On Wings of the Morning (26 page)

Otto took his coffee and burger over to a bench across from the stand and ate it slowly. A constant stream of men in uniform with a few women mixed in surged past him in both directions. They all seemed intent on getting somewhere, walking purposely. They were part of the war effort. He wasn’t any more, unless he wanted to count producing milk for the troops. I also serve who stand and wait, he thought bitterly. He finished his burger and threw the wrapper away in a nearby trash can and returned the coffee cup to the stand. The board showed his train was loading so he headed in the direction of Track 45.

The line of cars was shorter than the one he had come in on and the engine was a small dirty steam locomotive. Well, it would get him home. He climbed the steps into the coach. With half an hour until departure there were a few soldiers scattered around the worn seats. Otto took one near the end of the car. A couple of men idly glanced at him and then went back to reading or looking out the window. Otto settled himself in and watched people walk past the car.

Promptly at 9 AM the train lurched forward and they rolled into a tunnel, coming out along the shoreline. Shortly they were past the buildings and streets of the city and into farmland. Most of the fields were brown but Otto knew they had just been harvested. The soil would sleep over the winter, but all it needed was sun and warmth next spring to burst forth into green shoots. Well, good for the soil and the plants. He would remain brown and withered the rest of his life.

He fell asleep, exhausted from the night before.

They pulled into Milwaukee on time, and a few of the troops got off there. More left at the stop at Madison. There was a brief layover at Eau Clair for lunch, but he wasn’t hungry and didn’t get off the train. Everyone else left and didn’t come back, so he was the only one left in the coach as it continued to Pioneer Lake. About 4 o’clock he recognized landmarks around the town, and the train pulled into the small station about 4:30. He lifted his bag from the overhead rack and eased down the steps. The conductor steadied him as he stumbled, giving him a little salute as he stood on the platform. He saw Mata at the other end of the train. She recognized him immediately and ran down the length of the cars, crushing him in a tight embrace, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Otto, mein Otto, I’m so glad you’re here! Let me look at you!” She held him at arm’s length and studied his face. She did not flinch or look away. He only saw joy and affection in her shining eyes. “You’ve lost weight! I’ll have to fatten you up!”

“It is so good to be back home, Mata. I can’t tell you.”

They started walking toward the parking lot. Mata was uncharacteristically chattering a mile a minute. “There’s so much to tell you that I couldn’t write. The farm is doing well. I’ve acquired some more acreage and about a hundred more cows. The Army continues to buy everything we produce and I am thinking there will be more demand after the war so I think we should continue to expand our operation. We can hire some more men to help us when the war is over, and…”

They had reached the car by this time, a 1938 Model A Ford sedan. “This is new,” he said.

“Well, I bought it used. The T was getting old and I needed something reliable to drive.”

Otto threw his bag in the back seat and let Mata’s words wash over him. She put the car in gear and smoothly backed out of the parking space.

“Hey, sis,” he said when she paused for breath. “When did you learn to drive?”

“Shortly after you left for overseas. It was a matter of ‘had to’ so I did it. Am I doing all right?” She shifted into the next gear.

“You drive like you’ve been doing it all your life.” She glanced over and smiled at him. “I can’t tell you how I’ve dreamed of this day.”

As they went past familiar farms, Mata told him what had happened to each property. “The Wilsons’ son didn’t want to farm, so their farm is vacant…the Turners died, one after another, so I bought their farm at auction…the Smiths just quit after Steve was killed in the Pacific...”

“I didn’t know that,” Otto said. He couldn’t help thinking that it was poetic justice. Still, the death of a fellow soldier was sad.

“We only got the news shortly before you got here. It devastated his parents.”

“So, did you buy their farm?”

Mata nodded and looked straight ahead.

“Mata, how many farms have you bought since I’ve been gone?”

“Just three,” she said in a small voice.

“Well…” Otto started. “I hope we can afford them all.”

“We can Otto, and more. We don’t spend much otherwise, and I saw some opportunities. You told me I was in charge when you left.”

“I think it’s great, Mata. I think you should be in charge of the war. Can we stop by the church? I’d like to see Papa’s grave.”

“Certainly,” Mata said. A few minutes later she steered into the gravel lot of the old stone church. She and Otto went into the graveyard next to the church. Hans’ tombstone was in the second row, toward the end.

Otto put his arm around Mata, and they stood there for a moment. “He was a good man,” Otto said finally. Mata wiped a tear away.

“Yes he was,” she said.

They got back into the car and drove home in silence.

“I’ll show you the books after supper,” Mata told him as they walked in. I’ve got some chicken fixed . . . just the way you like it.”

They came to the long driveway which was now graveled. Otto felt an emotional surge as the farm house and barn came into sight. Home. He was finally home. Not the way he would have liked, but he was home.

He was preparing to climb out of the car when Mata touched him on his sleeve. “I have a couple of other things I need to tell you before we go in.”

“OK, go ahead.”

“One is that Betty Ross married a fellow who is a vice-president in her father’s bank named Brown. I think she just settled for him and she isn’t very happy. I know you and she were close.”

Otto said nothing. He had a relationship with Alice and he was sure Betty knew about it. So she was free to do what she would. They didn’t have an understanding or anything.

“Second, Mama is worse. Mostly she sits and stares but it seems she’s in another world. I didn’t want to worry you by putting too much about it into a letter. I hope all this doesn’t ruin your homecoming.”

Otto looked down for a moment. “Well, she’s still with us. Maybe in her condition she won’t be as upset by how I look.”

“She probably won’t know who you are, Otto. She thinks I’m her sister most of the time.”

“Well, let’s go in.”

Mata led the way through the familiar kitchen door. “Mama, look who I brought home,” she exclaimed.

Maria sat at the kitchen table, but her hands were not busy as they usually were when she was there. She held her hands in her lap and looked up absently.

“Yes, Rose? Who is it?”

“See for yourself!” Mata said, standing to one side.

Otto stood still. There was no sign of recognition in Maria’s eyes. Finally she brightened. “Hans! It’s you! You’ve come back, my darling!” She rose unsteadily to her feet. Otto stepped over to keep her from falling and as she embraced him, he felt how frail and thin she was.

“Yes, I’m here,” Otto murmured, looking at Mata, who had tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m finally here.”

“You’re so young, Hans. I thought you were older like me. But you look the same as you did the day we were wed.” She sat back in her chair and resumed absently gazing at the table.

Otto sighed. There was not much to do. He followed Mata into his bedroom, which had not changed since he had left for basic. The pictures and models seemed childish now, given all he had been through. He sat on the bed. Mata went out, closing the door. “I know you probably want to be alone and rest for a while. We’ll eat in about an hour.”

Otto suddenly felt very tired. He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

***

The next morning, Otto rose early, made himself some coffee and went out to look around the farm. Mata would be up soon, but he wanted to see what she had done in his absence. He went into the barn where the cows were beginning to stir, anticipating feeding and milking. All was in order and perhaps cleaner and neater than when he had left. He went back out to walk around the barn and saw a new building, a kind of shed. Then it occurred to him. The Model T was not in its place in the barnyard. He idly wondered what had happened to it. It was old, but cars were not being made for the duration, so he couldn’t imagine that Mata would have gotten rid of it. He pushed open the shed doors and the T was there, covered with dust. Next to it was a 1936 Model A pickup. Mata had probably forgotten to mention it to him with all the other news she had.

He went back into the kitchen. Mata was there fixing sausage and eggs for breakfast. “There you are,” she smiled.

“Yes, I’ve been checking out the property to see how the farm has been run in my absence. I would say it has been run very well. Apparently it is quite a prosperous farm because the farmers have acquired a new truck.”

Mata’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. “Oh, Otto, I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. I bought the truck from the Hansens when Roger joined the Marines.”

“It’s a wonderful truck.”

“The T was getting so old, but I kept it and we use it to transport hay for the herd and other things. Actually, I learned to drive on the A, before I bought the sedan. I thought you’d like to have something newer to drive when you came back.”

“So we’re a three car family now.”

“Looks like it.”

“I’m proud of you, sis, for all you’ve done here.”

“And I’m happy you’re home, brother.”

“So am I,” Otto said.

Otto soon became aware of just how greatly Mata had expanded the scope of their little dairy farm. He spent some time visiting the farms she had acquired. Each farm had its own manager, and the roads leading to them were busy with tanker trucks coming to load the milk produced by the dairy herds. In truth, there was not much for him to do, so after a few days, he stayed put on the family farm and helped with small chores. He didn’t want to go to town and be exposed all over again to stares and questions.

The summer passed into autumn. The three of them had a small Thanksgiving. They ate; Mata cleaned up, Maria continued to sit at the table and Otto retired to the living room and listened to the radio. The Allies continued to move into France, headed for Germany. He thought the war in Europe might be over by the end of the year. Then the Germans counterattacked in mid-December. The news called it the Battle of the Bulge. As he followed accounts of the fighting on the radio, even on Christmas Day, Otto was concerned that weather prevented air support. The weather broke shortly thereafter, aircraft could fly support missions, and the Germans were pushed back.

The heavies continued to pound German cities and manufacturing. It was still just a matter of time until the Third Reich was destroyed. How much time, he couldn’t tell. He supposed no one could.

New Year’s passed quietly.

***

Otto stumbled on the frozen rutted mud as he came in from the barn. Christ, it was cold, even for the first week in February. Maybe he could prevail on Mata to buy some electric heaters for the milking barn. The cows would appreciate it and so would he.

The weather had turned exceptionally frigid a week ago and had stayed that way. He thought back to a brief warmup, when was it, the second week of January? That was the week Mama had died. She just continued to decline in front of their eyes. The doctor could find no reason, other than to say she was not in her right mind and seemed to have given up the will to live. Mata came in from the barn one afternoon and found her sitting in her usual place in the kitchen chair, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. They had a traditional service at the church and buried her beside Hans in the graveyard. Mata wanted
Ein Feste Burg
in German sung at the end. Otto thought of the English words:

A mighty fortress is our God

A bulwark never failing

A helper He, amid the flood

Of mortal ills prevailing…

He couldn’t sing that without thinking of his aircraft, the
Mata Maria.
He wondered where she was now and if she was still flying. She had probably been assigned to some other crew, and her name had been changed. There had been a lot of changes brought on by this war.

Maria’s service was in English, and afterwards Mata told him that the church had switched to English in 1940 except for some funeral services for the older folks like Hans when it became clear that anything in German was suspect. Even the German-language papers that Hans read when he was alive had changed over.

Otto thought it ironic that he had fought for a freedom that his friends and family at home did not have. Well, that’s how it went sometimes.

Otto remembered how they had followed the wooden casket carried out the church door to the graveyard where his father’s grave was. A freshly dug hole lay in wait, and the minister said a few words of commitment and that was it. They all turned to go back into the church basement where the women had prepared a funeral meal. The old people who were left came by, murmuring their sympathies, trying hard not to be obvious about staring at Otto’s appearance, telling him they were glad he was home. They probably were, but Otto felt like he was just getting through a decent interval of time until he could leave. Mata kept looking at him anxiously. Finally people started leaving and he and Mata did as well, to go home to the quiet and empty house.

So it had been the two of them for the past month or so. Days they did what was necessary to manage a rather large dairy farm. In the evenings, Mata worked on the finances and sewing while Otto listened to the radio, war news mostly, or read the newspaper from Minneapolis that came by mail. They went to bed early since they had to get up early, “with the chickens,” as Mata said. Otto just grunted. Getting up at 5 AM was easy compared to rolling out in the cold not knowing if it would be his last morning.