As he worked, Lux asked me questions about the trip, and I found myself telling him about Emil, who was sick then gone to war, and how Karl had bought us the wagon and livestock but abandoned us when Mutter became ill. Lux questioned me for details about our hardships at Indian Point and on the trail. As I described Black Peter and the Town Square in Victoria, then our visit to Aunt Mathilde and the wrenching decision to leave Mutter behind, I found tears on my cheeks. But I went on to tell about the snakes, seeing the dreadful corpse, watching for Indians, the aching with fatigue, and finally ending with Oma’s nightly vigils with Gustav.
“Sounds like Gustav kept you all entertained and going with good advice. Blessing, eh?” said Lux.
“A blessing, but he is dead. How do you explain that?”
“Don’t try. Some things you just accept.” Lux sounded like he had experience. “You left out Big Lucas and Little Otto.”
I dared not explain. “Let’s just say that I’m afraid of them.”
“Why so?”
“They’re dishonest. I’ll tell you about them someday.”
Conversation ranged on about the oxen, the strange horse, Baya, his antics with me on his back and my trouble feeding him even now. I told him how I longed to go to school and how much I feared becoming just a Housefrau when I really wanted to teach music and do something important with my life.
Lux stopped his hammer midair. “Rika,” he exclaimed, “don’t you know the important thing you have just done for your family? Your family has survived because of you.”
“Perhaps. But life seems out of balance, Emil is in the army, and Mutter is either ill or dead in Victoria. I worry about her all the time. And here I am, unable to go to school or study music or sing.”
“You will do all of those things. I promise you, in time, you will find a way,” said Lux.
A tall shadow fell on the wood. “Do what things, Rika?” Lucas sneered a smile at me as he walked closer. His eyes stared into mine. “You must be careful what you want.” Then he turned to Lux. “I had trouble finding you to talk about building my house.”
I ducked into the house, grateful that it was almost time to get ready for the quilting party that afternoon.
The party began with giggles and moved to more giggles as we sipped grape juice and talked about the quilt. It had been started in Germany by Elissa, and her friends in Texas had helped her put it in a quilting frame with scraps of cloth, then quilt it. The group had become like a club, and I wondered how I would fit in. I confided to Marie that I’d never held a needle in my hand.
“Don’t tell, and don’t worry. You can learn,” she whispered.
“The design is beautiful,” I said. “What do you call it?”
Elissa fingered the embroidered flowers in the center. “It’s called Garden of Music.”
All I had seen were the flowers. Now I noticed the subtle light yellow musical notes dancing out of the flower clusters. My spirits danced. Such a simple thing, just to see musical notes and hear the musical laughter of friends.
The afternoon went by too fast, and soon we were eating pecans and wonderfully salty popcorn. I heard news of Frau Kellerman, who now lived on a farm, and of Engel Mittendorf, whose parents had hired him out to live with people in the country and build fence. I told stories about Frau Mittendorf and her chickenlike squawking at Engel, how he flapped his wings and met me secretly behind the wagon to tell me about Frau Kellerman. More giggles as everyone imagined the outgoing Engel doing his chicken imitations.
Spirits soaring, I walked home to find Karl sitting in the shade of the one tree in our yard. He often stopped in the yard as Sophie arrived home from school. Today he looked especially handsome in his German army uniform, and he had polished his worn boots and wore a huge smile that said he was glad to see me.
Although Vater had heard that Karl lived with us in Indian Point and in fact had bought the wagon, oxen, and horse that brought us to New Braunfels, he had not been able to repay Karl the money. Word had been passed that they were for sale, but so far only the oxen had been sold. The hungry, cantankerous horse still lived with us, and we still owned the wagon, which we used to store what would not fit into our tiny house. So Karl had very little money. He had eaten a couple of meals with us and had helped Vater split cooking wood, but he had not asked permission to court me. In my mind was the mouth-tingling, body-jangling, good-bye kiss at Spring Creek. My mouth wanted more, but rules of conduct were different in New Braunfels, and Karl and I merely talked to each other, always when other people were present.
Today Sophie played around the yard, running occasionally to talk to Baya or get a drink from the big bucket at the back door.
“You look happy,” Karl said as I came into the yard.
“I’ve come from Elissa Fink’s quilting party. It was exciting. We talked about her quilt and giggled a lot, trying to guess whose good or bad quilting was where. There was grape juice and popcorn and pecans. I had almost forgotten about that kind of food and fun.”
“I know. Don’t I know. Try being a young bachelor who works in a tobacco shop where customers are mostly old men.”
“Sounds calm,” I said.
“More than calm. Try boring. I feel like a Housefrau. I have to dust the boxes and cases and sweep the floor. It’s terrible.” Karl pounded his fists in the air.
“Poor Karl. And you came here for adventure and excitement. I’m so sorry you have to feel like a tobacco shop Housefrau. I’m a Housefrau, too, and I hate it.”
“I know you do.” Karl reached for my hand and held it. “Rika, will you run away with me?”
I was speechless. Finally I asked, “Run away to where?”
“I have joined a militia group moving out to scout Indian territory.”
“You what?”
“You heard me. I couldn’t take one more day of that boring shop. Before that I was a wild game hunter for Dickie Madam’s boardinghouse. It’s no use pretending I can do civilized work. I can’t cook or build fence or farm. I’m a soldier. I need excitement and adventure. Please say you’ll come with me. We can have this adventure together.”
“But, Karl, I’m a woman.”
“I noticed.” We both laughed. I guessed he was remembering the kiss.
“Karl, women don’t go out scouting for Indians,” I said.
“But, Rika, you’re different. You can ride. You brought a wagon and a crazy horse 200 miles by yourself. And you hate keeping house and cooking. You’ve certainly had plenty of practice at watching for Indians. You would be good company on the trail. Do it.” I couldn’t believe Karl was serious.
“A woman wouldn’t be welcome, and you know it. Besides, I’m needed here. Don’t go, Karl. You could get killed,” I pleaded.
“We could both die of boredom here,” insisted Karl.
Sophie had come out of the house carrying Glorianna. Now she inserted herself between us. “W-who’s going to d-die?”
“No one, Sophie,” I said. “Please take Glorianna inside where she won’t get dirty.”
“N-no.” She planted her feet firmly next to mine.
“Then be quiet,” I ordered her.
“Karl, please don’t do this,” I pleaded.
“D-do what?” Sophie wanted to know.
“Be quiet, Sophie!” My voice reached an impatient pitch.
“It’s already done. I have signed up, and we leave in the morning. There will be five of us. Please make it six.”
“Karl, even the request is scandalous. The answer is no. Think about what you are asking.”
“I respect your wishes, but I’m not sorry I asked, scandalous or not. In the past, you haven’t seemed to mind doing the controversial thing.”
“Karl, you know I was forced by necessity to do whatever you think scandalous, like riding astride and driving oxen. I can’t go, and you shouldn’t either. Please don’t go. It is very dangerous.” I felt like a flower wilting down to the ground, all the fun and excitement gone out of me.
A quiet settled between us.
Karl leaned stiffly forward and kissed me on the cheek.
“It’s already done.” Turning, he walked briskly away.
I put my hand to the tingling place on my cheek where he had kissed me and watched his back disappear as he turned the corner behind a house.
“W-what’s he already d-done?” Sophie wanted to know.
I could barely bring myself to say it. “Karl—is—going—away.”
“Again?” asked Sophie.
Chapter 14
Karl’s leaving left a hole in my life, and his quick, almost angry departure over my refusal to go with him worried me. A gray fog engulfed me the next several days. I smoldered with anger at Emil for joining the army. Then I moved to remorse for leaving Mutter in Victoria. Could she be dead? If alive, why hadn’t we heard from her? Not going to school was the final insult. Nothing was going my way.
As with most immigrants, Vater had taken a job to provide cash for daily existence, and in a few days he earned enough money building fence to pay tuition for Sophie’s schooling. But he still refused my request to go with her, saying my place was Kuche. It was more than a place. Kitchen represented a way of life, one that kept me in “my place” of responsibility for all that happened in the household, which came to include feeding and watering the animals as well as cooking and laundry. Just the thought of becoming a fat Housefrau, as Karl had jokingly suggested more than once, made my hands shake and put a weight of dread in my heart. However, for now there would be compensations. At least when Sophie and Vater were gone most of the day, if I hurried my chores, I’d have some privacy, a time when I could sing and compose music. And I’d have time to take lunch to Comaltown every day.
It wasn’t far to Comaltown from New Braunfels, but I had to cross the Comal River on a narrow footbridge each day. The bridge had been made by cutting two pecan trees, one on each bank, to fall onto a small island in the river, so the bridge was really a nonbridge, just a passable narrow convenience. My heart beat wildly as I crossed the bridge. The flooded river had gone down, and what had been an ugly muddy, roiling mess was now calm and beautiful, but the pecan logs were high above the water, and if I fell in, I could be swept downstream in a matter of seconds. For once I thanked Mutter for making me wear the heavy brown shoes that seemed to keep me firmly grounded on the logs.
Safely across the bridge, I admired the Comal. Surrounded by large trees that were reflected in the clear cool water, the river shimmered in sunshine and sparkled as it bounded over rocks cascading into quiet, green pools and eddys. Near the edge of one of these pools beyond the island, I spotted two Indian squaws whom I hoped were Lepans. The women were small but squarely shaped and wore moccasins and leggings topped with yellow leather tunics with fringe that danced as they moved. I could hear their laughs above the gurgle of water. I had been told the Lepans were friendly to settlers but had also been warned that they were not to be trusted since in perfect good humor they might take anything they wanted. Quietly I turned away, clutching the basket of food I was carrying.
Comaltown, situated between the fork of the Comal Spring and the Guadalupe River, wasn’t so much a town as a tiny, growing community. Laid out in fairly inexpensive lots very much resembling a German village, the few scattered houses were surrounded by trees and overgrown grasses. From Oma’s double lot near the spring I could hear the continuous roar of water, and the air was slightly moist. In shady spots it was filled with mosquitoes.
I found Oma sitting next to her wagon under a canvas canopy that served as a roof for her campsite. Next to the campsite she had erected a tent that held supplies as well as her bed. “The climate and bugs here are strange,” she said as she swatted mosquitoes on her arms and mopped her sweaty, flushed face.
“But your house site is beautiful, and you are making progress,” I said.
Behind the tent a huge rack of oak logs, each flattened on two sides, stood ready to create walls for Oma’s house. Beyond the logs, Lux had already built a small corral for the horses, using staves of oak driven into the ground. Between the staves he had strung lengths of rawhide. When the house was finished, Oma told me, a permanent split-rail fence would be built.
Oma walked me around the area explaining the dimensions of the rather large house with its south-north opening doors allowing for air circulation. One corner of the house would be the kitchen and there would be a combination bed and living room opening on to a porch that would later lead to an addition to the house. As we walked, I tried to stuff down the green envy seeping into my soul, for Vater seemed to have no plans for enlarging what he called our tiny starter house.
“Rika, can you help me?” Lux called from the trench. His face and arms glistened with sweat from digging the foundation holes.
I walked over the piles of dirt. “Of course, but I’m not good with a shovel.”
“Don’t need your muscles. I need your brain.”
Puzzled, I tried to read his expression. Why would he ask a woman? Mutter’s whisper in the back of my head said, “Silence is golden. Men don’t want women telling them what to do.” I knew I might regret it, but I let the reminder pass. “Of course I’ll help.”
“The foundation holes are almost finished, but there is a place where a big layer of rock is near the surface. I can’t dig there. Do you have a suggestion?”
After doing mathematical calculations on moving the foundation and how that would change the walls of the house, we decided to flatten the rock with a pickax and use it as part of the foundation.
“You are a smart woman, Rika,” said Lux.” “Not many women could do the mathematics, and they were hazy in my mind. I’m sorry you won’t be able to finish your schooling, but you can educate yourself. In fact, tomorrow I will bring you some of my books.”
“I can’t accept gifts from you,” I murmured, but I really wanted those books.
“No gift. Read and study, then return them to me.”
Later, as I crossed the pecan walking bridge toward home, I felt like I was floating. Lux would bring me books, but most of all he thought I was smart. Besides, he was tall, muscular, and very handsome. I was thankful for a new friend.
I thought of Karl, also tall, muscular, good-looking, and gone now for several days. Had his group found Indians? Was he captured or injured? I missed Karl’s good humor and crisp military walk coming down the street toward me. Lost in thought, I stumbled near the end of the bridge and almost fell.
“Watch your step, Rika,” a gruff voice called. “And just keep your sister happy and keep our secret.” Lucas leered at me for a minute, then silently walked on.
My feet froze to the dry dust at the end of the bridge. Terror grabbed at my hammering heart, and cold shivers shook me. By the time I thought to answer, Lucas’s huge threatening body was halfway across the bridge. He could easily have nudged me off the bridge to drown in the river, and it would have seemed like an accident. He could easily run his horse over Sophie under the guise of an accident. I had to find a way to get rid of Lucas and Otto or at least get rid of their hold over me, and I had only one clue about how to do it.
After church service under The Elms the previous week, I had overheard Vater and other men talking about large amounts of counterfeit money circulating in New Braunfels. Brokers tried hard to keep up with the confusing mix of piastres, which Prince Solms used, and the red back paper money and depreciated paper treasury notes. Bewildered money changers reported vast amounts of currency in paper money were fake, and that it had to come from a big spender rather than a poor colonist and they could not locate the source. I knew who had large amounts of money. It had to be Lucas. In my mind I had spent hours thinking about where the money could be. My clue came the next week when I saw Lucas and Otto at a Musikfest.
The settlers in our community, all Germans, brought with them a heritage of music. It was part of everyday life. Anyone who played an instrument brought it to play at a musical gathering under The
Seven Elms, where benches served for school and church. Anyone who liked to sing came to join in, which included some folks who should have stayed at home as they couldn’t carry a tune in a straw basket, but they came anyway, participating with gusto. We sat up front, where Sophie could watch the brass instruments, joining in on the songs that were familiar. I noticed Vater, who had a strong baritone voice, did not sing.
“Vater,” I whispered, “you have a great voice. Why aren’t you singing? What’s the matter?”
“Without Anna and Emil, the joy is gone from me.”
I put my hand over his. “One day soon we will have word from them,” I assured him.
“We don’t know that,” he whispered.
Sophie nudged me. “C-come on, R-rika. Sing.”
I glanced toward the band, seeing many friends and acquaintances doing their very best, not too successfully, to play the songs in tune. However, their zest was contagious, and I threw myself into the beat. It was then I noticed that Lucas and Otto, who had been carrying musical instrument cases on the boat and on the wagon train, had no instruments and were merely singing lustily. In an instant I figured out where their stolen money was. They had come to a community band concert without their instruments. They had money in the cases they had left at home!
The very discovery made my heart sing. I broke into song in my best high, clear voice, hardly noticing that people around me quit singing to listen. I continued, lost in my own joy of singing until at the end of the song people around me clapped, others joined in, then more until everyone was clapping and cheering for my singing. I felt myself go pink with embarrassment.
“T-that was g-good,” said Sophie.
“That was shameless,” said Vater. “A real lady never shows off.” Vater got off the bench and stalked away into the darkness.
People around us whispered to each other and half-heartedly muttered encouragement to me. I was innocent of showing off. And I wasn’t shameless. But I did feel proud. Bewildered, I longed for Germany, where a woman could perform without reprimand. Did the culture of German Texas have strange rules that kept women in their place? Or was it just Vater’s idea that my place was in the kitchen, not singing? So far, I wasn’t willing to stay in that place. Dragging Sophie by the hand, I fled into the darkness in search of Vater.
The Long Road Home Romance Collection Page 51
