Livy gave him a victorious smile.
“Ah, Friedrick,” Harlan hollered. “Now we’re tied.”
Friedrick returned to his pitching spot. The next student stepped up to bat, but Friedrick struggled to focus on the game. He kept darting looks at Livy as she pulled on her shoes, her hair falling loose, her cheeks pink from the exercise. Distracted, he walked the next two batters, much to the consternation of his young team.
“You have ten more minutes,” Livy said to her students.
Friedrick readied himself for another pitch when he noticed the postman coming across the yard toward the group.
“Something for you, Miss Campbell.” The postman’s hesitant tone had Friedrick on sudden alert. Livy clearly heard it, too. She walked slowly toward the man, her shoulders pulled back, but Friedrick noticed she was gnawing the inside of her cheek.
He ignored the call of the children, who were anxious to finish the game before they had to head indoors. Instead he intercepted Livy and the postman. The man held out a short slip of paper—a telegram. The alarm in Friedrick’s gut intensified.
Livy visibly swallowed, her eyes meeting Friedrick’s. The raw fear reflected there cut at him. “Do you want me to read it?” he asked her quietly.
Still biting her cheek, she dipped her head in a quick nod and folded her arms. Friedrick took the telegram from the postman. He put his hand on Livy’s shoulder and cleared his throat.
“‘Tom killed,’” he read out loud.
Livy flinched beneath his grasp and covered her mouth with her hand. A cry of pain leaked through her fingers, tearing at Friedrick’s heart.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to finish reading. “‘Memorial service Friday. Stop. Will come for you tomorrow. Stop.’”
Friedrick crumbled the offensive telegram in his fist and drew Livy to him. Her love for her brothers was so strong. Losing one of them, without the chance to say good-bye, had to feel like losing her childhood friend all over again.
If only he could erase from time the last two minutes or been in France and saved Tom’s life. But Friedrick couldn’t do either, so he held Livy tight, her agony now his.
Livy didn’t shed a tear. She simply pressed her cheek against his shirt, her arms wrapped around him as if he were the only thing keeping her upright.
The postman threw them a regretful look and walked away. The calls of the children from behind had stopped. Friedrick imagined they were curious and concerned about what had happened, but he didn’t turn around. Instead he kept his arms around Livy.
How he wished it could always be his job to watch over and comfort her, but it would never happen. Not now. Not when her brother had just been killed in a war against his own people.
* * *
Livy stared out the window of her cabin, her mug of untouched coffee on the table in front of her. She couldn’t swallow even one sip. Her throat felt too tight with unshed tears.
This isn’t real, she kept telling herself. Tom can’t be gone. Tomorrow I’ll wake up from this awful nightmare and he’ll still be alive and well.
She thought of her brother’s easy smile, his quick wit, the way he’d always been able to cajole her out of a foul mood. He’d held her hand through Blanche’s funeral service and gave her his best marble afterward to help her stop crying.
Did I really have to lose another dear friend, God? She rested her head beside her cup and squeezed her dry eyes shut.
Sorrow and shock sliced through her, making it hard to breathe. She forced herself to take deep, even breaths. How were her parents managing? She’d lost a brother, yes, but they’d lost a son. And what about Joel? Did he even know what had happened to their brother? Had Tom suffered or had he been taken quickly? The unanswered questions made her head pound and her heart ache.
For the first time since coming to Hilden nearly four weeks earlier, Livy wanted to go home. She hated the idea of staying here, alone in her cabin with her grief, until her father arrived tomorrow to take her home. A longing to see her other siblings—to be with her family right away—filled her, nearly as fierce as her mourning.
A knock at the door interrupted her bereavement. She lifted her head to call out in a flat voice, “Come in.” She hoped it was Friedrick; she couldn’t stand the thought of talking with anyone else right now.
Relief flooded through her as he entered her cabin. “I called the superintendent from the neighbor’s house.” He left the door partway open and came to stand beside the table. “Mr. Foster said to close the school as long as you need. Just inform him when you get back.”
“Thank you.” She hoped he felt the sincerity of the words, even if they sounded a bit lackluster. He’d been more than kind—dismissing the children for her, making her coffee, and volunteering to telephone Mr. Foster.
“I’ve got Harlan making a sign for the school door to let everyone know it will be closed. Is there anything else you need?”
Livy shook her head.
“You didn’t drink your coffee.”
“I couldn’t…” She gnawed at her cheek as fresh emotion crawled up her throat.
Friedrick crouched in front of her, one hand resting on her chair back, the other on the table. The way he studied her with evident concern reminded her of the night of her birthday. He’d come to her aid then, too.
“It’s all right to grieve, Livy. A good cry might help you.”
“I want to, but I can’t.” Did her inability to cry mean something was wrong with her? How could she cry for days at the loss of her childhood friend and not shed a tear for her brother?
“The tears will come,” Friedrick said as though reading her thoughts, “when you’re ready.” He placed his hand over hers. His touch warmed and comforted her, as his embrace had earlier. “My father told me the same thing when my mother died, and he was right.”
His words eased some of her guilt, if only momentarily. “I keep thinking about my parents and what they must be feeling.” She leaned her forehead onto her free hand and drew a shuddered breath. “I’m their eldest daughter. I should be there helping prepare for the service, not waiting for my father to come all this way to fetch me.”
“Then we’ll get you there today.”
Livy lifted her head to look at him, hardly daring to hope. “How?”
Friedrick stood and pulled her to her feet. “Get what you’ll need together, while I take Harlan and Greta home.”
“But I don’t live close, Friedrick. If we leave now, we won’t reach the farm until supper.” She wanted him to understand the implications of his decision, while at the same time, she hoped he’d still want to take her. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
His blue eyes darkened with an emotion Livy felt too grieved and befuddled to identify before he offered her a shadow of a smile. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
* * *
After a quick stop at the telegraph office to let Livy’s parents know she’d be home today, Friedrick drove her south through town. The afternoon sun shone bright and warm, a mocking contrast to the news Livy had received.
Friedrick shed his coat once they reached the open road outside of Hilden. He shot a glance at Livy as he tossed the garment into the wagon bed. She gazed straight ahead, her green eyes devoid of spark. He refocused his attention on the road ahead, wishing there was something more he could do for her. Something to bring the life back into her.
To his great relief, Elsa hadn’t objected to his plan to make the six-hour round-trip drive to get Livy home. She had asked if he meant to return that evening or stay over and come home tomorrow. Friedrick didn’t want to impose on the Campbell family, especially at a time like this, but he wanted to see how tired he felt when they arrived before making a decision. Maybe he could bunk in the barn, then leave at daylight.
“I can’t believe he’s really gone,” Livy murmured, speaking for the first time since they’d driven away from her cabin. “I wonder if they told Nora yet.”
“Nora?”
&n
bsp; Livy stared down at her hands. “She and Tom were sweethearts. He hadn’t given her a ring yet, but it was understood by them and our whole family that after the war, they would be…be married.” Several tears ran down her face. She swiped them away at once, but Friedrick was relieved to see she wasn’t holding all her grief inside.
He hurt for her and her family, and for this other girl who’d lost her beau today. Having his mother die had been difficult, but he couldn’t imagine losing the person one planned to marry.
“I didn’t even get to say good-bye to him, just like with Blanche.” A shudder ran through her. “Tom probably hadn’t even received my last letter, telling him about coming to teach in Hilden.”
Friedrick shifted the reins to reach for her hand. He locked his fingers with hers and set their joined hands on the seat between them. “What would you have said to him?”
“About what?”
“Tell me what you would have said, if you’d been able to say good-bye.”
She sat in silence so long he thought she might not answer. “Well,” she finally said, visibly swallowing. “I would have told him how much I loved him, how grateful I am to be his sister.”
Friedrick nodded. “Anything else?”
“I would have told him I forgive him for all the teasing he did. I would thank him for making me laugh.” Her voice wobbled with emotion. “He always did have a sunny personality, which could make even the most despondent of people crack a smile. He loved Nora dearly. He would have done anything for her. I always admired that.”
What about your beau? he wanted to ask. Was this Robert fellow willing to do anything for Livy? Friedrick hoped so—she ought to be treated with the utmost respect and affection.
“He and Joel have been my greatest friends.” Livy brushed an errant piece of hair away from her face. Even her grief and pale cheeks couldn’t diminish her beauty. “They let me tag along with them and their friends, at least most days.” A ghost of a smile appeared at her mouth. “Tom often complained about me wanting to do everything he and Joel did, but he was typically the first to stand up for me.”
“He sounds like a good man. I would have liked to meet him.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Livy tensed beside him, her sorrow swooping down to blanket her again. She pulled her hand from his and returned to her wordless staring.
Friedrick ground his teeth together at his folly. He’d been presumptuous to talk with such familiarity about meeting any member of Livy’s family. She wasn’t his sweetheart. While he wouldn’t deny the strong attraction between them, something he felt certain Livy recognized, too, he could never be more than a friend to her. For her sake and his and those they loved.
The rest of the long drive passed in awkward silence. Livy had drawn into herself, perching at the far end of the wagon seat, her grief wrapped as tightly around her as her coat. She spoke twice, to give Friedrick directions about which way to go, but he couldn’t coax her into further conversation. He gave up trying after the second time, hating the helpless feeling in his gut at not being able to do more for her.
The quiet forced him to face questions he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to. Questions like what her family would think about a German-American driving her home or how her brother’s death would change their fledgling friendship.
At last the home Livy had described appeared in the distance—a two-story, white-clapboard house and a large red barn. A wide porch extended along the front of the house, and a porch swing moved lazily in the breeze.
“There’s the farm,” Livy said, her voice lifeless.
Friedrick guided the horses into the yard and stopped the wagon beside the house to let Livy down.
“You can unhitch the horses and put them in the barn.” She chewed the inside of her cheek before adding, “You’re welcome to stay the night.”
Friedrick didn’t relish the idea of staying over, especially given the uneasiness between them, but it would do him good to get some sleep before heading back in the morning. “Thanks. I think I will.”
She turned as if to climb down, but she stopped to look back at him. “Thank you for the ride, Friedrick.”
The formality in her tone stung, but he told himself she was still in shock over the news. “Happy to do it.”
She hopped down and hurried into the house. Friedrick drove the wagon to the barn. No one else was about, which meant the family was likely gathered for supper. The realization increased the discomfort churning within him. He unhitched the horses and led them into two empty stalls. After giving them feed and water, he reluctantly crossed the empty yard to the house.
Should he knock on the front door or use the kitchen entrance? The back door seemed less conspicuous than the front. Friedrick tapped a knuckle against the door. Silence met his knock. Now what?
He pushed the door open to find the kitchen vacant. The family was near, though, judging by the murmur of voices Friedrick heard coming from the next room.
Not wanting to interrupt them in their shared sorrow, Friedrick decided to wash at the sink and return to the barn. Perhaps Livy could bring him something to eat later. As he moved toward the sink, the family’s conversation rose in volume, making it impossible to avoid overhearing.
“He’s German?” The speaker’s voice teetered on the edge of manhood, which meant it had to belong to Livy’s fifteen-year-old brother, Allen.
“German-American,” Livy corrected.
There was a self-righteous smirk, then a girl asked, “Is there a difference?”
“That’s enough,” someone cut in. Friedrick guessed it was Livy’s father. “We are not a house given to prejudice. A person is a person, no matter his or her heritage.”
“But, Pa,” Allen interjected, “it’s the Germans who shot Tom.”
Friedrick gripped the edge of the sink with one hand, anger and guilt warring inside him. He wasn’t at fault for Tom’s death, and yet he felt responsible in a way because of his parentage. One thing he knew for certain—he’d made a mistake coming inside. If he could slip back to the barn unnoticed…
Before he could make his escape, a middle-aged woman with light brown hair and an attractive face entered the kitchen. She gasped when she saw him, one hand resting against her heart. “Mr. Wagner, you startled me. We didn’t hear you come in.”
Friedrick removed his cap. “My condolences about your son, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” She appeared to sniff back tears as she went to the icebox and removed a bottle of milk. “We appreciate you driving Livy down here. That’s not a short trip. You must be starved. Why don’t you join us in the dining room? We thought we’d eat a special dinner in there tonight.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Campbell. If you don’t mind, I’ll just wash up here and eat in the barn.”
Livy’s mother shook her head. “No, please. I insist you join us.”
Friedrick couldn’t refuse her again, no matter how much he wanted to. Not after what Livy’s family had been through today. “Thank you, ma’am.”
While she collected an extra plate and fork, Friedrick washed and dried his hands. He followed Mrs. Campbell through the kitchen door and into the dining room, wishing once more that he’d stayed put in the barn.
“Look who I found,” Livy’s mother announced as she set down his plate and fork. “I’ll go get you a glass, too.”
The open stares and frowns from Livy’s four siblings made Friedrick feel much like the peculiar beetle Harlan had once found and pinned to a board for examination. Livy shot him a weak smile, then focused her attention on the food in front of her. Clearly she felt as uncomfortable as he did.
Her father rose from his chair at the head of the table and reached out to shake Friedrick’s hand. “Mr. Wagner, I’m Josiah Campbell, and I see you’ve already met my wife, Ada. You know Livy, of course, but let me introduce the rest of our family.” He motioned to each child as he said his or her name. “This is Allen and Mary, and over here, we have George and
Charlie.” Josiah sat back down and waved for Friedrick to follow suit. “Thank you for driving Livy home today. It was a welcome surprise.”
Friedrick nodded and slipped into the only empty chair, beside Mary. She gazed up at him with wary brown eyes as her mother returned with the bottle of milk and a glass she set down in front of Friedrick.
“Thank you,” he murmured. Ada dished him up a piece of fried chicken and some potato salad. She set the plate before him. Friedrick picked up his fork.
“We’ve got biscuits, too,” she said, motioning to the half-full basket in the center of the table. Friedrick added one to his plate.
“Do you only eat liberty cabbage?” George asked from his seat across the table.
Liberty cabbage, the Americanized word for sauerkraut. “We do eat it sometimes,” Friedrick replied.
George studied him. “How come you’re not fightin’ like Joel or Tom?”
“No more questions, George,” Livy warned from her seat beside him. “Just eat your supper.”
Friedrick smiled at her in gratitude. She didn’t return the smile, but she gave him a determined look. She didn’t regard him with suspicion anymore. He concentrated on eating his meal. He still preferred Elsa’s German cooking, but the food was delicious.
The conversation around the table started up again. The family filled Livy in on the details of the upcoming memorial service and shared their favorite memories of Tom. They seemed to have forgotten Friedrick, to his relief.
The more he observed their camaraderie and listened to their stories, the more Friedrick sensed he didn’t belong here. They didn’t know what it was like to be considered an enemy to one’s country, to be forced to buy bonds they couldn’t afford, to fear losing one’s job over a careless remark. He would never fit into Livy’s world, and as hard as she’d tried, she wasn’t likely to fit into his either. Not when the Kellers and other German-Americans opposed her presence at the township school.
Anxious to be gone, he climbed to his feet. The discussion ground to a halt as all eyes turned to him. “Thank you for the wonderful supper, Mrs. Campbell. It was just what I needed.” He stepped away from the table and pushed his chair in. “If you’ll excuse me now, I’m going to head back home.”
Hope at Dawn Page 13