“You are in pain. Let me pour the coffee.” Wande jumped up to get the mugs from the cabinet.
“Don’t be silly. Doc Treviño would leave more laudanum if the pain bothered me that much, but it’s nothing I can’t handle with the Lord’s help.” She paused as Wande poured coffee into the mugs. “And your help, too, of course.”
Wande’s hand trembled, and she spilled a few drops on the table. “Look at the mess I made.”
She went to the pantry for a towel and set it on the table; then to the icebox for a pint of cream; then she got up again to grab cookies.
“Sit down, Wande.”
Wande relented, feeling much as she did when Papa called her into the parlor for one of his little talks. After she poured some cream into her cup and took a sip, she dared to look into Mrs. Morgan’s calm blue eyes.
“What happened to get you so upset?”
Wande did not voice the answer that sprang to her mind—ask your son. Mrs. Morgan had not heard the hurtful words. “I overheard Jud and Tom argue. They were in the parlor when I was in my room, and I could not help but hear their voices.”
“What about? I can’t believe they were arguing about you.”
“Something about Tom spending too much money.” Wande’s cheeks warmed, but Mrs. Morgan only nodded.
“And … and Tom asked why I still work here now that you are well.”
Mrs. Morgan sank against the chair back. “Oh dear. No wonder you are so upset. What a dreadful thing to say.”
Did she feel as uneasy about Tom as Mama and Papa had felt about Konrad?
“And what did Jud say?”
Now Wande’s face burned. “I did not stay to listen. I shut the door so I could not hear and packed my bags to leave.”
“But you are still here.”
Wande explained the events that led to her remaining one more night. “I do not know what I should do. I do not wish to accept money that I have not earned.”
“Oh, Wande.” Mrs. Morgan leaned forward and took one of her hands. “You make my life so much happier, in ways that have nothing to do with work.”
“I do not understand.” The strangeness of the English language put Wande at a disadvantage.
“You remind me of what it means to be young and new to this country. When we moved to Texas, it was still a part of Mexico—foreign to us. There were times I could barely find enough food to put on the table. I don’t know how we would have survived if not for the help of our neighbors—our Mexican neighbors—who provided beans and cornmeal and an occasional chicken.” Her eyes gazed into a distant past. “We tried not to let the children know how desperate we were. And times were hard after Bill died, but Jud was too proud to accept any help.”
Now Wande nodded. Jud was like men everywhere, Amerikaner or German.
“But Jud is pleased—as I am—that now we can help others. And God wants us to do that, doesn’t He?”
Wande fought with herself. “It still does not seem right to take money that I do not earn.”
“If you didn’t do a lick of housework, you’d still make a difference by bringing joy into this house. You have suffered the loss of a sister, and yet you find contentment in every task. Please stay, Wande.”
“I will think about it, ja. And discuss the matter with my Papa tomorrow.”
“That is all I can ask.” Mrs. Morgan drank the last of her coffee. “And now, let’s cook some supper before Jud and Georg barge in, looking for something to eat.”
What had happened to the two men in Marion’s life to cause such an argument? She glanced at her betrothed. He looked so calm, so in control, so handsome. She couldn’t believe he had started the argument. A year ago, with the loss of Billie still so overwhelming, she never would have expected to find such happiness on this Valentine’s Day.
During those months, Tom had supported Marion and the entire family. Jud might not acknowledge it, but Tom had kept the ranch operating when Jud left to look for Billie. He even took over when Jud was present in body but not in spirit. That was when she began to fall in love with him. The memory brought a smile. Billie would be pleased.
Tom noticed. “What’s got you smiling?”
“You.” She spoke without thought, then felt heat rush to her cheeks. “Us. How happy I am.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Then I’ll make it my business to keep that smile on your face, ’cause you’re mighty pretty.”
“Oh, you.” Then she added, “If you want to keep me smiling, make up with my brother. And Wande. I can’t believe what you said.”
His back stiffened. “Jud said I was wasting money by taking the prettiest girl in all of Victoria out to dinner. I just pointed out I wasn’t the only one willing to spend an extra penny or two on a woman.”
“You hurt her feelings—and got Jud madder than a hornets’ nest.” If Marion were five years younger, she would have pouted.
“Ah, Marion, I’ll make it up with Jud, I promise. And he’s not going to let that pretty young woman go anywhere; you can count on that—even if she is German. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at her?”
Marion bristled.
“I ought to know, ’cause that’s the way I feel when I look at you. And look, there’s Victoria, all lit up, waiting for us to arrive.”
Marion couldn’t stay angry with Tom. She fingered the valentine she had tucked into her reticule and wondered what surprises Tom had in store for her. “That’s good to know. For a little while I thought you might have something against the Fleischers, and they’re good people.” She lifted her chin. “Alvie asked my help with her entry for the school essay contest. The theme this year is ‘Why I love the United States,’ in celebration of becoming the twenty-eighth state.”
Tom flicked the reins. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. I don’t want any unpleasantness to make a mess of things tonight.”
He was right. Valentine’s Day was meant for lovers. She turned her most brilliant smile on Tom. “I love you.”
Tom slackened his hold on the reins, and the horses stopped. He bent his face to hers and kissed her—while the carriage was stopped in the middle of the road.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jud wanted to clear things up with Wande, but she was avoiding him. After church he, his mother, and Marion stopped by the Fleischer house for a visit. Jud closeted himself with her father. Ma visited with Mrs. Fleischer, and Marion found a corner to work with Alvie on a school project.
Jud settled into an oak chair that spoke of quality and comfort. “I wanted to speak with you about an unfortunate incident that happened last night.”
The older man leaned forward. “Is there something wrong with the work Georg is doing?”
“No, he’s doing excellent work. One of our cows gave birth last night, and he helped both the mother and the calf.”
“Then it must be my Wande.” Fleischer’s voice dropped to a softer register. “She is fine?”
“I need your help, sir.”
Fleischer’s eyes widened. “You wish to court meine tochter?” Heat rushed to Jud’s face. “Nothing like that.” He realized how unflattering that must sound. “Not that she won’t make someone a fine wife.” When Mr. Fleischer still didn’t respond, Jud stopped.
Fleischer took a moment to compose himself. “Then what is the problem?”
“She thinks we don’t want her at the ranch anymore.”
Jud heard the door, but it was too late, Wande stood in the doorway, watching the two men.
Wande strode into the parlor and sat in the remaining Biedermeier chair. “I cannot believe you would repeat such awful things to my papa.”
“Wande, Herr Morgan and I are having a private conversation.” A month ago, the look on Papa’s face would have sent her out the door.
“About me. I deserve to hear his accusations in person.”
“Perhaps Wande should hear what I have to say.” Jud’s cheeks looked as red as hers felt.
“As you wish.” Papa
put his forefinger to his chin, assuming his listening pose. “Please continue.”
“I had a disagreement with Tom Cotton, Marion’s fiancé.” Jud shifted in the chair. “I don’t wish to speak ill of him, but … he has a problem with the way he handles money.”
“Then your concern is understandable, but what does it have to do with my Wande?”
Jud looked at Wande, his eyes asking her to help him tell the tale.
“Tom said that Jud was wasting money paying me, since his mother has recovered.”
Papa leaned back. “Is this true?”
Jud turned his hands over. “That’s more or less what Tom said, yes.”
“It is true, Papa. Frau Morgan is much improved. She and Marion can do the work. I have less and less to do each day.” Wande made herself stay still in the chair. “I never wanted money for helping Mrs. Morgan, and I will not accept money where I am not needed—or wanted.” Surely Papa would agree.
Jud watched Wande walk down the aisle to join her family at the front of the reception hall that doubled as a classroom. The school was holding an award ceremony, and Marion convinced him to attend.
Wande traveled with them to the event. Why Jud had argued so hard with Mr. Fleischer for Wande’s return to the ranch, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that Ma wanted her back, and so did Marion.
“I’m so glad you agreed to bring me today. I hope Alvie will win. She wrote a beautiful essay.” Marion leaned toward him, trying to see around the hat of the lady in front of her.
Jud stood and offered Marion his seat. “But you corrected it for her.” Didn’t Marion’s assistance give Alvie an unfair advantage?
“I only helped her figure out how to use the dictionary, and pointed out her grammar mistakes. Nothing her mother wouldn’t do, if Mrs. Fleischer spoke better English.”
But she doesn’t, Jud wanted to say. But he wouldn’t voice that opinion, not in front of Wande.
“Quiet.” Ma reprimanded them as if they were still schoolchildren themselves. “Miss Potson is about to announce the winners for each class.”
Jud cringed. Miss Potson had often rapped his knuckles when he studied in her classroom, and she hadn’t changed much over the years. Her blonde hair hid the gray well, much like Ma’s, and her face always looked pinched beneath her glasses.
“I’m pleased to see such a good attendance.” The teacher’s voice carried to every corner of the room. “Our theme for this year is ‘Why I Love the United States.’ We here in Victoria are proud to now be a part of the United States of America. Please join me in singing ‘America.’”
The audience stood to sing. Halfway through the second line, “land where my fathers died,” Jud choked up. He stared at the flag, with twenty-eight stars nestled in the field of blue, then his gaze traveled to the other flag with a lone white star—Texas.
A few more exercises preceded the announcement of the winners. The children recited the twenty-eight states in the order of their entry into the United States, until at last they shouted “Texas.” Cheers erupted from the audience. Miss Potson presented the winners from each class, including Alvie in the fourth grade. After each name, the audience applauded.
The ceremony lasted forever—not like two years ago, when they waited with Billie to see if her name was called. She wrote the winning fourth-grade essay about the Alamo that also won the grand prize. Billie. Jud swallowed hard.
About the time Jud felt he could no longer sit still, Miss Potson reached the high point of the assembly. “Now I will read the essay that won third prize.” The essay spoke of first being a Mexican citizen, then a Texan, and how he liked being a part of the United States best of all. The audience clapped in appreciation for Jorge Treviño, the doctor’s son. Second place went to an older girl Jud didn’t know, but he saw satisfied smiles around him.
“And now I will present the winning essay, written by our newest student. She came to our school after Christmas, but I believe you will like what she has to say.”
After Christmas. Bells went off in Jud’s head.
“When we left Offenbach last year, I did not know if I would like this new country of America. I did not like it at all when my sister got sick with the fever and died as soon as we landed in Carlshafen …”
Marion beamed. Jud didn’t need to hear the announcement to know that Alvie Fleischer had won the prize.
The country his father had died for—the country his sister had taken such pride in—now taken over by a slip of a German girl who couldn’t even write English without help. She was no more American than the Comanche who had stolen his sister’s life.
Jud ground his teeth, unsure if he wanted to curse or cry.
Tears clouded Wande’s vision. The Amerikaner school had chosen Alvie’s essay as the best. Texas had become home, and Germany began to fade into the past.
Papa blinked several times, and Mama couldn’t contain her smile. “We will hold a big party to celebrate and invite all our friends.”
Papa nodded, and Wande’s mind raced ahead. Mama would fix every delicacy she could manage with the ingredients available, and Wande would add some of the recipes she had learned from Mrs. Morgan. What wonderful food they would enjoy—sauerkraut and frijoles, strudel and cobbler—a mix of old and new.
Miss Potson called Alvie to the front, where she accepted her award in front of the American flag, so proud with its red and white stripes and a starlit night. Wande wished she could preserve this moment. She would count this night as the first time she felt American, though she still stumbled with her English and had traveled only twenty miles from the ocean.
Everyone pressed forward to congratulate them, a few familiar faces, but most unknown. Wande knew several from chorale and the Morgans’ church. Mama and Papa knew both teachers and many members of the kirche. Wande spotted Marion and Mrs. Morgan, but Jud headed out the door with Tom. Wande lifted her chin. She wouldn’t let his behavior trouble her, not on this night.
When Marion reached them, she threw her arms around Alvie. “I’m so proud of you. I knew it was something special when I read it, and I’m so glad the school board agrees.”
Miss Thurston—the other teacher—hovered behind the Morgans. “So did I. You have learned more about English in the past few months than most of my students learn all year.” She smiled. “You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Fleischer.”
“Yes.” Mama managed the English word. The look on her face needed no translation. “We are proud. We are having a party on Saturday afternoon. All of Alvie’s teachers must come. We want all our new friends to celebrate with us.”
“I will be there, and I imagine Miss Potson would like to come as well.”
“Everyone is welcome. We will go to the concert by the chorale society in the evening.”
“You must stay to hear them, Mrs. Morgan. I attended their last concert, and they do a lovely job.” Miss Thurston said her good-bye and left the building.
Mama turned to the two Morgan women. “Where is Herr Morgan? I saw him with you.”
Marion exchanged a look with her mother. “He wants to get home as soon as possible. He asked me to say Wande should stay home with her family through Sunday afternoon. That she earned an extra day off.” Marion’s smile took some of the sting from the words.
“That is good,” Mama said. “Will you come next Saturday? You can go to the concert and stay the night with us.”
“It’s a long trip …” Mrs. Morgan said. “I will have to ask Jud about that. But it’s a wonderful idea.” Mrs. Morgan clapped her hands. “We are celebrating, too. My son Calder with his wife, Emily, and their young son are coming for a visit next week.”
“We won’t hold you up any longer. We want to give everyone a chance to wish you well.” Marion glanced at the line of people behind her. “We’ll see you on Saturday.”
“We have been invited to a celebration with the Fleischers on Saturday.” Mrs. Morgan settled herself on the seat of the wagon, next t
o Jud.
Marion held her breath.
“That’s my night off.” Tom shrugged. “I made other plans.”
“With me, I hope.” Marion wouldn’t let him escape. “We’ll go to the party.”
“We all will.” Mrs. Morgan nodded, signaling the matter was settled.
Jud flicked the reins, and the horses made the slow turn to head out of town.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wande hesitated at the church door. Inside she could hear the pianist warming up, running through familiar pieces by Bach and Schumann. She longed to enter, to join the chorale, to let the balm of song ease the pain of Konrad’s abandonment. But Konrad’s behavior was also why Wande hesitated. Everyone in Victoria knew the story—after that girl Ertha had blurted out the news.
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