Eve's Daughters (10 page)

“I love you, Louise,” he whispered for the first time. “I love you so much.”

I heard his words, but I didn’t believe them.
No, Fritz
, I thought.
No you don’t. You couldn’t possibly do this to me if you loved me
.

SEVEN

Three days after I returned home from Aunt Marta’s house, Friedrich’s first letter arrived. It was little more than a hastily scrawled note. Its brevity confused me after his profession of love, and I wondered if it was because I hadn’t been able to say “I love you” in return.

September 23, 1895

Louise
,

I have arrived in Basel, Switzerland. By the time you read this, I should be on my way overland through France and Belgium to the Dutch port of Rotterdam. Please have my father ship the trunk I packed to the overseas office of the White Star Lines in Rotterdam
.

Friedrich

Mama and Emil helped me pack our remaining belongings, and on a cold October morning a week after Friedrich left, Sophie and I moved back home to the farm. I settled into my old bedroom under the eaves, placing Sophie’s cradle beside the big feather bed I had once shared with my sister Runa. Since my brother Kurt had already left for the army, the farm was also a refuge for his wife, Gerda, and their three small boys. We were two “widows” of the Kaiser’s war schemes, raising our children alone. Gerda would spend the winter in her cottage, but when spring came she would have to move into the farmhouse with me so Papa could offer the cottage to the tenant he would hire to replace Kurt. Emil had been forced to wait a year before starting university, since Papa couldn’t find anyone else to help him with his cattle and dairy herds. My heart ached for all of us. Our lives, our dreams, were in ruins.

Friedrich’s next letter was delivered to me at the farm.

October 9, 1895

Dear Louise
,

I have arrived in Rotterdam and have purchased a ticket in steerage on the White Star Lines ship, Bristol. I depart in three days for Liverpool, then
New York. I’m told it will take about ten days to cross the Atlantic. My trunk arrived safely at the shipping office. Thank you for having it sent. I trust you and Sophie are being well cared for at the farm. I’ll write again as soon as I arrive in America. I miss you already
.

Friedrich

I tried to imagine Friedrich boarding the ship, to picture the transatlantic voyage as he had described it to me before he left, but I couldn’t do it. The only excursions I’d ever taken were on the Rhine, and I shrank in fear from sailing on a body of water so vast I would lose sight of its shores. In my mind, when Friedrich crossed the border of Germany—the only land I’d ever seen—he had stepped off the edge of the earth. The gray cloud of the unknown had engulfed him, as thick and deep and cold as a lowland fog.

His next letter was postmarked
New York
.

October 24, 1895

Dear Louise
,

I have arrived at last in New York City. My ship docked yesterday morning and I was ferried along with the other steerage passengers to the immigrant facility on Ellis Island. My processing went smoothly, as I am in good health, educated, and have pocket money and a sponsor. Many of the others did not fare nearly as well. Tomorrow I will take a train to my cousin’s house in Pennsylvania, but for now I am writing to you from a very nice rooming house run by a German couple from Bonn. The Germans here in America are very helpful to their fellow countrymen, especially those of us who don’t speak much English. In fact, you would never guess from the food and the atmosphere and the conversation here in the rooming house that I wasn’t still in Germany
.

I haven’t seen much of New York City itself, although I did glimpse the great statue of Lady Liberty as we sailed up the river. It was very foggy when we docked, and today it was still gray and raining. It is quite cold as well. I am already wishing for a warmer overcoat and gloves
.

Louise, I thank God that He led me to come over first and send for you and Sophie later. I believe that it was to spare you the ordeal of traveling in steerage. I had heard tales of how bad it was, but having lived through it, I now realize that I need to save more money for a second-class fare for you. I won’t put you through what I went through. Most of the other steerage passengers were unbelievably poor and had no concept of cleanliness. I was fortunate to have only caught lice on the journey, and not consumption or cholera or something much worse. Saving the extra money will take more time,
however, and it will mean that we’ll be separated a little longer than I originally planned. I will work three jobs if I have to, and I promise to send for you as soon as I’m able. I pray that the time will pass quickly for both of us
.

You can write to me in care of my cousin and send it to his address. By the time your first letter arrives I should be living there. Please write soon. I miss you both so much
.

Love
,

Friedrich

Even as I read Friedrich’s letters describing America, I wouldn’t face the reality of joining him. I’d settled back into my familiar routine on the farm, content with the illusion that my life there would never change. Surely Friedrich would return home to us once he was too old to serve in the army.

But eventually, the village gossip concerning my husband reached me at the farm. They had branded Friedrich a coward, a deserter—running lily-livered from his duty to the Fatherland. He would be unwelcome in Germany now even if he wanted to return. I was both pitied and shunned by the other villagers, many of whom had sons or husbands serving in the army. I was glad when the snow piled high in drifts that winter, isolating me from their cold stares.

November 10, 1895

Dear Louise
,

Your first letter arrived yesterday, and I can’t tell you how pleased I was to hear from you at last
.

The countryside in this part of Pennsylvania reminds me very much of Germany, with farms and villages and rolling hills. In fact, much of it was settled by Germans. You will feel right at home here. I hate living in the city, but that’s where most of the jobs are. A university degree from Germany doesn’t count for much over here, and teaching is out of the question, even in private schools, until my English improves
.

For now I’ve found work in the coal mines. They will hire almost anyone who is willing. The pay is fairly good, but the work is exhausting—ten hours a day, six days a week. You would hardly recognize me after a day’s work, as I am black with coal dust. Later in the winter, I will get up two hours earlier every day to earn extra money cutting ice. The river will freeze solid this time of year, so we’ll cut the ice into blocks and store it in sawdust until next summer
.

Please write again soon—and often. It meant the world to me to find a letter from you after a long day of work. Kiss Sophie for me
.

Love
,

Fritz

I felt so detached from Friedrich as I read his letters that they might as well have come from a stranger. I didn’t know this man who cut ice from frozen rivers and labored in coal mines until he turned black. He lived his life over there, I lived mine here.

The letters I composed to Friedrich in my mind were entirely different from the ones I finally mailed to him. In my head I railed at him for sinking to the level of a common laborer after earning a university degree. I reminded him of how much he had loved to teach, of how happy we’d been in our cozy cottage in the village. Sophie was growing up without him, I chided. She wouldn’t know him from a stranger. Was slaving underground in a coal mine better than serving two years in the army? Was what he’d gained worth more than what he’d lost?

The letters I wrote on paper were little more than weather reports and a chronicle of Sophie’s progress: her first tooth; her sprouting hair, which was the same sandy color as his; her attempts to sit up, to roll over, to eat from a spoon. If he noticed the lack of endearments in my letters he never spoke of them.

December 5, 1895

Dear Louise
,

I’ve been attending Sunday worship services at a little mission church that tries to bring the Gospel to coal miners and their families. The services are in English because the pastor and many of the miners are Welch immigrants, but there are a great many Germans in this area too. When the pastor discovered my interest, he asked me to help him conduct services in German. Last Sunday I preached my first sermon. It was quite well-received
. . . .

Friedrich, a preacher? This wasn’t the same man I’d consented to marry. Haifa world away, he was changing, becoming someone else. I began to dread the day this stranger would send for me.

In all the bustle and excitement of Christmas on the farm, I barely had time to think about Friedrich. It wasn’t until Mama sent me into the parlor to light the tree candles that I remembered the previous Christmas and all the changes that had been set in motion that day. I found the atmosphere in the parlor
quite different from a year ago as well. Friedrich and Kurt were gone, Papa and Emil seemed beaten down by all the changes they’d been forced to make in their lives, and Ernst and Konrad seemed on edge, waiting to receive their own draft notices. As I wondered how many more changes would take place in the coming year, and if I’d still be in Germany next Christmas, I was overtaken by a panic so strong I could scarcely breathe.

Later, as we gathered around the tree to open our Christmas presents, we heard the jangle of sleigh bells in the farmyard. Since I was sitting closest to the door, I went to see who it was. It took me a moment to recognize the stranger standing on our doorstep, brushing snowflakes from his uniform.

“Merry Christmas, Louise.”

“Kurt! For goodness’ sake! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” His woolen uniform felt scratchy against my cheek as he hugged me. I caught the scent of bay rum and missed Friedrich.

“They gave me two days leave for Christmas. I wanted to surprise Gerda. Is she here?”

“Everyone’s in the parlor, opening presents.”

I followed him inside and watched Gerda’s face light with joy and surprise when she saw her husband. Kurt couldn’t disguise the longing in his eyes as he swept her into his arms and held her close. Then everyone began shouting and cheering all at once. Kurt’s three boys attached themselves to his legs, clamoring for his attention. Mama pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. Papa uncorked a bottle of his best brandy. “This calls for a celebration,” he cried.

For the first time since he left, I missed the crush of my husband’s embrace, the fervor of his kisses. I imagined Gerda nestled beside her husband tonight and realized how empty my bed felt without Friedrich. How was it possible to be so angry with him, yet to miss him so terribly?

Overwhelmed, I fled upstairs to my room. The sterling silver mirror, Friedrich’s present to me last Christmas, lay on my dresser. I traced the engraved initials—L.S.—then turned it over and gazed at my reflection, blurred by falling tears. I didn’t know who this woman was. My name was no longer Louise Fischer—the initials reminded me of that. I was Louise Schroder now, but who was she? Where did she belong? Papa’s farmhouse wasn’t “home” anymore, nor was the schoolmaster’s cottage in the village. And I knew I didn’t belong in America either.

I heard footsteps on the stairs, then Mama’s soft voice behind me. “You miss your Friedrich, don’t you, Liebchen.”

“Yes,” I whispered, wiping my tears. Mama’s arms surrounded me.

“It won’t be much longer now. He’ll send for you soon.” I lifted my head from her shoulder.

“But I don’t want to go to America. I want Friedrich to come back home, like Kurt did. I want everything to be the way it was.”

“I know, Liebchen. I know,” she sighed. “But that just isn’t going to happen.”

March 2, 1896

Dear Louise
,

I have wonderful news! I have been praying about finding a better home for us, as I know you would never be happy in the city, and God has answered my prayer in a most remarkable way. I have received an offer to pastor a small country church in a German community called Bremenville, ninety miles from here. The pastorate even includes a modest parsonage on about six acres of land beside the church. I was concerned, at first, that we couldn’t afford to live on the meager pay, but construction is scheduled to begin soon on a new textile mill outside Bremenville and it will require hundreds of workers. How perfectly God fits everything together!

Now that the ice in the river has begun to thaw, I’ve started a new job—delivering the morning newspaper from the printers to newsstands throughout the city. The pay isn’t bad for three hours of work, and I can still make it to the mine by 6:30
A.M.
—provided the horse cooperates!

I have nearly enough money to send for you, Louise. We can celebrate Sophie’s first birthday together this August I know she is no longer the tiny newborn I kissed good-bye, but that’s the way I still picture her. Whenever I see other men spending time with their families on Sunday afternoons, the longing I feel for my own family is more than I can bear
.

Soon, Louise. Very soon we’ll be together again
.

With love
,

Fritz

EIGHT

Spring arrived, bringing with it a beautiful, breezy day with sky the color of robins’ eggs. Wooly white clouds skipped across it like lambs. Mama, Oma, and I carried the washtubs into the sunshine to launder our winter petticoats, flannel nightgowns, and Papa’s woolen union suits. I tied a handkerchief over my nose and mouth and beat the dust from the rugs with a carpet beater, then we hung the feather beds on the line to air. Sophie watched us work from beneath the parasol of her wicker carriage. She was sitting so nicely now, propped up with pillows and bundled in sweaters. Her cheeks were as round and rosy as two apples.