She put her knitting aside and stood too quickly, her balance off. She automatically placed her hand over her belly. The baby was growing, giving her hope. It would give Johann hope too. She wished for a girl, one to work with her. She envied Ursula having Sigrid.
When she stepped out of the shelter, the canopy of stars made her feel small. They were the same stars as in Kettenheim, she told herself. They had come with her to this new, unfinished place. Pulling her cape tight across her belly, she hugged herself for warmth. Johann was right about the beauty here, but she also felt the danger. The forest was all around. The men said it was filled with Indians and Frenchmen, both capable of terrible things.
She began to shiver. She should have worn her shoes. She turned back to the shelter.
CHAPTER SEVEN
†
“E gad, man, what do you think you’re doing?” McDonnell pointed at Fritz Bauer with his mallet. The lanky German was trying to hoist a long timber by himself. Johann dropped his saw and hurried over. Together they carried the timber to what would become the north wall of the McDonnells’ new room.
“You lads are willing enough,” McDonnell said as he turned back to his measurements, “but you need a bit of care. Don’t want to end up hurt.”
As Johann had suspected from their first encounter, McDonnell was a meticulous carpenter. He worked from a drawing he kept inside his cap, though he had spent so much time planning the new room that he rarely looked at the drawing. He was working on the door that would connect it to the current room. With pride, he had said it would be the first inside door in Broad Bay. Johann and Fritz were preparing the logs for the outside walls, a task that required more muscle than skill.
“Will you look at that.” McDonnell lifted the door from the ground and set it against the cabin’s outer wall. He stepped back to gauge its four wide slats, joined by three stout crosspieces. “That oak was a damned big bugger to bring down but, Lord, the wood is a treat.”
Johann ran his fingertips over the slats. “These boards,” he said, “they’re as smooth as boards from a mill.”
“Smoother, Brother John. Smoother.”
“How do you do that?”
McDonnell grinned. “The hand of a master, young sir.” He pointed his mallet. “Watch and learn. I’ll be starting a mill of my own soon, up on the stream that runs through the willows. Just a one-man operation. The water flow won’t be enough sometimes, but you’ll want to bring your lumber there for cutting.”
He squinted at the sun, which was dropping toward the horizon. “Let’s finish laying out that north wall, then pack it up.”
When the logs were set out in order, the thicker ones positioned to serve as the base, McDonnell called into the cabin for the children. Two straw-haired tykes tumbled out and began climbing over the logs. A third waddled out deliberately, holding her mother’s skirt with one hand. The fourth rode in Maggie McDonnell’s arms.
“Boasting again, weren’t you?” she said to her husband. “I could hear you, even with all the hullabaloo from these ones.”
He laughed and waved at the door. “Just have a peep and tell me I’m wrong.”
As he and Fritz made to leave, Johann lingered a moment over McDonnell’s saws. Johann didn’t yet know the uses of every tool. He understood the plane and the gauges, and the drill with its bits, and the braces. There were scrapers, too, and several sizes of saw. That last one was what he needed.
“Go ahead, man,” McDonnell called out, “take what you need.” McDonnell detached one of the children from his leg and lifted him to his shoulder. “And be careful with this business of working in the dark. Even Scots know better than that.”
“We’ll be a bit later tomorrow, as I said,” Johann said as he reached down for the second-largest saw; the big one would be too much for him. He reached down for the measure, as well.
“Right, right, your meeting with Waldo’s man. I saw the sloop. Mind your tongue now. You don’t want to make him an enemy for life.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Maggie McDonnell said. “When was the last time—”
Robert held up his hand. “It’s excellent advice nonetheless. Now let these hard-working men be on their way.”
Johann was looking forward to confronting Leichter, Waldo’s agent. So many promises had been broken. But with at least an hour before dinner, he stopped at the clearing that held the logs for his own cabin. He built a fire to provide some light, listening to a riot of birds chattering through the day’s end as they swayed crazily through the trees, then soared into the sky, looking for just the right perch. He smiled at the jabbering of dozens of squawking birds. Humans weren’t the only creatures who preferred speaking to listening.
The pale firelight quivered with every breeze, so he dragged the logs close to mark the places for his cuts. He liked working with wood. McDonnell was a fine teacher. He laid out his work precisely. He respected the grain of the wood and its knots, selecting pieces to minimize waste. He checked and rechecked his measurements and cared for his tools. Johann tried to copy those habits, the practices of a craftsman.
He propped the log on a stump, then drew the saw through his mark. He pressed through the downstroke, trying to exert the steady pressure that McDonnell used. The sawdust smelled sweet.
When he had got through the log, he looked at the six still on the pile. The cabin, he had reckoned, would require at least fifty. He had to level the ground, erect the walls, fill the chinks and gaps with mud and clay and dry grass. Then a frame for the roof, which could be thatch woven with reeds and branches, but should be at least two layers thick. He hadn’t yet decided what to do for a chimney. The cabin wouldn’t have finely worked surfaces inside, not like McDonnell’s. The door would be crude, the single room drafty and cold. But they might be the only new settlers to have their own cabin for the winter. He wanted to give that to Christiane, to greet their new child in their own home.
He straightened and took a breath. He could feel the advancing winter. So much to do. He had to ignore the fatigue. He decided to drag the big log, one of the pines, to his working area near the fire. Then he would return to the shelter.
He heaved the log’s end up to waist level and steadied himself with a breath. When he stepped backward, the other end of the log stuck on a rock or a root. He gave an extra yank and lurched back when the log broke free. His heel caught on something. The saw? His balance fled. As he fell back on his seat, he tried to push the log off to the side, but it was heavy. His right foot took its weight with a thud, then turned sideways. Agony ripped up through the ankle and leg. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. His breath turned into panting. Pain shrieked in his brain. He spun sideways to reduce the strain on his foot.
When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he had passed out or not. He tried to control his breathing. The sputtering fire made little dent against the dark. He tried to ease his foot free by twisting onto his right side, supporting himself with a hand. No luck.
He couldn’t feel the foot. Hauling his other leg up, he placed its toes against the log. He strained to roll it off his foot. It moved up an inch, then another, but it had to climb over the wide part of his foot. His left leg began to twitch. He gathered himself and roared with the effort.
“Johann!”
“Here, Fritz! Up here!” The footsteps were close. “On the ground.” Johann waved his free hand.
“My God. What have you done?” Fritz crouched next to him.
“I fell. The log’s on my foot.” Johann nodded at the timber. “I can’t get it off.”
Fritz took in the scene, then stepped to the log end that rested on Johann’s foot. Squatting, he raised the log and pitched it to the side. Johann still couldn’t feel his foot.
He hung on his friend’s shoulder as they struggled to the shelter in a three-legged stutter. He felt a pang of shame when Christiane ran to him. Others, busy with dinner and chores, looked away as Fritz helped him onto a log that faced the common fire.
Fritz told her what happened. There wasn’t any blood around his foot. That seemed good. Perhaps his good soldier’s boot had protected him.
“We have to take off the boot,” Christiane said, kneeling next to Johann.
Johann shook his head. “Don’t. It’s swelling. And it will swell more without the boot, and then I’ll never get it back on.” He closed his eyes to ride out a wave of pain. “I must meet with Herr Leichter tomorrow. That comes first.”
“You must stop this madness of working in the dark,” Christiane said. “You must slow down. You’ll kill yourself and then what good will you be to Walther and me?”
He had appetite only for broth from the boiled fish that Christiane had prepared. Soon he felt feverish. He slid to the ground with his back against the log. The pain surged, then relented, then came back. He stayed outside at the fire, sometimes staring into it, sometimes clenching his eyes to pass through another spasm from his foot.
His head was in Christiane’s lap, her hand on him. “Where’s Walther?” he asked.
“Sleeping. With Ursula.” She had been eager to tell him how Walther had taken many steps that afternoon, leaning forward in his funny, desperate lurch, each foot hitting the ground just in time to keep from landing face first. She would tell him tomorrow. Walther would show him.
Johann sucked in his breath and tensed. His foot was on fire again. Sweat popped on his face. Then Christiane was standing over his leg. Fritz was next to her. “What are you doing?” Johann asked.
“The boot,” she said. “It has to come off.”
He didn’t argue. Christiane gingerly lifted his knee. Fritz tried to work the boot down, tilting it to clear Johann’s heel. Nothing. “Pull hard,” Johann said. “It can’t hurt more than it does.”
Fritz knelt, gripping the bootheel with both hands. He yanked and strained. Both men grunted. Johann gasped. His head fell back against the log. Fritz tried again, more violently. And again. And again. Johann came awake with Christiane’s hand stroking his face.
“It won’t come off,” she said. She leaned back and picked up a knife. “We must cut it off.”
“No,” Johann protested. “What will I do in the winter without a boot?”
“What will you do without a foot?”
“If I have no boot, I will soon have no foot.”
Christiane handed the knife to Fritz and gripped Johann’s leg.
* * * * * *
Leichter leapt nimbly from the workboat onto the pier. His bright green jacket and satiny brown waistcoat set him apart in the frontier setting. A man of middle years, his face bore the expression of a person who smelled an especially vile odor. At Broad Bay, such odors came from rotting fish innards and imperfect human sanitation. The day was changeable, cloudbanks chasing each other across the sky, sunlight alternating with gloom.
Leaving the pier, Leichter seemed to glide over the uneven ground. Johann wobbled on his good foot, leaning on Christiane on one side and a stout stick on the other, envious of the man’s mobility. Rough linen wrapped the injured foot, swollen to nearly twice normal size, ugly colors emerging beneath the skin. It could bear no weight.
They stood at the back of the small crowd of new settlers who hoped to speak with General Waldo’s agent. Walther twisted in Christiane’s arms. Johann, feeling weak, could see that despite Leichter’s fine clothes and careful carriage, he was not a man of the drawing room. He had the look of someone who knew hard work. A man to be reckoned with, one who would not overlook slights.
The settlers grew silent as Leichter approached. The men removed their hats. The agent stopped and cast his eye over them. No English settlers had come to the pier.
“Good morning,” he said in a strong voice. “I bring welcome from General Waldo, the Hereditary Lord of Broad Bay, who is pleased that you have completed your journey to this new world.” Though his accent was German, he spoke in English, which meant that most couldn’t understand his words. They shifted uneasily.
“As you know,” he continued, untroubled by the settlers’ confused looks, “I am the general’s agent. Talking to me is like talking to General Waldo. The general has two rules that you must respect in Broad Bay. The first is that you cause no trouble with the Indians. Your predecessors did that and you can see what it got them.” He gestured at the burned cabins. “The general follows a policy of peace with the savages. If you violate that policy, you will be sent away from this community.” He paused to make eye contact with individual settlers.
Nungesser, the schoolteacher and unofficial pastor, cleared his throat and raised his hand tentatively. “Please, your honor,” he said, “if you might speak in German…”
“Broad Bay is a British colony,” Leichter said, “and all its business is transacted in English. If these people wish to conduct business with me or with General Waldo, they had better learn English.” The agent clasped his hands behind his back and bounced up on his toes. “And General Waldo’s second rule is that you must work. We have nothing but hard work here at Broad Bay. But we also have great opportunity. If you cannot do this work as a settler, then you must return to Portsmouth and work there until you pay off that part of your fare and the cost of your homestead, both of which the general has already paid for you.”
Leichter scanned the blank faces. A small smile played on his lips. “All right then,” he resumed, “who here speaks English?” He turned to Nungesser. “You, sir?”
“Yes, sir, I speak some English.” Johann tried to raise his hand, eager to launch into his questions and concerns. The movement caused him to lean on his bad foot. A stab of pain bent him over. He could barely stay upright.
“Fine,” Leichter said to Nungesser. “You explain these two rules to them. I must see the Indians. When I return, you and I will meet. I will respond to questions that you gather from the others. I will speak only through you.” Leichter wheeled and strode back onto the pier, then climbed into the boat. The oarsmen pushed off and started up the river.
Christiane helped Johann sit where they had been standing. His foot throbbed.
That evening, the settlers met around the common fire. Nungesser stood at the center. The men were nearest the fire, the women in the next ring out. Johann stood behind that second circle, leaning on Fritz and on his stout stick. When Walther wouldn’t settle down, Christiane had to walk him around the clearing. She let him walk on tiptoe, hanging onto her fingers. Whenever she steered him near the meeting, he began to squall. Christiane thought he had another tooth coming in.
Nungesser began with a short prayer, then said, “Herr Leichter returned this evening, so I will see him in the morning. What do you want me to say to him?”
A wall of complaints crashed in on him. The general had broken his promises about food, about tools, about land. They had no weapons to fight off Indians. They would starve. There was no church or minister to care for their souls. Some would pay with their lives for those broken promises. Over and over came the complaint that they had no land yet. When would he assign the land? They had come all this way for the land.
The pain fractured Johann’s focus. Early on, he started to speak. The men turned to him. His thoughts blurred. The words didn’t come. He shook his head and looked down. The meeting moved on.
After an hour, the complaining slackened. Nungesser, nodding and listening, had said little. Now he spoke: “I have heard, and what you say is right. Promises, important ones, have not been kept. But also, shouldn’t we be careful with our complaints? We can’t afford to offend Herr Leichter or General Waldo. We need to preserve good relations with them. We will depend on them to keep us safe and to support us. We have nowhere else to turn.” A resigned murmur passed around the fire. Heads shook, but the passion had drained from the men.
Johann couldn’t stand it. Anger cleared his head. “General Waldo,” he called out, “depends on us. He has not kept his promises and now he wishes for us to settle the land, to sweat our lives out so he may grow richer, to take whatever risks
there are to take while he is safe in his bed.”
“We’re all disappointed,” Nungesser said, “but we must remember that he can replace us. He replaced the first group of settlers. That’s why we’re here.” Nungesser didn’t have to point to the charred cabins. “But we cannot replace him. There is no one else who will assist us, who even knows we’re here.”
“By asking nicely,” Johann said, “we will get nothing. That is the way of the world. We must be strong. That is the only way.”
“So,” a voice called out, “we must be strong by working in the darkness, is that right?” The laughter that followed caused Johann more pain than his foot had. He squeezed Fritz’s shoulder as he strained to see who had spoken, who mocked him before everyone. “Steady,” Fritz said softly. “Steady, Johann.” A deep weariness seized Johann. It took all of his strength to stay upright. He kept his eyes fixed on Nungesser.
“So it’s settled,” Nungesser said. “I will ask about the land, and the provisions, and the tools. And I will preserve warm feelings between the general and we settlers.” He looked from side to side. Johann had no strength to argue. It was useless, he knew. These men weren’t cowards. Nor were they fools. They had always bowed before the strong and the rich. They were accustomed to it. They didn’t expect that to be different in America.
The Obserstrasses spent the night before the common fire, watching it dwindle. Johann sank into a feverish state of half-wakefulness, but resisted moving. Christiane also got little rest. At least Walther, worn out by a day of irritation, slept deeply next to her. When Johann fell still, he felt the emptiness of the continent around them, the darkness of the woods. What would they do if his foot didn’t heal? Where could they live? How would they eat?
An owl hooted, a penetrating, hollow sound from the stories of childhood, tales of bears and wolves and black forests filled with danger. Back home, such animals lived in the forest away from the village. In America, they would be outside their door.
The New Land Page 6