The soldiers marched onto the church lawn, the drum cadence sounding its last beat. The crowd followed, sweeping Marion and the others along with it.
“Let me carry that for you.” Jud fell into step beside Wande.
“Danke.”
The basket smelled of that German sausage the Fleischers favored, as well as the ever-present sauerkraut. He bet they also had some peach strudel or something like it. Wande wore the pretty mauve dress she made for Marion and Tom’s engagement party—the night Wande went in search of bluebonnets with Pastor Bader. Today she had pulled her hair back with blue ribbon. The midsummer sun shone on the crown of her head, creating a pale golden halo.
“So this is how you celebrate your Independence Day? With your soldiers marching and with picnics?”
“And music. Your German band is quite good. Very stirring. And fireworks—don’t forget the fireworks after dark.”
Wande shook her head. “We do not have an Independence Day in Germany. But many times we hear long speeches on special days.”
“There will be speeches. But don’t worry. You can eat while folks are talking.” He stepped toward a stand of acacia trees that would provide some shade. Ma had already spread a blanket. Mrs. Fleischer added a quilt so there was plenty of room for everyone. Jud handed her the basket. Wande tucked her legs under her.
Soon both families took their places, as well as Ertha’s family, the Schumanns, and Pastor Bader. Once all sixteen people had filled their plates and the mothers settled the children, Mr. Schumann tapped a spoon against his jar of tea. “Today we have many reasons to celebrate. It is the first Independence Day that Texas has been part of the United States.”
The children cheered and Alvie waved her flag.
“It is also the birthday of Georg Fleischer. He has reached his majority today.”
“Happy birthday!” Tom shouted.
“And today it is my great privilege to announce that my daughter Ertha is betrothed to Mr. Georg Fleischer.”
Everyone cheered, and people around them glanced in their direction.
Mr. Fleischer stood and brushed a few strands of grass from his trousers. “I also have an announcement to make. Pastor Bader will be happy to hear we will no longer make the parsonage our home.”
Jud’s eyes sought out Wande, but she had turned her head.
“God has been good to us. He has given us work, and He has provided for our needs. We have decided to stay here in Victoria.”
Jud relaxed.
“By God’s goodness, we have saved enough money to buy land of our own. We will be your neighbors, Mrs. Morgan. We will return to where we first met you in this wonderful new country. We are buying the Walford farm.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Anger, mixed with surprise, surged through Jud. The Walfords had sold their land—land they promised to Jud—to Germans. And they had bought it with his money, money Jud had paid to Wande and Georg. “How wonderful.” Ma clapped her hands. “I’m so glad you will be our new neighbors.” Pastor Bader and others offered their congratulations—everyone except Tom, who looked as upset as Jud felt.
The bratwurst turned to sawdust in Jud’s mouth. He pushed the plate aside and poured himself more tea. After gulping it down, he excused himself. He wouldn’t embarrass Ma, but he would hunt down his neighbor. Walford should be somewhere at the picnic; Jud saw him watching the parade.
Jud wished JM was there so he could ride hard and fast until he had a handle on his anger. Instead, he walked the perimeter of the crowd until he found the Walfords eating by themselves. He balled his hands into fists, and then released them. Pa had said it took a brave man to settle disputes without a fistfight, and he wanted to honor his father’s memory.
Walford looked up. “Why, good day, Jud.” His wife’s smile faded when she saw Jud.
“Mr. Fleischer just told us the news.” Jud forced himself to use an even tone.
“Have some peach pie. It’s too much for us,” Mrs. Walford said.
“I thought we had an agreement.”
“Well, you said you wanted to buy it come fall. But with this cholera starting to plague the town, we want to get out of here as soon as possible.” Walford stood face-to-face with Jud.
“You should have come to me. That’s what neighbors do.”
“Pastor Bader knew we were moving right away, and he passed the news on to Mr. Fleischer. They came over to talk yesterday and handed over the money.”
“It seemed like God planned it that way,” Mrs. Walford said.
What was done was done, and Jud could do nothing to change it. “Just tell me one thing. Did you mention my interest in the land to Fleischer and Bader, before you sold it away?”
The look the couple exchanged told Jud the truth. “I may have mentioned another party was interested in buying the land.”
Fleischer had known … and the pastor had known … and they contrived to buy the land anyway. Jud had known he couldn’t trust a German, but let his defenses slip. That would not happen again.
“Where did my brother disappear to?” Marion handed an almost empty bowl of sauerkraut to Wande. “He’s been gone a long time.”
Wande did not want to admit she wondered the same thing. He had left while everyone else was congratulating Papa. “He should be back soon. He said there would be speeches and music.” She pointed to the bandstand. “And the brass band will play soon.”
“They are pretty good.” Marion held her hands in front as if holding a trombone and puffed out her cheeks while moving the slide.
Wande frowned at the small amount of sauerkraut left. Not enough to save to take home, but she couldn’t eat another bite. Perhaps she could coax Georg to finish it—if she could separate him from Ertha long enough. At the moment, the couple walked among friends, accepting their good wishes.
Wande pushed down her disappointment. Last summer, she thought she would have married by now. Today, during the parade, she had welcomed Jud’s companionship. Now he had disappeared, and she didn’t know where or why. She tucked the remaining dishes into the picnic basket and stood holding the quilt.
Brushing off the crumbs and flapping the quilt, she glanced around the lawn. With all the people gathered, she could not see very far. She turned in a circle, scanning the crowd for Jud. At last, she spotted him, talking with a group from town. He had sought out the company of other men. The way dear Papa talked with Mr. Schumann and Pastor Bader while Mama and Mrs. Schumann watched Alvie and the younger Schumann children at play. Only the affianced couples, Georg and Ertha and Marion and Tom, stayed glued to each other’s sides. Wande had no claim on Jud’s attention.
But he had talked as if they would share the day’s activities: the music, the fireworks, and even the speeches in a language she still struggled to understand. Something changed when Papa announced they had purchased the land next to the Running M. Jud had walked away as if all the bees in a hive were chasing him.
“Wande, please help me bring everything back to the house.” Her mother held a basket.
“Coming, Mama.” They carried the leftovers from the three families to the parsonage.
“It will not be so easy to clean up once we move out of town.” Mama smiled. Wande knew how she relished having a place of their own again.
By the time they returned to the grounds, people had moved close to the bandstand. The mayor welcomed the crowd and began a long speech. He listed a lot of names—some Amerikaner, some Mexican—it sounded like he was telling the history of the town. Alvie sat with her elbows propped on her knees, as if she expected to take a test on the information. Wande stopped trying to follow. Alvie would repeat the story, with many embellishments, as many times as she could get her family to listen. Full of good food, Wande’s eyelids drifted shut until the concert began. No one could sleep through a brass band, especially when it was good music. They played a variety, some of the songs Wande had learned as a child.
After the band, the man who had beat the d
rum in the parade came forward with a slightly younger man—holding what looked like a miniature flute. High notes pierced the air with a lively tune, and Wande’s foot tapped to the drum’s steady rhythm.
By the time the music ended, Wande’s mood had lifted, although Jud had never returned. A few families left when the sun set, but most waited for the fireworks. “Do you think they will begin soon?” Mama said.
Wande shook her head. “Marion said they wait until it is fully dark.”
“Then let us return to the house and bring back water. I am thirsty.”
Wande jumped to her feet and helped Mama stand. At the house, they both drank their fill and took care of necessities before returning. The first rocket went off with a splash of red larger than any firework Wande had ever seen.
Georg hurtled toward them, heedless of the colors filling the sky. “Mama, come quick. Drud is sick.”
“Nein. Do not call the doctor. It is only the food I ate.” Drud leaned over the side of the bed to be sick. Wande had placed a bucket there. A foul odor arose from the bed, and Wande knew her brother had soiled himself. Grimacing, he pulled his knees toward his chest. “Oh, my legs!”
She pressed a cool hand on his forehead and poured him a glass of water. “Here. Drink some.”
He groaned. “It will only come up again.”
“All the more reason you need to drink it.”
“For you, Schwester.”
She lifted his head and helped him drink. Drud, quiet Drud, never asked for anything for himself but only gave and gave some more for the sake of the family. Wande prayed that something he ate caused the illness, but she didn’t see how. They had all eaten the same dishes, but only Drud was sick. A soured dish brought less fear than the dreaded word being whispered from Carlshafen to Victoria and beyond—cholera. Another bout of vomiting interrupted her silent prayers. She held his head and offered him more water.
“I will ask Mama and Papa to come help you with your bedding.” He didn’t respond, his lips quietly moving in the fashion of the Vaterunser, the Lord’s Prayer.
As she stood, he opened his eyes. “Wande, promise me you’ll pray for me.”
“Of course. I haven’t stopped.” She took his hand.
He closed his eyes, but when she moved, he grasped her fingers and opened his pale blue eyes. “I am frightened.”
Wande wanted to reassure him, but they both knew better. She could not, would not, lie to her brother in what could be his final hours. “The Lord is with you.”
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death …” His hand trembled. “Please pray that the Lord takes me quickly, if this is my time.”
She drew back, but his grasp on her hand strengthened.
“Promise me.”
“Ja, Ich verspreche.”
Jud patted JM’s head as he galloped back through the gate to the Running M. He needed to do some work around the ranch—he’d gotten further and further behind since dismissing Georg. Other business kept interfering with ranch work.
Now he could scratch off one worry, the nagging need to find another parcel of land for Tom and Marion. One of the German families had pulled up stakes and headed on for Neu-Braunfels. Jud snatched up their land, glad to see Texas land return to true Texans. Land bought with the blood of Texans and now bought back with their money.
Jud brushed his hand against his forehead. He could hear his mother’s voice quoting Scripture—and at the moment he didn’t welcome any spiritual reminders. He had things lined up just fine until the Fleischers made a mess of everything.
The new parcel wasn’t ideal—farther removed from town and not as big as the Walford farm. But many couples started with less, including Ma and Pa on their arrival in Texas. He clung to that hope as JM stopped in front of the ranch house.
Jud jumped off the horse and dropped the reins to ground tie him. Through an open window, he heard music—piano music—and laughter. He caught sight of a blond head and his step hesitated. Billie. He dashed up the steps before his head caught up with his heart. Not Billie. It couldn’t be. Billie was dead and gone. Besides, that girl looked nothing like Billie, not really.
Clenching his teeth, he opened the door and marched into the parlor. The quilt they kept over the upright had been folded and placed on the end of the sofa. A book of music was propped against the stand. Marion stood behind the bench, her hands guiding Alvie Fleischer in a scale. “This note is middle C, and the key of C doesn’t have any sharps or flats.”
“The black keys,” Alvie said. “Is C always to the left of two black keys?”
“Yes.”
Jud found his voice. “What are you doing?” Two faces turned in his direction, one smiling, the other puzzled. “I am teaching Alvie how to play the piano.”
“The lesson has come to an end.”
Alvie jumped up. “That is all right. I will water the garden.” Jud pulled the cover back over the keys and reached for the quilt.
Marion snatched it. “What’s wrong with you?” Her glare could have burned a hole in the quilt.
“No one has touched that piano since Billie disappeared.”
“Then don’t you think it’s about time? I know you miss Billie. I do too. But she’s gone, and we’re still here. And music has been gone from this household for too long.” Marion settled the quilt in her arms. “I’ll put this in the guest bedroom. The days of its use as a piano shroud are over.”
Jud glared at the piano. Memories swirled in his brain, memories he had pushed aside for too long. He opened the key cover and plunked a chord, wincing at the out-of-tune sound. He opened the piano seat and looked at the music waiting there, the same songs he had played years ago. When he was a child, Ma forced him to stay at the piano when he wanted to be outside riding with Pa. But Billie never needed any encouragement. She tackled complicated pieces with ease. His fingers grazed over the thin black case that held a flute—Billie’s flute. She loved music. They all did, once. Before the reality of life in Texas. Life anywhere, Jud supposed, although he knew only the Texas version.
He opened the flute case and ran his fingers over the instrument, imagining how Billie’s fingers flew over the keys—and the light that danced in her eyes as she played a lively melody. Perhaps it was time for music to return to the Morgan household, but not with this flute. The flute was uniquely Billie’s, and Jud would hold it for her in hope, however foolish, that someday she would return home and claim it. Closing the case, he tucked it under his arm, carried it to his room, and buried it at the bottom of his wardrobe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Marion joined Alvie in the garden. “How does it look today?”
“These weeds grow overnight, faster than the plants do. Why do you suppose God made them work that way?” Wande had worked so hard on that little patch of Texas dirt, both Marion and Alvie wanted to protect her investment. Marion joined Alvie on her knees. As she pulled weeds, she prayed for Drud and the others in town struck by cholera. So far God had spared the people at the ranch. The sooner the Fleischers could move to the Walfords’ farm, the better it would be for all of them. Then maybe Jud wouldn’t be so grumpy.
Ma rang the bell for dinner. Tom sprinted from the barn. Marion joined him at the pump, where they washed up. She waited for his kiss, but he brushed past her and headed for the house. She looked at her dirt-spattered skirt. Of course he didn’t want to kiss her when she looked like this. But that didn’t explain his attitude yesterday—or the day before. She had gone to the Fourth of July picnic with one Tom and had come back a Tom who was entirely different.
The tension at the dinner table was thick enough to spread across a cake. Only Alvie seemed unaffected, chattering about playing the piano. “Marion taught me a silly song about three blind mice.” She hummed the first three notes then put her hand over her mouth. “Mama does not want me to sing at the table.”
Marion giggled. “Ma used to tell me the same thing. But I like it.” She winked at Alvie.
“I heard you.” Ma set down her plate. “It was good to hear music in the house again. Wasn’t it, Jud?”
Jud took his time chewing his food. “Yes.” He smiled, a watered-down version of this usual grin. “It was good to hear music.”
The icy temperature warmed a little. Jud started to take a bite, then paused. “I have some good news today.”
“Do tell. Good news is always welcome at this table.”
“I wanted to make this a surprise for the wedding, but Tom already knows some of this.”
Marion set down her forkful of potato salad. Anything about the wedding captured her attention.
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