In Search of Anna

by Valerie Volk

  I am so happy, dear Anna, to hear this from you. Johan and I have found each other most compatible and I think—I hope—that he is beginning to care for me. I know that I feel for him more deeply than I would have expected. He is a fine man, indeed, and being with him stirs feelings in me that I did not know before. I hope it may be the same for him.

  In truth I was envious. Not because of Dr Menge—her news pleased me, and when I had brought them together it had been my hope. But to feel like that.

  Still I did not know what Kurt had meant in his cryptic comment about a woman being the reason he wished to leave Lobethal. I had hesitated to intrude, wishing him to tell me when he was ready. Surely not Magda, many years older than him. Besides, she had her own lover, who came to visit whenever he could find the time.

  ‘We have been engaged for a year now, Anna, and he becomes impatient. He has been reasonable about delaying our wedding until Carl’s child is a little older but I cannot ask him to wait forever.’

  ‘It is a real problem—I can see that.’

  ‘Ideally, Carl should marry again. These children need a mother to care for them.’

  I was surprised to find how little the idea appealed to me.

  ‘He has told me he married Eda to have a mother here—and how he regrets it. It is not a good basis for marriage.’

  ‘It was not the only reason. I think you have guessed that she was already with child when they married. He is an honourable man, and he felt he had to wed her. Have I shocked you?’

  ‘Oh Magda,’ I smiled. ‘ There is little in life that shocks me. He is a man, and an attractive man. If he was lonely after Frieda’s death, it does not surprise me.’

  ‘She was more than willing, and I doubt that Carl was her first.’ She coughed, and raised an uneasy hand to her mouth. ‘She is dead, and I talk too much.’

  The rhythm of life at Lobethal was comfortable. On Mondays stoking of the fires under the big copper in the Old House for wash day; on Tuesdays the bank of flat irons heating on the kitchen stove for big ironing, while on Wednesday the smell of freshly baked bread and big trays of Streuselkuchen filled the house. Though the other workers cared for themselves, Kurt came often from their quarters to join us at the family dinner table.

  Two days each week Rosa and Elfrieda would come from Mueller’s farm to help with cleaning and I watched Kurt with them. His manner showed nothing but casual friendship, and I pondered his comment about a girl. Neither of these, I concluded. Perhaps at the church?

  Sundays, the wagon was waiting in the yard with the two horses yoked and ready to transport us to the small weatherboard church that Carl’s father had helped build. The horses paced sedately through the village, and out once more into countryside. I was surprised that first day when we did not pull in with other wagons at the grey stone church with its square tower and spire that looked so like those at home.

  ‘Surely that is the Lutheran church?’ I cast a puzzled glance at Magda, beside me cradling little Fritz, as we all called him.

  She glanced up from adjusting his shirt. ‘It’s the other synod,’ she answered briefly. I recalled Pastor Herlitz’ explanation that in the new land doctrinal divisions still prevailed, and the Old Lutherans who had come for religious freedom had then split into groups. Often, in fact, bitterly hostile groups.

  ‘You do not attend that one?’

  She seemed shocked. ‘We could not do that. Oh, we are still neighbours and friends. And our children go to the same Lutheran school. See, it is that building next door to this church. But we could never worship with them. And I could never have married someone from the other church.’

  There was an absoluteness about it that startled me. Why should religious belief lead to such divisions? The horses plodded on and we turned into a yard already filling with sulkies and wagons, where bonneted women were walking toward the doorway of a small cream-painted timber building, its gable front topped with a wooden cross. No bell tower here, but a young boy hurried to ring the bell suspended in its tall iron frame near the entry porch.

  ‘We go to the right,’ indicated Magda, shepherding the children toward a back pew. Kurt, I noticed, was moving left to the men’s side of the congregation, while Carl strode to the front pew, where two older men were already sitting.

  ‘They are the elders,’ whispered Magda, as the congregation settled.

  A solitary fly buzzed lazily at the window, and already in the early morning a heat haze was hanging in the air. I gazed out the windows at the listless gums and yellowed grasses, wondering how one could celebrate Christmas in this climate.

  Advent, and each Sunday a new candle was lit in the wreath at the front of the altar. As we stood outside after service there was talk in the women’s circle of the Christmas Eve program the children would perform, and the making of new clothes for the event; in the men’s circle—of course the two groups remained separate—of the coming harvest and the weather that might jeopardise it.

  ‘You will be with us for Christmas, Frau Werner?’ asked the pastor, as I left the church that morning.

  ‘God willing,’ I replied. It was the same response I gave to the enquirers in the women’s circle, and Magda was quick to add her voice.

  ‘We would all be disappointed if she was not part of our Christmas this year.’

  I did not miss the significant glance that passed among the ladies, so I hastened to add that I must soon return to Germany to see my new grandchild. I did not want to start speculation.

  I glanced across to Kurt standing with a group of the younger men, some casting surreptitious looks toward the gathering of unmarried girls. Soon there would be a few brave souls asking to escort a chosen girl for the walk to her home, if she lived close by. Or perhaps for permission to visit for one of the Sunday evening music entertainments that were so popular.

  ‘Since Frieda has died, we no longer have these,’ Magda had explained. I knew that the piano in the formal drawing room had not been opened in my time there, and the girls’ music lessons had stopped during their mother’s long illness.

  ‘We used to go to a teacher in Jindera on Fridays,’ Adelina had told me. ‘He was a grumpy old man who came from Albury one day a week. Lots of my friends also learned from him. Do you play, Tante Anna?’

  ‘I used to, but not well.’ It was many years since I had touched the instrument.

  ‘Vati plays the cornet,’ volunteered Hermann. ‘He played in the band until our mother got sick.’

  The man was full of surprises. I had been intrigued by the bookshelves in his room, and the fact that our evenings were spent harmoniously with him reading in the lamplight while Magda and I sewed the never-diminishing pile of mending for the children.

  ‘Where do your books come from?’ I asked one evening.

  ‘Many from the fatherland. When our people came, they brought not just seeds and farm equipment but also many books. And when we go to Albury, I visit the booksellers there and gain new stock for the coming months. You are welcome to read any that interest you.’

  A mix of German and English, as I discovered when I took advantage of his absence one day to explore the shelves. Much theology … old books that had come with his father on the ship. A complete set of Luther’s Table Talk and many of the Church’s confessional books. Books on agriculture, and on the new land they were coming to. Then newer books, a mix of history and philosophy, nothing more to my taste. No literature, no classics.

  ‘Not a world I am familiar with,’ he laughed, when I challenged this collection. ‘I tell you, Frau Werner, we will go to Albury next week to buy gifts for the children for Christmas, and I will take you to my bookseller. You can choose books for me, the books you think I should know.’

  ‘I’d like that. And I’d be interested to see something of the town. Before I return to my own country.’

  ‘Yes.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘I think you must find our life here very dull.’

  ‘Not so,’ I hastened to assure him. �
��It’s a life that I have not known, and I enjoy it greatly. I would like to see Albury. Will we all go?’

  ‘I think not. Another time with the family. For this trip we will only take Kurt—he needs to buy equipment for a new device he is making.’

  The children were easy to placate with the thought that we were planning to buy their Christmas gifts. And the house was filled with preparations for Christmas, with Magda and the girls in a flurry of baking and sewing for the day. I was pleased that Kurt was to come with us, otherwise I feared providing the gossip that would be sure to follow our excursion.

  I look back on it now as an especially happy day. The children had all made their wishes clear to me before departure, and there was an easy companionship in choosing their presents. For Magda, a length of material, black with a finely figured pattern that shimmered as it shifted in light.

  ‘It would make a fine wedding gown,’ I murmured, then scolded myself as I saw his look. It was a problem he would have to face one day. Magda’s husband-to-be would not wait forever.

  ‘Now the bookseller.’ He led the way out of the big department store crowded with pre-Christmas shoppers.

  ‘This is Dean Street, where the newspaper in which you advertised began. We are very proud of the Albury Banner—they tell us it is the biggest country weekly in the land. Three years ago it was made larger, now it has forty pages.’

  ‘I heard Kurt call it the ‘Farmer’s Bible’,’ I commented.

  ‘That is true. We depend on it for many things—including the tracing of missing sons!’

  I laughed. ‘It’s been very useful for me.’

  ‘It is a very successful paper. The owner, George Adams, must be making money. In spite of the fire.’

  ‘A fire?’

  ‘The Banner offices were destroyed by a huge fire just before Christmas four years ago. It started in the draper’s shop next door when a gas jet set alight a nearby display of laces. It was a huge loss—but now completely restored. Look!’

  He led me to the side of the main street, and I smiled at his pride in the new buildings. They were, I had to admit, impressive: the new telegraph office and the Beehive Building, a splendid new post office. Even Mate’s, the department store we had been in, had been rebuilt within the last few years.

  ‘You would make a good agent!’ I laughed.

  He smiled sheepishly. ‘Am I boring you?’

  ‘No, of course not. You are right to be proud of your city. It seems so prosperous.’

  ‘Wool prices in the last years have been at a peak; the entire country is profiting.’

  In the bookshop Kurt soon disappeared to another section, fascinated by his new project and in search of books that would give him the information he needed. For me it was a matter of finding favourites I thought Carl might enjoy, and he shook his head at my eagerness to share them with him.

  ‘You will need to stay here for a long time if we are to discuss all these books,’ he laughed, as we carried the box of books to the waiting wagon. It was not an unpleasant thought. It would, after all, have been silly to come this distance and then to leave the country too swiftly. Besides, I had come to feel that I was earning my keep in the household, and I knew that Magda was grateful for the help.

  ‘It is time that we eat something,’ Carl paused in his stowing of our purchases in the wagon. ‘Magda has packed a hamper for us to enjoy in the gardens. We will take the wagon there.’

  ‘I shall leave you.’ Kurt had other plans. ‘I need to purchase equipment—parts for my project. Carl can tell you about it, Mutti—though I am not sure he believes it can be done.’

  Carl tipped back his hat. ‘I confess to doubts. I also have faith. If anyone can do this, it will be you. What about food though?’

  ‘I will stop in at the Globe—it will be quicker. We can pick up my goods later when you leave.’

  ‘He will get a good meal there,’ Carl assured me as the wagon rumbled its way down Dean Street. He pointed to the hotel as we passed it; a two-storey building, impressive for this country town, with its balcony and verandahs. ‘You see that balcony?’ he gestured with the reins. ‘The Governor has stayed in the hotel and spoke highly of it, and seven years ago the Premier of our colony stood on that very balcony and made a speech to Albury’s people.’

  I was embarrassed by my ignorance but as soon as he said the name I knew. ‘Yes, Sir Henry Parkes. He is very involved in the federation matter; they told me of it in Melbourne.’

  ‘It will be important if this country is to become a nation. We cannot have separate colonies all going their own way. We could do much better as a united land. But here we are.’

  I could see how beautiful these gardens would be. Even in twelve years trees had grown impressively and lawns and flowerbeds made it an attractive spot. It was easy to relax and talk idly as we ate our way through Magda’s provisions, and enjoy the bottle of their own wine she had included.

  ‘I have been so impressed by all that you have created at Lobethal. And in such a short time. The way your vineyard is flourishing, and the orchards. You have fruits I have never seen at home. It is like a kingdom in its own right.’

  ‘A kingdom I have to fight for. Have you not seen me shooting at the birds at dawn? They too want my fruit.’ I had wondered at the gunshots.

  ‘Kurt has an idea,’ he continued, ‘of creating a system of bells through the trees, that could be rung from the house. It may work. He is a man of many talents.’

  ‘He seems very happy here with you, and I know this new idea is important to him. Can you explain? I don’t know anything of it.’

  The afternoon sun was warm, and we had eaten and drunk well, and Carl’s explanation of a machine that would harvest the wheat more efficiently could not hold my attention.’

  ‘A stripper, you say? A machine that would strip the wheat?’ I murmured. I could feel my eyes glazing with weariness.

  ‘Frau Werner, I am boring you.’ His voice came from a long way away.

  ‘I am sorry. I am just so tired; I cannot keep my eyes open.’

  ‘You can lean against this tree—here, let me put this cushion in place. Or would you sleep on the rug?’

  Tempting indeed. Yet how improper that would have been, in a public place. I had removed my bonnet, but to lie down seemed unladylike. Leaning against the tree—surely no one could object to that. And my eyes were closing.

  When I woke, Carl had packed the remains in the hamper and was himself asleep on the rug. I looked at him. There was something so touching about his figure stretched out and defenceless. Strange to see this tall rugged man so vulnerable, no longer the master of his kingdom. He stirred in his sleep, and reached a hand toward me.

  I swallowed. Caught by surprise, I realised I wanted to put my hand in his.

  CHAPTER 24

  Jindera, New South Wales, 1889

  With Christmas coming and no schooldays, there was little time for thinking in this hard-working household. Even the children were busy; all were expected to work in this way of life. My favourite time was the long light evening, when the household shared the after-dinner daily watering time. The summer had come, and I understood for the first time in my life the importance of water in the extended dry spells and intense heat of this land.

  Each evening, as the sun sank toward the west beyond the curve of the hills, the horse was yoked to the furphy, a contrivance I had never seen before. Kurt explained it to me with enthusiasm.

  ‘It is exactly the sort of thing this country excels at—people making what is needed for these conditions.’

  I looked at the strange barrel-like water tank, where Carl was harnessing the horse. It stood patiently while the straps were attached to the long shafts of the cart.

  Kurt continued. ‘Each night we take it to the dam in the home paddock and bring it back with water for the garden.’

  ‘I have never seen this done before.’ I was intrigued.

  ‘A new invention, that people all over the
district are pur­chasing. It is the best way of getting water to where we need it each night. If we took too much from the house tanks or the underground wells we would run out.’

  ‘Whose idea was it?’

  ‘That’s where the name comes from. A man from Shepparton—that’s in Victoria—called John Furphy. So everyone calls them ‘furphys’—see, on the front of the barrel.’ He gestured to the round metal plate with its inscription Furphy’s Farm Water Cart. ‘A man with ideas can find real opportunities in this country. He will make his fortune with these.’

  The heat of the day was yielding to the evening’s long shadows, stretching horizontal fingers over the paddocks. We lined up at the furphy tap to fill tins and buckets, then adults and children tracked backwards and forwards from the cart to the rows of the extensive vegetable garden. There was no waste in this frugal household. Even Willi and Leni, only four and five, had their role and, equipped with discarded kitchen pots and leaking pans, ignored the drips and took water to the pot plants rowed along the front verandah.

  By the time we finished darkness would be falling, and bedtime came early for most of the household. Kurt returned to the workmen’s quarters in the Old House, and Magda, who rose early each morning to light the big stove in the kitchen, would soon carry her candle to her room. It was easy to sit on with Carl, reading under the gaslight we now used in the warm summer nights. I was concerned for Kurt, who had still said nothing more of the reasons he had left this place where he fitted so well. I did not wish to ask him directly, but I wondered if Carl knew.

  ‘I have not asked Kurt, and I would not want you to betray confidences, Carl.’ I still felt awkward using his name but it had become absurd in the intimacy of daily living and working to maintain this formality. I had been touched at his response to my suggestion that he call me Anna. His comment that it seemed more natural gave me pleasure.

  He raised his eyes from the book. ‘What is it, Anna?’

  ‘Kurt has still said nothing to me of the reason he left. He said only that it involved a girl. And that one day he would tell me.’