The Long Road Home Romance Collection

by Judi Ann Ehresman

  I caught my breath. Was Karl with the other group?

  Emil must have read my thought, for he smiled.

  Herr Mieckle, a short, round, little bald-headed man with a mustache and a spokesman for the German immigration society, stood up behind his heavy table to give us an official welcome to Texas. First he commended us on our courage in landing in the fog and spending a miserable night on the beach. Then he told us about the bank and mercantile tent. Next, and he lowered his voice almost to a deep whisper, he told us that the United States was preparing for war with Mexico over a boundary dispute.

  There were mumbles among the immigrants that they came to Texas to find freedom, not get involved in a war.

  Herr Mieckle held up his hands for silence. He told us we were not in danger from the dispute, but that most of the wagons and teams that would have transported us inland had been conscripted by the army, and the owners and drivers of the rest had received better wages from the army. He apologized on behalf of the Adelsverein and announced that although the Verein, the Texas nickname for Adelsverein, was having financial difficulties, there would be plenty of food for as long as we had to wait for transportation.

  “Water is, however, rationed here,” he announced, “so you will need to talk to your neighbors about how to conserve it. Lots are for sale for $3,000 each, but most of you will want to just camp on any available spot until you find transportation inland.” Without waiting for questions he turned sharply and walked out the back door of the crude warehouse, leaving the door swinging crookedly on one broken hinge.

  I felt trapped in a bad dream. I hadn’t wanted to come to a land of log houses and farming and political freedom. That was my Vater’s dream; that had been bad enough. Now this man had just told us we were trapped on a mosquito-ridden beach with no water. I wished the new life to be a dream. I wanted to wake up in my beautiful bed with roses on the walls and to inhale the aromas of breakfast.

  A buzz of conversation filled the small room, bringing me back to reality. It spread to those waiting outside as the news was told and retold. With each telling the voices grew louder and angrier, and the crowd surged toward the remaining minor official of the Verein. At exactly the right moment before he would have been mobbed, he climbed on top of the table and announced that the lighter was unloading crates at the pier. He barked instructions for collecting the day’s ration of meat and water after everyone was settled.

  Without thinking, I shouted bitterly the question in everyone’s mind. “Settled in what?”

  Quiet descended over the room. No answer came from the remaining official.

  Finally, Mutter lifted her chin and replied loudly, “Settled in our new house of course.” Dragging Sophie by the hand, she pushed her way through the crowd toward the door.

  I was so filled with anger I stood frozen, unable to move. Hadn’t she heard what the man said? Hadn’t she seen the shacks, the huts no one could call a house? But Mutter, head held high, chin up, looking straight ahead, walked resolutely out of the hall into the sunshine with the crowd falling in behind her. Halfway out the pier she stopped and stood regally and silently waiting for the lighter to arrive with her precious cargo. And there she waited in the boiling sun until three hours later when it was unloaded. Sophie, near exhaustion from the long walk to Indian Point, lay down at her feet and went to sleep in the shade of her skirt. I chose to wait in the shade of the hall.

  While I waited for Emil to find wagons to get our trunks, I looked at my slender, white hands, the hands of a musician and student. Would those hands become brown and calloused from living in a tent and cooking over a campfire? I felt the stinging welts of mosquito bites on my neck, and ran my fingers through my long, blond hair, now gritty with sand.

  We will live in filth!

  I felt the final death of my dreams and my ambition to do something important with my life slip away into the sand. What could I do? The smoldering, controlled anger I had felt for so long boiled, out of control, to the surface. I thought I’d explode with the hot fury that engulfed me so completely that it made me afraid. I had never felt such anger. I dared not scream. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t hit anyone. What could I do?

  I felt totally helpless until I took control. But why should I do anything? I wondered. Around me, people scurried here and there in the oppressive heat. It was their idea to come here. Let them manage! I’ll just sit.

  And so I sat, in the shade of the Verein warehouse. I straightened my blue skirt and white blouse and imagined myself looking poised and pretty. After a while, sweat trickled down my neck and my damp clothing wilted. So did I.

  Much later Emil drove up in the borrowed wagon loaded with our belongings.

  As we drove up the beach, a familiar voice hailed us.

  “Rika! Emil! Wait for me.”

  Karl ran up to the wagon, heaved himself over the side, and sat on the floor as if no time had elapsed since our last conversation. “Is this to be your location, then?”

  Emil heaved the horses to a stop. “Our location was suggested by the driver, who loaned me his wagon. Up beach is filled with sickness and even more mosquitoes. Half the people in town are sick, and hundreds have died.”

  I gasped. “We’re to die here?”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s only temporary,” said Karl.

  “We must buy this wagon and go on to New Braunfels by ourselves,” I declared.

  Emil’s answer made me feel stupid. “That kind of trip requires the protection of a group. We could never make it alone.”

  “I know we could.” I defended the idea.

  “According to Vater, it’s 240 miles, too far to go alone.”

  Karl placed a grimy hand on my shoulder. “It’s not a good idea, Rika.” His voice became placating. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  I tried to act casual, even though I felt rebuffed. The warmth of his hand sent currents of tingling through my arm. “I’m glad you’re all right, too, Karl.”

  By late afternoon the crates and trunks were sorted, and all the families were grimly building impromptu shelters. One by one, as they worked, the families’ spirits lifted, and from a distance I could hear cheerful calls of the ever-present German proverbs: “Work makes life sweet” and “Laziness makes your limbs stiff.” When Karl added his version, “Laziness strengthens your limbs,” we all laughed, including Mutter, who had suffered a painful sunburn from standing hours on the pier. She was lying in the shade of a suspended sheet, watching Karl and Emil dig an oblong, shallow pit. In the middle of the pit they placed our trunks. Then they uncrated the farm machinery and the stove, and used the wood to build walls for the house. They drove the staves into the ground around the edge of the pit and nailed the last few boards across the top to form support beams for a low roof. But there was no wood for a roof.

  Karl arranged the remaining machinery outside the strange pit-house to form a private necessary room, into which Emil with great humor and ceremony placed the chamber pot. Sophie pointed to its painted pink and yellow flowers and clapped her hands over her mouth to suppress a giggle. We all smiled, but no one had the heart for humor except Mutter, who laughed and said, “Flowers, but no wood for a roof.” Then she did something I will always remember. She handed Emil the sheet under which she had been resting, and said, “Here, use this.”

  “You know we have to nail this to the roof supports, don’t you?” Emil fingered the cutwork and embroidery along the hem and looked at me. I knew what he was thinking. When we were little, for a special treat Mutter would invite us to her big, carved walnut bed for a bedtime story. As we got sleepy, we traced the cutout scallops and embroidery stitching of the sheet’s edge with our small fingers until we went to sleep.

  “Oh, yes. Go ahead and nail it,” she said. “It’s just an old sheet.” Mutter didn’t falter, but I noticed when Karl put the nails in, she turned away.

  Karl offered his army blanket to finish out the roof, and it was decided that he should stay with us sin
ce he owned half the roof. I felt such unexpected joy well up inside me that I had to leave.

  I walked along the beach asking myself questions. Why am I so excited when Karl is near? What makes me feel so happy when things around here are so terrible? Is it because of Karl? Is it obvious to the others that he makes me feel this way?

  I stood for a long time looking out over the water, listening to the gentle swish of waves, and thinking about myself. A sense of uneasiness crept over me when I tried to picture how I’d act with Karl as a member of the Mueller family. Who ever heard of the boy you wished to court actually living with you? Mornings he will see my tangled hair. He’ll hear me argue with Sophie, and, worst of all, he can’t miss the childish directions Mutter still gives me even though I’m sixteen. And how can I dress in the same quarters with Karl?

  Then I thought of walking along the beach with him at sunset and making jokes with the family, and I smiled to myself. Yes, Rika, you can manage.

  “Frederika! Frederika!” a raspy voice called.

  I looked with disbelief at the little man in the brown suit coming down the beach. Why couldn’t they have drowned off the lighter?

  Otto Mellinghoff smiled his liquid smile. “Hello, Frederika. I’m so glad to see you.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Silly girl. I saw you in the crowd this morning. Everyone knows about Frau Mueller, who led the pack to the pier.”

  “You stay away from me.”

  “Silly girl. You know we can’t do that.”

  Chapter 4

  I wanted to go back to the hut, but my feet froze in the warm sand. “I have nothing to say to you and nothing to say about you.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way. And, by the way, here.” Otto pushed a pail of water toward me. “Money buys extra rations.”

  I pulled my hands back as though the tainted pail was scalding hot.

  “You pay attention,” Otto demanded. “Pay attention right now. We know who you are. One word about our secret, and that precious little sister of yours just might come up missing. Understand?”

  I took the pail and fled.

  Emil met me. “Wasn’t that the weasly little man from the boat?”

  “Yes.” I was trembling inside; my voice sounded tight.

  “What did he want?”

  “He brought us some water.” I took a deep breath and cleared my throat.

  “Where did he get it?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  “And why would he give us water?”

  I thought for a minute before answering. “He admired Mutter today on the pier and wanted to show his appreciation.” The lie burned in my throat.

  He considered the answer for a long time. “Rika, is there anything you want to tell me about those two men who call you Sarah Ann?”

  “No, there’s nothing I can tell you.” I ducked under the low roof and disappeared inside.

  It was an unsettling first night in the tent home. I wrapped and unwrapped my body over and over, alternately hot and sweaty from the damp air and shivering cold from the clammy, damp sand. Mosquitoes buzzed incessantly, and during my uncovered times, they raised stinging, itching welts on my arms and legs. Sophie talked in her sleep. Emil thrashed his legs, bumping Mutter, who sat up most of the night. Only Karl slept soundly.

  When finally I heard the laughing gulls announce daylight, I tiptoed over the sleeping bodies to the door and walked along the beach to watch the sun come fully into orange and pink streaks. It became my morning ritual, for I discovered that the privacy of getting up before the commotion of the day was a treasure. I liked time to ponder what wise words Professor Hinterwinkler might have had for surviving in the crowded hot hut. Sometimes, off where no one could hear me, I practiced singing scales.

  As the days wore on, living in a hut became less unusual, and we fell into a system of sameness. There was a monotony about my arguments with Mutter over washing dishes and linens or smoothing the floor of the hut. When she asked me to help, I simply walked to the edge of the water and sat down. There I sat through pleas, shouts, threats, even prayer. Sophie had to do all the chores and began calling me “pain in my neck.” I didn’t really mind, for, after all, I hadn’t asked to come on this trip; it was their doing.

  Until one day my hair and clothing felt so gritty I couldn’t stand it. I had to wash. Fresh water, which the Verein collected in huge cisterns and rationed to each person, was precious. After three weeks of spilling and wasting, I learned how to use it. Besides drinking water, the small amounts meted out were used for taking a pan bath about once a week. I saved this water to wash my feet about twice a week, and then saved it to wash delicate clothes. The very little dirty water left after many uses was finally given to Wilma with the understanding that the Kesslers would occasionally share Wilma’s rich milk.

  Hope for transportation inland was displaced by despair, and as the idle days wore on, even the guessing games we played took on a sameness. If we stayed outside too long, we would get heatstroke like Frau Schmidt. As we stayed inside day after day we became weaker and more irritable, more grouchy and touchy over the least detail of daily life.

  Finally, one day Emil jumped up as if he would burst. “One more day like this and I’ll go crazy.”

  Mutter straightened her back and leaned against the trunk. “Do you have a suggestion?”

  “I’m going to get a job at the pier.”

  “In that boiling sun every day?”

  “Any other suggestions?” He looked from Mutter to me then to Karl.

  There was no answer. So Emil went to the pier. Sophie and Mutter went to the dunes to look for flowers, and Karl stopped writing in the sand and asked me if I still had my copy of The Galveston News. I nodded, hoping he didn’t notice the blush of pleasure spreading across my cheeks. I got the paper and followed him outside.

  “We’ll start at the top of the page. I’ll read; you follow where I point.” He read, “The Galveston News, The Will of the People Should Rule, March 3, 1846.” He paused.

  I repeated in halting English, “The Galveston News, The Will of the People Should Rule, March 3, 1846.” I looked at the rest of the strange words. “What else does it say?”

  “Here’s an advertisement for lemon syrup, another for Sappington’s Pills and Brandreth’s Pills and Bateman’s Drops at a drug store.”

  “What else?”

  “There’s a notice of the Sloop Cutter Naghel leaving for Port Lavaca—that was us, you know—and an invitation to stay at Tremont House for $30.00 a month board and lodging.”

  I longed for the place called Tremont House with real beds and tables and chairs.

  “Hey! Here’s an advertisement you should answer,” said Karl. “Mr. J. M. Habich wants music students on Fortepiano.”

  A sense of absolute joy took hold of me and I jumped up, shouting, “Amazing! Absolutely astounding!”

  “What’s so amazing?”

  “Texas has pianos! Can you believe it? This place is civilized after all!” I suddenly felt that I must look silly and sat back down in the sand.

  “Why is a piano so important to you?”

  “I want to do something important in music. But it’s a secret.”

  “Come on, tell me.”

  “You won’t laugh?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’ve been thinking about freedom. If I’m free to do what I want, then I want to be a music teacher. What do you think?” I watched his face and prodded him when he didn’t answer. “Well, what do you think?”

  “It’s a good idea, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But you don’t know how to do it.”

  “Oh, is that all? I thought you were going to say a woman’s place is in the home.”

  “Perhaps it is. But that’s not what I meant. I meant you would need some sort of training to become a teacher. Do you see any schools nearby?” He waved his hand toward the sand dunes and warehouse.

  “N
o, but I left two perfectly good schools behind me in Germany.”

  “How did you get in two schools?”

  “Oma Gruenwald, Mutter’s Mutter, took care of me when Sophie was born. And she said I—said I—” I hesitated, thinking I sounded conceited.

  “Well, come on, said what?”

  “Said I had more musical talent than Vater when he was small, and Vater is a music teacher. She made arrangements for me to go to a special school, mostly for boys, where I studied mathematics and composition. The boys all grumbled because I was quicker than they, but finally some became my friends. I also attended a music academy one day a week.”

  “Do you play an instrument?”

  “I can play Emil’s trumpet, Vater’s horn, the pianoforte, and a flute. But my first love is singing. Always singing.”

  “Why haven’t I heard you sing?”

  “I go off alone to sing. Besides, there’s not much to sing about.”

  “How about a song about Wilma or mosquitoes?”

  “You start it and I’ll join in.”

  Karl stood and then marched down the beach singing, “Moo! Moo, moo! Moo!” We began to act silly, singing in proverbs and mixing in words about our sunburns, foot washing, and Wilma and Frau Schmidt. Sophie and Mutter came back from the dunes and added verses about crabs, snakes, and mosquitoes. We sang and laughed and marched until, exhausted, we fell into the rim of shade around the hut. Mutter, drenched in perspiration, blotted at her sunburn with her sleeve.

  “In the army we put butter on sunburn. I’ll go ask the Kesslers.” Karl was on his feet.

  “Please, no,” insisted Mutter. “Butter is one of the few nutritious foods we have. Leave it with them.”

  It was true—there was very little good food. We sat with our backs to the rough wood in the shade, comparing good food we had eaten in Germany to the food at Indian Point. I told how Vater in his only letter to us described the food provided for the inland trip, food he had shared with people who helped him get to New Braunfels. He had 43 pounds of beef, more than he could eat, smoked bacon, dry vegetables, peas, beans, rice, bread. The list went on and on. He said he missed coffee, but most of all he missed Irish potatoes, the German life staple.