A Bride's Sweet Surprise in Sauers, Indiana

by Ramona K. Cecil

  Father leaned forward, his clasped hands resting on his knees. “Do you remember hearing me speak of your Onkel Jakob?”

  “Ja.” Diedrich remembered Father mentioning his brother, Jakob, only a handful of times. But by the glowing tones Father had used, Diedrich had surmised that Father had idolized his older brother. Beyond that, Diedrich knew little about his late uncle except that he had died young, fighting in the army of the emperor Napoleon.

  Father angled a glance up at Diedrich. “You know that Jakob died in the battle of Wagram in 1809.” Diedrich nodded. “But what you do not know is that he should not have been there.”

  Though curious at Father’s comment, Diedrich said nothing, respectfully waiting for Father’s tale to unfold.

  Father rubbed his palms along the tops of his thighs. “When I was but twelve, my Vater—your Großvater —wanted to buy twelve milk cows.” He gave a sardonic snort. “He said we would become wealthy dairymen. But he had no money to buy the cows, so he went to the local moneylender, Herr Wilhelm Zichwolff, and asked if he would loan him the money. Herr Zichwolff agreed to loan Vater the money but insisted he put up our farm as collateral.”

  Father paused and cleared his throat, and Diedrich sensed he had come to a painful part of the story. “Within six months,” Father continued, “half of Vater’s new cows sickened and died, and when the time came to pay Herr Zichwolff, he could not. Vater begged Herr Zichwolff to give him more time so his remaining cows would have time to produce, but Herr Zichwolff would not.” Remembered anger hardened Father’s tone. “Then, like now, young men were being forced into the army. But at that time, it was Napoleon’s army.” Father cocked a sad smile toward Diedrich. “Jakob was eighteen and the right age to go to the army, but since farmers produced food for the army, the boys from farms did not have to go.” His lips twisted in a sneer. “But the sons of moneylenders were not exempt, and Wilhelm’s son, Hermann, was ordered to go fight for Napoleon.” Father’s body seemed to stiffen as he pressed his hands against his knees. Diedrich knew that if a man of means was called to serve in the army and didn’t wish to go, he could pay someone else to serve in his stead. Sensing what was coming next, he swallowed hard and waited for Father to continue.

  Father rose and walked to the open front door and gazed out over the cornfield as if he could see all the way back to Venne. For a long moment, silence reigned, interrupted only by the happy chirping of birds and the soothing drone of bees. At length, Father spoke. “Herr Zichwolff told Vater his debt would be forgiven if Jakob went to fight in Hermann’s place.” Father sniffed, and his voice broke with emotion. “Vater had no choice. If Jakob refused to go to the army, Herr Zichwolff would take our farm, and we would be left homeless. So Jakob went.” His voice sagged with his shoulders. “And three years later, Jakob died fighting in the battle of Wagram.”

  Imagining how he might feel if someone had done to Johann or Frederic what the Zichwolffs had done to Uncle Jakob, Diedrich could understand some of Father’s anger and grief.

  Now an angry growl crept into Father’s voice. “For many years, Hermann lived free and like a king on his Vater’s money. Finally, at the age of forty, after he had squandered much of his family’s wealth, he took a wife.” Father shook his head. “You cannot know the relief, the joy I felt when I learned that the reprobate and his Frau were leaving Venne for America. I could shut the Zichwolffs from my mind forever and never have to think of them again.”

  Father slowly turned away from the open door and stepped back into the room. He suddenly looked far older than his fifty-six years.

  Diedrich slid from the stool and crossed to his father. “But why did you never tell me this story before?”

  Father shuffled back over to the east wall and picked up the stout hammer. “When Jakob was killed, I vowed never to speak the name Zichwolff again. And until today, I had kept that vow.”

  Somehow Diedrich needed to make Father understand that the despicable actions of Wilhelm and Hermann Zichwolff had nothing to do with Regina.

  He stepped toward Father. “Father, I know how you must feel. It was a hateful and cowardly thing that Herr Zichwolff did to our family, but it was not Regina’s fault. It happened long before she was born.”

  When Father spoke, his voice drooped with his countenance. “I know, Sohn. But that does not change the blood that runs through her veins or my feelings about it. I wish it were not so, but I cannot change how things are.” Picking up one of the stubby pegs he had fashioned earlier from an oak branch, he placed the sharpened end at a chink between the logs and gave it a mighty pound, driving it into the crevice.

  “But, Vater …” Pain and frustration hardened Diedrich’s voice. His heart writhed at the thought of having to choose between Father and Regina. “You know Regina. Not so long ago, you were telling me what a good Christian girl she is. She is the same girl today as she was then.”

  Father shot him a fierce glance. “To me, she is not the same. And you will not mingle our family’s blood with the blood of Hermann Zichwolff. I will not have it!”

  All his life, Diedrich had loved and admired his father. He never knew a kinder, more God-fearing or honorable man. And until this moment, he would not have imagined he could feel the kind of disdain for his parent now souring in the pit of his stomach. Watching Father nonchalantly return to his work after declaring Regina unfit to be his daughter-in-law and the mother of his grandchildren fed the rage boiling in Diedrich’s belly. To his horror, he had to suppress the urge to pummel his sire.

  He thought of every scripture about forgiveness Father had taught him over the years. Though mightily tempted to throw them back into his father’s face, he resisted, not wanting to sin himself by breaking the commandment that bade him honor his father and mother. Instead, he decided a more prudent and less confrontational tack might be to remind Father of his obligation to Herr Seitz. He had never known Father to let a debt go unpaid.

  Diedrich grasped his father’s shoulder, turning him to face him. “But what of the debt we owe Herr Seitz? We still owe for our passage.” He waved his hand to indicate the building around them. “And now we also owe him for this house and this land.”

  Father slammed the hammer to the floor with a clunk and gave a derisive snort. “Ernst Seitz lied to us. To my mind, our bargain is void, and I owe him nothing!”

  Diedrich noted that Father had chosen to omit the prefix Herr when he mentioned their benefactor’s name—a definite insult. “You may not feel you owe him, Father, but I do. I owe him much.” He raised his voice, no longer concerned about keeping a civil tone. “And what about the food you eat and the bed you sleep on? Are they not the charity of Herr Seitz?”

  His father shoved past him and stalked to the open front door. “Do you not think I would return to Venne this moment if I could? At least there I have sons who honor me. And I have my own land.” He narrowed a glare at Diedrich. “The land Jakob died to keep in our family’s hands and out of the hands of Wilhelm and Hermann Zichwolff.” The instant he uttered the name, he spat into the dirt outside the front door.

  “But you cannot go back, Father.” Now Diedrich’s voice dripped with insolence and he didn’t care. “So you will sleep in Herr Seitz’s bed and eat Herr Seitz’s food until I have worked enough to earn back our passage and the cost of this land.”

  Father swung back to Diedrich, his face an ugly mask of fury. “I will not set foot in his house again! I will live here, in this house we have built with our own hands.” He held out his hands, his curled fingers calloused and gnarled with years of work. “And to pay for my food, I will find other work here in Sauers. Surely one of our neighbors could use an extra pair of hands.”

  Tears stung the back of Diedrich’s nose, and he swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “You can do whatever you want, Father, but I will not forsake Regina. Not for you, not for anyone.”

  Father’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he stared at Diedrich as if he had never seen him be
fore. “Then I shall have but two sons, for you shall be dead to me.”

  Chapter 18

  W arring emotions clashed in Regina’s chest as she led Gypsy from the barn. The shaggy pony almost pranced as she stepped into the sunlight pulling the little cart behind her.

  Regina paused to rub the pony’s velvety nose. “I am excited about going to see Anna, too, Gypsy, but I wish I could have seen Diedrich before I left.” Twenty minutes earlier, Anna’s brother Peter had appeared at the back door with news that his mother was ill. As each other’s closest neighbors, it was common practice for Regina’s family and the Rieckers to call on one another for help. Peter had assured Regina that his mother wasn’t seriously ill, just down with a touch of ague. But since he and his brothers were busy helping their father put up hay, Anna would need help with the milking.

  Normally Regina would have jumped at the chance to visit Anna. But Mama’s stunning news this morning had shaken her to the core. Mama, too, had broken down and wept bitterly, begging Regina to forgive her for keeping the circumstances of her birth secret for so many years. At that moment, Regina’s only focus had been to comfort her mother, assuring her that she forgave her and loved her and Papa very much.

  But later, the realization that she had been born to someone else—that a woman she never knew had given birth to her and named her Regina—came crashing down on her like a building. Somehow she had managed to hold her tears through the noon meal. From his concerned glances, she knew Diedrich had sensed something was amiss. So she hadn’t found it surprising when he lingered in the kitchen and asked her to walk with him. Not only had she felt it her duty to tell him what she had learned; she had also felt the need to share her burden with him. Yet her whole body had tensed and trembled as she wondered how he would take the news. She felt silly now, thinking of her unfounded worries. She should have known such news would make no difference to him or budge his love for her.

  Smiling, she remembered how he had tenderly slipped his arm around her waist and how her tension had drained away at his touch as he guided her to the bench beside the garden. Just having him near, holding her hand and listening, had calmed her as she recounted all Mama had told her. Somehow, sharing it with Diedrich had made everything right. He had even made her laugh with the comment about the name Mudpuddle.

  The thought sparked warmth in her chest that radiated throughout her body. What a wonderful husband he would be. She had hoped to have a few minutes alone with him again today to assure him that she had recovered from the shock the jarring revelation had caused her and that her heart was now easy. But by the time she helped Anna with milking and cooking supper for the Rieckers clan, she would be fortunate to return home in time for Bible reading and prayers.

  The sound of quick footsteps turned Regina’s attention toward the house. Mama walked toward her carrying a glass jar as quickly as her Holzschuhe allowed. “Here, you must take this good, rich chicken broth to Frau Rieckers.” She handed Regina the jar of still-warm broth, which she had covered with a thin scrap of leather tied with a length of twine.

  “Ja, Mama.” Regina smiled and nodded. The easy relationship she had always enjoyed with her mother had returned, almost as if this morning’s events had never happened.

  “Regina.” Glancing down, Mama paused and her brow furrowed in thought. At length she lifted her face and met Regina’s questioning look with a somber one. “Of course I understand you needed to tell Diedrich about how you came to be our daughter. But I will leave to you if you want Anna or anyone else to know of it.” Her chin lifted a fraction of an inch. “I and your Vater do not care if others know. It was not for any shame in you that we never mentioned how you became our daughter. It simply did not matter to us. From the moment I took you in my arms, you have been our Tochter as much as Sophie or Elsie. We have nothing for which to be ashamed.”

  Regina grinned. Diedrich was right. God had blessed her doubly—more than doubly. She threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “Of course you have nothing to be ashamed of. And neither do I.” Then a thought struck, and she eased away from hugging her mother. “I do think we should add Eva to our daily prayers,” she said, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to her earlier. “If not for her good judgment, I would not have you and Papa or Sophie and Elsie.” A smile she could not stop stretched her lips wide. “Or even Diedrich.”

  Her brown eyes welling, Mama cupped Regina’s face in her hand. “Ja, Tochter. I think that is something we should do.” She pulled the handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Eva, I think, would be proud of the woman you have become.” As was her way, Mama’s mood brightened abruptly. Her lips tugged into a grin, and her tone turned teasing. “And I think she also would approve of your intended.”

  Mama’s words made Regina long to see her sweetheart even more. An idea sparked. Perhaps she could see Diedrich before she left for the Rieckerses’ farm. “I have not seen the new house since last week. Unless you think it unpassend , I would like to stop by there on my way to Anna’s.”

  Mama paused for a moment, and Regina held her breath. Such a thing might not be considered exactly proper, but she and Diedrich were promised, and Herr Rothhaus should be there to act as chaperone.

  Mama smiled and gave her a hug. “I think that would be all right.” Then her expression turned stern. “But do not stay long, and be sure to get to Herr Rieckers’s farm before milking time.”

  Her heart taking flight, Regina scrambled to the seat of the pony cart. Grinning, she gave her mother a parting wave and flicked the reins against Gypsy’s back, sending her trotting down the lane. Despite the shock Regina had experienced this morning, she could not imagine a more perfect life or a more perfect world.

  She glanced upward at the azure sky dotted with a few clouds like wooly lambs swimming in a tranquil sea. Did lambs swim? She laughed out loud at her silly thought. Gypsy kept up a fast gait, the clopping of her hooves on the packed dirt mimicking the quick thumping of Regina’s heart in anticipation of seeing her sweetheart.

  She’d gone about a mile in the direction of the new house when she spotted a figure striding toward her down the dirt road. Diedrich. Her heart bolted then settled into a happy prance. Would the sight of him always evoke the same excitement and joy she now felt? She hoped so.

  Waving, she wondered why he was heading home on foot. It was too early for him to come home for supper. Since Herr Rothhaus was not with him, perhaps he was simply in need of a tool back on the farm. As she approached him, she realized he hadn’t returned her wave, and now she could see that no smile touched his lips. An ominous sense of unease gripped her.

  She reined in Gypsy. “Diedrich. I am on my way to Anna’s farm, but wanted to stop and see all the work you and your Vater have done on the house this week.”

  Still no salutation. No smile or word of greeting. A look of pain crossed his grim features and the tiny yip of unease inside Regina suddenly grew to a growling dread. “Diedrich, what is wrong? Is your Vater injured?”

  “Regina, we must talk.” Without invitation, he climbed to the seat beside her and took the reins from her now trembling hands. “Linke,” he called to the pony with two quick clicks of his tongue and pulled on the left line, turning the pony and cart around.

  As they veered off the road and headed across a meadow, Regina’s dread became a raging fear. She gripped his arm. “Diedrich, please tell me what is the matter.”

  Still he said nothing. At last, he reined Gypsy to a stop in the shade of a big cottonwood tree beside the meandering stream of Horse Lick Creek. Countless wild thoughts skittered every which way through Regina’s mind. Surely if Herr Rothhaus was hurt they wouldn’t be sitting here but heading as fast as Gypsy’s little legs could carry them toward help. Unless … No. She wouldn’t think such things. “Diedrich!” She said his name so forcefully she startled the pony, making the animal jump and jerk the wagon. “You must tell me this minute—what is wrong?”

  For another long moment, th
e fluttering of the cottonwood’s leaves, the gurgling of the stream, and the chirping of birds filled the silence. At length, Diedrich turned from gazing over the tranquil creek and took Regina’s hands in his. His face looked drawn and almost as old as his father’s. His eyes—those gentle gray eyes that usually looked at her with awe and love—swam with tears and sorrow. “Regina, I do not know how to tell you this, but Vater is not coming back to the farm.”

  Regina heard herself gasp. Her ears rang and her head felt light. For an instant, everything around them appeared to spin. If not for Diedrich’s strong hands gripping hers, she might have fallen off the cart. With tears streaming down her face, she willed strength back into her weak limbs. Her poor Diedrich. Her poor Liebling. She must stay strong for him. “Oh Diedrich, your Vater is dea—dea …” She could not say the word.

  “Nein. Vater is well.” He shook his head and patted her hand, sending ripples of relief through her. “I did not mean for you to think that.” Then his handsome features twisted in a look of anguish. “But what I must tell you is almost as painful.”

  For the next several minutes Regina sat in stunned disbelief as Diedrich recounted the incredible story his father had told him. A wave of nausea washed over her. Who was she? From what kind of terrible people had she sprung? She fought to keep from losing her dinner over the side of the cart.