“One for Papa, one for Buck,” she whispered. She didn’t know if Mama could hear her or if the brief prayer would do any good, but she left the church with a sense of peace.
She arrived back at the Koehler mansion feeling unusually plucky after such a long walk. She’d done it! Ventured out far past the Laurel Heights area, and without Erik or anyone else as a guide. Now she understood the sense of belonging that Mrs. Koehler had described about her own early years here. San Antonio was hers. And life was hers for the taking.
“Is that you, Mabel?” Emma’s voice came from the parlor. She was stacking paperwork and her attorney looked like he was getting ready to leave.
“Yes. I’m back from a walk.”
“Come on in here. I’ll ask Frieda to make us some sandwiches and we can get to work.”
Mabel went upstairs to freshen up and when she came down, the parlor looked as if the busyness of the morning had never happened. The attorney was gone, as was all the paperwork, and Frieda had set out a display of tea and sandwiches that the Queen of England would envy.
She was eager to tell Mrs. Koehler about her morning, and how she’d inspired her to venture into the community, but the old woman was all business.
“The time has come,” she said. “We’re going to talk about that dreadful day when Otto was murdered.”
Mabel took out her notebook and began writing.
1914
Otto seemed to lose his mind when Emma Dumpke got married. It all happened rather quickly. The girl went home to Germany for a month and came back saying that she’d met a young man on the passage over and the ship’s captain officiated their nuptials. I had the occasion to meet her husband, Mr. Daschiel, when she came to the house to say goodbye. He was spiriting her off to New York.
Though I use the word “spiriting” loosely. If there was ever a more dull man born than Joseph Daschiel, I’ve never met him. He was not particularly well off, though he had a steady enough job at an insurance firm in Brooklyn. He’d been excused from the war due to one leg being longer than the other.
I can’t say that I noticed any affection on Emma D.’s part. (Isn’t it funny that she could still be Emma D. even with her new married name? How convenient.) Mr. Daschiel, however, looked irreparably smitten. She was a beauty; I did not have to use my imagination to see what attracted my husband to her. And she’d been a fine nurse to me, all things considered.
I suspected, then, that the marriage was rushed for the purpose of helping her escape the impossible position of being one of two lovers of an older, married man. Inexplicably, the friendship of the two Emmas remained strong, but the unusual situation must have worn on them.
So, good for Emma D.! We’d rescued her from the back roads of Germany. And Mr. Daschiel was taking her to New York. I’d say things were looking up for her.
Only Emma Burgemeister remained then, and she picked up some of the duties that had belonged to the other. Aside from working me to exhaustion with exercises meant to strengthen me, she ran errands, took me to appointments, and filled in for anything needed. I implored Otto to give her a raise. For reasons he would never explain, he’d paid Emma Dumpke three times what he paid this one. I could only surmise that Emma B. intimidated him and having control over her salary was his one way to exert dominance. Oh, Freud would have a field day with that one. I may have been way off the mark, but it was the only explanation I could come up with.
I learned later that he’d promised her the deed to the cottage. Money. Land. But he never delivered.
I made sure, then, to send her home with little treats whenever possible. An extra cake from the cook, leftover pocket change kept in a jar until it accumulated into a reasonable sum. She had really helped me when I needed her and I wanted to show my appreciation.
Her biggest favor, though she didn’t realize it, was keeping Otto out of my hair. I’d begun to play a larger and larger role in the running of Pearl and the more occupied Otto was with his other businesses and his remaining lover, the more I was free to handle the board myself and steer the company into the direction I wanted. Already we’d seen an increase in production since I first joined in an official capacity. Though the credit was given to Otto. He was, after all, still the president. And a man.
About a year after Emma Dumpke left us, I sensed a growing tension between Otto and Emma B. I heard from Helga, who had just come on to assist with the household duties, that Otto had proposed to his mistress. Emma Dumpke’s departure had terrified him, leaving him to think that he might lose Emma B. as well. She’d refused.
And refused. And refused.
I confronted Otto about it during a trip we made to St. Louis, though I did not let on everything I knew. The threat of Prohibition was casting an increasingly alarming shadow over our industry. Some were expecting to close their doors, but Otto and I continued to share a similar mind when it came to the business of running Pearl: the only way we could save her if the worst happened was to diversify. Our correspondence with Adolphus indicated that he shared our concerns, and our solutions. His health was failing and he was unable to make the trip to Texas, much as he’d wanted to visit his Lone Star Brewery. So he invited us to Missouri, a trip I was most excited to take. And my health and mobility had improved tremendously so I was finally able to do so.
But the journey was tinged with sadness.
Even at that time, I’d already lost so many of my siblings; Dorothy and Herman had died long before we moved to Texas. But others, Anna, Johanna, and Helen had all passed after I’d left. It had crushed me not to be with the family at those difficult times, but Otto always insisted that he couldn’t leave town and would worry about me going alone.
So only John and Catherine remained. Along with their spouses and children. The reunion was joyous even as we all mourned the many losses.
Though one of John’s many qualities was his sharp mind, a dimwit could have seen that Otto and I were not in harmony. My brother didn’t like that Otto came back to St. Louis once there was a business purpose to do so, but never on personal accounts.
“What about his family?” he asked me. “Has he never wanted to see them? Bad enough that he kept you from us, but you’d think he’d want to see them.”
“Otto Koehler’s family consists of mining camps, railroads, quarries, and Pearl. In that order. He feels like opening up our home in San Antonio was enough. He never wanted the inconvenience of returning to St. Louis unless it was necessary.”
“I have never told you this, Emma, but I’ve not liked Otto from the beginning.”
“Then why did you invest so much money in him?” Without John’s early trust, Pearl might not exist.
“It was for you. Whatever my feelings, you chose him. And I chose to help you.”
Our trip was a success by any other standard. Together with Adolphus, we hatched any number of plans about how we could transform our breweries and stay afloat if the Grim Reaper of Prohibition turned his bony hand onto the production of alcohol. Otto and I both hoped that it would never come to that, even as we were certain that it would.
Our marriage came to a head once again on the train ride back. Perhaps the stress of all that lay before us caught up, but Otto and I bickered terribly at every turn. At last, he told me what was bothering him.
“I’ve asked Emma Burgemeister to marry me.” I already knew this, but didn’t let on.
We were in the dining car. I’m certain he selected this time and place because he was afraid I would make a scene.
“You’re married to me, Otto.”
“I love her, Emma. God help me, I love her.”
“You loved me once. And then Emma Dumpke. Are you really that fickle?”
“Please. You don’t need to give me a history lesson.”
I pressed a white linen napkin against my mouth and set it on my lap. “You should know that I will refuse to sign divorce papers.”
I’d had much time to consider my response.
“Why? Yo
u can have anything you want. But I can’t do this without you.” His face wrinkled in fear; did he really think that I would give no resistance?
“I’m beginning to think that you can’t do anything without me,” I told him.
“That’s not fair.”
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. You wrestle with your conscience tonight and let me know what you come up with. But I will not release you from this marriage, dead as it is. That would be devastating to Pearl. And I will not allow that for my employees.”
“Our employees.”
“Oh, now you are taking some responsibility for them? Come now. Let’s not have that same old conversation.”
Otto removed his eyeglasses and rubbed his face. “The two of you must be in cahoots. She refused me, too.”
“Emma B. turned down your proposal? Why?”
“Because she said that she felt bad enough about our arrangement and couldn’t do that to you.”
“I knew I liked her, despite it all.”
“She’s even ended our relationship.” He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “I am a lost man. Emma refuses to have me in her bed. She refuses to marry me. And you refuse to divorce me.”
“I feel so terribly sorry for you.” I did not try to conceal my sarcasm. Had anyone been dining near us, what on earth would they have thought of our bizarre conversation?
“Am I to be alone all my life?”
I almost relented. I saw in his pain the young man I had married. Eager to make his mark on the world, but wounded by an impoverished past. He’d had no compunction leaving his parents and his homeland when opportunity arose across the Atlantic. He’d left Lone Star Brewery and betrayed the trust of the Anheuser and Busch families by starting the San Antonio Brewing Association. He asked me to leave my family and all that I loved so that he could have a fresh start in Texas.
Perhaps I should have seen the pattern earlier. People were expendable if they stood in the way of his ambitions.
But he was not a young man anymore. He’d achieved the status of being one of the wealthiest men in America. And yet, he remained poor when it came to relations. Friends, wife, and lovers—all had been casualties. And now he was paying the price.
So my lapse toward mercy was brief. He’d never learn if people kept smoothing the path and forgiving when there was no real contrition.
Good for the other Emmas. They’d had better backbones than I.
“Are you listening?” he asked, like a repetitive child.
“I’m listening, Otto. I’m just not capitulating.”
Two months later, he was dead.
.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MABEL WAS MOST EAGER to hear the next part of the story, even if she already knew its details. Frieda had wrangled up some old newspaper clippings from Mrs. Koehler’s attic and Mabel had already spent several late night hours pouring over them. It felt a bit like reading the last page of a book just to find out how it will end. And yet, Otto’s death had not been the end. It had been the beginning where Emma Koehler was concerned.
“Shall we continue or are you feeling tired?” she asked Emma.
“Doctor Weaver must have given me miracle pills. I feel twenty years old. Let’s continue.”
Then, the doorbell rang. It escaped Mabel’s attention save for an acute awareness of it. Letters were always arriving and family was always stopping in, especially as Mrs. Koehler’s days waned. And Mabel had no doubt that her meeting with the attorney would prompt more of them to stop over in the hopes of being remembered in her will.
Mabel picked up her pen and turned her notebook to a new page. But then, she heard a voice—a particular voice—and they both fell to the floor as she rushed to her feet.
“Buck!” she cried. She ran into the foyer and saw the tall but gaunt figure of her brother standing at the threshold, where Helga had just opened the door.
That knot in her stomach that she’d been feeling left as she took him in. She’d been afraid that she’d dreamed his phone call or that something would happen to him before he could get to Texas. But here he was. All six feet of him.
She noticed how the left arm of his coat was folded and pinned to the shoulder. But she’d spent so much time picturing it that the shock of this loss was somewhat diminished.
“As I live and breathe, my little sister has gotten even prettier.” Buck swept her toward him with his right arm, picking her up as if she were a toothpick and swinging her around without regard to the large furniture pieces that decorated the room. She was mindful of her feet and didn’t hit anything.
Helga closed the door and slipped into the parlor to wheel Mrs. Koehler out, but Mabel stopped them.
Holding Buck’s hand, her petite one disappearing into his calloused one, she introduced him. “Mrs. Koehler, this is my brother. Thomas Hartley. But we call him Buck.”
She nodded. “Mr. Hartley, it’s good to meet you. Thank you for your service. Our Mabel has been quite worried about you.”
Our Mabel. A slight thing, perhaps, but to Mabel it was an endearment as much as a treasure. Mrs. Koehler, sharp tongue and all, had grown a place in her heart like a substitute mother.
Buck took off his hat, leaned over, and gave her a kiss on her cheek. Mabel could see the surprise in Emma’s eyes, but then a blush rose on her skin. “I wouldn’t let the Japs keep me away. We lost too many good men over there, though.”
“I read the newspapers,” she said. “Dreadful times. Dreadful times.”
She turned her head to Mabel. “I imagine you will both have a lot of catching up to do. We can pick up again tomorrow. Helga can make up a room for him upstairs and Frieda can scrounge something up in the kitchen.”
Mabel had never expected Mrs. Koehler to extend such generosity to her brother, but, expressing her gratitude, she helped him get situated in the bedroom opposite hers. After he’d eaten—Frieda could whip up anything, even on short notice and with rationing limits—Buck said that he’d like to get some fresh air.
Mabel slipped a sweater on and they headed east. She hadn’t intended to walk toward the towering smokestacks of the Pearl Brewery, but she realized later that it must have been some kind of homing instinct inside her. The lore of Pearl had become a part of her heartbeat.
She took Buck’s arm and leaned her head against it as they walked. She was afraid to ever let go.
“You know about Robert?” she asked tentatively.
He sighed. “Yes. I received a letter from Pops before we took off on the Yorktown. Bad business. Killed in a training accident in Northern Ireland. Before things even heated up over there. Maybe it’s for the best, though. If you’re going to die in the war, better to go before you’ve even seen combat rather than to suffer the ravages. It’s brutal out there, Mabel. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, let alone Robert.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way. By avoiding combat, he’d missed the torment of its brutality. Even if the ending was the same.
“He was such a dear soul,” she said. “He should have been in a university, surrounded with stacks and stacks of ancient books. Not in a U-boat on the other side of the Atlantic.”
“No one should be anywhere near this. But there is evil in the world and sometimes the battle requires more than words.”
“I know. I think every soul on earth has been touched in some way or another by this war. I was too wrapped up in my own worries to look up and realize it.”
She stopped and turned to him. “It was so much for me. Too much. First Mama. I know that was many years ago, but you never really get over a loss like that. But then Robert left and then you. And we got the news about him and worried constantly once we’d heard that you were missing. Pops didn’t take it well, Buck. And he wasn’t in a good place to begin with.”
His voice quieted. “I heard. When I called Mrs. Molling, I asked for Pops and she told me. You’ve had no word from him at all?”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t even
know I’m in Texas. I was sure that he’d come back to the apartment at some point and Mrs. Molling would ring me up. But we’ve heard nothing.”
Mabel felt the sting on her face of tears that had gathered. She let them fall, gasping at first, and then a full cry that hurt all the way down to her chest. Buck pulled her into his chest and stroked her hair. When they were children, he used to tug at her braids as any brother would do. But now he was all grown up, a man before he should have had to be, taking his turn at caring for her.
“It’s not your fault,” he said several times. She wasn’t sure if she could believe that, but it sounded good coming from him.
“Was I wrong to come here? To leave him back in Baltimore?” Her voice was muffled as she spoke against his wool sweater. It scratched her cheeks, but she didn’t pull back.
He lifted her chin with his hand. “No. No—don’t believe that for one second. Pops always had one way to deal with problems: the bottle. Ever since Mama died. And this was two more big blows right at once.”
“Why wasn’t I enough, Buck?” Mabel found herself saying the words that she’d felt all along but couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge.
“What do you mean?”
She looked up, seeing his tear-stained eyes matching hers. “Why wasn’t I enough to keep him from drinking? He hadn’t lost everything. I was still there.”
Buck took a deep breath. “Do not think that. You are more than enough. You are the one who became the little homemaker after we lost Mama. You learned her recipes and even improved on them. You did all the market shopping and all the mending. And you still managed to go to school and earn good grades. God, when I think back to that, I think about how selfish Robert and I both were, letting you take on all those roles with so little help. So, Mabel, you were everything. But Pops’ brain was pretty well pickled even before Robert and I left. Maybe it was all more than he could take.”
So many things made sense, just talking them through with Buck. It’s no wonder she’d been swept up in Artie’s pursuit of her. She’d been so desperate to be wanted by someone that she hadn’t stopped to consider the intentions of the one she got involved with.
The First Emma Page 23