Her gaze seemed to drift from the top of Jud’s hat to the tips of his boots, leaving him feeling exposed.
Marion took a step forward. “Hallo, Fraulein Fleischer. Mein name ist Marion Morgan.”
The blond blinked at the German words coming from the American. “Wande Fleischer.”
To Jud, the name sounded like “One day,” which seemed strange. Wanda, maybe. A good American name for such a beautiful girl.
“Sprechen sie Deutsch?” Wande asked Marion.
“Only a few words.” Marion offered her hand. “But we will be friends, freunde, ja?”
“Freunde.” Wande stared at the hand Marion had stuck in front of her, then placed her smaller palm inside Marion’s.
The two women shook hands, then linked arms. “Wande, this is my mutter, Frau Morgan. Ma, this is Wande Fleischer.”
Wande curtsied in her mud-soaked dress.
“Don’t be so formal.” Ma threw her arms around the girl. “Welcome to Texas, Wande.”
A gleam in her eye, Marion headed for Jud.
Torn between running for cover and holding the hand of the beautiful woman, Jud stayed rooted to the spot.
“And this bear is my bruder, Judson Morgan.”
“Danke, Herr Morgan.”
He looked into eyes as clear as a lake, wide as the sky, and deep as the ocean. “My friends call me Jud.”
“Jud ist Freunde?” Wande smiled and scanned the spot on the road where he passed the Fleischers by only a few hours ago.
“Freunde Jud,” he said.
Wande held out her hand, and Jud accepted it without thought. He held on a second longer than necessary.
Did he just tell Wande he was her friend? But he was determined to hate the German immigrants for taking over his Texas. He wouldn’t make this mistake again.
He had a feeling that Fraulein Fleischer could disturb his peace in a thousand different ways.
Marion Morgan fought not to laugh as she watched the exchange between Jud and Wande. He looked like a calf separated from his mother. She had never seen that look in his eyes. As for Wande, Marion hoped her new friend could see past Jud’s gruff manner. She deemed him the most loyal man in all of Texas.
Wande touched Marion’s arm. “Meine familie.” In short order, she introduced her parents and her brothers, Georg and Drud. Up close, Marion could see the differences, but they could be twins.
“Are they twins?”
Wande looked confused, and Marion searched for a word to fit. All she could come up with was the word for two. “Zwei?” She pointed to the boy’s faces.
Comprehension dawned and Wande shook her head.
Last of all, Wande introduced her sister, Alvie. The little girl was staring into a tree, calling “Katze, Katze.”
Marion could see a patch of black and white fur high in the branches. “Can I help?” She gestured to illustrate what she meant.
Alvie’s face screwed in concentration. “I speak a little English.” Her English turned out to be better than Marion’s German. “Our cat is in the tree.”
“So I see.”
“At home, we leave her outside, and she comes back when she is ready. But here there is no home for her to return to.”
“ABC, die Katze lief im Schnee.” A sweet soprano melody floated through the air. Wande sang to the cat. “Und als sie wieder raus kam.”
“She is telling Mittens to come down. The cat always comes when we sing this song.” Alvie joined Wande for the second verse. Marion recognized only one word—katze.
The cat put one tentative paw on the tree trunk, then a second. She crawled down several feet, but stopped higher than either woman could reach.
“So German cats like to climb trees, too.” Jud’s voice sounded in Marion’s ear and she jumped. “Let me help.” He reached up with his great arms. The cat saw him and prepared to pounce higher. Jud grabbed the cat before she could leap, and she yowled as he pulled her to his chest.
That was her brother, Marion thought. A big, tall, rawboned cowboy—cradling a cat in his arms.
CHAPTER THREE
Wande didn’t know what to make of this Amerikaner. Earlier he passed them on the road without a backward glance. Now he rescued their cat, cradling Mittens against his chest. He was so big, and the cat so small, that the scene reminded Wande of the picture of Jesus holding a lamb. The cat settled and began purring in Jud’s arms.
“Do you have a box?” He pantomimed grasping a handle. “Ja.” Alvie ran to the pile of their things and returned with the cat’s basket. “I let her out when we stopped here.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t run away.” Jud disengaged the cat’s claws and secured her in the basket. Mittens yowled at the indignity. “I know you don’t like being locked in, but it’s for your own good.” Mittens responded with a plaintive meow.
When Jud straightened, Wande saw a thin trickle of red staining his shirt. “You’ve been hurt!” Cat scratches could develop into bad infections, and she didn’t want this man who rescued Mittens to suffer. She made a “may I?” gesture.
He looked at the scratches. “Oh, that’s nothing. Your cat was just scared.”
So American men weren’t so different from German men. With two brothers, Wande knew about sidestepping male pride. “Alvie, bring me some water, and a clean cloth.”
Then she turned to Marion. “Bitte sag ihm, danke für unsere Katze retten.”
The Amerikaner’s sister repeated her message in English: “Please tell him thank you for rescuing our cat.”
Jud tipped his soiled brown leather hat. “And now I’ll help load your things onto our wagon.”
Alvie returned, water in a pot, a clean rag draped across her arm. Wande put a hand on Jud’s arm. “Nein.”
“She’s not letting you go anywhere.” Marion grinned and unbuttoned his shirt against his efforts to stop her. “That is nasty.” Marion took the rag Alvie handed her, immersed it, then wrung it out.
Wande kept her eyes focused on Jud’s face while his sister cleaned the scratches. She noticed his hazel eyes had flecks of gold. He winced a few times, but kept still. She thought he blushed, but she couldn’t be sure with his sun-darkened skin. The sun here must shine sometime for him to grow so tanned.
“All done!” Wande tried not to watch as Jud secured his shirt.
He turned to leave. Wande reached out to touch his sleeve. “Herr Morgan. Ich bedauere, daß sie verletzt wurden.” Even if he didn’t understand the words, she hoped he would catch her meaning.
He almost smiled. “I asked you to call me Jud.”
“Jud.” She repeated his name. Perhaps her first impression of him was not accurate. Perhaps he is more like his name—sturdy and firm, like the man standing before her. “Ich bin froh, daß wir Freunde sind, Jud.”
Jud studied the face before him. A few hours ago he had raged against the wave of German immigrants taking over his Texas. But now he encouraged Wande to call him by his Christian name. Her awkward pronunciation—the J that sounded more like a Y—made it almost charming.
“Ma’am.” Jud clapped his hat on his head and turned to the doctor. “How is Mrs. Fleischer?”
The lady answered in a stream of German, and Jud decided she must be all right. Upon a second look, he saw the same kind eyes and pleasant face he had noticed in her daughter, only faded with time.
Dr. Treviño smiled. “As you can tell, she’s in fine spirits. She’s sprained her ankle and needs to stay off her feet a few days. She should be ready to travel by the time they have a new wagon, as I was just explaining to Herr Fleischer.” Jud noticed the older man listening intently and translating the words into German.
The man addressed Jud. “Ja, Frau Morgan has offered us the room at your house. Is that good with you?”
“Of … course.” Once Ma had extended the invitation, Jud couldn’t uninvite them.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Ma smiled. “We’ll have company for Christmas.”
The last thing Jud w
anted for Christmas this year was company. Their family suffered a loss about this time a year ago—and he wanted to mourn in private.
“You needn’t frown,” Ma said. “We can rejoice with those who rejoice at the Savior’s birth, and mourn with those who mourn.” She transformed the small catch in her voice with a smile. “I learned that the Fleischers also suffered a loss this past year. God knew we needed each other this Christmas, and look at the distance they crossed to reach us.”
Jud would rather take a solitary horseback ride and discuss his grief with God, but Ma would never permit that, not on a holiday. “That is something,” he mumbled.
“Thank you, Herr Morgan.” Mr. Fleischer clasped Jud’s hand.
“Call me Jud,” he said with less enthusiasm.
“My name is Meino. My sons put the boxes on your wagon. We are ready. My wife and daughters go first. Ja?”
A few boxes remained—they couldn’t all fit in a single load. Neither could all the people. The German’s plan was sensible. First Jud helped his mother onto the seat before lifting Mrs. Fleischer beside her—taking care to avoid putting stress on her ankle. Jud held out his hand to Wande. She pressed her thumb gently into the back of his hand as she stepped into the Morgans’ wagon. Within minutes they were ready to go.
Marion sat in the back next to Wande. Alvie held the cat’s basket tightly. “Our kitty does not like dogs,” Alvie said. “Do you have dogs?”
“We have a dog, but Marmalade—that’s our cat—taught him who was in charge a long time ago. He got his nose scratched too many times when he was a puppy.”
Alvie looked at the basket. Mittens continued to let out desolate yowls. “She only—what is the word?” Alvie made claws out of her fingers. “When she is scared.”
“Jud didn’t mind,” Marion shouted. “Did you, Jud?”
He shook his head.
Wande stared at the rolling countryside, not taking part in the conversation.
Perhaps, Marion thought, Wande didn’t understand English well enough to join in. A few times Marion had gone to a friend’s house where everyone spoke Spanish or German. She remembered the isolation when she didn’t understand the stream of conversation flowing around her, though her friends did their best to include her.
Alvie and Mr. Fleischer already spoke some English. Maybe she could encourage Wande to learn. “Alvie, what was that song you were singing when Mittens climbed the tree?”
“ABC, die Katze lief im Schnee.” Alvie sang in a clear soprano. “ABC, the cat ran in the snow.”
“So katze means cat? The two words sound a lot alike.”
“There are more words like that. Garten is garden in English; schule is school. I think English is easy.” Alvie pointed to her sister. “But Wande thinks she does not need to learn English, at least not very much.” She whispered in Marion’s ear. “She expects to get married as soon as we reach Neu-Braunfels.”
“She does?” Marion looked at Wande, who smiled at her. She wasn’t surprised that someone as pretty and kind as Wande had a beau, but Marion had hoped … She had never seen Jud perk up around any of the young women of Victoria the way he responded to Wande.
Marion had romance on her mind a lot lately. She thought Tom planned to join them for supper tonight, although she wasn’t sure after she had seen him in town.
They reached the turn to their house, and Marion imagined the impression it might make on strangers. She remembered the day Pa hung the sign, “Running M Ranch, est. 1834,” across the entrance. The letters faded some through the years, but Marion knew they all took pride in their ranch, which was only a bit older than Texas itself. Jud, already tall by then, had helped hang the sign. Calder handed them the tools. Marion had looked on with Mama and baby Billie.
They hadn’t known that would be one of their last good times altogether. Before Pa … before Billie … Marion blinked back tears. She had already cried enough to turn the Guadalupe River into salt water. She needed to laugh. “I’d like to learn the cat song. Please teach it to me.”
“I’d like that. Repeat after me. ‘ABC, die Katze lief im Schnee.’”
Marion made a valiant attempt.
Alvie frowned. “I guess it’s good enough. We’re singing to have fun. It goes like this.” She put the words to music. “Now sing with me.”
Like all the Morgans, Marion loved music—even if the lyrics had foreign words. If she could learn a language by singing, it would be easy. “ABC, die Katze lief im Schnee.”
Wande’s attention wandered across the empty fields; fields she expected to see cultivated with corn and potatoes and all the wondrous crops possible in this new country. Free land, lots of free land, available to anyone. How could these Amerikaners let it sit there … doing nothing? Konrad planted a crop as soon as he settled his new piece of land. He said so—in the one letter she received from him before they left Germany.
Alvie touched her arm and spoke in German. “Sing with us, Wande. We are teaching German to Marion. She wants to learn the cat song.”
Wande smiled at the American and nodded.
“I know the first line already,” Marion said. “The words rhyme, which make it easy to remember. C, Schnee.”
“The words in the second line rhyme, too. Kam and an.”
Marion soon picked up the rhythm of the nursery rhyme.
“You must be a musician,” Wande said.
“Everyone in our family likes music. We’re distant relations of Justin Morgan, the man who bred the Morgan horse. Have you heard of him?”
Wande could understand more English than she could speak. She shook her head.
“We raise horses, like he did, but he was also a composer.” Marion smiled. “Why do you think I am a musician?”
“You have a beautiful voice,” Wande said.
Alvie giggled.
“Also, Papa says musicians hear the differences in languages better. You speak German well,” Wande said.
“You’re musical, too,” Marion said. “I’m sure you could learn English, Wande. I can teach you, if you would like.”
Wande had resisted learning. If it were up to her, she never would have left Germany.
She had fought the new language, since it represented leaving her home and everything she had loved. But both Papa and Konrad believed the stories about Texas. On the way, she continued to speak her native tongue. She traveled among Germans—and to a German husband.
But learning English to become better friends with Amerikaners like Marion and her family might not be so bad. Konrad would be proud if Wande arrived in Neu-Braunfels able to speak with their American neighbors.
“You speak English. I answer in German,” Wande said. “We both learn. Das ist gut.”
“That is very good.” Marion smiled.
CHAPTER FOUR
Look!”
Alvie’s cry drew Wande’s attention. In the distance, a dozen horses galloped, a blur of chestnut and black with a silver streak. Wande’s heart jumped back ten years, when she was a girl wanting a horse of her own. She had never seen so many. For that matter, she had never seen wild horses. They were breathtaking.
“They are beautiful.” The same hunger Wande had known as a girl blazed in Alvie’s eyes. Perhaps in Texas, she might own a horse.
“Those are our horses.” Marion’s hazel eyes gleamed with pride. “Morgan horses—the breed Justin Morgan developed. We raise the finest horseflesh in this area.”
“You own all those horses?” Wande could scarcely believe it. Back home, only one farmer in ten was lucky enough to own a horse.
“That’s only part of them.” Marion laughed. “That silver one is my favorite. Most Morgans are bay or black or chestnut, so he really stands out. If one of the mares ever has a dappled foal, I’m going to talk Jud into keeping it.” She grinned. “If I can.”
Wande glanced at the man holding the reins. “Your brother cares for you deeply.”
“But he won’t let me keep a valuable colt just because I
want to. He takes his responsibility as the head of the household seriously—too seriously sometimes. He’s run off almost everyone who’s tried to court me.” She smiled, and Wande wondered if there was someone special. “Oh, there’s our home.”
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