Hope at Dawn (8 page)

“Why don’t you hand me the shingles and nails when I need them?” he said, motioning with his hammer to a rusted can and a stack of shingles.

“All right.” Livy crawled slowly over the rough roof. The sun seeped through her sweater, warming her. A slight breeze ruffled wisps of her hair across her face. The thrill of being high off the ground made her smile and reminded her of hours spent in the hayloft as a girl, sometimes with Joel or Tom, other times alone with her sketchbook.

“Shingle.”

Livy passed him the shingle. His brow furrowed in concentration as he positioned it just so. The focused look added to the handsome planes of his face and jaw, though Livy preferred his smile.

Embarrassed by her thoughts, she busied herself with grabbing a nail and extending it toward him.

He cocked his head as he took the nail from her. “You’ve done this before?”

“I liked helping my father fix things around the farm. I was the official nail handler.” She fingered the stack of shingles she’d placed in her lap. “My older brothers always looked as if they were having more fun working with him than I did in the kitchen with my mother.”

Friedrick hammered the shingle into place, then accepted the next one she passed him. “Are you one of those girls who can shoe a horse but can’t bake a pie?”

Livy frowned at his bent head. “I’m quite capable of doing both.” His mouth quirked upward with hidden laughter—he was teasing her. This playful side to him reminded her of Tom. Her brother had always been able to coax her from a defensive mood.

“The horse shoeing was a relatively recent lesson,” she admitted with a chuckle. “After I came home from college.”

“That’s right, you weren’t able to finish.” He held out his hand. “Shingle.”

Livy handed him another shingle, impressed he remembered such a detail from their conversation during the fox-trot.

He took the nail she offered him next and hammered the shingle into place. “Do you miss it? College, I mean?”

She brushed some hair from her face. “I miss some things.” Her classes, her friends, the excitement of living in her aunt’s opulent house, but all she’d really wanted was to be on her own, doing something she loved. “I like where I am now.”

“Teaching German-American children?”

Her eyes met his, but she couldn’t read his expression. Was he baiting her again? “I’m grateful for this job…and to you…for mentioning it.”

“Fair enough.”

Relieved they’d skirted another battle, Livy helped him finish mending the roof. When they were done, Friedrick gathered up his hammer and the remaining shingles and moved toward the ladder, but Livy lingered behind, enjoying the view. From up here she could see the top of the schoolhouse, the neighboring farms stretching outward from the road and the branches of the nearby trees swaying in the breeze. The world lay in peace around her—no painful memories, no reminders of war.

“‘She sat like patience on a monument,’” Friedrick said. “‘Smiling at grief.’”

Livy turned around. He stood perched on the highest rungs of the ladder. “Is that a poem?”

“It’s Shakespeare.
Twelfth Night.
Would you hand me the tin of nails?”

“You’ve read it?” she asked, her surprise seeping into her voice. She scooted to the ladder and passed him the nails.

“I’ve read most of Shakespeare’s plays—albeit in German.” He threw her a probing look and climbed to the ground. “We aren’t all the uncultured brutes they portray us to be in the war posters.”

Warmth flooded Livy’s cheeks as she maneuvered over the roof’s edge and down the ladder. She hopped off the last rung. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to explain.” Friedrick faced the school, his expression pained. “I would have liked to go to college—to read more books, learn new things.” Livy found herself staring at his large hands, curled into relaxed fists around his tools. She could imagine them holding a book in their gentle grip as he’d held her hand while they’d danced. “My father’s illness takes any extra money, though.” Resignation settled onto his face.

Livy had a sudden desire to reach out and touch his arm, soothe the sadness radiating from him. How often had she complained, if only to herself, about having completed only a year of college, and yet it was evident how much one year would have meant to Friedrick.

“I’d better get Harlan and Greta home. Good day, Miss Campbell.”

“Thank you,” she called out as he walked away.

She entered the cabin and shut the door behind her. Why did the success of her first day feel less rewarding now that she was alone?

Happy squeals disrupted the silence in the cabin. Stealing to the window that faced the schoolhouse, Livy peeked out the curtains. Friedrick had his eyes closed and was lumbering around the school yard, attempting to capture Harlan and Greta. As Livy watched, the two children ran almost within his grasp, then darted away again before he could catch them.

The sight brought a physical ache to her chest, and she dropped the curtain on the cheerful scene. How many times had she felt like this, as if she were watching life from behind a window?

While the other girls her age had married or gone off to college, Livy had waited behind, hoping for her turn at traveling or love. When she was on her own at last and enjoying school, she’d had to leave. When she had finally secured Robert’s attentions, she’d realized the hollowness of their relationship. Where did she belong? She folded her arms against the crushing weight of the question. She certainly didn’t belong at home anymore, not at the age of twenty and with her older brothers gone. Not with Robert. Not at college. Would she find the sense of belonging she craved here in Hilden, with her students?

At the sound of wagon wheels, she glanced out the window once more. The Wagners were headed home. She watched them until she could no longer see the wagon. When she turned away, she felt as empty as the road stretching away from the cabin. She was alone again.

Not inclined to wallow, Livy busied herself with preparing supper. The task kept her thoughts occupied, though a few errant ones pulled her back to the conversation on the roof with Friedrick.

Which side of him truly represented the man? Was Friedrick the type of person who was quick to judge and condemn? Livy frowned at the possibility, until the memories of him quoting Shakespeare and playing with his siblings entered her mind. Did those actions better embody who he was as a man? Someone intelligent and playful, but also strong and protective of those he loved? She had to admit she’d seen more of those qualities in him than the negative ones.

Regardless
, her mind argued as she sat at the table and began to eat.
He is German.

The plain fact caused her appetite to fade. She pushed her dinner around her plate with her fork as she tried to recall what she’d heard or read about Germans. She’d seen the war posters, had felt the sense of pride they inspired in her at her brothers’ service and the fear and anger they stirred at what the enemy might do. But she’d never given any thought to those Germans living here, in America.

Did Friedrick secretly harbor German sympathies? Livy worried the inside of her cheek at the thought.

She still knew so little about him, and yet she wouldn’t call him unpatriotic, despite his not being able to fight. What about herself, though? Would she be considered disloyal to her country if she continued to associate with him? After all, she told herself, Joel and Tom were likely facing off against Friedrick’s distant relatives. What would she do if one of them were to hurt her family?

Livy shivered, despite her sweater. She set down her fork, not sure if she could eat any more. The unanswered questions soured her stomach and left her feeling queasy and unsure. She’d been taught all her life to love her enemies, to see others as God saw them. Did that apply to Friedrick?

Loving her students came easily, German though they may be. It was different with someone closer to her own age. Would her parents approve of her acquaintance with Friedrick? Would they have let her come had they known the idea for the job had come from a German-American? That she’d be seeing more of him, with him doing maintenance at the school?

“Perhaps I’m being silly,” she scolded herself out loud. She picked up her fork, determined not to waste the food in front of her.

It wasn’t as if she planned to be anything more than a casual friend to Friedrick. She certainly wouldn’t do anything that might worry her parents or her brothers.

Determination restored her appetite. Having only picked at her food all day, she ate hardily. The quiet of the evening magnified the shift of her weight in the hard-backed chair and the sigh from her lips, making them sound unnaturally loud. The breeze had picked up outside, and now it whooshed with plaintive notes through the cracks in the cabin. Livy shivered again and added more wood to the stove.

Too soon the kitchen area had been set to rights and she found herself staring at the four walls once more. “Maybe I ought to get a cat,” she murmured.

At home the family would be heading into the parlor for homework or reading the newspaper. An intense longing to be there cut through her, but she steeled herself against it. She’d wanted to be on her own for so long. It was only the second night; surely living by herself would get easier. To help assuage the temporary homesickness, she penned a letter to her parents, telling them about her first day teaching, then readied herself for bed.

She stayed longer on her knees tonight, offering a sincere prayer of thanks for her new position. Despite the arguments with Friedrick, she still believed his mention of the job on her birthday had been providential. Surely this was where she needed—wanted—to be.

Livy slipped beneath the covers and shut her eyes, but sleep was slow in coming for the second night in a row. Her feet ached from standing most of the day and her throat felt scratchy from talking, but she couldn’t relax her exhausted mind.

With an exasperated sigh, she threw back the blankets and padded on bare feet to the crate she was using as a makeshift bookcase. She pulled out one of the two volumes of Shakespeare she owned. She’d only read
Romeo and Juliet
, but if Friedrick had read most of the other plays, then it was high time Livy did, too.

W
ith the roof repaired, Friedrick decided to spend an afternoon splitting wood behind the schoolhouse. Though spring had begun unfolding its greenery along the branches and hollows of the local farms, the mornings and evenings still held winter’s bite. Before he started fixing the cracks in the mortar, he wanted to ensure both the schoolhouse and Livy’s cabin had adequate fuel for the stoves.

Friedrick wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve and threw a quick glance at the school yard. Greta wandered nearby, her eyes focused on the ground. She was probably hoping to find some early spring wildflowers. He hadn’t seen Harlan yet. Had the boy gotten himself into trouble with Livy? If so, it clearly ran in the family.

He and Livy hadn’t spoken much in the past few days. Friedrick had kept to himself, to avoid saying something he might regret. It still rankled him she’d been surprised by his knowledge of Shakespeare. He was grateful her acceptance of the teaching position meant he also had a job, but he wished the superintendent had found a docile, older—and less attractive—replacement for Miss Lehmann.

Tossing more split wood onto his growing pile, he frowned in the direction of the school. Why hadn’t Harlan come out yet? Could Livy be coming down hard on the boy, based solely on her annoyance with Friedrick? The possibility tightened his jaw. She could berate him all she wanted, but he wouldn’t tolerate her doing the same to his brother.

Friedrick swept up an armful of wood and marched into the school, prepared to go toe to toe with Livy—again—if Harlan proved blameless. He entered the room and froze. Harlan sat at his desk, while Livy stood at the blackboard, writing sums.

At the sound of his footsteps, Harlan turned around and grinned. “Hi-ya, Friedrick.”

“What’s going on?” He hoped the words sounded less threatening to Livy than they did to him.

The guarded expression in her green eyes when she spun around proved he’d thought wrong. “Harlan didn’t finish his arithmetic. He said he didn’t understand it, so I was reviewing the lesson for him.”

Self-reproach at his unfounded conclusions kept him from responding. Instead Friedrick busied himself with filling the wood box. He heard Livy ask Harlan a summation question, which the boy answered correctly.

“Very good,” she announced. “You are free to go.”

“Whoopee,” Harlan cried, racing for the door.

Friedrick followed after him. Outside, Harlan scrambled up one of the trees bordering the school. Greta sat at its base, entertaining herself with what looked like a leaf or flower chain. Friedrick returned to the woodpile and stuck another log on the chopping block. Hefting his axe, he drove the blade into the wood’s center. Why did he keep thinking the worst of Livy’s motives and actions? She wasn’t out to hurt his family, despite her reticence toward him since learning of his German ancestry. She obviously cared about her students and their progress. Which meant just one thing—he’d been too quick to judge her at their second meeting.

Friedrick tossed the split wood to the ground with a grunt. He didn’t like the idea of rethinking the box he’d placed Livy inside. The action reminded him too much of the judgments those in town had made about him and the other German-Americans. Was he being as intolerant as they had been? He wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.

Soon the pile of split wood had doubled in size. Friedrick surveyed his handiwork and decided there was enough wood to last Livy and the students awhile. He gathered a second load for the school and retraced his steps inside. Livy sat at her desk, a pen pressed between her teeth. Friedrick took a moment to admire the way her lips pursed around the object before he spoke. “You still working?”

She blinked and pulled the pen from her mouth. “No. Just writing a letter.”

He set the wood inside the box. “To your beau?” he threw over his shoulder.

“No,” she repeated, her tone curt. Was she no longer with the boyfriend she’d been waiting for on her birthday? A ripple of triumph ran through Friedrick at the idea, though he couldn’t see the point. Livy didn’t see him as anything more than the man she’d danced with once or the German-American who cared for the school.

“I’m writing my good friend Nora. She’s promised to my brother Tom. He and my other brother Joel are fighting the…” Her quick intake of breath sounded unusually loud in the schoolroom. Friedrick knew exactly what word she’d been about to say. “They’re both in France,” she finished.

Friedrick stood to face her. “May I speak plainly?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Livy clapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning pink. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why—”

“You can’t seem to keep a civil tongue? Why the first thing you think comes right out of your mouth?”

She laughed softly. “Yes.”

He walked slowly to her desk, remembering the last time he’d done this and how angry he’d been. No frustration filled him now, only a desire to improve things. And an irrational need to be closer to this beautiful woman seated at the front of the room.

“I need this job, and from the few things you’ve said, it sounds like you want to keep yours, too.” He placed a hand on the top of the desk and bent slightly toward her. “So what do you say to throwing out the white flag? Calling a truce?”

She lifted an eyebrow in question.

“I’m asking if you’d be willing to get along, for the sake of our jobs.”

Livy glanced down at her letter, her long fingers drumming the desk. Would she refuse his offer for peace? Had he jumped to the wrong conclusion one too many times to salvage things now?

“All right,” she said, lifting her head. “I agree to the terms of your peace treaty.”

“Shall we shake on it?” he half teased, though the idea of holding her hand again wasn’t an unpleasant one.

“Of course.” She stood and walked around the desk. Her head came only to his chin, as it had when they’d danced. She stuck out her hand and he clasped it in his own. Similar to the last time they’d shaken hands, her touch felt decidedly feminine but also firm. Much like the woman herself, Friedrick mused. Soft but full of pluck, kind but capable of standing her ground.

Friedrick released her hand and smiled, relieved to have struck a truce. Livy offered him a smile in return, though it looked a bit more reluctant than the one he’d seen on her face at the dance hall. Still, her large, green eyes shone with warmth and sincerity. As he stared into them, he suddenly couldn’t remember why he’d been irritated at her in the first place. If he could keep himself from making unfounded assumptions, a cease-fire with Livy would surely prove to be as satisfying as sparring with her had been.

Livy kept a hand on her best hat as the wind pushed her down the sidewalk toward the church up ahead.
Of all the Sabbaths to be running late, it would be Easter Sunday.
If she hadn’t fallen asleep in the large bathing pot she’d dragged in from outside, she would have been able to pick which of Hilden’s two churches to attend. As it was, she had to settle for the closest.

She raced up the steps of the white building and slipped inside the double doors. Organ music greeted her ears, but no singing. They hadn’t started yet. She paused to smooth her blue silk dress. The heady scent of flowers, from the arrangements on either side of the chapel entrance, filled her nose. The smell reminded her at once of Easter the year before. She’d come home from college to visit and Robert had showed up to services handsomely dressed in his Sunday suit. He’d been encouraging her brothers to enlist soon, as he planned to, before he spotted Livy eavesdropping.

“Will you miss me when I go fight, Livy?” he’d asked, speaking to her directly, as if she wasn’t just the kid sister of his two best friends anymore.

She gulped. “Yes, of course.”

He smiled, a charming smile that made her feel a bit light-headed, and leaned close to whisper, “I’ll miss you, too.”

Fresh loneliness washed over Livy at the memory. She’d been so happy then and so naïve. She’d returned to school with starry-eyed visions of her and Robert marrying after the war. Little did she know how the fight across the ocean would affect him or her hopes and plans for the future.

Sudden quiet tore the recollection from Livy’s mind, and she jerked her head up to find the pastor already standing at the pulpit. She hurried into the chapel and sat on the back pew. A girl, seated farther down the row, glanced in Livy’s direction. Livy recognized her—it was Yvonne. She waved to Livy, and Livy smiled back. If she couldn’t be home with her family today, then she liked the idea of seeing some of her students.

After the pastor greeted the congregation, the notes of the opening hymn filled the crowded room. Livy picked up the hymnal and opened it. The words weren’t in English. She shut the book and gazed at the people seated across the aisle and in front of her. She spotted several more of her pupils, including Harlan and Greta—and Friedrick—sitting near the front of the room.

Her heart beat faster in alarm. She’d inadvertently chosen to attend the German church her first Sunday in Hilden. She glanced at the doors behind her. Would a hasty exit be noticed? Probably.

Grateful at least to be in the back, Livy slid down on the bench. Maybe no one would notice her presence. She attempted to sing without the aid of words, but she wasn’t the only one struggling to sing the song correctly. Most of the congregation stumbled through the verses as though they hadn’t sung them in English before. The poor organist kept slowing her accompaniment, in a vain attempt to help.

When the song, thankfully, ended, Livy folded her arms and bowed her head for the prayer. Surely God wouldn’t care where she chose to worship today, and yet she couldn’t shake the nervousness in her stomach. Had she made a grave mistake? She tapped the toe of her shoe with impatience as the pastor began petitioning the Lord on behalf of people she didn’t know. It was going to be a long meeting.

Someone down the aisle made a shushing sound. Livy peeked to see the source of the scolding. Yvonne’s mother was frowning at her. When she caught Livy staring, the woman nodded at Livy’s bouncing leg.

Mortification roiled through her as Livy quickly shut her eyes and ceased her impatient tapping. At that moment, a name from the prayer leapt out at her.

“Please bless Marta Lehmann,” the pastor said in a loud, clear voice. “Bless her, Lord, to be safe. Watch over her as she endures her time in prison. Help her to feel of our love and of Thy love.”

Prison?
A cold prickle ran up Livy’s backbone. Mr. Foster had failed to tell her Miss Lehmann had been sent to prison.

At the sound of sniffling, Livy stole a glance down the row. Yvonne wiped her nose with her sleeve as tears dripped down her small face.
Poor girl
, Livy thought. Several of the women nearby were wiping at their eyes as well. What a shock to her students—and apparently many of their parents—to learn the last teacher had gone to prison. Would they blame Livy?

She suddenly couldn’t seem to fill her lungs with enough air. She felt as if everyone in the room was aware of her intruding presence—the one who’d taken Miss Lehmann’s place. If only she could disappear beneath the pew and not have to see the congregation at the end of the prayer. For a moment, she reconsidered her plan to leave, but if the pastor ended his prayer before she reached the outer doors, she’d draw even more attention to herself.

She sat frozen in indecision too long. The pastor said “Amen” before she could move and Livy forced her eyelids open. She darted a quick look at Yvonne’s family, but none of them paid her any mind. Maybe she would get through this unscathed. She could still slip out during the closing hymn.

After a silent prayer for strength, Livy did her best to concentrate on the pastor’s Easter sermon about hope and redemption. Her thoughts soon wandered, though, to home. The family would be in church, too, only six of them this year. Afterward her mother would serve a delicious ham. Once everyone had eaten their fill, the family would congregate in the parlor to read from the Bible. Homesickness filled her throat at the mental picture and she had to cough to release it. Unfortunately the sound produced another humiliating glare from Yvonne’s mother.

Was being on her own really what she wanted? So far she didn’t fit in here as she’d hoped.
Give it time
, her mother would probably say.
You’ve only been there a week.
But Livy couldn’t help thinking she’d already been the recipient of more misjudgment this week than she’d experienced in her whole life. How much more would she have to endure?

When she’d applied for the teaching job, all she could think about was getting away from home, away from Robert. She hadn’t considered trading one set of problems for another.

The tightness in her throat increased, alerting Livy that tears were near. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop the rise of moisture. She wouldn’t cry over this situation. While things might not be what she’d imagined, she would save her tears for true sorrow and heartache, as she’d felt as a ten-year-old girl. No use wasting her tears on something like homesickness or prejudiced neighbors.

Tilting her head up, she let out a soft sigh and refocused her attention on the pastor.

“At this time of great turmoil and strife in the world,” the pastor said, his face earnest, “we must be willing to endure what God intends. Only then will we become stronger. Only then will we become His tools. Only then will we be worthy to be counted as followers of His Son. That is my hope this glorious Easter morning.”

This time the man’s words filled Livy’s mind, fortifying her resolve to make the best of her new life. Surely God would help her, as He had in guiding her to this job in the first place.

She sang the closing hymn with gusto—and at a slightly faster tempo than those around her—which garnered her several peculiar looks. She did her best to ignore them. After the closing prayer had been offered, she slipped out of the pew and stood behind it. This way she could greet any of her students who filed past.

She waved good-bye to Yvonne as the girl and her family exited the bench.