Lone Star Trail

by Darlene Franklin

  “Is that laudanum?” Ma shook her head.

  “Yes. Don’t fuss. It will help you rest more easily.”

  When he’d finished his examination, he took Marion into the hall. He gave her the laudanum and explained the dosage. “It’s important to follow the directions exactly. It’s a dangerous drug if used inappropriately.”

  Marion blinked. “I’ll be careful with it.”

  “As long as you follow precautions, you’ll be fine. She’ll need something for the pain.” The doctor shifted his medical bag to his left hand. “I’m glad Fraulein Fleischer and her brother have returned. I don’t want to come back and discover two new patients—you and your brother. Make sure you get enough rest.”

  “Yes, sir.” But Marion did not know how.

  The days fell into a pattern, one that left Jud with little to do in taking care of his mother.

  Two days had passed since she spilled the soup and burned herself. Whenever it came time to change her bandages—like now—one of the women shooed him out of the room. He could only stand by and listen to her moans. The laudanum dulled the edge of the pain, but didn’t take it away.

  The door to Ma’s room opened, and Wande slipped out, carrying a basket of dirty bandages. She gave no sign of seeing Jud where he stood at the top of the stairs. She braced her back against the door and sagged. She rested, her eyes drifting closed.

  Jud climbed the top stair and crossed the landing. “Here. Let me help you with that.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Nein, danke … I am fine.”

  “Nonsense. All this time, you and Marion have been doing all the work. How can I help?” He grabbed the basket, heavy from the damp bandages. “What do you do with these?”

  A weary smile crossed her lips. “Wash them, bleach them, dry them. Marion uses more bandages than a baby does windeln.” She colored as if she had said something inappropriate.

  An antiseptic smell rose from the basket, and Jud wished he could plug his nose. “I can’t say I have much experience with laundry.”

  Wande sniggered behind her hand.

  “But I’m willing to learn. I can’t take care of Ma’s personal needs, but I can handle soap and water.” When he reached the bottom stair, he plunked the basket on the floor. “If you’ll show me how …”

  She directed him to drop the soiled bandages into a tub of warm water, tucked beside the stove. Then she showed him the process of scrubbing, boiling, rinsing, and drying. “Do you want to scrub or iron?”

  “Why bother with ironing?” Jud shook his head. “Ma won’t care if they’re wrinkled.”

  “Ironing removes dampness and helfen to warm them.”

  Wande brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, and he saw her palms—red, almost blistered, with patches that were raw. “Your hands! Did you burn yourself?”

  She tucked her arms at her sides, out of sight. “Nein, it is nothing. It is because of so much laundry.”

  “Let me see.”

  Reluctantly she held out her hands.

  “This happens when you scrub the bandages?”

  She nodded.

  “Then I’m doing the scrubbing today.” Surely his calloused hands could handle it.

  She hesitated, then pointed by the stove. “Bring that tub outside.”

  He bent over, surprised at the weight. How had a tiny woman like Wande managed it? He staggered outside.

  After she demonstrated the use of the soap and the washboard, she unpinned the clean bandages from the clotheslines. Arms piled high with strips of cloth, she stopped where he leaned over the washboard.

  After less than five minutes, his hands were already complaining.

  “Danke.”

  He grunted and paused. “How much are we paying you?”

  She colored, and he remembered they had never discussed salary. “Now that I see how hard it is to do the laundry, I might double your salary.”

  She shifted the load in her arms and headed for the door. “Twice null is still null; or is math different in America?” She disappeared inside before he could respond.

  About the time Jud was scrubbing the last cloth, Wande came to the porch and rang the bell. He looked overhead, not believing it could be dinnertime already, but the sun confirmed it. Tom trotted in from the pasture, and Georg came out of the barn.

  Wande made keeping up with meals and laundry seem effortless. Ma and Marion did the laundry every week, of course, but not every day, as Wande had to do to keep the supply of clean bandages they needed.

  After they had eaten, Wande jumped up to wash the dishes.

  “Stop. Sit down.” Jud’s arms felt like deadweights. “We need to discuss the terms of your employment.”

  Her lips straightened, but she took a seat. “I helfen because I want to.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jud shook his head. Wande couldn’t be as selfless as she claimed. No one was. No German was. He wouldn’t tell her that the man who had jilted her so cruelly had asked him to give her a job. Or that her presence in his house disturbed his peace of mind. “You’ve done more than be neighborly and bring a few meals. You’ve come in and taken over running the household, for a week. That’s work.”

  She sighed. “I told you I would work for free.”

  “But you also said you wouldn’t refuse pay if I insisted. And I do insist. You also need time off.”

  “But your mother …”

  “We’ll survive without you for an afternoon. The ranch hands take Saturday afternoon and evening off. Georg will be going into town to spend the night with your family. I want you to go with him. You’ll come back on Sunday night.”

  Jud knew he was being high-handed, but he didn’t dare negotiate with Wande. If he tried, he was in danger of agreeing to something, even if it wasn’t in the best interest of either one of them.

  “Very well. I will go home on Saturday and Sunday. I want to go to the kirche.”

  He looked into her eyes, and the longing there made him ache. Wande was only eighteen or nineteen, in a strange land—and with her hopes for future happiness dashed. Of course she would want to make friends with those of her own kind.

  He pushed aside his desire to protect her, refusing to let it take root. Let her look for comfort among her own kind. She was German, an interloper—not a Texan, but one of a swarm of newcomers who wanted to take over Texas for their fatherland.

  Wande forced herself to finish one last bundle of laundry before she left on Saturday. Despite her protests, the opportunity to see Mama and Papa broke down her reservations. She fingered the coins Jud gave her at dinner. Her first pay. It felt good, solid. The first wages she had ever earned. She would lay it in front of Papa with a flourish.

  An hour before sundown, Georg appeared at the door, scrubbed clean and changed into his freshest clothes. She studied him. Since their arrival in Texas, he had grown taller and his chest was filling out. Her baby brother was becoming a man. “If you keep growing, we will need to make you new clothes.”

  He blushed. “Pastor Bader said the Verein will hold a meeting tonight. They talk about the different societies we can join. I hope Papa will let me—us—go.”

  Societies—Wande liked the idea of meeting other Germans in Victoria. She had spent most of her time on the ranch. “If they have one about farming methods that will work on this soil, Papa will want to go. You should, too.”

  By his expression, she knew Georg had other interests in mind—maybe the chance to meet a pretty girl.

  “But I am sure there is time for more than society talk tonight. We will learn, and we will meet new people, ja?” After a week of straining to understand every word in this strange language, English, she welcomed the chance to speak German. Even if only for a night, she could pretend she had never left Offenbach, and that she could still expect to marry Konrad.

  “Ja. I will meet a pretty fraulein and you will meet a handsome gentleman, and we will have a wonderful time.”

  Wande caught sight of a golde
n head of hair, the afternoon sun creating an almost angelic halo. Jud.

  But she didn’t want an Amerikaner—any Amerikaner—particularly one who couldn’t even pronounce her name. God would bring her a good, German man, someone like Papa, kind and wise.

  The door opened and Tom came in, all spit and polish. “Are you folks ready? Since y’all are headed into town, I thought I would go along for the ride.”

  Wande’s thoughts skittered to Marion and her infatuation with him. Tonight Tom dressed like a man hoping to make an impression on a woman.

  “We are ready.” A few minutes later, they climbed into the wagon, with Georg driving. Wande studied the countryside, already becoming familiar. That tree reminded her of a thundercloud; this dip in the road almost jolted her out of her seat; there was the tree where Mittens had climbed to the top … and Jud coaxed her down. She smiled at the memory.

  The road seemed level, but she knew the land didn’t lie completely flat. If it did, she would already see the town buildings. They must be climbing a small rise. When they reached the crest, the town of Victoria stretched before them. She could see the steeple of St. John’s kirche, and her heart raced in anticipation of seeing her family.

  As Georg promised, the German community held a meeting that night to introduce recent newcomers to German society in the area. Wande couldn’t believe the diversity of interests represented among the tables set up in the church hall.

  Papa and Georg headed for the farm booth as soon as they saw it, though Wande caught Georg peeking at a few pretty girls.

  Wande went her own way, identifying the different societies represented. So far she had seen groups devoted to shooting, singing, literature, and even gymnastics. She hoped to find a group devoted to the study of English, but so far she heard only German flowing around her.

  She paused in front of the music booth.

  “Do you like to sing, fraulein?” A petite brunette inquired with an accent that indicated she came from Swabia. Her voice suggested a soprano range. “I am Johanna Schmidt. I help my mother with the chorale.”

  “I do like to sing, and so does my sister. How old do you have to be to join?”

  “The adult chorale is for anyone over sixteen.”

  Wande shook her head. “Alvie is only ten.”

  “We have a group for the children also. They meet at the kirche on Monday afternoons.” She smiled. “I work with the children. They are sweet. But you. Do you wish to join the adult chorale?”

  “When do they meet?” Wande hesitated, thinking of her work responsibilities.

  “We meet after church on Sunday afternoons. Many of our members live on farms and come into town on Sundays only.”

  Of course. “Then I would like to join. Will you meet tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Johanna’s eyes brightened as someone passed by. She waved. “Ertha! Come and meet …”

  Wande turned and saw a girl with hair as red as poppies, a wide smile on her freckled face.

  Wande introduced herself.

  “Wande Fleischer. Where have I heard that name?” Recognition dawned in Johanna’s eyes at the same time Ertha spoke.

  “You are the girl Konrad Schuster jilted.”

  Wande wished she could melt into the floor.

  Marion scanned the sanctuary, hoping to spot Tom. Bless Mrs. Walford for coming to the house early this morning and insisting Marion and Jud take a break and go to church.

  Last night, Tom said he was going into town to see friends, and they had engaged in a small argument. He pointed out that he had a right to a life outside of the Running M.

  Sometimes she wondered if Jud was right. The way Tom spent money, he might never save enough to get his own place. And whom did he go to see on Saturday nights? He insisted he just got together with some cowpokes.

  The door opened again, and Marion turned to see who entered. It wasn’t Tom, but someone she never expected to see in her church—Wande Fleischer, alone.

  A deacon greeted Wande while Marion nudged Jud. “Look who came to our church today.” The expression on Jud’s face flashed between surprise, annoyance, and pleasure. Marion took a step in Wande’s direction and waved. Wande nodded to the deacon and waited for Marion, a smile replacing her uncertainty.

  Marion wondered why Wande had joined them for worship instead of attending a German-speaking congregation, but she would save her questions for later. She joined arms with her friend and turned to the deacon. “Mr. Brown, I’d like to introduce you to Wande Fleischer. She’s new to Victoria.”

  Brown’s face registered the German name, but he welcomed her warmly. “We’re so glad you came to worship the Lord with us today, Miss Fleischer.”

  The pianist began playing the doxology, and Marion and Wande slipped into a pew beside Jud. He nodded to Wande as the congregation rose to sing the words of praise.

  The service, so familiar to Marion, felt different when seen through a stranger’s eyes and ears. Wande didn’t join in the singing but stood, eyes closed, absorbing the music.

  The pastor arose. “Now let’s recite the Apostles’ Creed together.” Marion reached for a tattered copy of the Book of Prayer in the rack in front of her and showed it to Wande.

  The congregation began reciting the familiar words. “I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth …”

  Wande’s finger followed the text, and recognition lit her face. Marion heard her join them in a whisper, her words in German. “Und an Jesus Christus …”

  A few minutes later, the choir leader called the congregation to introduce visitors. He looked straight at Marion and Jud. “Mr. Morgan, would you introduce your guest to our folks?”

  Jud rumbled to his feet. “This is …” He looked at Wande, as if uncertain how to introduce her. “I could tell you a long story, but I won’t bore you. This here is Wande Fleischer. She and her family spent their Christmas with us, and we’re proud to have her visiting church with us today.”

  Smiles and clapping greeted his announcement, and Wande’s face turned rosy. When the pastor gave the Scripture passage, Marion showed her the reference, and Wande turned pages in her German Bible, following the verses as he read.

  Marion loved her church, but never more so than that morning. When the service ended, nearly every member came forward to introduce themselves. Sprinkled among the greetings she heard a handful of guten tags. Marion saw some of the worry fall from Wande’s face.

  “May I escort you home, Miss Fleischer?” Jud spoke as if escorting a lovely girl—other than herself, of course—home from church were an everyday occasion.

  “Ja. That is good.” Wande hummed to herself as they walked out of the church. Marion placed the tune: “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.”

  “Did you enjoy our service?” Jud said.

  Marion hung back to let them talk together.

  “I am so glad I came. I know God sent His Son for the whole world, but until today I had never seen it.” Wande paused and looked both ways on Victoria’s main street. “I feel better about Texas now that I know you love the same God we Germans do.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The church service had renewed Wande’s spirit.

  God’s love reached as far as Texas. She had known it—in her head. But today, among God’s people at the Morgans’ church, she came to feel it in her heart.

  Her problems still existed. She lost her fiancé. She was the subject of gossip among German girls her own age—the reason she sought out a different congregation than the kirche next door to her parents’ house. Her family still had no way to get to the land promised them by the Verein. But the weight of those obstacles diminished in the light of God’s love.

  All I can do is to commend you to the One from whom nothing can separate you. Konrad’s parting words, which once seemed to mock her, now provided a ray of hope. He had given her the best benediction he could after the way he abandoned her. At the time, his words tasted bitter, as disappointing as Isaac’s leftover w
ords to Esau after Jacob stole the blessing. But truly, what better gift could Konrad offer than God’s love?

  A comforting stupor surrounded Wande as she walked from the church. When she took notice of her surroundings, she realized she was only a short distance from her house. She slowed. “I am sorry. You were kind to walk me home, and I was lost in thought.”