Hope at Dawn

by Stacie Henrie

  “I’m fine.”

  “Is it Maria?”

  Friedrick shook his head. He hadn’t told Elsa yet about squashing Maria’s hopes for a future as his bride. Despite making his feelings plain, Maria had been as flirtatious as ever at the church social the week before.

  “Does this have something to do with that teacher?”

  “English, Mother,” he said in a firm voice. “We’re still in public.”

  “Ach.” She rolled her eyes. “I will visit with my friends then. Anka Rosenthal said she had something to tell us.”

  He wished she would follow the law better, but he welcomed the chance to avoid talking about Livy. “Where are Harlan and Greta?”

  Elsa pointed to some children playing tag, Harlan and Greta among them, before she crossed the lawn to join the group of women gathered around Anka. Friedrick debated taking a nap under one of the trees, while he waited for his family, until he spotted some of the men talking with Rolf Rosenthal. They were shaking the man’s hand as if bidding him good-bye. Curious, Friedrick walked over.

  “Where will you go?” a farmer by the name of Amsel asked Rolf.

  Rolf pushed his glasses higher onto his thin nose. “To my wife’s sister in Wisconsin. There are more Germans in her town. We will try to open a store there.”

  The men murmured in response. “You’re leaving Hilden?” Friedrick stuck out his hand to shake Rolf’s.

  The older man nodded. “Can’t afford to stay anymore. We haven’t had any customers in two weeks—German or not.”

  Shame seared Friedrick. Ever since discovering someone had painted Rosenthal’s grocery store yellow, signifying his ties to Germany, Friedrick had encouraged Elsa to go to the other grocer in town. He hated not supporting his fellow German-Americans or the inflated prices they paid somewhere else, but his desire to protect his family came first.

  “You are not to blame, Friedrick,” Rolf said, with perception, as he lowered his hand to his side. He turned to look down the street; the corner of his yellow-painted building was just visible. “We’ve lived here for twenty years. Brought Anka here as a young bride.”

  “You’ll be missed.”

  “Thank you.” Rolf faced him again. “Please tell your father good-bye for me. I have missed seeing him at church and in the store these last few years.”

  Friedrick offered the man his sincere wishes for a better go of it in Wisconsin, even as anger replaced the sting of regret. What kind of a world did they live in if good, honest folks like Rolf and Anka were forced to close their store and leave their home for good because they were German? Worse still, there wasn’t anything Friedrick could do to change it.

  After making certain his family was still occupied, he pulled his cap snugger onto his head and started down the sidewalk, away from the church. He needed to pound out his troubled thoughts against the pavement.

  * * *

  Livy lingered in front of the brick church, reluctant to walk home. She’d arrived back in town the day before. Though she’d chosen not to attend services at the German church again, she had hoped she might see some of her students—maybe even Friedrick—before she opened the school again tomorrow.

  “Lovely day, isn’t it, Miss Campbell?”

  She turned to find the school superintendent approaching, hat in hand. Earlier, she’d seen him and his wife among the congregation.

  “Good morning, Mr. Foster.” The glorious spring sunshine warming her back added to the contentment she felt at being back in Hilden. The realization brought a momentary pang of guilt. Tom had been gone less than two weeks. Was she not mourning him properly as Robert had accused her? Her own reply to him repeated in her mind and eased her worry. Tom wouldn’t want us to be sad all the time.

  “May I offer my condolences again about your brother. He must have been a brave soldier.”

  He was so much more than that, Livy wanted to say, but she knew what the man meant. “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready to start teaching again?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good.” He shifted his weight, his focus on the bowler hat he held. “I did want to ask you something, Miss Campbell. Have you talked much with the man I hired to look after the school?”

  Alarm crept up Livy’s throat, snuffing out all feeling of happiness. Did the superintendent know about her friendship with Friedrick? Or worse, had someone seen them talking or at the dance hall or riding to her home together? Would she be fired on the spot, even though she’d just returned?

  “I have spoken with him, yes.” Her calm tone belied her mounting fear.

  Mr. Foster leaned closer, his voice dropping in volume as he continued, “Has he said anything to you that might reek of German patriotism? He seems a smart, hardworking one, but you never know with these German-Americans.”

  Disgrace brought a flush to Livy’s cheeks. Is this how her siblings had sounded to Friedrick, after he’d been so kind to drive her to the farm? No wonder he’d returned home the same day.

  A part of her still feared that a friendship with Friedrick meant she was betraying her brothers, but the importance of loyalty had been ingrained within her by her parents. In this moment, Friedrick was the one who needed her loyalty, regardless of his German heritage. She had no desire to have him or herself fired. Friedrick needed his position, and so did she. Teaching would keep her busy and give her heart time to heal from Tom’s death and Robert’s duplicitous actions.

  Please, God, help me, she prayed quickly. Help me speak the truth, but without getting either of us fired. Please.

  She opened her mouth, still uncertain how to respond to the man’s question, but the words that fell from her lips rang with truth and confidence. “Mr. Wagner has been respectful, both to me and the children. He fixed the roof on the school and the teacher’s cabin, as well as most of the cracks in the bricks. The school looks almost new, thanks to his attention and work.”

  “Good, good.” Mr. Foster placed his hat back on his bald head. “There is something I need you to do, Miss Campbell.”

  Wary of what he might ask, Livy nevertheless gave a brief nod. He held the key to her continuing on as a teacher here in Hilden.

  “I want you to let me know if he does or says anything suspicious. With that last teacher accused of being a spy, I’m concerned about other traitors in the area.” He threw a cautious glance around them as though he expected someone to jump out and seize them. “You can never be too careful in times like these.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Livy answered. In more ways than one.

  She would need to be more guarded in what she said or did when it came to Friedrick. She didn’t want to cost him his job—or have her own taken away—by a misunderstanding.

  The superintendent smiled. “I’m glad I ran into you, Miss Campbell. I have a war bond poster for you. I’ve been distributing them to the schools in our district, but you’ve saved me a trip to yours.” He chuckled and motioned for her to follow him. He led her to a shiny blue Cadillac parked up the sidewalk from the church.

  Livy gnawed at the inside of her cheek as he reached into his car and withdrew the poster. He held it up in front of her. It wasn’t like some she’d seen—with frightening pictures of Huns. This one featured an eagle and American flags. Yet the bold type wasn’t subtle either: ARE YOU 100% AMERICAN? PROVE IT. BUY U.S. GOVERNMENT BONDS.

  “Put it somewhere prominent for the children to see,” Mr. Foster said. “Then maybe they’ll persuade their parents to buy more bonds before this loan drive is over.”

  Worry filled her stomach, making her feel suddenly ill. If she hung the poster, would more of her students’ parents refuse to let their children come to school, like the Kellers? Even worse, what would Friedrick think if he saw it? He’d already expressed his guilt over not fighting, about not being American enough.

  She wouldn’t be the one to compound his regret. She’d simply take the poster and not hang it.

  Mr. Foster’s next
words destroyed her simple plan. “I’d like to visit your school sometime in the next few weeks.” The superintendent passed the poster to her. “See how you’re getting along, how the school repairs are coming.”

  Livy rolled up the poster and forced a smile. “We’ll look forward to it. Good day, Mr. Foster.” She started up the sidewalk, but he called after her.

  “Did you need a ride home, Miss Campbell?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. A walk will do me good.” She felt his gaze on her back as she spun around and headed away from the church.

  What should I do?

  If she hung the poster, she feared permanently offending Friedrick, who’d been more than kind to her. But if she didn’t hang the poster, Mr. Foster would want to know why and she didn’t have a safe answer.

  She lifted her gaze from the cracks in the sidewalk and noticed a tall figure turning the corner on the opposite side of the street. Friedrick.

  Livy froze in place. She couldn’t be seen by him, in the presence of the superintendent, but she had nowhere to hide.

  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed Mr. Foster still stood beside his car, talking with his wife and another couple now. If Livy walked back by the church, he would surely wonder what she was doing—heading in the opposite direction from home.

  Livy threw a panicked look at Friedrick. He was getting closer. Any minute now he’d spot her. Even at a distance, the sight of his handsome face quickened her pulse. Had it really only been a week since she’d last seen him? It felt more like months.

  She longed to speak with him, to thank him properly for driving her home. But fear stopped her from calling out to him, kept her feet from rushing toward him. Mr. Foster couldn’t see them together and acting familiar. There was also the matter of the bond poster in her hand. Friedrick couldn’t see it before she’d had a chance to explain.

  There was only one thing to do. She had to avoid Friedrick and pray he wouldn’t see her. Biting her cheek so hard it hurt, Livy clutched the poster to her chest, feigned interest in the buildings on her left, and charged up the sidewalk.

  Chapter Eight

  Friedrick turned the corner and continued his walk south. A movement on the opposite side of the street drew his attention. A young woman was walking briskly, her head turned to face the buildings she passed, her hands full. Friedrick started to look away, but the woman’s build and dark blond hair resembled Livy’s so much that he stopped. As the woman reached the cross street, she glanced over her shoulder. There was no mistaking that pretty face. It was Livy.

  Joy at seeing her quickly faded in the wake of sharp disappointment. How long had she been back in Hilden without his knowing?

  “Livy,” he called out as he left the sidewalk to follow her. He told himself he was making certain she was fine, nothing more.

  She didn’t cease her frantic pace until she’d rounded the corner and strode another few yards. Only then did she whirl around to face him, hiding whatever she’d been carrying behind her back. Her face looked paler than the last time he’d seen her.

  “Hello, Friedrick.” She wouldn’t quite meet his eye.

  “I didn’t know you were back.” He came to a stop in front of her. The breeze carried her lovely scent of vanilla to him. Her anxious expression made him want to hold her in his arms as he had done before she’d left. But the recollection of what had transpired while he was at her home marched painfully through his memory. He remained where he stood, his hands at his sides.

  “I came last night.” He could tell she was biting that cheek of hers. What had her on edge?

  “How did the memorial service go?”

  “It went well. Thank you.” She kept throwing looks at something behind him. Friedrick turned to see what it might be, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Was she embarrassed to be seen with him now? He tried to overthrow the thought, but it settled in the back of his mind, adding to the already strained tension between them.

  “Will you open the school tomorrow?” he asked as he faced her again.

  “Yes.” She finally lifted her eyes to his. “Would you let Harlan and Greta know?” Her gaze beseeched his, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with her question. A strand of hair blew across her cheek. Friedrick resisted the urge to push it back. How could she look so beautiful and yet be so unapproachable at the same time?

  “You can tell them yourself.” His frustrated tone made Livy flinch. “That is, if you’d like to ride home with us,” he amended. He allowed himself another step toward her and touched her elbow. “I’d still like to help, Livy.”

  “I—I know.” Her words sounded strangled and the pleading had returned to her eyes. “I’ve got to go.” She stepped back, breaking his grip. “I’m sorry. Good day, Friedrick.” She spun on her heel and marched away without a backward glance.

  Friedrick let her go, though the act of doing so had his hands clenching into fists. This wasn’t the Livy he’d come to know. He’d expected her brother’s death to affect their relationship, but not destroy it completely. Did their time together mean nothing to her now? Had she become like every other self-righteous American he’d run into during the last year?

  The idea of Livy holding his heritage against him sliced deeper than anything else he and his family had suffered. He gave her retreating figure one final look, then walked back toward the church.

  If Elsa sensed his darkening mood on the ride home, she gratefully kept her observations to herself. Instead she filled the tense silence by keeping up a steady chatter with Greta and Harlan. At home Friedrick unhitched the horses and put them away, while the rest of the family trooped into the house. The sound of raspy breathing and harsh coughs met him as he came through the kitchen door.

  He hurried to his father’s room. Elsa sat on the edge of the bed. “He’s feverish, and his medicine is gone,” she told Friedrick, concern marring her face.

  “We can call the doctor.” It wasn’t the first time he’d been grateful they’d paid to have the telephone lines run to their farm.

  “Yes, the doctor.” Elsa rose and moved past him into the kitchen. Friedrick noticed Harlan and Greta standing on the stairs. Their worried looks squeezed at his heart, nearly as much as his father’s distress. “Go change out of your church clothes. It’s too nice to stay indoors this afternoon. Let’s go exploring.”

  His siblings both offered him tentative smiles and raced upstairs. Friedrick trudged behind them to his own room. He’d hoped his father wouldn’t need more medicine for a while—that the warmer weather would help him improve. Friedrick had planned to get his paycheck from the superintendent’s office this week, but he’d been so busy running the farm and working at the school, he hadn’t gone. Now he wished he had. With five dollars in the house, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to afford more pills today.

  He exchanged his Sunday suit for his work clothes and returned downstairs. Elsa was talking rapidly into the phone—in German.

  “Mother?” Friedrick said firmly. When she didn’t acknowledge him, he repeated her name a little louder. He couldn’t seem to impress upon her the importance of speaking English in public, which included the telephone. “English, only English.”

  She shook her head at him as she kept up a steady stream of German. Finally she set down the earpiece and released a sigh. “He’s waiting for a baby to come—a woman in Hilden. He said he would track down the pharmacist and bring the medicine as soon as he could. He can only bring half, since that is all we can buy now.” She bustled around the kitchen, grabbing a pot and filling it with water. “I will make Heinrich soup and see if some cold compresses help.”

  Friedrick laid a hand on her arm, stopping her frenzy. “I know you’re worried, Mother, but you can’t speak German on the telephone, even with the doctor.” His earlier annoyance over his encounter with Livy leaked out as he continued, darkening his tone. “The operator could report you and we can’t afford to get into any more trouble. I
can’t lose this job at the school. Not when Papa’s medicine is so expensive…”

  One hand lifted to her mouth as she began to weep. Friedrick swallowed the rest of his lecture. He wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders instead and let her cry, though the sound tore at him.

  “He used to be so full of life and energy. Do you remember, Friedrick?”

  “Yes,” he whispered back.

  For years his father had woken him up before dawn so they could attend the needs of the farm together. Heinrich had been the one to make up the game of who could finish their evening chores and make it into the parlor first. He had impressed upon Friedrick, and later Harlan and Greta, the importance of learning English and getting an education.

  Friedrick hated seeing him lying in bed, day after day, too weak to do more than read or sleep. His father’s frailness was a constant reminder of something else he could not change.

  Elsa stepped from his embrace. “I keep hoping he’ll recover, that some miracle will happen.” She drew a trembling hand across her wet cheeks. “But he isn’t going to, is he?”

  “We can’t stop hoping and believing. Isn’t that what you’ve taught us?” The reminder enticed a small smile from her, just as he’d hoped.

  “You are right.” She put a hand to his cheek. “What would we do without you, Friedrick?”

  He knew she meant well, but the statement only succeeded in bringing to mind all the things he couldn’t do for them—like get back their savings or cure his father or make the world see German-Americans differently. He bent forward and pressed a kiss to her grayish-blond head. “I told the children we could go exploring since the weather’s so nice. Would you rather we stay and help with supper?”

  Elsa straightened her shoulders. “No, no. You go on. I’ll have supper ready when you return.”

  Friedrick went outside, where he found Harlan and Greta waiting for him. Greta slipped her hand into his as they set off down the road. She chattered at length about her friends and school. To Friedrick’s irritation, she sprinkled her talk with Miss Campbell’s name more than once, especially after he told them the school would reopen tomorrow.