her chair, wringing her hands together. “I knew this would not end well.”
“Oh?” Gretchen said between guffaws, “You knew? I wonder why? Because everything you’ve ever told me is a lie?”
“She’s in shock,” Karl said.“We saw it at the camp all the time. Someone would crack, and they’d be touched ever since.”
“I’m not touched,” Gretchen retorted. “You don’t think this is funny? My aunt wants to be my mother, and my mother can’t wait to be my aunt, and I don’t want anything to do with either of them. I can’t believe Alina wants to marry into this family. She has no idea what she’s agreeing to!”
Tante Klegg put up her hand. “You should not speak to your—”
“My what?” Gretchen said. “Am I supposed to respect either of you after what you’ve done?”
“You are not supposed to do anything,” Tante Klegg said. “You have heard our words. You may do as you like.”
Gretchen pointed at her, finger shaking. “Don’t you dare treat me like I’m an adult now.”
The sounds of steps on the front porch prevented Tante Klegg from responding. Alina and her father had arrived.
No one expected the deep voice instead of Alina’s usual greeting. “Mütter, I’m home.”
Twenty-Two
Wednesday, 26 April 1
865 / Grove City, Ohio
Everyone stared at one another. They could not look at who spoke for fear he was a figment of their collective imagination.
Werner slumped against the doorway, panting. Werner was home, unchanged and yet so changed. His dark hair and gaunt cheeks matched Karl’s; his crazed expression did not.
Gretchen blinked, which was all it took for Adelaide to leap across the kitchen.
Werner watched with wide and bright eyes as his mother approached. He did not move, yet he seemed ready to pounce. Gretchen remembered seeing a wild dog watch a chicken the same way before snapping its neck. “Mama!” she warned, holding out her hand.
Adelaide slowed at Gretchen’s call, but still she advanced.
“Mütter?” Werner whispered. He stared at his mother as if he had never seen her before.
Something was not right. Gretchen pushed Karl behind her, her annoyance with him forgotten. This was not the time for Werner to discover a Confederate in his home. Not when he looked like that.
“I deserted,” Werner said to everyone and to no one. He spoke at his mother, but looked through her to Gretchen standing behind her. “That damned man; I deserted.”
Gretchen gripped the back of the chair until her knuckles were white. Desertion was for cowards and traitors, not for her brother—that is, cousin—the Union hero.
“What man?” Adelaide asked, now backing away.
“That Lincoln,” Werner said, his voice rising. “He made a speech saying the war wasn’t about the Union at all. He said it was about slavery. He changed his mind about why we were dying and didn’t tell us until it was too late for us to do anything about it! I went to war to save the Union, to stop the Confederacy, not to end slavery!”
Gretchen could not believe what she heard. “The Confederate states are slave states,” she shouted. “What’s the difference?”
“How could you have deserted?” Tante Klegg said.
“Where have you been?” Adelaide cried.
Werner rubbed his collarbone with his left hand, revealing his strawberry-shaped birthmark. Such a familiar, endearing move that reminded Gretchen of her father so much it hurt. She hoped her father had not deserted as well. She hoped he had done his duty to fight for the Union.
“Been running for two years,” Werner said. He remained slumped, so Gretchen could not see why he hid his right hand. “Been running and getting shot at and running some more. Finally made it home in time to hear the president’s gone, that fool. If he’d never made it about slavery… And what do we have in his place? You wait and see how Johnson’s going to be president. The man’s from Tennessee!”
Gretchen fought against Karl’s grip on her arm. “Don’t you talk about Mr. Lincoln that way. His plan was to bring the states back together! Johnson has to honor it!”
Werner’s laugh was hollow. He slid down the doorjamb until he sat on the little landing outside of the kitchen. “Idealist,” he threw at Gretchen, as if it were the worst thing in the world.
A muscle in Gretchen’s cheek twitched. Karl’s grip on her tightened, but she did not move.
Footsteps approached, and Alina’s swaying skirts came into view. She knelt beside Werner and whispered into his ear. After Werner nodded, Alina drew his arm around her shoulders and helped him stand.
“Mütter,” Alina said, “our Werner returned. Aren’t you happy? Why’s everyone shouting?”
Werner pulled away from Alina and walked into the room with a sway to his body. Each step threw him off balance. Watching him was like watching a cracked bell swinging in the church steeple: graceful, silent, and broken.
Adelaide shrieked. “What have they done to you?”
Werner stumbled. Alina rushed forward to catch him and together they righted themselves. Tante Klegg, Adelaide, Gretchen, and Karl could only stare.
Werner relied on Alina’s arm with the one he had left. An empty sleeve hung limp from his other shoulder, pinned shut where his elbow should have been. Now that he was out of the harsh morning sunlight, Gretchen could see Werner’s face. He looked… skeletal. He was far worse than Karl had been when he had fallen at her feet in the garden.
Alina’s face was pale, almost white. It took Gretchen a moment to realize she wore powder to hide a bruised jaw. A smug sense of satisfaction washed over her.
“I went to war, Ma, not choir practice,” Werner said, glancing at Alina.
Alina’s pinched smile made Gretchen want to vomit.
How like Werner. It was not enough to come home; he had to bring Alina with him. It was not enough to say, “Ma, I’m home”; he had to make them all sound like crazed and ignorant women.
And if they all were a little crazy, who could blame them? What else could they do, trapped on the home front, waiting to hear the worst and knowing they could do nothing?
“Your arm.” His mother faltered. “My baby.” She began to cry. Not the loud nonsense she was so fond of, more theatrics than emotion. Large tears rolled down her pale cheeks. She did not bother wiping them away. She just stood there, silent and staring and crying.
Nothing ever happened as it should. Werner fought for the Union and should have returned a hero, if only because he survived. He was not supposed to be a nasty traitor, a deserter to the cause he left to fight for.
“What were you yelling about?” Werner asked. “Wasn’t exactly the homecoming I was expecting, ja?”
“Got a notion they were yelling about me,” Karl said.
Gretchen whipped around. No, no, no.
Before anyone could blink, Werner had a revolver pulled and pointed at Karl’s stomach. “Who are you?”
“This is Gretchen’s verlobter,” Alina said.
“Her what?” Werner shouted.
Alina shrank back. “You didn’t get my letter?”
“You don’t get letters when you’re in hiding!” Werner said.
Gretchen stared at the man who, for all intents, was her brother. Her aunt and mother had raised Werner as her brother, anyway. The similarities between his face and her own still struck her as if they twins. Memories overwhelmed her. He used to lock her in the cellar until she cried herself to sleep. He used to kick her lunch pail out of sight and make her late for school. The lashings she would receive. That he snickered when his mother scolded Gretchen for daring to catch pneumonia.
Gretchen realized Werner was a terrible brother. She did not care what he had gone through. He was a spoiled, hateful person, and the war had not changed him for the better.
“What happened to Joshua?” Werner asked. “Wasn’t she pining after him? Or did she forget him that fast?” He focused on Karl. The hand holding the revolver did not waiver, though his balance did.
“Liebchen, you must sit,” his mother said, gesturing at a chair.
Werner ignored her. He cocked the revolver. “What happened to Joshua?”
“Who’s Joshua?” Karl asked, frowning at Gretchen.
“Joshua was the most handsome boy in the school room,” Alina explained. She hovered behind Werner. “And he was not German. Like you.” She crossed her arms and popped her hip. “He was smart. Gretchen followed him everywhere, but especially when Werner and I began courting.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Gretchen said. “I did no such thing. And Werner, point that thing at the ground. You’ll hurt someone!”
“Don’t you think that’s the point?” Karl whispered.
“One day,” Alina continued as if Gretchen and Karl had not spoken,“Joshua told Gretchen for everyone to hear that she was an unkempt child. That she would do better to learn how to braid her hair and take care of a garden than to best him in class like a boy. He humiliated her, and me, too.”
“Because everything is about you,” Gretchen said.
“I was going to marry into a family with this stubborn girl who had nothing better to do than follow a non-German boy around!” Alina continued. “And what was Gretchen’s response? She shoved him into a horse trough, as if that would change his
mind about her.”
“That was the day Werner volunteered,” his mother said, glaring at Gretchen. The old wound was fresh again.
“Yes,” Alina said. She wrapped her arm around Werner’s waist, careful not to jar him. “Gretchen and Joshua distracted everyone, and Werner enlisted to secure our future.”
Gretchen’s gaze dropped. That was why Werner went to war. Not to save the Union or stop the Confederacy or even to stop the enslavement of an entire people.
“The army promised to pay well,” Alina crooned. “Werner could afford his own farm sooner than if he worked for his father.”
Gretchen’s breath caught in her throat. Werner went to war because he was greedy. He did not want to wait to inherit the farm from their father. He went to war for money. He was no better than those Confederate blockade runners they read about in the papers. He intended to profit from the deaths of others.
“Then… what did happen to Joshua?” Karl asked.
“He got exactly what he deserved,” Gretchen said. “He revealed he was a bully. He wanted to show his strength. He went to war to prove he was a man.”
Karl shook his head. “Prove he is a man” echoed over and over in his head. He hardly heard Gretchen say Joshua died in his first battle. Instead, Karl heard his own voice whispering, “Gotta prove I am a man. Gotta prove I am a man. Gonna prove I am a man. In my way.” Karl fell back, missing the chair behind him and crashing to the floor.
Werner shouted not to move, or he would shoot.
Tante Klegg slapped the revolver from Werner’s hand. She told him to sit down and shut his mouth before he caused any more trouble.
Adelaide shrieked at Tante Klegg not to lay another hand on her boy.
A roaring, whooshing noise filled Karl’s ears. He clutched his head. He gasped. He remembered.
He remembered someone shouting at him. Someone wanted him to stand up, to take notice of the world. His father. His mother had cried. She had light hair, unlike his. His brother had looked on in disgust, already in his Confederate grays. And there Karl had stood, clutching a box with a curtain, not being a man, but on his way to getting there.
The Last April Page 12
