On Wings of the Morning (10 page)

“Yes, we did.”

“I heard it wasn’t accidental.”

“No. Steve Smith set it. My dad was badly hurt trying to save his cows.”

“So I hear,” mumbled Wilson around an unlit cigar. “I hear this Smith is a punk.”

“That’s one of the nicer terms I would use. His family is bad news.”

“You want something should happen to Smith? A little accident with injury, perhaps?”

“No, Mr. Wilson, the sheriff is investigating. He’ll do the right thing.”

“Well, my associates and I have been known to help the local police from time to time. And they help us. Let me see what I can do. I don’t like no punk messin’ with one of my boys.”

“Really, Mr. Wilson, I appreciate it, but please don’t make the situation worse. We’ll be all right.”

Wilson grunted and turned back to his tip sheet.

Otto went out and prepped and pre-flighted the Cub. He was soon flying northeast through cloudless skies.

***

The airport at Eau Claire was familiar to Otto as he climbed out of the Cub with his bag. He went over and got into a waiting cab, giving the driver the address of the hospital that Rose Carter had given him. It was a short trip, and Otto got out of the cab, thinking that most hospitals looked alike. And smelled alike. He went in, and the receptionist directed him to Hans’ room.

The room was on the second floor and down a long hall. As Otto neared the door, Maria came out. She recognized him from a distance and embraced him in a huge hug. “Mein kinder, it is so good to see you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Otto thought she looked tired. He had no doubt she was spending most of her waking hours at the hospital. “How is Papa?”

She cast down her eyes. “He is about the same. The doctors here say he will never walk again. He will have to live in a wheelchair.” Otto embraced her again.

“We will all take care of him,” he told her. “May I go in and see him?”

Maria took his hand. “Come,” she said.

Hans was lying in a hospital bed. He looked pale and his eyes were closed. “Hans,” Maria whispered gently, “There’s someone here to see you.”

Hans’ eyelids flickered and then he opened his eyes. “Otto,” he whispered.

“Yes, Papa, I am here.” He took his father’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

Hans groaned. “Not good. I cannot move my legs. I am useless.”

“No, Papa, you will never be useless. You will get better and we will raise even more cows.”

“It is because of cattle that I am here.”

“No, it is my fault, Papa. If I hadn’t had the radio, the Smiths would not have accused us.”

Hans waved a hand. “They would have found something else. Listening to a radio is an innocent thing compared to being a hoodlum like young Smith.”

“The neighbors rebuilt your barn, Papa.”

Hans waved a hand. “They are good people. We help each other. And now, Otto, I am very tired and wish to take a nap.”

“All right, Papa. I have to get back to the airport, but I’ll visit you when I can.” Hans’ eyes closed, and Maria and Otto slipped out of the room.

“Will you be all right, Mama? I worry that you are here alone.”

“I have been through worse,” she replied. “The people here are very nice and Mrs. Schmidt, who I am renting the room from, comes from the same area of Germany that we did. We have had several good talks already. And she is a wonderful cook, so I will have a little vacation from cooking.”

She walked with Otto to the entrance where they embraced again. “You and Mata take good care of each other.”

“We will, Mama. I’ll be back Saturday.”

“Be careful, mein kinder. Remember your old mama.”

Otto took a taxi back to the airport and was home before dark. As he drove up the drive, he could see the new barn was finished. He had had so many conflicting emotions in the last 24 hours. Good things can come out of bad, he thought.

***

Otto was up early, looking around the barn. It was beautifully constructed, and their three surviving cows were lying peacefully in their stalls. He heard a car pull up and walked out to see Sheriff Draper getting out of his patrol car. He came over and shook Otto’s hand. “I arrested Steve Smith last night and charged him with arson. He’ll be in jail for a while, I promise you. I couldn’t charge him with more since your father went into the barn of his own volition.”

“Well, isn’t there something else you can get them on? Destruction of property? Something like that?”

“That’s part of the arson charge. And the judge knows Steve very well so I think he’ll be spending some time in Green Bay. “

“That doesn’t give my father the use of his legs.”

Draper put his hand on Otto’s shoulder. “No, but it does give him justice. And that’s better than an endless vendetta. It stops here.”

Otto looked at the ground.

“Well, I gotta go,” said Draper. “You take care and—how’s your father’s getting along?”

“The doctors say he will never walk again. He’ll be in the hospital for a while.”

Draper shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s all so unnecessary.”

Otto nodded and stood there watching as Draper drove off.

Otto walked into the house, wiping his hands. He found his father in the living room, in his wheelchair, looking through his newspaper. Otto knelt down. “Papa, I have something to show you.”

“Vat is it? A new pair of legs?” Hans had not gone out since he came home from the hospital a month before. He had not recovered any use of his legs. The doctors discharged him, telling the family that there might be a treatment for Hans in the future, but they foresaw nothing in the next few years. It had been a quiet, long drive home.

Otto wheeled Hans through the kitchen and into the barnyard. The Model T was sitting there. Otto stopped a few feet from it. “Here it is!”

“Vat? This old truck? I have seen this many times.”

“But look—” Otto wheeled him closer. “—look at the steering wheel.”

“I see some levers where there weren’t any before,” Hans offered. He looked interested.

“I rigged up some hand levers so you can drive without using your feet. This one---controls the brakes. This one—the clutch.”

“I see. How clever of you!”

“So you can drive around and see what’s going on. You can even drive to town.”

“Help me up into the seat.”

Otto lifted Hans into the seat, noticing how much weight he had lost during his time in the hospital. Hans sat behind the wheel. Otto ran around and cranked the car. Hans advanced the throttle and pulled down on the clutch lever. The T lurched forward, and as it gained speed, Otto could hear Hans whooping all the way down the driveway. He stood there with a huge grin on his face.

Mata came out of the house. “What is Papa doing in the truck?” she asked.

“He’s driving it, Mata,” Otto said quietly as Hans turned in a wide circle and came speeding back to them. When he got close, he pulled on the brake lever and slid to a stop. Mata ran over and hugged him, and Otto joined them. “Thank you, mein son! Now I don’t have to be useless!” As they embraced Otto saw, for the first time in his life, that his father was crying.

The day was bright and clear as Otto went into the hardware store to buy some nails to build a better chicken house. He had just taken the paper bag from old Mr. Rice when he heard a commotion in the street. It was a newsboy, holding a local paper high above his head while he screamed “EXTRA! EXTRA! It’s war! Germans invade Poland! Read all about it!”

Otto went over to the kid and gave him a nickel and sat on one of the benches in front of the newspaper office to read the paper. It looked like the Germans had done it this time. He didn’t see how England could stay out of war now. Or France. The U.S. he wasn’t sure about. He would have to see what happened.

He got back into the old pickup. The whole family practiced traditional German thrift, so they had not gotten anything newer. He would have to talk to Mata about updating to a newer model, even though it would be a used one, maybe a ’36 or a ’37.

He drove home thoughtfully, the newspaper open to the front page on the seat beside him. When he pulled into the barnyard, Mata was hanging clothes. At least she had bought a gas-powered washer at his insistence. Doing laundry by hand was such a chore for her and Maria, and Maria helped less and less. It seemed as if she had lost all her spirit since Hans’ injury.

He went over to Mata, who was pinning the last of his shirts to the line. He showed her the headline. She took the paper and looked at it carefully and sighed. “Let’s not tell Mama,” she cautioned. “It would only upset her and do no good. She has such bad memories of being in Germany during the last war.”

She gathered up her laundry basket and clothespin bag and followed Otto into the house. Maria was sitting at the kitchen table, idly cutting up some potatoes. Most of them still had some peel on them. Mata would have to re-do them. She went over and took the bowl from Maria and picked up a knife from beside the kitchen sink. She sat down and started re-peeling the potatoes. Otto sat down across from her.

“Hans, where have you been?” Maria asked Otto.

“Mama, I’m Otto. Hans is—” He stopped short of saying that Hans was in the other room when Mata shot him a look. “Papa is out working.”

This explanation seemed to satisfy Maria. She arose from the table and went into the living room and sat in her chair. “I’ll bring Papa out in a few minutes. She thinks you’re Papa and she doesn’t recognize him at all. She’ll sit in there for a while, waiting for Papa to come home. I’ll tell Papa about the attack. I’ll also tell him not to say anything around Mama,” Mata whispered.

“How long has she been doing this?” Otto asked.

“For a couple of weeks, on and off. I hope it doesn’t go any further. Most of the time she’s all right.”

“How did I miss this?”

“You’ve been working on the farm and at the airport. I spend all day with her. I wasn’t certain what I was seeing and I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“Anyhow, what do you think of the news of the day? Will we be involved in the war if it comes?”

“I think it will come,” said Mata. “It’s inevitable. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. The British are our friends, and we go back a long way together. At the same time, there’s a lot of sentiment for isolationism in this country. Even Charles Lindbergh is for that position.”

“But how do
you
feel, Otto? You stand to lose a great deal if there is war and you have to serve.”

“Maybe it would be a chance to demonstrate to Smith and his like that I am as American as he is.”

“You don’t have to demonstrate anything to anyone, brother. You are a fine man. I know your heart. It is loyal and true.”

“Spoken like a true sister. Well, as Mama says, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Mata smiled slightly. “She would also say, ‘The Lord will provide.’”

“So she would, Mata. So she would. You have a serious look. Is it the news?”

“Well, that’s some of it, but I’ve been thinking about changing something and I wanted your opinion since I can’t ask Mama.”

“Of course. I’m always glad to share my opinion.”

“It’s kind of trivial, but do you think I should stop wearing my hair in braids?” Mata wore her hair in traditional German style in two long braids that she pinned to her head. Otto didn’t know for sure, but he imagined it took some time to fix the braids. They had to be heavy as well.

“You’re a modern young woman, Mata. Do anything with your hair you like.”

“It’s an old-fashioned style. I think Mama kept it because Papa insisted on it. But maybe it’s time for a change. I wouldn’t do anything outrageous like a bob. I’m thinking of shoulder length, if that’s all right with you.”

Otto laughed and stood up. “You do as you wish, Mata. I’m your brother, not your master. And anyone who basically runs a good-sized farm certainly can decide how to wear her hair.”

“Thank you, Otto. I knew you would understand.”

“Not much to understand, Mata. Nothing like international politics anyhow.”

“That’s the truth, brother. Now let me get Papa up and we can have lunch.”

The situation in Europe grew worse. The Germans rolled over France and were sitting at the Channel, looking across at England. There was news of plans for a German invasion, but Hitler wanted to soften up the British by bombing them before such an invasion.

In Pioneer Lake, residents were very much aware of the war in Europe from newspapers, radio and newsreels. On the other hand, little had changed about day-to-day life. President Roosevelt pushed through Lend-Lease legislation. It was controversial, as was the case with much of the legislation that Roosevelt proposed. Lend-Lease made sense to Otto. It was a way to be involved in helping the Brits by lending or leasing equipment to them without actually going to war. For the time being, it seemed the right thing to do.

Otto spent as much time as he could at the airport. Wilson seemed to be spending more and more time there, away from his business in Minneapolis, whatever that was. He and Sparky spent a great deal of each day in the office when Wilson was there. They kept a bottle of scotch on the desk between them, tossing back shot after shot.

Sparky still taught a lesson or two. One day, he landed with a new student, climbed unsteadily down from the Fleet and wandered past Otto. “You ought to get your instructor’s license, kid. That way I won’t have to teach everyone who shows up. In fact, you can teach them all. I don’t care. Talk to Wilson about it.” He wandered off to his room. Otto saw him lie down and promptly fall asleep.

No time like the present, Otto thought. He went into the office where Wilson was staring moodily out the window.

“Mr. Wilson?”

“Yeah, Otto. What’s going on?”

Otto gulped. “I just talked to Sparky—I mean Mr. Duncan. He thinks I should get my instructor license and take some of the load off him. In fact, he suggested I do all the instructing. He told me to talk to you.”