Orwin slipped through the doorway and cleared his throat. “Marshall Vicker is here.”
Frank groaned, falling back against his chair. Marshall Vicker was an old friend and a customer…and he was also the managing editor of the Chicago Daily News.
Orwin handed Frank the ledger kept in the teller’s cage, which had been opened to Marshall’s record. In seconds, his finger slid down the list of withdrawals, increments of thirty and forty and sometimes one hundred dollars. Like Caldwell’s record, the withdrawals had stopped when Jacob’s position was terminated.
His mind spun. Was this ledger a fake as well? If so, how many accounts had Jacob skimmed from? Only one ledger had been found in Jacob’s house, spanning surnames from A to E. Were there other duplicate ledgers out there with the real numbers?
He looked back up at Orwin. “What does Marshall want?”
Orwin closed the door, but when he stepped up to Frank’s desk, he hesitated before he spoke.
“Spit it out,” Frank said.
“Marshall wants to withdraw seven hundred in cash.”
Frank slammed the ledger shut. “Tell him I’m not here.”
Orwin cleared his throat again. “It’s a little late for that.”
Frank raked his fingers through his thin hair. He was too old for this. One day he intended to hand over the bank to his nephew and let him run things, but he couldn’t give it to him while it was such a mess. At this rate, Frank would be out of a job—and probably tarred and feathered—before he retired.
Through the frosted glass, he saw Marshall’s profile and the cigar jutting from his mouth. He would have to think up a reason to withhold the cash from his friend, and he wouldn’t let on that his ledger stated that Marshall only had two hundred left at the bank. Somehow, he’d have to get Marshall his money before the man plastered the bank’s woes across the front page of his paper.
He closed the ledger. “Send him on in.”
I have shaken your foundation and made you restless, but there is much that will yet occur. Be watchful and pray.
Christian Metz, 1842
Chapter Sixteen
Dark clouds drifted outside the window, and rain beat down on the rooftop. A pillow against her back, Liesel lay stretched out on the woven rug, sipping warm chamomile tea, while Cassie flipped through a picture book of German fairy tales.
When Liesel had been about Cassie’s age, her father used to read Der Struwwelpeter to her in German, and when she’d started school, her teacher read the fairy tales as well, so she could learn English. They were recited in both languages and memorized, and she well remembered the lessons in every one.
Cassie pointed to a boy tugging a cloth off a dinner table. “Who’s this?”
“Zappel-Philipp. Fidgety Philip.” She turned the page to poor Philip, who was buried under a mountain of food and dishes. “He screamed and threw a temper and all the food landed on top of him. His poor parents didn’t have anything to eat.”
Cassie turned the page and looked at a boy with an umbrella under a storm cloud. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, that’s one of my favorites.” Liesel set her cup on the table and pulled Cassie close to her. “Die Geschichte vom fliegenden Robert.”
Cassie giggled. “English, bitte.”
Liesel leaned close, hushing her voice as she recalled the English words she’d memorized years ago. “When the rain comes tumbling down in the country or the town, all good little girls and boys stay at home and mind their toys. Robert thought, ‘No, when it pours, it is better out of doors.’ Rain it did, and in a minute Rob was in it.”
She turned the page. “Here you see him, silly fellow, underneath his red umbrella. What a wind! Oh! how it whistles through the trees and flow’rs and thistles.”
Cassie clasped Liesel’s arm. “Do you hear it?”
The wind outside their window whistled through the trees like a train weaving its way through the forest. The rain pattered on the roof above them and soaked the glass on their window.
Cassie nudged her. “Keep going.”
“It has caught his red umbrella; now look at him, silly fellow, up he flies, to the skies. No one heard his screams and cries.”
Cassie gasped. “Where did he go?”
“Through the clouds,” she continued. “The rude wind bore him, and his hat flew on before him. Soon they got to such a height, they were nearly out of sight! And the hat went up so high that it almost touch’d the sky. No one ever yet could tell where they stopp’d or where they fell; only this one thing is plain—Rob was never seen again!”
Liesel closed the storybook, pleased that she had recalled all the English words, but when she met Cassie’s eyes, the girl looked horrified. “They didn’t see him again?”
Liesel shook her head. “The wind took him away.”
“That’s awful.”
Liesel paused, leaning forward to take another sip of tea. “It’s supposed to remind us not to go outside in bad weather.”
“So we don’t blow away?”
“Exactly.”
Cassie jumped up and skipped toward the window, and Liesel joined Cassie there, her nose tingling as she pressed it against the cold glass. Outside, giant oak branches rode up and down on the crests of the breeze, and she could almost see Flying Robert and his red umbrella being carried away by the wind.
Cassie shivered. “Is Papa going to get blown away?”
She reached out her arm and pulled Cassie tight again. “Oh no, child. He’s much too big and strong to be blown away.”
“But what if he had an umbrella?”
“Your Vater knows to stay inside when it’s storming.”
Cassie flashed her a look of doubt.
“He’s just fine, Cassie.”
Cassie followed her back to the sofa. “I wish Papa was here.”
Liesel nodded as she tucked a woolen blanket around the girl’s feet.
Cassie spread out across her lap, and Liesel brushed the girl’s hair out of her eyes. “I wish Mama was here too.”
Liesel’s hand froze on Cassie’s head. “Do you miss your mother?”
Cassie nodded.
“Where is she, Cassie?”
The girl squirmed on her lap, her eyes closed. “She’s in Chicago…with my brother.”
“Chicago…” Liesel’s voice trailed off. She’d thought Jacob was a widower, but Cassie’s mother was still in Chicago with their son.
“Where in Chicago?” she asked, but Cassie had already started to fall asleep.
Liesel’s head fell back on the cushioned seat. Had Jacob taken his daughter away from the city, leaving his wife behind? That didn’t seem right. He’d fought so hard for the life of his daughter. Surely he would fight for the life of his wife as well. Perhaps Cassie’s mother had birthed her out of wedlock and had another child later. But if that were the case, why didn’t Jacob marry the poor woman?
Her chest felt as if it were about to crack into two pieces, her heart charting forbidden waters. Jacob Hirsch belonged to Cassie’s mother, not to her. And she belonged to Emil Hahn, or at least she would belong to him less than six months from now.
Perhaps on the outside it was all right to leave the mother of your child behind, but that was not permitted in their Society. Forgiveness was poured over those that sinned, but the Elders expected them to be faithful, as well. Jacob needed to go back to Chicago and find Cassie’s mother. He needed to make it right.
There was a knock on the door, and Liesel slid out from under Cassie and rushed to the door.
The doctor’s coat and hat dripped rain, but in his hand was a letter. He smiled. “Her culture came back negative.”
Liesel sighed. “Thank God.”
“If the sun comes out tomorrow, she can go outside.”
Liesel rubbed the chill in her arms. Sunshine would be good for both of them.
Jacob’s skin was coated with a sticky black, and it was blistering hot from the hours he’d spent shoving wood into the bo
iler fire. Never in his life had he been this dirty, nor had he worked this hard, but it was good, honest work.
Above him, the pulleys and chains clanked and the boat rocked as the dipper lifted silt from the canal and dumped it onto the bank. Jacob picked up three more logs off the pile and heaved open the heavy door to the fire, but before he threw in the wood, Michael signaled for him to stop.
Jacob dropped the logs on the ground and slammed the boiler door shut. He teetered on the steps, his body depleted from his afternoon in the sweltering room. Michael handed him a tin of homemade brew, and he guzzled it down.
“Get yourself cleaned up,” Michael said.
In seconds, he’d changed into his wool jersey and trousers. Diving off the side of the boat, he plunged into the cool water. The canal rinsed away some of the soot and slowly soothed the aches in his body.
Rain splashed on his face as he climbed back up onto the boat and then down into the cramped hull. Michael threw him a towel, and he mopped up his hair and face.
“You will go with us to Nachtgebet tonight, ja?” Michael asked as Jacob dried himself.
Jacob stopped for an instant, surprised by the invitation. Three times a day their meals were delivered in a basket, but every night, Michael and the other men walked the half mile back to Amana to attend the prayer service. They’d yet to ask Jacob to go with them.
“I don’t know….”
Michael clapped him on the back. “Prayer will be good for you, my friend.”
Rain soaked the crew’s slickers as they tromped toward Main Amana, the hub of the Colonies’ seven villages. The muddy pathway to the village was lined with plump elderberry bushes, golden fields of dandelions, and beds of freshwater oyster shells from the canal. Stone houses mixed with Amana’s brick and wood structures, and in every yard hung a tandem lawn swing with facing benches, shaded by a grape arbor.
The boat crew made their way down a small path between buildings, toward the back door of a large stone home, but instead of going into the house, they waited in the rain with a dozen other men dressed either in slickers and dark hats or huddled under umbrellas. Michael greeted his son with a hug and several other men with a handshake, but the men only nodded at Jacob.
The boat crew frequently laughed together on the dredge boat, but there was no laughter in the courtyard tonight. Some of the men talked quietly in German, but Jacob couldn’t hear their words. Perhaps they were asking about him. Liesel had been so kind to him, so gracious, but tonight he felt like an outsider.
In his peripheral view, he saw one of the men eyeing him like a hunter sizing up his prey. Jacob turned, confronting him with his gaze, but the man didn’t look away.
Michael elbowed him and whispered in English. “That’s Emil Hahn.”
The name registered slowly. Liesel’s fiancé.
Jacob stood even taller as they waited, eyeing Emil again from the side.
“He’s a gut man, Jacob. Works hard.”
“Where does he work?”
“The bakery.”
He faced his boss. “Liesel said he had an important job.”
“That is an important job in Amana. He and his father bake sixty loaves of bread a day.”
Not to discount the importance of bread, but Jacob couldn’t believe that this job kept Emil from visiting Liesel when she was quarantined.
The door to the house opened and, with their heads bowed in silence, Jacob followed Michael into a sitting room that was three or four times larger than the one in the doctor’s home. Neat rows of benches filled the space with an aisle down the middle to separate the men from the women. On the other side of the room, each woman wore a dainty cap over her hair like the pretty prayer cap Liesel wore.
If only Liesel were there with him tonight. She would tenderly guide him through what to do and what to expect. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so out of place.
Michael nudged him toward the back row, and Jacob sat down beside two young boys. The rest of the boat crew sat in the second and third rows.
The silence broke when someone spoke out in German from the front, startling Jacob with the strength of his voice. Even though he didn’t understand all the words of the prayer, he was extremely thankful for all the blessings that flooded into his life. Cassie’s health. His new job. Food. Housing.
Liesel.
His gaze wandered over the small crowd. Emil Hahn sat three rows in front of him, his head bowed in prayer. Jacob had met plenty of women during his life, but few of them gave out of the depths of her heart. Katharine had been like that…and so was Liesel. Liesel needed a man who would care for her in the way she deserved.
The boy next to him opened a hymnal and slid it toward Jacob. From the right side of the room a woman began to sing, and the rest of the group followed a cappella. Reading the words in the hymnbook, Jacob didn’t sing, but he tried to mentally translate the words into English.
Mercy. Grace. Faithful through another year.
As a community, they were thanking God for His blessings. His love. In song, they were offering up their thanksgiving.
The past year had been painfully hard for him, yet God had been faithful.
When the final prayer had finished, Jacob filed out of the room with the rest of the men. Outside, Michael pulled him over to the side. “I want you to meet Emil Hahn.”
Jacob countered Emil’s intense gaze, waiting for the man to approach him.
Jacob had no respect for Liesel’s fiance. She’d been exposed to diphtheria and had been quarantined with a man they’d never met. The fear of what could have happened to her should have sent Emil racing over to Homestead weeks ago to check on her.
Emil lifted his arm, and for a moment Jacob thought he might swing a punch. Instead Emil stuck out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Jacob shook his tight grasp. “Liesel helped to save my daughter’s life.”
Emil nodded his head once, very slowly. “she is a gut woman, ja?”
“Yes, she is.”
Jacob waited for the man to pull him aside and tell him to stay away from the woman he planned to marry, but Emil didn’t ask any questions nor did he threaten Jacob. Instead he nodded and walked away.
Jacob watched him leave, surprised that he didn’t even ask about Liesel’s health. If a woman like Liesel were his fiancée, he would have made certain that no other man compromised her.
Why are you so discouraged, you poor children? Do you not know, have you not learned, that your Jesus lives?
Johann Friedrich Rock, 1733
Chapter Seventeen
The dirt cooled Liesel’s fingertips as she dug a red-crowned bulb out of the garden bed and tossed the radish into her woven willow basket. The Küchebaas and her crew would chop the radish and its leaves for a summer salad tonight alongside pork chops, Spätzle, and tapioca pudding.
When she finished the row of radishes, she would pick cabbage and navy beans until their noon break. Come afternoon, she and the other women would weed the beds and pluck the grubs and beetles from the leaves.
Honeybees swarmed over the flowering melon plants next to her, and she shooed the bees away with her skirt until they flew off to sip their nectar some other place. There was plenty of room for both the bees and her in a garden that stretched for acres behind the Kinderschule and kitchen house.
In dozens of rows—planted perfectly straight, with a guideline for proper order—the beds teemed with peas, string beans, asparagus, cucumbers, carrots, red peppers, kale, garlic, tomatoes, and onions. Jacob had questioned her about the source of their food supply, but never once had she wanted for food in the Colonies. Her entire life, they’d eaten in abundance—and the Society sold hundreds of pounds of excess seed and produce to people across Iowa and in Illinois, Missouri, and Minnesota.
Once the summer crops were harvested, she and the six other women on the garden crew replanted for the fall, adding squash, pumpkins, horseradish, and salsify. Only in the winter did the garden beds—along with m
ost of their community—rest.
The sun heated her bonnet and sweat dampened her skin, but even so, she was glad to be back outside in the fresh air, harvesting the summer’s bounty with her friends.
Her gaze wandered back toward the weathered building perched on the edge of the garden. The Kinderschule. How was Cassie faring today without either Liesel or Jacob to care for her? The early morning had been rough on both of them. Cassie wanted to go outdoors after being quarantined for so long, yet as they walked to school she was reluctant to leave Liesel’s side. The moment she saw the piles of sand outside the school, though, her uncertainty vanished. Cassie kissed her and rushed off to dig and play with the other children.
The teachers would care well for Cassie today. She would play outside with the other children, sip milky coffee during break, and begin her lessons on how to knit. Liesel missed playing with her, but Cassie probably wouldn’t miss her one bit.
Two rows down from her, Amalie rose from her work in the onion bed and walked toward her. She knelt behind Liesel to pick the yellow and red tomatoes from the vine, and Liesel was glad for her company.
“We’ve missed you,” Amalie said.
Liesel tugged at another radish, and it slid out of the dirt. “I missed you too.”
“The gardens are much quieter without you and Sophie.”
She smiled back at her friend as she worked, thinking about all the questions they’d inundated her with at evening prayers. She’d enjoyed the quiet for a few days herself. “I don’t believe that.”
“Sophie writes to you, ja?”
She nodded. “Almost every day.”
“Does she like her new home?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Gartebaas watching her. She’d just picked all the radishes in front of her, so she scooted up the row to resume her work. “She’s still adjusting to city life.”
Amalie glanced out beyond the gardens, to the fields and hills beyond Homestead. “It must be very romantic for Conrad and her to be out there, just the two of them.”
Love Finds You in Homestead, Iowa Page 12