A Clearing in the Wild (8 page)

“
Danke
, Wilhelm,” Christian said, standing. “Thank you, so much. Come, Emma, we have taken up enough of Wilhelm’s time.”

I rose, confused. Father Keil withheld his blessing and would not marry us here in Bethel, yet he’d let a worldly judge pronounce the vows and then offer us a celebration later in his own home? The last surely marked some form of consent. Did it save face for him, show that he stood firm by refusing to officiate at a marriage he felt was doomed, yet allow him to be generous and showy through a party in his home?

My intended husband acted satisfied with this configuration, as twisted as a pig’s tail.

I would not complain. The outcome would be as I wished it: I’d be Mrs. Christian Giesy and show our leader that one young and inexperienced woman could withstand the pangs of bringing forth new babies into life.

We married in the Shelby County courthouse. I had long imagined myself walking down the red-tile aisle of Bethel’s church, Christian at
my side, the colony as witness to our union. But the courthouse served us well, one of those adjustments to the stepping stones along a trail, if not the final destination. My family came with us, as did some of Christian’s fourteen brothers and sisters—but not Helena. Even Karl Ruge stood there for Christian. Good friends and family then witnessed our vows and the new dress my mother sewed for me. She even allowed blinker curls to coil on either side of my rosy cheeks. A short muslin veil covered my face, and I wore gray so as not to appear too worldly.

Because my father had preached and helped found the Bethel Colony, he asked the blessing on our marriage and spoke the prayers when the justice of the peace finished our short vows. And later, at the dance on Elim’s second floor, our friends and the rest of Christian’s family, too, gathered for the meal—including a goose—that made it almost as festive as Christmas. At Elim, where our leader ruled, Father Keil even clapped Christian on the back and nodded politely as he became, he announced, “the first to call her
Frau
Giesy.” He wasn’t, but I didn’t correct him, grateful he’d chosen to acknowledge my married state.

I looked for Barbara Giesy, Christian’s mother, and when my eyes found hers, she smiled. She and I were both
Frau
Giesy now, along with another Barbara and a Mary, already her daughters-in-law. I’d reserve the term
Frau
just for his mother, though. She served food behind the long table, her gray curls brushed tight against her head, as though to hide the flair of their waywardness. Secretly, I hoped our daughters would have such curly hair rather than take after me with my straight strands.

Christian and I hadn’t talked of living arrangements, but I assumed we would have Christian’s room at the Giesy house until the colony could be freed up to build a house for us. Those worldly people heading west and needing wagons had yet to taper off, even though most pilgrims tried to be at Kanesville, Iowa, some miles west, by May 15 in
order to cross the mountains before any early snows. But soon we could set about to make bricks enough, and meanwhile I could learn about the Giesy family and his many other brothers. Helena was his only unmarried sister. Living with them would be my next step as a married woman, one I welcomed.

On my way to
Frau
Giesy’s side to help serve, people stopped me for good wishes, admiring the tiny stitches my mother put into my dress. Willie Keil wished me well, as did Louisa Keil, of course. She held my hand extra long and nodded silently. Several of the Nineveh families had come for the celebration too. I trusted the joy each expressed in their words and on their faces. These were good people in this colony who had chosen to follow our leader, to express their faith through actions and works. I belonged among them. Having won my objective to be Christian’s wife, I could even allow a softening for our leader. After all, this was his home, and he remained at this gathering for us, which offered a blessing of a kind. Perhaps all would turn out well as Christian insisted.

Then
Frau
Giesy put her arms around me, an embrace of warmth and grace. “Christian has chosen a lovely bride,” she said, patting my back as she pulled away.

“Nothing I take credit for.”

“Well said,” she answered. “I will thank your parents, then.”

“As I thank you, for giving me this good man. And for welcoming me into your fold.”

“That we do.” She brushed at the blinker curls at the side of my face. “We’re not so fancy, though.”

“Just for special occasions,” I said, pulling the curl back behind my ear.

“I hope you aren’t too disappointed that you’ll be remaining in your parents’ home for a time. Until a house can be built for Christian.
And for you. Here, Edna, take this last piece of raisin cake. It’s so good. Luella made it, brought it all the way from Nineveh.” She so easily wove in words of hospitality to women across the table that I wasn’t sure I really heard her other words.

“Excuse me?”

“We thought it best. For so long Christian has served the colony, and I have tended him as his mother and as a colony member when he returned home. That will all change in time, but for now, I’m pleased you found no objection to this plan of you remaining with your parents.”

Christian and me living with my parents? Where? Perhaps the boys would move out into the woodshed so my sisters could take their places. It could be arranged. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I could adjust. It was one of my strengths, I decided, this ability to move across the trail, back and forth, crawling over rocks laid in the way. No one could set me off the path, at least, and I chose not to let
Frau
Giesy know her news came as some surprise.

“
Ja
, it’ll be strange to share my room with him,” I said. My sisters would be in the room next door, my parents below us. “But my girlish things I need to put away.”

“
Ach
, you have time,” she said. “There is
Strudel
at the table’s end,” she told Willie when he approached, raising his empty plate. “Let me get it for you.” He followed her along like a puppy. She served him, then returned.

“He’ll stay at home until your house is built. Then you can join him. That way he can continue his work while you’ll be with what’s familiar and none of your family is inconvenienced.”

I kept my face without reaction, pretended that this wasn’t something new to me, that my husband and I reached this conclusion together, not that he’d talked of it to everyone but me.

“We all thought that was best, especially since he still must travel.”

We all thought?
My parents, too? Was everyone in league to keep us separated even after we’d been wed? Or was it yet another test composed by our leader to see how willing I was to support my husband’s work?

Well, he would discover—they all would discover—when something truly mattered, I could conform.

We did spend our wedding night at my parents’ home, and I chose not to bring up the larger issues of our living apart. I didn’t want to spoil that night. We’d planned no bridal tour, and if what
Frau
Giesy said was true, then this would be our only evening together for a time until I could convince my husband otherwise. We settled beneath the goose feather comforter, our bodies barely touching as we lay, eyes wide open staring at the board ceiling. He clasped my hand in his, and it felt sweaty, or perhaps it was merely mine. “Emma,” he began.
Will he tell me now what I already know?

I noticed a strange smell in the room, something from Christian’s boots, perhaps. I heard scratching at the door. Whining followed, then yipping barks until I rose, and when I opened the door, Sheppie ran in. The dog sniffed wildly beneath the bed. I couldn’t imagine what was under it, but the dog squeezed himself under the slats as Christian, standing in his nightshirt, held the lantern high. “A mouse?” Christian ventured as the dog’s tail thumped the floor, waking my parents, I was certain.

The dog backed out with a deer leg bone, fresh meat still attached, the pungent scent now filling the room.

“Indeed.”

“Jonathan! David Jr.!”

I heard my brothers laugh from beyond the wall. My sisters giggled. I opened the door and shooed Sheppie out, bone and all.

We settled back. “Emma,” Christian began again. He lay on his hip, his arm up over my forehead, twirling a lock of my hair.

“What was that?” I heard something swish against the window. Could it be raining? The weather had been fine. Then what sounded like hail hit the panes, followed by the rapping of a snare drum, and then the tubas and the french horns and trumpets woke up the neighborhood. The colony band stood outside our window. A charivari they called it. It was a French event that we Swiss and Germans adopted, meant to celebrate newlyweds on their bridal night. I sighed. Nothing would do now but that we invite all the musicians in and anyone else who made their way through the moonlight to our door, where they would be served wine and cakes and would chatter until they had their fill and went home. Hopefully before dawn.

“At least your mother has cakes to give them,” Christian said as he pulled on his britches. “Or who knows what pranks they’d play on us. In some places they kidnap the bride and ask for a ransom of sausage on the bridal night.”

“I’d make them pay you to take me back,” I said. Christian laughed. He walked to the window and waved at them, but the music didn’t stop. “Maybe they’ll make us both go with them like on New Year’s,
Belsnickel
ing until dawn.”

“
Ach
, no,” he moaned, but I could tell by the smile on his face as he turned from the window that he was pleased to be chosen for this silliness by his friends and brothers. Most men married younger than he was now, and I think it made him feel welcomed to the fold to have been chosen this, regardless of his age.

“I hope they don’t make us go from house to house playing and eating with them,” I said. “Or we’ll never get to sleep.”

“
Ja
, sleep. Or whatever else,
Liebchen
,” Christian said. He’d never used a lover’s name for me before.
Liebchen. Sweetheart
. He kissed me then, and I wished this silly charivari could be waylaid until another time. He released me, letting me go first, patting me on the back the way his mother did. I vowed then to make him love me as one who would hold me tight forever, and that one day, I’d be that lover filled up enough to step away first but not far or for long.

“We may as well get this over with,” he said to Jonathan’s pounding on our door, the younger ones laughing and the dog yipping beyond. Even my father was thumping something on the floor. A broom handle perhaps, thrust against the ceiling.

“Let me help you finish dressing.”

Such a wedding night, I thought. Such adjustments I was asked to make!

Christian set the lantern down to help me put my crinoline on. “What’s this?” he asked.

Only then did I remember the double row of ruffles he now held, the pale cloth cascading over his wide hands.

“Just a little luxury,” I said. “No harm meant.” He grunted. I kissed him on the end of his nose. “I choose life,” I added. “Remember?”

We separated the next day. Oh, not over the ruffles. Christian laughed at those when I told him when they’d been sewn on. “That’s a good thing to do when you feel overcome by rules,” he said. N
O
, we separated because our leader knocked on our door early in the morning, reminding Christian of a meeting scheduled. My husband leaped from his bed, performed not seventy-five pushing-ups but seventy-six, then dressed and left. When my husband returned, he told me he was being sent out and would be gone some weeks.

“But what of our home? What of our plans? Can I go with you?”

“Now,
Liebchen
, you knew this was a part of who I am.”

“But we haven’t even talked of where I’m to stay while you’re gone or even considered that I might go with you.”

“Out of the question,” he said, though he kissed the top of my head. “Be restful,
Liebchen
. My going tells Wilhelm that our marriage will not interfere with what needs doing here. Or wherever he sends me.”