The Long Road Home Romance Collection

by Judi Ann Ehresman

  Only that night, when we camped near the river, did Baya go skittish again. He pumped his head up and down, bumping the wagon again and again when lightning flashed across the sky and thunder boomed in the distance. That’s when I learned that animals sense weather trouble.

  We spent the night camped inside our wagon after tying everything securely. Daylight came gray, and with it came winds that tore at the canvas of our wagons and blew sand and dust into our eyes and the animals’ eyes. They strained restlessly against their tethers and stamped and snorted.

  All morning the storm raged. The air turned cold, and we wrapped ourselves in blankets. Baya pumped his head over the back of our wagon under the cover of canvas and stood stoically while small hail bounced from his back. The hail got bigger, and soon we could hear fist-sized pieces whistling down from the sky. One huge piece ripped through our canvas wagon cover and bounced off a barrel. Then the rain came in torrents, pouring into the wagon from every direction and bringing with it wet green leaves that stuck to everything. The wagon rocked in the shrieking wind as Sophie and I also shrieked under our blankets.

  When it was over, and we all crept out of our wagons, everything was silent. Awed, we looked at the changed world. The canopy of trees under which we had camped now stood barren of leaves. The leaves were plastered on our wagons and animals, giving everything a green tinge. The Bleiders crawled safely out of their overturned wagon. Behind them, a tornado had touched down in the woods, clearing a wide barren path all the way to the river. Toppled trees were everywhere, including one next to my wagon.

  As people hugged each other and touched their animals, I was reminded of our landing on the mosquito-ridden beach at Indian Point, where we all had reassured each other by touching, including Wilma, the Kesslers’ cow.

  Otto and Lucas hitched our animals, and we pulled away from the now rainswollen and roaring San Marcos River. The placid river of fun from the day before had become an angry mass of brown, roiling water spreading into the meadow behind us. We moved quickly out of its way.

  All day rain pelted us, and by nightfull, when we again joined the path of the Guadalupe River, it also was swollen and still rising. We camped well away from it on higher ground.

  The next day the wagon train moved on toward Seguin, and in spite of light rain still falling, spirits soared. In a day or two we would arrive at New Braunfels, and I would be enfolded in the hugging arms of Vater. At last, a bed to sleep in. Finally, school and church and family routine. At last, the warmth of Karl’s smile and conversation with someone my own age! Long forgiven was Karl’s abandoning us when Mutter got sick. Over and over I replayed Karl scenes from Indian Point—the funny lopsided hut he built for Oma, our funny songs on the beach, the stubble of dark beard first thing in the morning, his selfless purchase of the wagon and livestock, and his endurance when I refused to help on the trip. The Muellers owed him a lot, and I intended to apologize for my behavior.

  As the sun came out, drying my wet clothes, I walked alongside the oxen, picturing our entry into New Braunfels. Over and over I played the scene: how word would spread, and welcoming friends and family would crowd around the arriving wagon train to reach up and touch their loved ones’ hands even before they could hug and hold them. Now that the trip was almost over, I began to forgive Vater for bringing us to this awful place. I would welcome his hugs and smiles. The happy scene made me determined to overcome the fatigue, sunburn, and hunger that overtook me in the middle of the day.

  Trying to buoy my sagging spirits, I tried to sing. Soon celebration songs popped into my head and I had to sing. I was flattered when Baya, on his long tether, nudged my elbow every time I stopped singing. That’s when I realized how much I had changed. What normal singer would care if a horse cared? I needed people, not horses. I needed Vater and Karl for reassurance, and soon.

  Otto and Lucas took the livestock to the edge of the swollen Guadalupe River when we halted in Seguin. The idea that had been nagging at me made me bold, so I went to their wagon for a quick look for their stolen money. They seemed to be traveling lighter than the rest of us, with few supplies except food. I did notice two guitars and a mandolin, and was about to look at them when I heard Lucas behind me.

  “Poking around, are you?” he asked.

  “Just waiting around,” I said while trying to act nonchalant.

  “For us?” Otto wanted to know.

  “The white bread you gave us was delicious, and I just wanted to tell you what a treat it is.” I proudly bluffed along, expecting them to buy my story.

  Lucas leered at me. “Stay away from our wagon. You know the saying about curiosity killing the cat.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I yelled at him.

  “Maybe.” Lucas stalked away.

  “Don’t mind him, Rika. He talks big. I would never let him hurt you or Sophie. Do you know that I was once a schoolteacher?” Otto seemed almost kindly without Lucas.

  That night, Oma said Gustav had only two things to say. “Don’t trust Otto,” he said, and “Help Oma.”

  “What kind of help do you need, Oma?” asked Kurt.

  “I need a place to stay in New Braunfels until I can get a house built,” she said.

  Kurt puzzled over her words for a minute. “I don’t have a place to stay, either. I can’t help, but you are welcome to camp with me while I get settled.”

  Sophie, so excited she jumped up and down, said, “O-oma, O-oma. W-why don’t y-you stay with us?”

  “What do you think, Rika? Would it work?” Oma asked.

  “Yes, yes! Without you, Sophie and I wouldn’t even be here. I’m sure Vater would want both of you to stay at our house until you get settled.” I felt proud to be able to repay in some small way.

  But as soon as the words escaped my mouth, I knew Vater would not understand about Gustav. I could never make him understand how Gustav’s bits of humor and wisdom had driven my determination to make it to New Braunfels. If Gustav became known in New Braunfels, Anna, or Oma as we called her, would become the butt of jokes and a lot of ridicule. Karl and I had laughed at her. Kurt and I had enjoyed a private wink at some of her antics. But I couldn’t bear it if the whole town made jokes about her. Kurt and I would have to keep a close watch and protect her from herself and gossip.

  Before I went to sleep, I had a lot to worry about besides Gustav and Oma. What had become of Emil? Could he be alive and well? And what about Mutter? Could she be alive?

  As our wagons rattled and thumped across the flatland closer to New Braunfels, I gave a lot of thought to Oma and her determined but lonely trek from Germany to a new home in a foreign country. For all her funny little quirks, she had survived the trip in heroic style with good humor, and she had helped change my outlook and my self-confidence.

  As we neared New Braunfels, there was a mixture of jubilation and curiosity. In the distance we could see scrubby hills, and even in the midday sun they had a mysterious foggy, lavender haze over them. Golden-tan prairie grass tall enough to reach the oxen’s bellies changed color in the wind, blowing like whitecaps on sea waves. Soon we could actually see the small buildings of New Braunfels in the distance, and there were questions and chatter and excited observations among the immigrants.

  But, to our dismay, we discovered that the town was on the other side of the flooded Guadalupe River. A few on the wagon train knew of this problem, but no one had told me. Never in a thousand years would I try to swim or drive the oxen across such turbulent water.

  Chapter 12

  I should have trusted our competent Wagon Master Herr Schmidt, who knew where to go. He even knew that at the convergence of the Comal and Guadalupe Rivers, Adolph Wedemeyer, an immigrant from Hanover, had built a flatbed ferry, powered by the rivers’ currents. The ferry, made of closely fitted wooden planks and with sturdy wooden railings on each side, was guided by steering ropes attached to taut cables anchored to trees on opposite sides of the river. The ferryman stayed in a little shanty and was calle
d by a horn hung to a tree on each side. During normal times, the ferry operated safely and serenely, Herr Schmidt told us, but because of the dangerously high water we would lighten the weight for each trip by crossing one family and livestock at a time.

  After his instructions, Herr Schmidt ordered everyone to stay together for prayer. Men took off their hats; women bowed their heads after gathering children to their skirts. Noise of the rushing water drowned out most of the prayer, but genuine thankfulness seemed written on all faces even as, during the prayer, everyone stole glances to the opposite shore, searching for faces of loved ones. After the amen, Master Schmidt assured us we were in no danger, and going across to New Braunfels would be orderly. But confusion reigned, and in it, our wagon, having been last for 200 miles, suddenly became number one to cross the turbulent river on the small raft-like ferry.

  I guided the oxen to the edge of the roiling, muddy waters. They stalled, and so did I. Cold sweat trickled down my face, and jagged fear ran between my shoulders as I balked at the brink of the raging water. How could I ever cross this deep, muddy, fast-moving water that tossed the little ferry to and fro?

  Then Aunt Matilde’s voice appeared in my head: “You are strong, and you can make it.”

  The ferryman, von Lochmann, shouted encouragement and directions, and, although my brown shoes felt weighted with lead, I reluctantly guided the balky oxen onto the wet, slippery wooden floor. The ferry teetered under the unbalanced weight of the wagon, then careened wildly, throwing Sophie against the footboard. She screamed for help, and Kurt ran on and snatched her out of the wagon and carried her back to solid ground. Other strong arms ran to grab the tiny ferry’s railings and hold it steady against the riverbank so I could get the wagon straightened behind the oxen. Then Kurt, carrying Sophie, led Baya onto the ferry.

  Even though during the crossing extra strong arms held our bobbing boat straight with the guide ropes and my head knew we were safe, my heart beat wildly as the ferry lurched, its edges dipping crazily into the cold, dark water.

  Finally, the ferry touched muddy ground on the New Braunfels side, and many hands reached to steady and guide the oxen and wagon. Kurt handed Sophie into strong arms but held to Baya’s reins with proud determination. The crowd cheered as they inspected the strange horse, the even stranger wagon that had come so far, and the thin, sunburned girl wearing a strangely short skirt who was in charge of it all.

  “Welcome,” called a tall blond man. “Who are you?”

  “Frederika Mueller,” I declared proudly.

  “You were very courageous,” said the handsome man.

  “I’m basically a coward pressed into service,” I replied. “I’m looking for my father, Sebastian Mueller.”

  The tall man looked around. “He was here earlier, but I don’t see him now. I know where he lives, though, and will take you to his house. My name is Lux Buechner.” Lux had comfortably large shoulders with muscles large enough to be seen through his faded blue shirt sleeves. On his head he wore a typical German brown, round flat-on-top cap from which blond hair trailed in back. Unusual for his blond hair and blue eyes was his deep tan. I remember thinking that he must work outside in the sun, but I was really preoccupied.

  “I am pleased to meet you,” I said while still scanning the crowd for Vater’s familiar face. “Thanks for the offer, but I do think he is here.”

  “I c-can’t find Vater.” Sophie had been darting among the crowd expectantly.

  “He will be here,” I promised, believing it. I searched from face to face in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be found. Sophie and I clung to each other for support. We had expected joy and congratulations, even hugs of welcome from Vater or at least friends, but neither was here.

  “Is your mother still alive?” Lux asked.

  “What do you know about my mother?” I asked indignantly of the man I barely knew.

  “It is a small community here, and everyone knows you left the trail with your sick mother. What happened to her?”

  “I left her in Victoria to be cared for. I don’t know if she is dead or alive.” A cloud had been pulled over our arrival.

  I turned away to watch the Schmidts loading for the return of the ferry. Water lapped the edges of the boat as their heavy wagon and large family loaded. A gasp went up on both sides of the rivers, but strong arms moved them ahead and steadied the animals. The Schmidts, unlike some others on the wagon train, had been friendly from the beginning and now felt like family. I was surprised at the joy I felt for their safe arrival. I hadn’t known I was so attached to them.

  As more wagons arrived, a wagon jam forced me to move quickly, so I accepted Lux’s offer to help me find Vater’s house. We pulled the wagon toward town and waited for Oma and Kurt. Then, with Lux leading the way, I guided the oxen down the muddy streets of New Braunfels, some of them nothing more than wagon trails. Baya, tethered to the side of the wagon, balked and tugged against his rope, dragging against the tired oxen. Lux walked to Baya and swatted him on the flank, yelling for him to move on.

  “¡Andele!” I called to Baya. “This is a Spanish-hearing horse,” I said to Lux. “He doesn’t hear a word of German.”

  “No joke?” Lux asked in German.

  “And he has s-sharp t-teeth. He will bite your s-shirt b-buttons off,” called Sophie. “B-be careful.”

  Lux stepped quickly away, but not before Baya made a half whinny, pumped his head up and down, and gleefully butted Lux over into the mud.

  I called, “¡Andele!” and Baya moved forward, leaving Lux in a heap in the mud yelling, “Dolt,” after the insulting horse.

  When Lux caught up to me next to the oxen, he said, “You are even more courageous than I first thought when I saw you come off the ferry. How did you ever get hooked up with that strange horse?”

  “If I told you the story, it would take all day. Another time, maybe.”

  The story of my trip faded into the background as I watched men along the road working on houses or building stake fence. They called welcomes or cheered as we passed, and I had a feeling that this place, so different from the unfriendly climate of Indian Point, would soon feel like home.

  “Lux, all the houses are so little and each is different from the other,” I complained.

  After all that had happened to us, still I carried in my head a picture of our large, brick house in Delmenhorst with its big south windows letting in the warm winter sun. During the cold rain on the trail and in the burning heat on the prairie I had pictured myself arriving at a nice house with steps, an open door, and the welcoming arms of Vater.

  “The town is young, and people just need a roof over their head,” said Lux, moving off the road toward a shack. “Besides, no one knows what is the best construction for this climate. We do the best we can.” Lux sounded defensive.

  “Are you a builder?” I asked.

  “Almost,” Lux said. “I am a carpenter who mostly builds furniture, but sometimes I help lay the logs when the builders have trenched for a foundation or help with the cedar corner posts. It’s heavy work.”

  We walked on down a muddy side street.

  “Here is the Mueller house,” he said proudly.

  My mouth gaped open in disbelief. It was no house, just a shack…something Germans would have housed geese or pigs in. Built flat on the dirt, the tiny, one-room house was made of wooden staves driven into the ground and had straw and mud filling in spaces between the wood. Sophie charged to the closed front door, flung it open, and called, “Vater, Vater!” with such enthusiasm that Oma and Kurt clapped their hands. The crestfallen expression on Sophie’s face as she came back out the door told us the house was empty.

  “Lux, are you certain this is the Mueller house?” I asked.

  “Positive. Sebastian hired me to build a table here next week.”

  “But w-where is Vater?” whined Sophie. She began to cry.

  Over and over again, as I had walked miles and dreadful miles, I had pictured our arrival in
New Braunfels. It would be the day I handed the responsibility for Sophie and all our possessions over to Vater, taking the heavy yoke from my shoulders much like unyoking the oxen. Now, once again, I felt the weight breaking my shoulders. What could I do with my wagon and that of Oma, livestock, hungry mouths to feed and, most of all, a sister crying into my skirt?

  Mutter would say, “Find a way,” Frau Kellerman had said, “You can do it,” whatever “it” was, and Aunt Matilde had said, “You are strong, and you can make it.” I had thought she meant muscles and bones, but maybe she also meant emotions. Only I could decide what to do here.

  I lifted Sophie up, hugging her close. “Sophie, just put your head on my shoulder and rest while we sort this out.” With a sob, she rested her head. “Now, Kurt, pull Oma’s wagon to one side of the house and unhitch your horses. I will pull our wagon to the other side and unhitch the oxen. Lux, will you make sure Baya can’t reach the tree over there?”

  Solemnly, everyone did as they were asked, and we managed to find some posts for tethering the animals and a barrel of water for them. Even though it was only midafternoon, we invited Lux to stay for supper and fell into our usual camping routine of fire building, eating, and resting around the fire. From her wagon, Kurt brought Oma’s rocking chair and she began to really enjoy herself.

  “Yes, we have arrived. All is well.” Keeping to her usual method of communicating with Gustav, Oma laughed, adjusted her spectacles, laughed some more, then pronounced that Gustav had a message for everyone. “He said to tell you to be glad.”

  “That’s all?” I needed specific advice.

  “That’s a lot,” said Oma.

  “Who’s Gustav?” Lux asked.

  We thought it over. How could we say it? Finally, Kurt said, “Gustav is Oma’s departed husband. He er, er, ah, makes his presence known sometimes.”