Eve's Daughters (8 page)

“I don’t think I can. My tossing would only disturb you, and you need your rest.” He climbed out of bed and pulled on his trousers, then disappeared
into the darkness. Once my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw the pale outline of his naked shoulders as he moved ghostlike around the cottage. I waited for him to return, but he never did. Eventually I dozed.

As the light of dawn lit the room, I awoke again and slipped into my dressing gown to go in search of him. I found him slumped on his knees, his forehead on the floor. At first I thought he was ill, then I saw his Bible lying open in front of him. I turned to tiptoe away. When the floor creaked, he lifted his head.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s all right.” He slowly pulled himself to his feet, as if stiff from his cramped position. “Come here,” he whispered. He drew me into his arms, holding me so tenderly I might have been made of glass and would shatter if he held too tightly. His hands gently caressed my shoulders, my hair, my face, as if trying to memorize my form. I felt him shiver, but when he kissed me, I knew by the delicate brush of his lips that it was from sorrow, not longing.

“Friedrich, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“But you won’t. I’m right here.”

He rested his cheek against my hair. “Louise, I think my dream was from God.”

“You mean like the dreams in the Bible?” When he nodded I almost laughed aloud. “You don’t really believe God still speaks to people in dreams, do you? And even if He did, why would He pick you? Maybe you should talk to Reverend Lahr—”

“No, I need to talk to you.”

“But I don’t understand anything about . . .”

“Then I need to make you understand. Otherwise I might lose you, just like in my dream.”

You’re talking in riddles. You didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“No, listen to me.” He tightened his grip on my arms. “I know you don’t want to leave Germany, and I’ve searched and searched for a way to obey God without moving, but there just isn’t one. There’s going to be a war in Europe—maybe next year, maybe not for ten years, I don’t know—but the fuse has been lit and sooner or later it’s going to explode. I can’t be part of it. I can’t kill and destroy and conquer for the sake of national pride and greed. And I want you and our child to be safe from it. We’re surrounded by enemies, Louise—Russia on the east, France on the west, Great Britain . . .”

“It was only a dream, Fritz.”

“No, it was more than that. I’ve been praying about what to do ever since Kurt was drafted, and I think my dream was a warning that . . . You don’t believe me, do you? I can tell by your face that you think I’m crazy.”

“I think You’re upset, that’s all. A nightmare can seem very real, but you can’t make important decisions based on a dream.”

“I’m not. I already knew in my heart what I needed to do. The dream showed me that I need to make
you
understand why we can’t stay in Europe.”

“Because you think there will be a war.”

“I
know
there will be a war. Our leaders know it too. Why do you think they’re drafting more men?”

“Then shouldn’t our families leave too?”

“Yes, of course, but they don’t want to believe it’s going to happen any more than you do. I just hope and pray that if we go to America first and get settled over there, I can persuade them to join us later.”

“You know they’ll never leave Germany. If we move to America, we’ll never see any of them again.” My knees felt too wobbly to hold me any longer. I had been confined to my bed for more than a week. I pulled away from Friedrich and sat down at the kitchen table. That’s when I noticed for the first time that Friedrich’s new bookshelf was empty. I glanced around the room, but didn’t see his books.

“Fritz, where did all your books go?”

“I sold them.”

“
Sold
them? But they were your most precious possessions!” I waited, hoping he would tell me why.

“I needed the money for my passage to America,” he said at last. “Besides, it would be too costly to ship them.”

I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at the empty shelf. Was this just the first of many losses we would be forced to endure until we were finally stripped of everything we loved? A moment later he moved behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. His next words came out in a rush, as if he wanted relief from their awful burden.

“I’ve decided to go to America alone, to get settled over there, then send for you and the baby when I’ve saved enough money. In the meantime, I thought you’d be happier living with your family than staying alone here in town, so I’ve made all the arrangements with your father. He has agreed to move you and the baby back to the farm after I’m gone.”

His words seemed unreal, like his nightmare. We were leaving Germany and moving to America. I could no longer deny the truth or pretend it would
never happen. Each time I saw the empty bookshelf, I would be reminded. Our departure had begun.

“I’ll fix breakfast,” I said.

“No, let me. You’re supposed to stay off your feet.”

“Please, Fritz. I’m sick and tired of staying in bed.” I stood and began rummaging in the pantry for potatoes and eggs. My distress was made worse by a nagging pain in my back, and the aching, cramping feeling that usually came with my monthly curse.

We had just finished breakfast when I heard the postman outside, dropping several letters through our slot. Friedrich rose to retrieve them. I watched his face as he sifted through them, then saw his expression change when he came to the last envelope. I knew without being told that his draft notice had arrived. He stared at it for a long time, then laid it on the table.

“Don’t open it, Louise.” His voice sounded hoarse.

“Is it really worth risking prison for, Fritz? What will become of the baby and me if you get caught? Why would you take such a chance? I still don’t understand!”

He opened his mouth as if forming his answer, then clenched his jaw and closed his eyes in despair. When he opened them again he wouldn’t look at me, but he snatched up his hat and left the house without a word, closing the door gently behind him.

I glared at the envelope for a long time, as if it were Pandora’s box and would unleash disaster upon us if opened. But hadn’t disaster already been unleashed when the draft law changed? Friedrich’s books were gone. He was leaving for America. There was no way I could stuff everything back into the box.

I left the breakfast dishes where they lay and crawled back into bed, too numb to cry. What if I could go back and change everything? Would I have agreed to marry Friedrich if I had known he would make me move to America? Would I have chosen him before my family, my homeland? No, I decided as the cramping grew worse. No. I would rather have married Klaus Gerber, the town drunk, than move away from everyone I loved.

As I tossed on the bed in misery, it slowly occurred to me why I felt so sick—the baby was coming. And I had no idea where Fritz had gone or when he would be back. I couldn’t bear the thought of starting my labor all alone, so I decided to go next door for my neighbor, Mrs. Schmidt. She’d given birth to five children and had offered to help when my time came. But first I
would have to get up and get dressed. It all seemed so impossible with my swollen ankles and aching back.

I managed to change into a housedress, but then I saw what a mess the kitchen was, with unwashed pans on the stove and our dirty breakfast dishes still on the table. I couldn’t let anyone see my home in such a state. I hobbled to the sink and worked the hand pump but nothing came out. Then suddenly there was water everywhere, running down my legs, soaking my clothing, spreading in a puddle around my ankles. My baby would be born today. Friedrich’s baby. She would grow up in America, never knowing her grandparents, her aunts, her cousins. I sank onto a kitchen chair and wept.

It took me a long time to clean up the dishes. I was on my knees with a bucket and rags, mopping the floor when Friedrich returned.

“Louise! What on earth are you doing!” He pulled me to my feet and steered me to the nearest chair. “You’re not even supposed to be out of bed, let alone working and . . . and your dress is soaked! What on earth—?”

“Please go get Mama and Oma.” I couldn’t stop sobbing.

“Is it your time? Should I fetch the doctor?”

“I want Mama. She’ll know when to send for the doctor.”

Mrs. Schmidt stayed with me while Friedrich rode out to the farm. I don’t remember seeing him much after that. Oma probably shooed him out of the way. Delivering babies was women’s work. Later I learned that Friedrich had spent the entire day praying. His prayers didn’t help.

My labor was very long and difficult—hours and hours of pain with no relief in sight. Everything that was happening to me was out of my control, and now even my body had turned traitor. It seemed to function without my help, possessing some instinctual knowledge of what to do, wrenching my child from me—I was simply along for the ride. But what a terrible ride it was. I vowed never to have another child if it meant going through this agony again, but Mama smiled and assured me that each baby got a little easier. When I screamed that I was being ripped in half, Oma told me that I was close to the end.

Then they laid my daughter in my arms and my joy overflowed. Her tiny, wrinkled face looked so much like Oma’s that I decided then and there to name her after my beloved grandmother. The bitterness I felt toward Friedrich was so strong, it never occurred to me to ask his opinion.

“I’ll name you Sophie,” I whispered. “My little Sophie.”

SIX

Friedrich’s draft notice lay on his dresser, unopened, for more than a month. He didn’t need to read it to know he would have to leave us soon. School reopened in September without him. He had told the headmaster that he’d been summoned for military service, but not that he was fleeing to America. The school authorities were kind enough to allow us to stay in the cottage until Fritz left, and they promised him a job when he returned from the army in two years. I still didn’t understand why Friedrich couldn’t sacrifice two years in the army for my sake, instead of making me sacrifice the rest of my life for his.

As my resentment festered, I started to pull away from Friedrich the way people pull away from a loved one who is dying, distancing themselves from the pain. I lavished all of my love on Sophie, who grew stronger and prettier every day. But the more I withdrew, the more Friedrich seemed to cling to me, desperate to preserve the fragile bonds that had grown between us during our brief year of marriage. As far as I was concerned, his decision had already severed them.

He was seated at the table beneath the barren bookshelf one evening, writing yet another letter to his cousin in America, when the notion came to me. “Fritz, why don’t you just leave now,” I said, “instead of prolonging this for two more months? You’ll go crazy sitting around the house for that long with nothing to do, and I’ll go crazy watching you.”

He carefully laid down his fountain pen and blotted the page before answering. “I promised you I’d stay as long as possible.”

“I never asked you to make that promise.”

“I know . . . but I thought that you would want me here.”

Tears stung my eyes. I rocked Sophie in my arms, even though she was sound asleep. “What I want doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“It matters a great deal.”

I waited until I could look up at him, dry-eyed. “Then I want you to leave.
You’re ready to go, I know you are. Why drag it out any longer?”

He didn’t answer. I had been nurturing the hope that when the time came to leave, Friedrich wouldn’t be able to desert us after all; that the reason he hadn’t already left was because he was having second thoughts. But when he returned from posting his letter to America, he spread the map of his escape route into Switzerland on the table. I laid Sophie in her basket and peered over his shoulder at the map, wondering what he planned to do.
Be ready with a cover story when you travel
, Rolf had warned. I pointed to one of the towns circled in red.

“My aunt Marta lives in this village. You could tell the authorities you’re going to visit her.”

Friedrich exhaled. “I already told you, I’m not going to lie.”

“Then why not plan a real visit? It only takes a day to get there by steam ferry. Sophie and I could come too.”

“I won’t involve you and the baby.”

“I think it’s a bit late to worry about that,” I said curtly. “We’re already involved. Wouldn’t the authorities be less suspicious if you had your wife and child along?”

“Louise . . .”

“I’ll write to Aunt Marta. I’m sure she’d love to meet her new grandniece.” I picked up the box of stationery and envelopes that Fritz had been using and sat down at the table to compose my letter. I knew I was being stubborn, but why make it easy for him to desert us? I had it in my mind that Fritz would never be able to take his leave from us if we were in a strange village so far from home.

He exhaled again and rubbed his eyes. “Let me think it over.”

In the end, Friedrich reluctantly agreed to my plan and allowed Sophie and me to go with him as far as the Swiss border. A bite of frost chilled the air the morning we boarded the steamship that would take us up the Rhine, and as we pulled away from the wharf, Sophie and I took shelter inside with the other passengers. Fritz stood at the stern, watching our village grow smaller and smaller until it finally passed from sight. I knew he was saying good-bye. He had bid farewell to his family the evening before, pleading with them until late into the night to join him in America. “Sell your shop and open another one over there,” he had begged his father. “They need good
butchers in America too.” No one from either of our families had made any promises.

By early afternoon we were more than halfway to my aunt’s village. The day turned unseasonably warm, and we sat in chairs on the deck of the ship watching farms and vineyards and church steeples slide past us on shore. I removed my hat to let the sun bathe my face. Sophie was asleep on my shoulder. The afternoon was so lovely I wished we really were on a day trip. If only this steady chugging upstream wasn’t taking Friedrich away for good. The fact that this journey was upstream seemed like a lesson in itself—he was fighting the current, taking us with him against the flow.