Cheryl Reavis (29 page)

Frederich clenched his fist, struggling for control. “I don’t want anything—!”

Eli abruptly stood up. “I told you before. It doesn’t matter what you want. I will stay here for a while—until you are more able. Then I will go back to Pennsylvania. And once again, it doesn’t matter what you want. I own half the farm, and I won’t see Anna’s children go hungry.

“This country—this land here means nothing to me—except for the fact that
she
sleeps in it. I feel the same about it as you do about the sea. It’s her grave and I don’t want to be anywhere near it. Someday you can buy my share from me. This war won’t last forever. What I saw at Gettysburg tells me that. If I were you, I would get well enough to push a plow, but not to carry a gun. Then, when you can pay, you write to the Pennsylvania relatives. We will negotiate.”

“Where is Caroline?”

“Still here—or gone. I don’t know. Wherever she is, know this, Frederich. I will still keep my promise to Anna. If Caroline is done with you, if she thinks there is no hope for her marriage to you and she will be better away from here, I will help her go.”

Frederich closed his eyes. He wanted to rail and to accuse, to throw things with his one good hand, to do everything that his fierce pride demanded. But he was so tired. He had questions still—about Eli’s being in the church with Caroline, about his promise to Ann. He heard Eli cross the room and open the door, but he said nothing.

Caroline’s face rose in his mind. What was it she had told him?

I’m worth having.

And so she was—except he had never told her. He wanted her here—now—always. And he had ruined his only chance. He hadn’t believed her. She would never forgive him for that.

He put his hand over his eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath, struggling not to lose what little control he had. Suddenly, it was William’s voice he remembered, in those first days after the marriage.

You be good to Caroline. I mean it, Frederich. I don’t care what she’s done—she’s my sister. I stood by and let Avery hurt her, but I won’t let nobody do that again. I want your word—man to man. You be good to her or you answer to me.

And when William was dying…

You said you’d take care of her. You—didn’t do it, Frederich! I told you and told you how worried
—
she is about you. You don’t do nothing! She’s all by herself—people won’t even talk to her. Look at me. I can’t watch out for her no more. How am I going to do it now? I’m all…

He looked toward the door. Someone was coming down the hall. Johann—worried.

“I came to see if you’re…all right,” he said, watching him closely.

“Oh, yes,” Frederich said sarcastically. “I am just fine.”

Johann smiled. “Good. I thought you might be feeling sorry for yourself. What can I do for you?”

“Give me your hand,” he said, straining upward.

“What?”

“Give me your hand, Johann. I want to sit on the side of the bed. I’ve had enough of being an invalid.”

Johann looked doubtful, but he offered his hand, pulling hard until Frederich was able to hang both legs off the side. The pain was excruciating.

“Now what?” Johann said, anxious and hovering.

“Now—Johann—I have to find the way to bring home— my wife.”

“W
hat are those?” Johann asked.

“Swords,” Frederich said, without looking up. “Made out of wood,” he added unnecessarily, because he was obviously hard at work sanding one of them until it was as smooth as the other.

“You made them?”

“John Steigermann made them. I can’t cut wood—I can only sand it.”

“I see. But aren’t they a bit small?”

“They are for my children.”

“Ah! And all this time I could have sworn your children were girls.”

“Not today, Johann. Today, Lise is my
Degensmann.
Mary Louise is my
Degensmann.
You see?”

“No, I don’t think so—unless—are you going to see Caroline?”

“I am.”

“Well! Going to see Caroline with a
Degensmann.
Well!”

“Two of them, Johann,” Frederich said, still sanding.

“Even better! I suppose she knows you are coming?”

“No.”

“No?”

Frederich looked at him, but didn’t reply.

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Yes, I should, Johann, but I can’t. I can’t get around all that well yet. I can’t waste my strength on skirmishes. I have to save it for the big campaign. Besides that, forewarned is forearmed. I learned that in the army.”

“But what good will this—campaign—do, if she has— what is that term you rebel soldiers use—skedaddled?”

“She hasn’t skedaddled. My oldest
Degensmann
has her cornered. We three will rendezvous in the hickory woods this afternoon and we will then complete our plan.”

“Which is?”

“None of your business.”

Johann grinned. “This isn’t like you, you know. This isn’t like you
at all.”

“It used to be like me, Johann. You didn’t know me then.”

“I told you I could have carried letters for you.”

“And I told you I don’t write in English,” Frederich said, the translated letter Eli had written her coming immediately to mind. “Ever. What I have to say to Caroline, I will say. I want no one in the middle.”

“Then I will pray for a great victory.”

“You do that, Johann.”

“Does…Beata know what is afoot?”

“She does.”

“In that case, I will pray harder. But first I would like to offer a small suggestion. You could stand a good barbering, Frederich—but never fear, I am willing to offer you
my
services.”

“I think I would be better off letting a
Degensmann
do it,” Frederich said, glancing at Johann’s hit-and-miss look.

“Not at all! I really don’t think their swords will cut cleanly, do you?”

“Do you
know
how to barber?”

“Of course—and any skill I may lack, the Lord will provide.”

*   *   *

Caroline abruptly stopped and listened. She looked toward the open back door.

Whispering?

Yes,
she thought. Had Lise forgotten something and come back? What in the world could she be doing?

She stepped around the kitchen table. At least it wasn’t the army. They were never quiet when they came. The whispering suddenly ended, but it was followed by a clearing of the throat and a chopped-off, half-smothered giggle. Caroline put down the egg she was about to crack and walked to the back door.

Lise and Mary Louise stood on the porch. They were both wearing their Sunday dresses and bonnets and, incredibly, small wooden swords tied around their waists with gold braid. She tried not to smile, because in spite of the game they were obviously playing, they were both most serious— and because Beata would likely turn them into frogs if she discovered they were out and about in their good clothes.

“Good afternoon,” Lise said solemnly.

“Good afternoon,” Mary Louise added with her finger in her mouth. Lise reached over and pulled it out.

“Good afternoon,” Caroline responded. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

It immediately set them to conferring.

“She wasn’t supposed to say
that,”
Mary Louise whispered.

“It’s all right, Mary Louise,” Lise assured her. “It fits.”

“It does?”

“Yes! It’s your turn to say—”

“I can do it! I am the
Degensmann
of Friedrich Gustav Graeber,” she said, still whispering.

“Out loud!”

“I am the
Degensmann
of Friedrich Gustav Graeber!” Mary Louise responded loudly.

“I, too, am the
Degensmann
of Friedrich Gustav Graeber,” Lise said, for once the echo.

They both gave smart bows, bending at the waist, their right hands on the wooden hilts of their swords. Then they parted and turned to face the yard.

Caroline gave a soft “oh” sound. Frederich stood a few yards away—stood—a few yards away. She took a step forward, but his nearest
Degensmann
caught her skirt.

“No, Aunt Caroline,” Lise whispered. “You have to let him walk here. It’s important—”

Yes,
she thought. She could see that by the determined look on his face. He stood for a moment longer, swaying slightly, then slowly, painfully, he began to make his way in her direction. She waited, trying not to cry.

Look at you!
she thought.
Oh, look at you!

When he neared the porch, she could stand it no longer and she hurried down the steps to help him. He put his arm around her shoulders and leaning heavily on her, made his way to the shaded edge to sit down—in much the same place where he’d been tied the day the army took him away.

“I can’t—manage steps very well—yet,” he said, clearly winded by the effort.

It took every ounce of strength she had not to fuss over him, not to chastise him for taxing himself so.

She wiped furtively at her eyes with her fingertips and tried to smile. Then she took several deep breaths. “I knew you were getting up now—but I never dreamed—” She had to stop or cry.

“Practice makes perfect, they say,” he answered. He gave a small crooked smile. “I still have a lot of practice to go.”

She stared at him. He was so thin—and so handsome. He had had his hair cut and his beard trimmed. And the blue of his eyes took her breath away.

He seemed to grow uneasy under her scrutiny, and he turned to nod to his ambassadors. They both trotted around to the side of the house and shortly returned with a big bouquet of yellow and white wildflowers that must have been stashed there during all the whispering. They solemnly
gave the bouquet to their father, then came to stand at his side.

Lise whispered something into his ear, and he nodded again.

“I am here on behalf of Friedrich Gustav Graeber—who asks you to please be his wife,” she said, and Caroline looked sharply away. When she looked back, Frederich was holding the flowers out to her. She looked down at them, and then at both children, and then into his eyes.

“There is no bottomless basket here for you to give me, Caroline. I won’t make it easy for you to say no. You will have to say it to my face.”

She took a deep breath, but she still didn’t take the flowers.

“Each
Degensmann
will stand away now,” he said, patting his daughters on the cheek. “There—and over there. And you will keep watch for me, yes?”

They nodded dutifully and went to stand where he indicated.

“I should have told you this long ago,” he said when they were out of earshot. “I was afraid for you to know. I am still afraid, but I will say the words, if you will listen.”

He waited, and after a moment she nodded.

“You, Caroline Holt Graeber, are more to me than I can ever say. I tried hard not to let it happen—this love I feel for you. I think you know that is true. But it is here—in my heart—in spite of everything I could do. In spite of everything that has happened I ask you now to forgive me for the hurt I caused you in the struggle. I ask you now to be my wife. If you want, we will say the words again in front of Johann. In front of everybody. Caroline—”

She averted her eyes, turning her attention to where the children were standing, their faces worried, hopeful.

“No,” he said. “Don’t do it for them. Do it only if you love me, too.”

She looked at him then, her mind full of images. She saw him grim-faced and unhappy when they said their marriage vows. She saw him kind and gentle at her baby’s grave. She saw him passionate in his need of her on their belated wedding night. She saw him betrayed—wounded—suffering. And she saw him now. The man she had come to love with all her heart.

“Caroline, is there nothing about me that pleases you?" he asked quietly.

“Quite a lot, Herr Graeber,” she answered, staring into his beautiful, sad, eyes. “You are no ordinary man.”

She reached for the flowers then, and for him, careful of his wounds but clinging to him hard.

“Forgive me,” he whispered against her ear.

“I love you, Fredench,” she told him fiercely.

His swordsmen were there suddenly, covering them both in hugs and kisses. She leaned back to see their faces.

“Are you coming home?” Lise asked, delighted and afraid, as Caroline was herself. “Are you?”

She looked into Fredench’s eyes and took Mary Louise onto her lap. “Yes, my loves. I’m coming home.”

July 4, 1865

T
he sudden burst of male voices startled her.

So flaxen were her ring-a-lets!

Her eyebrows of a darker hue!

Bewitchingly! O’er archingly!

Two laughing eyes of lovely blue!

Robert Burns?
she thought. Why would the men be reciting Robert Burns?

Like harmony her motion!

Her pretty ankle is a spy!

Betraying fair proportion!

Would make a saint forget the sky!

She moved to stand at the kitchen door, and she smiled at the wild cheer that punctuated the end of the recitation. For days, she and Frederich had been preparing for their neighbors to come and help cut the winter supply of wood, trying to put together enough food and drink to feed them all and to honor Private William T. Holt not quite in the way he’d wanted.

But how William would have loved this gathering of his friends and family and his old comrades. Johann had just opened another keg of cider and she doubted if any of them would be able to find their way home.

So few of them left, she thought sadly. Soldiers were still straggling back from the hospitals and from the prisons in the North—Leah had hope yet that one of them might be Kader, and Beata was relentlessly expecting Avery.

Avery. Caroline wondered just how changed he would be. Johann’s inquires had finally resulted in a letter from a prison surgeon at Fort McHenry in Maryland, one that curtly assured her that her brother was recovering and that he would be able to travel south soon. She had no doubt that Avery
had
changed. For one thing, the old philandering Avery would have never looked twice at Beata Graeber, who had neither the land nor the looks to interest him. This new and apparently needy one wrote letters to Beata faithfully, letters that sent her rummaging in her hope chest to inventory her yellowed bridal linens, letters that made her object vehemently to today’s festivities because “her” Avery hadn’t yet arrived.

But Frederich hadn’t wanted to wait any longer for William’s
Leichenbier.
The war was over, and whether Beata’s marriage prospect had returned or not, it was time for him to keep his word.

The Robert Burns began again, this time to the accompaniment of sawing and chopping. Caroline smiled to herself, both at the recitation and at the notion that Beata might soon be Avery’s wife. Poor Avery—and poor Beata, too. How suited they were for each other. She must remind herself not to enjoy their comeuppance so.

She shifted little William Gustav on her shoulder. He was fed and fast asleep and she needed some place to put him down. She could see Frederich coming with another log, skillfully cajoling old Koenig along as he had always been able to do. He limped still, but there was no doubt that he
made her heart flutter. She watched him fondly, smiling a bit when John Steigermann suddenly intercepted him, patting him heartily on the back and shaking his hand. Johann and several of the others followed suit—veterans of Company “K” and the 5th North Carolina Regiment. Jacob Goodman brought him a dipperful of cider and cheered him while he drained it.

Frederich saw her then and began to walk toward her, smiling broadly at whatever they called after him and boldly kissing her and the baby when he reached her—in spite of the crowd.

“What was that all about?” she asked, because the men were still looking in their direction and they all grinned and waved.

“Company ‘K’ has always enjoyed its cider,” he said, kissing her again.

“And Robert Burns,” she said, a bit taken aback by his display of affection. Frederich Graeber was a private man— except today. Today, he was feeling their great good fortune, she suddenly realized. He had survived, and so had their precarious love for each other. They had only to look around them to know how truly blessed they were.

He looked at her blankly.

“The poem—it’s Robert Burns,” she said.

“Robert Burns to you—a way to keep a bunch of German plowboys with two left feet in step to me.”

“You drilled them to Robert Burns?”

“All the time. It was something Avery started—to annoy Gerhardt, I think. It worked very well—I’m just glad ‘The Lass Who Made the Bed to Me’ hasn’t come to mind— Beata will be out here cracking heads with her broom. You should have seen William when we marked cadence to that one—his ears would turn a fiery red. Where are the girls?”

“Helping Beata in the kitchen—they must be doing well. I don’t think she’s thrown things a single time. We’ll be ready to eat soon…” She stopped because he wasn’t listening.
He was grinning over his shoulder again at the still laughing John Steigermann and the others.

“What is so funny?” she said.

“Nothing,” her much too innocent husband informed her.

“Frederich, why are they staring like that? I want to know what is going on?”

“It’s nothing—”

“It is something—”