Adelsverein

by Celia Hayes

  Dolph nodded in agreement. He had been thirteen that nightmare evening when the Hanging Band came to the Becker place. Trap Talmadge came with them, drunk almost to insensibility. His father had opened the door, thinking his old friend had returned to ask for his old job back.

  “Who would be in charge of the herd, day to day?” Hansi asked. “There must be one man to be the commander of all daily affairs on the trail, you know. It’s how it works best.”

  “Onkel Fredi,” Dolph responded instantly, and appeared startled when all looked at him. He continued, with an air of defense and logic, “He has trailed cattle to California, he is the most experienced of all of us in this, so he should be the trail boss. I think he should have day-to-day authority. But I think Onkel Hansi is the best suited to sort out matters of the market at the other end, of course. Well, really—he is the best at beating the best market price out of a buyer.” Dolph looked around at them all, stationed under the tree while the summer breeze stirred the leaves.

  “If so,” Magda allowed, “then perhaps we should purchase additional cattle. If we are going on this trail and the market in Kansas offers that much promise, any increase in our offering is to the better.”

  “We can arrange for purchase of cattle now.” Dolph put his elbows on the table. “And the owners deliver them to us, very early in the spring.”

  “Pasture them on my Live Oak land, or on the Becker holding,” Hansi mused, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “When should we depart for the north, lads? When the grass is well grown?”

  “Even before then,” Fredi answered, pausing in his long strides up and down. “Last year’s dry grass will suit well enough at the start. If we move them slow enough, they will graze as they go.”

  “And that was where it began,” Magda explained to her daughter. “On a Sunday afternoon, with a story that Anna found in the newspaper. We had prospered with the store, and with your uncle’s freighting interests, and those interests would continue to prosper. But that single investment in trailing cattle to the north—that changed everything.”

  All during that summer and autumn, they sent letters; most of them written by Anna and Magda at Hansi’s dictation, offering to purchase cattle from those friends they thought might have cattle to sell by early spring but not the resources to trail them north. They wrote letters offering employment to such of Peter and Fredi’s friends as they knew to be restless but ambitious and hardworking lads. Magda wrote also to Porfirio, offering the same to those of his cousins and younger brothers as he could recommend. Porfirio answered by sending a dozen nearly wild horses and his cousin, Alejandro, who brought the herd to the Becker ranch and set about taming the tough, wiry mustangs for cattle work. He promised that other young men of his family would follow in spring.

  “He can tame the orneriest horse any of us has ever seen,” Dolph reported, just before Christmas, “I don’t know how he does it. I think he puts a spell on them. The dogs, too—they follow after him, if they’re not following me.”

  Dolph had also added another dog to his household, a small black and white bitch from a litter of puppies produced by one of the Stielers’ sheepherding dogs. He had brought the pup with him at Christmas, tucked into the front of his coat. Hannah and Lottie had made much of the little wobbly-legged creature. Over Magda’s misgivings, Dolph had promised the girls another from the same litter.

  “So a remount herd,” Fredi mused, “and a horse-wrangler. What about a wagon and a cook?”

  “Leave that to me,” Peter answered. “I talked to a fellow last week in San Antone who offered me a two-horse Army ambulance for a good price. I told him I would consider it.” He knocked out his pipe and refilled it, before continuing, “See, they ride easy, being on springs. Someone gets hurt or sick, they can be hauled along without much problem, along with all the bedrolls and tent-canvas and that. You could have Arhelger fit out the back with a hinged tailgate, some cupboards and shelves and all—and there is your rolling kitchen.”

  “I like that.” Fredi grinned broadly. “So the work is hard and the cows are stupid, we can’t pay the men until we reach Kansas and the cattle-brokers, but at least they eat good on the way!”

  Hansi and Dolph gathered maps and advice, seeking out those of their acquaintance who had taken small cattle herds to the north before the war to serve the emigrant trade along the river between Independence and Council Bluffs. Hansi had already taken his oldest sons, Jacob and George, much into his confidence as regards the freighting business; now he gave them increased authority and responsibility, although Anna would have the last word on any unforeseen matter which presented itself in Hansi’s absence on the trail. They spent much of the holiday season poring over their plans and Fredi’s maps, and such accounts and stories in the Kansas newspapers that Anna had gleaned.

  “So, it is agreed, then—to leave in the second week of March from Live Oak.” Hansi presided over a council in the parlor of Vati’s house, just before New Year’s, with his older children, and Magda, Fredi, Peter, and Dolph. “That will give us three months to reach Kansas by mid-summer. Assuming that all goes as greased.”

  “No reason it shouldn’t,” Dolph said.

  Fredi laughed, a weary and cynical chuckle. “Oh, lad—I can give you any number of situations that might come to pass, but I won’t get into that now! It would only discourage us all. But be assured, I take it as my duty to foresee them all—and then do my best to keep the herd moving!”

  “If it works out as we expect,” Hansi continued, “I will pay the men, and we’ll return as expeditiously as possible by any means available to us. Say, by July, then.” He looked around at them all. The candlelit parlor was still decorated for Christmas, filled with the resinous green scent of cedar branches. It was late, and the young children had already been sent upstairs to bed while their elders made plans for this New Year, the third since the ending of the war. Magda was reminded piercingly of how much had changed.

  Their families had recovered some of their former prosperity, her husband’s lands were returned to her son’s care, and his murder avenged. But as blessings were given freely with one hand, fate had also taken from them with the other. Vati was gone and so, too, was their dear little Rose. The absence of Willi and Grete had broken Liesel’s heart and estranged her from Hansi. Magda wondered in despair if even their return would heal her sister and make her marriage with Hansi whole again. Hansi busied himself with his businesses, and now with this cattle droving. All of his interests and conversations were things of which Liesel knew little and cared even less. He was not even there to share his concerns with her from day to day, as Carl Becker had once been wont to do when he and Magda had lived a contented life in the stone house in the Guadalupe River Valley, the house with the birds’ nest and apple branch carved over the door.

  “I would have us drink a toast,” Hansi was saying, as Magda returned from her own thoughts.

  “Oh, Papa—in whiskey?” Anna said. She sat on the chaise with Peter beside her.

  “It’s a manly drink, Miss Anna.” Peter winked at her solemnly and whispered something in her ear, at which she rolled her eyes. Peter and Anna seemed to have settled into a teasing companionship, which pleased Magda, even though there was no indication of any special regard which could be construed as courtship between them.

  Vati’s parlor had so many fine ornaments and furniture in it now, things of quality in the very newest taste, which came their way because of the store. One of the newest was a Bohemia-glass decanter and a dozen matching small cordial cups, all in jewel-colored cut-glass. Hansi poured out a glass for each of them with a generous hand. “To our venture!” he said, raising his own glass. “And to our fortune—may it prosper!”

  Magda took a sip of the whiskey, liking the taste of it little but knowing it meant much to Hansi and the boys. Whiskey was what men drank when they did business, and she supposed that since she and Anna did business also, they should appreciate such things.

  Whil
e Hansi and the boys were on their way north, she and Anna would be in charge. It was curious, she thought, how living in Texas had so changed things for her. Out here, a wife was the first partner in a man’s business. In his absence or in the event of his death, it was his wife to whom everyone naturally looked. Such authority could be held by any woman willing to step forward and grasp it firmly. This was not the east, this was not the Germany of her childhood, or the world of the proper genteel novels where a lady sat in her parlor and waited for the men of her family to see to everything outside that sphere.

  No—either the guardians of those proprieties did not have such a grasp here, or perhaps they were not so commanding after all. Perhaps all they had was a belief that they were powerful. A woman like Margaret, or Anna, or that Miss Johnson whom Peter spoke so highly of, even herself—all they had to do was to step forward and break those genteel conventions, as fragile as a spider web, do as they pleased, and as their consciences or their obligations to family commanded them. Might liberation be as simple as all that, of breaking those chains that one had welded onto one’s own soul?

  She took another sip, a bigger one, which did not taste as strong as the first. It tasted a little like water from a peat-bog, smooth and oily, and she felt warmth from it in the back of her throat. This was what men of business drank, she told herself; so perhaps she must accustom herself to the taste, but yet not become so fond of it that she forgot all else. Anna was grimacing from the taste she had taken from her own glass while Peter laughed at her expression. Something in the way their heads inclined together caught Magda’s notice. Could it be that Anna had feelings for him, something deeper than cousinly affection, that Anna herself was not aware of? And Peter, who bore such scars but paid such gallant attentions to every pretty girl; of course, he would be the last to know that even such a one as the forthright Anna held him in special regard.

  Magda caught Hansi looking speculatively at his daughter and Peter, the sleek dark head and the fair one bent so closely over jewel-colored cordial glasses. She intuited his own thoughts; such a match would please Hansi. He would put no barrier in their way, would approve it heartily; but if he made such approval obvious, there was a danger that Anna would be contrary, or that Peter would rebel. No, she willed her brother-in-law silently; say nothing to them. Only watch and wait. If it is meant to be, they will come to that realization soon enough.

  In February, Peter took the stage to Austin, saying little of what he was about other than to see that his mother’s house had been properly taken care of. Amelia Vining had moved her establishment back to her father’s generous roof at Mayfield. When Peter returned, he was accompanied by Daddy Hurst, spry and brown and hardly looking a day older than he had eight years before when Magda and her children had gone to Austin for Young Horace’s wedding. He came into the shop office as Magda, Anna and Hansi sorted through another tall pile of merchant circulars.

  “I’ve found us our trail cook,” Peter announced jubilantly. “Daddy says he was tired of sitting around an empty house.”

  “I allus wanted to go see de nawrth,” Daddy said with a sly chuckle. “An’ now go legal-like, an’ free? Miz Hetty, she say I ain’t in no danger of scalpin’ from dey Indians, wid no hair on this ol’ haid to put at risk!”

  Hansi looked from one to the other. “You can cook?” he asked.

  The old coachman answered with calm dignity, “I ken do mos’ things well ‘nuff, Mistah Richter. My mama was cook to ol’ Mistah Burnett. She done taught me some cookin’ that Miz Hetty ain’t ever done. ‘Sides, you ain’t looking for no high-an’-mighty fancy Creole French dishes? Jes’ beans an’ pone, an’ coffee an’ that. Plain cookin’ for de han’s, thass all?”

  “Maybe a little more than plain,” Hansi observed wryly. “Something to look forward to, at the end of a hard day would suit! I’ll leave it all to you then.” He shook Daddy’s hand firmly, adding, “There’s a list of food stocks for the journey, somewhere about.”

  “Here, Papa.” Anna handed him a sheet of papers, clipped together.

  Hansi thrust them at Daddy Hurst, saying, “Look it over and see if there is anything else you think might be needed.”

  “I ain’t got any use for dem lists, Mistah Richter,” Daddy answered, with imperishable dignity.

  At Hansi’s look of complete bafflement, Peter explained with embarrassment enough for the both of them, “Daddy Hurst can’t read. It didn’t used to be legal to teach nigras to read.”

  “Indeed!” Hansi looked indignant. “What an appalling state of affairs. How anyone can expect to get anything done?” He looked as if he regretted hiring Daddy Hurst.

  Anna ventured, “I will read the list out to him. And then I will see what I can do.” She shifted her gaze from Hansi to Daddy Hurst. “Mr. Vining will drive you out to Live Oak tomorrow. There are already men there, so you will wish to make sure of the proper inventory. And of your facilities as the cook for them.” It had the sound of a threat about it. Magda thought Daddy Hurst’s expression warred between amusement and wary respect. Anna had that affect on men; it was nice to know that age and color did not offer an exemption.

  Miles from the beginning of the trail north, without ever laying eyes on the herd of cattle or many of those who had been hired to handle it, by spring all of those living in the house on Market Street were in a high pitch of excitement. Dolph, Hansi and Peter had snatched the last mouthfuls of a lavish breakfast cooked for them by Liesel and Marie and started to prepare to leave.

  Sam was almost beside himself with eagerness to go with his brother, pleading with Magda that since he had just turned fourteen he was clearly old enough to go. “No,” Magda repeated for the twenty or thirtieth time.

  Dolph finished strapping up his unwieldy bedroll and lifted it to his shoulder. “Pipsqueak, you have to help Mama with the store, remember—and school. Don’t forget school.”

  The hallway seemed suddenly too small for Magda, filled to bursting with her menfolk and what they were taking with them. They loomed large in their work clothes and rough coats. She saw with a pang that Dolph wore his father’s old buckskin jerkin. He had done so before, but now it seemed to fit him, for he had grown tall and filled out through the shoulders. A boy no longer, following in his father’s footsteps and wearing that old coat; now he had become a man himself. “Let’s leave before Auntie Liesel commences to carry on like a fountain,” Dolph added in an undertone. Liesel had been sniffling all morning as she piled up food on her husband’s and nephew’s plates. She had seemed more cheerful of late, agreeable to Hansi’s plans. Magda hoped that she would not go into her dark cellar again as soon as Hansi’s wagon was out of sight.

  Jacob brought around the wagon. Magda, Anna, and the younger children were going to accompany the men to Live Oak, where all was in readiness for departure. Charley and Pastor Altmueller and some of their neighbors were also going to come along. The morning had the air of a holiday.

  “It’s like the Fourth of July processions, isn’t it, Auntie?” Anna ventured, as they rattled past the familiar coffeepot dome of the Verein Church. She sighed, pulling her shawl close around her against the morning chill. “I wish I were going with them—anything for an exciting time!”

  “It won’t be exciting, Anna,” Dolph responded. He and Peter lay sprawled on the pile of bedrolls and baggage in the wagon bed. “It will be business. And work. A lot of work! Dirty, boring, and not very interesting. In fact, you had better hope that it isn’t exciting, because excitement burns the fat off cattle and fat cattle mean more money for us. Skinny cattle won’t bring near as much.”

  “Oh, that,” Anna pursed her lips. “Still, I think it would be interesting to go north. Fredi always said there are marvels to be seen, even if they do call it the great desert.”

  “We shall tell you all about it, Miss Anna!” Peter promised extravagantly. “Upon our triumphant return, laden with riches unimaginable!” He had begun to understand German uncommonly well, although he sti
ll spoke it very haltingly. He kissed his fingers and blew upon them, saying, “Will you greet me as a conquering hero then and return my kiss to me, holy palmer?”

  He laughed with huge enjoyment when Anna scowled and answered in English, “Triumph, fiddlesticks. Only return and with my father and cousin safe; then I would not hold a poor price for our cattle against you.”

  “Why Miss Anna,” Peter smiled even more broadly, “I didn’t think you cared!”

  Anna turned her back emphatically, while Dolph laughed and buffeted Peter’s shoulder.

  Their wagon, followed by the hotel trap and a handful of out-riding horsemen, reached Hansi’s old Live Oak farm after sunrise. Magda caught her breath. So many cattle! As if they had sprung out of the ground like dragon’s teeth sown in the furrows of his neglected acres. It was one thing to write the numbers, to write the invoices and the letters of credit; quite another to see the tossing endless parti-colored backs and their horns, all crammed together on Hansi’s old pastures and fields.

  “How many of them?” she inquired, as Jacob drew up the wagon in the old farmyard.

  Her son paused as he leaped down. “Eight hundred fifty-three, Mama, at last count; unless a couple of the heifers have calved in the last week. That is the thing about cows—they will multiply.” Peter tossed him his bedroll, laughing, then took up his own and hopped down from the wagon.

  They carried their burdens to a sturdy wagon, with two teams waiting patiently in their harness. It had been decided to bring a supply wagon in addition to the converted ambulance and kitchen, rather than depend on what supplies might or might not be available along the way. “If it’s one thing I would hate,” Hansi had observed, “it would be paying three times over for what I know we have in our own warehouse. Besides, I’ll drive the wagon myself. We might even be able to sell it in Kansas for a good price.”