A Mending at the Edge: A Novel (Change And Cherish)

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  “Will you tell me about him?”

  “As you wish,” I said. I held her to me. I’d have to face those times, but I could be hopeful now about the stories of strength I could tell. “You had many fathers who cared for you in Aurora, Ida. Just remember that. And a sister and brothers, too, who showed great love for you.” I rocked her in my arms and looked at Andy.

  “You did well, Andy,” I said. “So well.” I wanted to take my son in my arms and hug him, but I didn’t want to risk his rejection, and my arms were full. “I’m so proud of you. Jack’s a sad man, but he’s no threat to us now. I almost challenged him into something unnecessary, bringing out his worst traits. You brought out his best, helping him calm down and go away again in calm.”

  Andy nodded. I thought he might have moved just a little closer to me. I released Ida, holding her with one arm, then put the other around Andy’s shoulder and patted the striped shirt he wore. He let me.

  “There are always safe ways through the wilderness, ja? I kissed Ida’s head, leaned into Andy. “Your mother just needs to keep learning the paths.”

  Life Exhibits

  March 26, 1871. Yet another year passes. My hair is graying just as Po’s is, at the edges. Karl brought by my annual almanac. “And step by step, along the path of life, there’s nothing true but Heaven,” Goethe wrote. Like the old friends we are, Karl and I sat and talked of promising students he had, my son being one. He smoked his pipe while I stitched. My older son will be eighteen this year; Kate, Catie, my beautiful older daughter, has turned sixteen. My two youngest fill me with delight. The dreams I had to raise my family are coming true, though not as I had planned.

  At Easter, we gathered together to etch eggs. My Clara, the Araucana chicken, laid three blue ones and one olive green egg, whose colors made the perfect backdrop for our etchings. I loved making these sculpture paintings, and while no one outside our family would probably be interested in them, I did consider entering them at the fair this coming fall. That’s what I was thinking about, more than “the plan,” which my brothers and sisters and mother hadn’t mentioned for some weeks, knowing plans take time to implement. I carried a basket of eggs from the chicken coop to my parents’ house. In Aurora, I knew that the apple trees were in bloom at Henry C’s orchard; the millrace water rushed pleasantly. Building continued but things were calm there, the pause before spring squalls blew through.

  At my parents’ home, I saw progress too. My father was talking again, though with a slight slur to his speech. His mind was good, and when we failed to understand him quickly enough, he’d write his thoughts down. He directed my brothers in their work, using his one arm mostly.

  We sat at my parents’ blue table, each of us lost to our thoughts as we etched. Jonathan had found a buyer for my pearls. I kept back the one small one from Willapa Bay that Christian had given me, but the remainder had been a gift from my mother. She’d agreed to the sale; even though it was now my gift to give away, I wanted her approval. With the cash, we’d add the rooms we needed to the house, pay off the property, and buy seed for our crops. One day my father would deed all to Wagner and Heirs. That was what he wanted.

  Oak and fir trees clustered at the edge of the property, and some land had already been cleared and planted in crops. We’d harnessed the spring, so fresh water welcomed, and much of that early demanding work had already been done. We’d made a puzzle path beneath the trees, a place for quiet thought.

  We’d carried on from someone else’s broken dream, turning it into our own hope. For frosting on the cake, it had a fine view of Mount Hood to the east. We’d all left the Aurora Colony, all except Andy and Christine and Jonathan; yet we were still connected. Even Kitty had decided to come back home to live.

  My sisters and I worked at fixing and serving, continuing our commitments to the colony. At our new home, my father sat in the rocking chair that matched Mary’s, and when my brothers weren’t clearing ground or getting ready to plant crops, they built fences for the chickens.

  “Always farmers,” my father said. “Stay that way.”

  Kitty and Christine and I would still work at Aurora, especially now with the railroad bringing in hundreds of guests. We still made our way as a group every other Sunday to the church. We walked past my old two-door house. Someone else lived there now. I didn’t miss it, not really. I only missed seeing my son.

  The fair in the fall of 1871 outdid the previous year’s. New performances and a larger carnival brought people out from their simple homesteads and small villages, as well as from cities far away. Some fairgoers still packed their own baskets of food, but many more made their way to our place of restorative meals. I cooked the entire time and found it always brought me joy.

  Jack Giesy showed up again. At first I felt that same rush of fear and outrage, but then I remembered Andy’s ways with him, and I did the same, not provoking. He could only have power over me if I allowed it. Jack asked for food. I served him. He ate. And when he saw that I still had friends to stand beside me, he left. I was never sure what Jack wanted besides power. I gave him none over me or my children. I rested in the confidence of my community, my family, my God.

  Andy had begun classes at Wallamet. Henry T. Finck, that wise-mouthed boy, headed off to Harvard. Both boys had been well prepared by their good teachers Chris Wolff, Henry C, and Karl Ruge. I stopped by to see Andy in his classroom, since I was there at the fair. He turned a shade of radish when he saw me, and I waved, then slipped quickly away. No young man wants his mother hovering while he follows his desire. Even I knew that.

  Kate walked hand in hand with Lorenz Ehlen when they thought no one was looking. I could see the two of them marrying one day. I wouldn’t allow Keil to interfere, should he consider it. That year, I also saw Brita! She brought me laughter and reminded me that I could bring hope to myself, as well as to those I love.

  One welcome change was that Johanna joined the festivities that year without Louisa. Kitty and Christine had remained behind and agreed to help our mother look after her. Johanna surprised us all by participating in the first art classes that Nancy E. Thornton had ever offered at the fair. My sister was quite gifted, but she’d had little time to paint. Now that Kitty and I lived at home and could help, she would.

  Ida entered an apple pie and earned a ribbon. Next year she said she’d make a quilt to enter—if I’d help her.

  Oh, and I made a drawing of my two youngest children, transferred it to cloth, cut fabric pieces out, and appliquéd them. It did not win a single prize, except in my heart when Christian said, “It’s different, Mama. I like especially those bright colored pieces along the edge. They’re from a quilt you made me, aren’t they? Can I take it with me when I leave your home to go to school? So I’ll always have pieces of my family with me?”

  Of course I agreed. What more could any mother wish for? What more could any woman want?

  I visited Wilhelm Keil one day in the spring of 1872. It was a journey I needed to make. I rode through the landscape of colored leaves and crisp air. Even though we no longer had a house in Aurora proper, I knew now I’d never live far from here. Willapa had been my test; Aurora, my new beginning.

  Keil looked tired that morning. He wore one of his finely tailored suits, but crumbs from his breakfast biscuit dribbled on his vest. An old pair of slippers covered his feet, and he shuffled them as he made his way to the workroom door, answering my knock. I was a bit winded by climbing up all those stairs, breathless, but not because I feared the man as I had back in Bethel as a young wife begging to convince him, but simply short of breath, as a woman growing older.

  “Ah, Frau Giesy,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

  “I’ve been busy at the hotel.”

  “Ja. Louisa keeps me informed, from your little house church gatherings at Martin’s.” He shook his head. “It offered something inconsequential for you women.” He waved his hand as though brushing at flies. “And no harm that we men could see. Otherwise I’d
have put a stop to it.”

  He’d gone from considering our meeting at Martin’s house to a previous time, when it was my house church that he must have struggled with, if only for a time.

  A part of me wanted to point out to him how many good things had come from our little house church: a safe harbor for abused women, new lives for a young girl’s twins and their mother, the beauty of a mixed chorus, a place to grieve the death of a friend and her child, countless quilts and coverlets and baby clothes, not to mention ideas for a restaurant at a fair. In that little house church, lives were comforted and shaped in ways none of us would ever know. But trying to inform him would have distracted me from my mission.

  The windows were open, and a breeze moved some of the papers lying on his workroom desk. He turned to the rustle and set down a wide-bottomed bottle to keep them from fluttering. Silently I handed him my gift, my special pork fruitcake, knowing he’d like the salt and lard mixed with fruit. Like Karl, he had aged, and he might welcome those intense tastes that rose from fermenting fruit in flour.

  “Danke, Emma. Your parents are well?”

  I nodded agreement.

  “Honoring the mother and father, ja, this is gut, Emma. But you did not need to move to do this. You could have had them move in with you. Right into your two-front-door house.”

  “They wanted a place to call their own. Just as Martin has. And others that you’ve deeded a house to. I didn’t think you’d deed my house to me.”

  This wasn’t something I’d intended to bring up, but I thought, Why not ask?

  “You’re right. I would not. If anything, it would need to go to Jack Giesy. You are still married to him.”

  “This is something I’m likely never to forget,” I said. “But what you could do, that would help my family, is deed that house to Jonathan. I’m sure he’d make room for guests, if the hotel overflows. He’d use it for the good of Aurora.”

  “Jonathan wants to live in your house?”

  “I haven’t asked him. But it would be good for him to have that assurance. He’s worked hard for you through these years.”

  He took a fork full of the cake, poked into one of the cherry preserves. “Ja. This could be arranged,” he said at last.

  He’ll deed it to a man but not a woman. Some things will never change.

  “What matters now,” I continued, “is that you will honor our original agreement. That’s why I’ve come to see you.” He frowned a bit, and I thought he might have actually forgotten it. “That you would educate me and my family in return for my using the house for the good of the colony. Does that still stand?”

  “Should it?”

  “What more could I do for the colony than what I have?” I said. “I came west with my husband for it; I gave my sons to it, to be raised by someone within the colony who is not their father. Andy lives now with others even though I have room for him in my home, in my life. He’ll be a doctor here one day. I’ve made the colony my second family. I’ve worked and done what I could to live the Diamond Rule. If you keep your word, you will truly be making my sons’ and daughters’ lives better than your own. I can die an old woman, knowing I, too, did something to make others’ lives better than my own.”

  “It will be a long time before you are an old woman, Emma Giesy,” Keil said. He had a glint in his eye, which I ignored. I waited in silence. He sighed. “A long time before you’ll die too, I suspect. Like me, a streak of ornery keeps our blood flowing.” He lifted my chin with his fingers, stared into my eyes. “I saw what Chris saw in you, and I thought he should tame you. He never did. You might have been easier to manage if he had.” His smile held a tint of sadness. “But you might also then still be there in Willapa with Jack on your hands. You might not have endured. Instead, you are here and you have brought…interest. Ja. Fascinating interest to our colony.” He sat down stiffly.

  I stepped back a pace, reflecting. I understood now some of Keil’s own ways in our long struggle. I had more power than I’d thought.

  “You have suffered, Sister Emma. I know this too.”

  I had suffered. Some of it of my own doing; some of the torrent that I hoped built character, deepened my faith. “Ja, but suffering is a part of living. Karl Ruge reminds me of the many kindnesses I’ve received in my life. He quotes a German master who wrote, ‘One who suffers for love suffers not and his suffering is fruitful in God’s sight.’”

  “Ja, that is Meister Eckhart. In that, I believe he was right.”

  He folded his hands on his desk top and sighed. “Ah, Emma, Emma. You did suffer for the love of your sons, but you have been fruitful from it. Ja, of course we will do our best to educate your sons, all the way through. Like his father, Christian serves and adds much to Brother Ehlen’s life when he visits. Andy shows a singular talent for medicine, for tending others instead of forcing them to certain things.”

  “Beyond talent, I believe he is a compassionate man,” I said. “Maybe his suffering has helped him become that.”

  “He’s been a good match for Martin’s work, ja? He does well in school?”

  “People will choose a hopeful approach to life, if they’re allowed,” I said, “rather than being pushed into it or, worse, scorned into it.”

  He stepped over that. “Your girls, too, may go on to school. That’s happening more now. Girls going.” He picked up his pipe and tapped the tobacco from it, drew on it to make a little whistle sound.

  “If they don’t marry, they can contribute in other ways, ja? We women have our plans.”

  He didn’t seem to notice my slight to his history of marriage restrictions.

  “You and your plans. Those fancy chickens,” Keil said. “You want to do something more with those, I suppose, on your new farm.”

  “Ja. Chickens and sheep. We Germans are farmers at heart.” I sat down.

  “Your father’s place always had the best flowers,” he said.

  I laughed. “Ja. My mother finally told me how that happens. William carries out the thunder bucket every morning and dilutes it with spring water, then feeds the plants with it.”

  Keil laughed at that. “I’ll start doing the same,” he said.

  The breeze moved across my face, cooling me. I sat amazed at my calm when once this man had frightened me so. Here we sat talking almost like equals. After all was said and done, in Aurora, I’d found my Heimat, what we Germans called the home of our hearts where we put down roots and were free to be as we were created to be. “There is this art class,” I continued. “That one I wanted to take years ago. I would sign up again. I’d like you to pay for it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It’s always something with you, Emma.”

  “I’m learning there is always a new desire. It is who we are, we Germans. All of us have dreams, or should have. You did long ago.”

  He nodded. “I dreamed of a second Eden,” he said. “Here in Aurora. Other societies, back East, they dreamed it too, but ours is still here, ja? We did something right.” He had a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Have more cake. Eat your fill,” I urged. He took another bite, then laid the fork on the edge of the snow white plate.

  “An art class. Taught by a woman, I suppose.” I nodded. He lifted his fork, took another bite, then used the fork to point at me. “Well, this I approve,” he said. “We colonists are known for our craftsmanship. You’re entitled to improve such…talents. Women do have them, or so my dear wife keeps reminding me. I saw that Sunflower quilt Frau Stauffer made before she died. An engineering marvel.” High praise coming from Keil, and too bad that Matilda didn’t live to hear it. “I’d prefer a man be your teacher,” Keil continued. “You need strong reins, ja? There is a boy in Bethel with such skills. Perhaps I’ll ask him to come west. He could teach you—”

  “I’ll not wait that long,” I said.

  “Ja. Well, better an art class than climbing some mountain.”

  I smiled. “Oh, I’d never do anything so dangerous as that. At least not
before I turn fifty.”

  “You could get hurt risking such things,” he said.

  “Ja. I could suffer,” I said. “But I’d find my way through it, I’m hopeful of that.”

  He held up his empty plate like a small boy, seeking more. “This is very gut, Emma. Excellent taste. A bit of sweet and sour. Just right. I will tell Louisa. You could stay for supper at the gross Haus, share with her the recipe? You could serve as you did of old, when you first came and huddled outside the door there with your children and that little Zwerg.”

  “I do have good experience in cooking and serving,” I said.

  I took the empty plate from him, stood. “But tonight I have my family to go home to,” I said. “Thank you for permitting the class.” He brushed his hand to the air, dismissively, as though his permission and payment were nothing. Or perhaps he was telling me I hadn’t even needed to ask. I pitched that thought away. We’d come a long way, Brother Keil and I. Both of us, still changing.

  “I’ll bring the recipe when I come next time,” I told him. My ruffled petticoat swirled against my legs as I turned to leave.

  “Danke. Danke.”

  “I can only hope it will appease your hunger,” I said. “As I’m hoping that the art class will satisfy mine.”

  “That will be good, Emma. You are a good woman, a good servant.”

  I blushed with his compliment but knew I didn’t need it. I nodded good-bye, then went out through the root room door, whistling a tune as I left, already reworking that recipe.

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It’s difficult for me to leave Emma. In part, I am reluctant because so many have made her journey come alive for me, including many readers. The Aurora Colony Historical Society opened its archives, and the board, staff, and volunteers gave of their time and stories to bring this woman, her community, and her journey to life. For this reason I’ve dedicated this final book in the Change and Cherish Historical Series to them.