Hope at Dawn

by Stacie Henrie

  He managed to find some unusual rocks for Harlan and some yellow buttercups for Greta before they trooped back to the farm. As they drew near the house, an automobile pulled to a stop beside the fence.

  “Who’s that?” Harlan asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Perhaps the doctor had purchased a car. Greta tightened her grip on Friedrick’s hand in apprehension. “You two wait here.”

  A tall, muscular man emerged from the car. He looked nothing like the thin, aging Dr. Mueller. Or Miller, as he was called these days. Like the pastor and his family, the doctor had Americanized his name. This man didn’t carry a doctor’s bag either. Instead he sported a shiny badge on his vest.

  “Can I help you?” Friedrick moved quickly to block the path to the front door. If he could spare his family from witnessing another round of discrimination, he would.

  “Afternoon. I’m Walter Tate, Hilden’s sheriff.” The man tipped his hat cordially. “Are you Mr. Wagner?”

  “I am,” Friedrick said, masking his concern at the sheriff’s appearance behind a level expression.

  “You own the farm here?”

  “My father is the owner, but he’s ill at the moment.”

  The sheriff pursed his lips and frowned.

  “Is there a problem, sir?” Friedrick managed to sound conversational, despite the alarm pulsing through him.

  To his dismay, the front door opened and Elsa came out onto the porch, a dishcloth mashed in one fist. “What is going on, Friedrick?” she said in heavily accented English.

  “Ma’am.” Sheriff Tate removed his hat. His glance jumped to Harlan and Greta, then back to Elsa. “I’m sorry to disturb you…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “However, I’ve been informed someone here has been breaking the law.”

  Friedrick kept his face impassive, but anger boiled within him. Livy must have shared the careless things he’d said. No wonder she’d been aloof in town. She’d probably been on her way to the sheriff’s office when he saw her. He set his jaw, bracing himself to hear his own remarks repeated back to him. “What is the offense?”

  “A woman telephoned from here and spoke in German. That’s against the law now.” The sheriff ran his thumb along his hat brim. “Which means I’ve got to take you to jail, ma’am. Just for three nights, mind you.”

  Friedrick’s relief over Livy not betraying him was short-lived. His annoyance and regret shifted from her to Elsa. He’d warned her not to talk in German on the telephone, for this very reason. What would his father do without her help? Friedrick couldn’t be everywhere—on the farm, at the school, and caring for his father.

  “I’d like to go in her place.” The words came out before he’d even finished thinking them.

  “Friedrick—”

  “No, Mother.” He pinned her with a stern look. Having worked extra hard the last few weeks at the school, he could afford to miss a few days. Things wouldn’t suffer for his brief absence. “You’re needed here. I can go.”

  Her face drained of color, but she finally nodded.

  “I don’t know if I can do that, son.” Sheriff Tate studied Friedrick.

  “All you need is someone to make an example of.” Friedrick had to persuade him; he wasn’t going to let the man haul Elsa to jail. “Let that person be me. My father’s dying. He needs my mother’s help.”

  The sheriff frowned. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt nobody to take you in instead.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  “All right.” The man clapped his hat back on his head. “You’ll be released on Wednesday.”

  Greta rushed forward to press her face into Friedrick’s side. He put a comforting arm around her. He was grateful she didn’t have to witness their mother leaving instead.

  The sheriff glanced at Greta and shook his head, as if momentarily pricked in the conscience. “I got my hands full with this new language law,” he grumbled. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

  Friedrick led Greta to the porch. Harlan hurried over to join them. “It’s going to be okay,” he told them. “It’s only three nights.”

  “It’s my fault,” Elsa whispered in German. She rubbed at her folded arms. “I should go, Friedrick. I can’t ever remember to speak English when I should.”

  “You’re needed here, Mother. We both know that.”

  His words bolstered her into action. She waved Harlan and Greta into the house with her cloth. “Go get your brother some bread, Harlan. Greta, get him a book. I’ll find a blanket.”

  Friedrick waited in the empty yard as they disappeared into the house. What would the jail be like? Cold? Crowded? Would he be able to keep the news of his arrest from Mr. Foster? His job was as good as gone if the superintendent found out what had happened.

  Elsa and his siblings returned with a full bag. Friedrick swung it over his shoulder and braced himself to say good-bye. He’d never been away from them for more than a night. Thankfully he would only be gone four days, and this one was more than halfway over. If he’d been able to fight, the separation from his family would have been a thousand times longer and more difficult. For the first time since America had entered the war, he offered a silent prayer of gratitude for being home.

  He gave Greta a hug. “Are you coming back?” she asked in a tear-choked voice.

  “Of course. You heard the sheriff. I’ll be home in a few days.” He turned to Harlan and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You be the man around here while I’m gone, all right? Help Mother with the chores.” Harlan gave a solemn nod, his chin trembling.

  “Don’t tell anyone what’s happened,” Friedrick added. “All right?”

  Elsa pulled him into a tight embrace. “We will be praying for you.”

  “Save supper for me on Wednesday,” he said, easing back. He tried to laugh, but it came out strained. “I can walk home. Don’t worry about driving into town.”

  With a wave good-bye, he walked to the sheriff’s car and climbed inside. Sheriff Tate turned the car around and headed down the road toward Hilden. Friedrick hunched his shoulders over the bag in his lap—he didn’t need anyone recognizing him.

  Too soon the sheriff parked the car in front of the jail. Friedrick climbed from the vehicle and pulled his cap down as he followed behind Sheriff Tate. With his eyes focused on the sidewalk, he didn’t see the woman in front of him until he’d bumped into her. Copies of the Ladies’ Home Journal fluttered to the ground.

  “I apologize,” Friedrick said, kneeling to help her gather her magazines. As he handed the woman her belongings, he glanced at her face. Fear turned his gut to ice as he recognized her—it was Mr. Foster’s secretary. Friedrick had spoken to her once, when he’d seen the superintendent about the school job, but her eyes widened in recognition, too.

  He thrust the last few magazines at her and hurried through the jail door the sheriff held open. The feeling of dread churning inside him worsened as Friedrick followed the man down the line of cells. Two of the four were occupied. Sheriff Tate locked him in the third and mumbled something about supper in another hour. Then the sheriff turned on his heel and marched away, his footsteps reverberating off the stone walls and metal bars.

  Friedrick sank onto one of the two cots inside the cell and dropped his bag beside him. Surely the secretary would tell the superintendent she’d seen Friedrick climbing out of the sheriff’s car and entering the jail. He groaned and rested his head in his hands. Where would they get the money for his father’s medicine if Friedrick lost his job?

  He lifted his chin and gazed at the bare stone wall across from him. The cell was chilly and smelled of unwashed bodies and mold. Thank goodness he’d come in Elsa’s place. He hated to think of her here, cold and alone.

  The whole unfortunate day caught up with him, seeping exhaustion into every muscle. Friedrick shoved his bag onto the stone floor and lay down on the cot.

  Have you abandoned us, God? he questioned, his eyes on the stone ceiling above. He stewed in his anger and weariness
for a few minutes until he remembered something Elsa often said—Trouble comes before the dawn, but the sun will always follow.

  Humbled, he shut his eyes and offered another prayer. Forgive my doubts. I need this job, but if Thy will for me and my family is for greater things, help me find peace.

  He reached into his bag and pulled out the book Greta had packed for him. A sardonic smile lifted one corner of his mouth. His sister had chosen Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from Elsa’s collection of German-printed books, which meant he’d have to be careful reading it here.

  Resting the book next to him on the cot to hide the cover, Friedrick opened to the first page. Perhaps the story would erase the memory of the secretary’s startled gaze from his mind, at least for a time. If nothing else, he could suddenly relate to the plight of young Alice. Today, his own world felt every bit as mixed up and bewildering as Wonderland.

  * * *

  The instant she woke up Monday morning, Livy’s gaze flew to the war bond poster she’d set on top of the bureau. As she dressed, she kept shooting glances at it. Every time she did, she saw Friedrick’s face from the day before—the frustration and confusion at her coolness. Guilt coated her stomach, making it difficult to swallow her breakfast.

  She might have saved them both from Mr. Foster’s notice, but she wasn’t sure Friedrick would agree with the way she’d handled things. Especially after all he’d done for her.

  She eyed the poster once more, then moved to the door. She wouldn’t hang it until she’d explained everything to Friedrick. Surely he would forgive her behavior once he knew her reasons for it.

  The morning air wrapped itself around her as she hurried to the school. Shivering, she lit a fire in the stove and prepared her classroom. The students filed in on time, exclaiming over her return, except for Harlan and Greta. They hadn’t been late since her first day here. Were they sick?

  Livy set aside her concern to begin class. The palpable excitement of her students brought a lift to her own mood. Twenty minutes ticked by before Harlan and Greta entered the room and slipped into their desks. Neither child looked at her as they pulled out their readers.

  “Harlan,” Livy said in a soft voice as she knelt beside his desk, “you and Greta will need to clean erasers during recess for being tardy.”

  He nodded, his gaze riveted to his desk.

  “Are you feeling sick?”

  “No, Miss Campbell,” he mumbled.

  “Were you helping Friedrick with his chores again?”

  He shook his head.

  She wanted to question him further, but one of the other students asked for help. The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. At recess, Harlan and Greta ate their lunches, then took the erasers outside for cleaning. Any attempt at conversation with either one proved futile.

  Anxiety spoiled Livy’s appetite again. Had Friedrick told his siblings about the awkward conversation between them in town? If she could apologize to him, she felt certain all would be right.

  The hands of the clock seemed to move slower and slower as the afternoon passed. Livy busied herself with helping the children with mathematics and analyzing the caterpillar one of the older boys had caught and put in a Mason jar. All the while, though, her ears were listening for the sound of Friedrick’s wagon.

  When the last hour of class finally rolled around and he still hadn’t arrived, Livy told herself he must have been waylaid by some chore around the farm. He wouldn’t place his anger at her over his job at the school.

  By the time she dismissed the students, though, Friedrick had yet to appear. Livy’s concern turned to alarm when Harlan and Greta prepared to leave with the rest of the class.

  “Is your brother coming to work on the school?” Livy asked Harlan in a nonchalant voice as she tidied up the room.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him throw a glance at his sister. “Uh, no, ma’am. He isn’t coming today.”

  Livy averted her face so they wouldn’t see her worried frown. “Is Friedrick unwell?”

  “He just can’t come. That’s all.”

  What would prevent Friedrick from doing his job? A sudden thought made Livy bite the inside of her cheek. Perhaps Friedrick planned to come to the school much later, after she’d gone to her cabin. How was she supposed to explain things then?

  On impulse, Livy called after the two children as they moved toward the door. “May I walk you home?” If Friedrick wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him.

  Harlan’s face scrunched in confusion, but Greta smiled shyly. “Why’d you wanna do that, Miss Campbell?” the boy asked.

  Livy grabbed her coat from off the back of her chair. “Because it’s a beautiful afternoon. And I want to spend it with two of my favorite pupils.” She lowered her voice and glanced surreptitiously around the room. “But don’t tell anyone else—about the favorite part.”

  Greta giggled and walked over to place her hand inside Livy’s. The small fingers within her grasp reminded Livy of her brothers. Tom had held her tiny hand like this when she’d been younger. She coughed against the rise of emotion the memory provoked. “Is that all right, Harlan, if I join you two?”

  He shrugged and raced toward the door, but not before Livy caught the smile he tried to hide. Whatever had made the boy uncomfortable earlier had been forgotten. Livy locked the school, and she and Greta headed up the road. Harlan was already a ways ahead of them.

  “Is Friedrick going to come to the school tomorrow?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “Or is he busy with spring planting?”

  Greta stared down at the dirt beneath their shoes. “He won’t be here until Wednesday when he gets—” She gasped softly as if she’d said too much and clamped her lips together.

  Livy furrowed her eyebrows. What had Greta been about to say? She decided to change the subject to ease the girl’s discomfort. Things would make sense once she and Friedrick had talked.

  “Your reading is really quite good for someone so young, Greta. Do you read a lot at home?”

  Greta lifted her chin and beamed. “Friedrick reads the Bible to us every night and sometimes he lets me read some of the words. Then he reads another book like Mama’s fairy tale book. That’s my favorite. But I can’t read that one ’cause it’s in German and I can’t read German.”

  It was the longest speech Livy had heard from her. She could easily picture Friedrick reading to his brother and sister. Her own parents had done the same with her and her siblings when Livy had been young, and yet she couldn’t imagine Robert doing such a thing with his children someday. Thank goodness she’d had the courage to end things with him.

  “What’s your favorite fairy tale?” she asked Greta.

  “Hmm. Probably the princess ones.”

  Livy listened to Greta chatter on, as entertained by her retelling of the favorite stories as she was with how much the girl could talk when prompted. Harlan stayed in front of them. Every so often, he’d stop and let them nearly catch up to him before he hurried ahead again. The day felt cooler than the one before. But Livy’s coat and the exercise kept her warm enough.

  When they reached the Wagner farm, Livy was surprised to find it larger than she remembered from driving past it on the way to the dance hall. Her parents’ place might be bigger still, but at least her father had the help of her siblings—and maybe a neighbor boy, if she had anything to do with it. Friedrick, on the other hand, was running this place on his own.

  The front yard with its white picket fence appeared tidy and the two-story frame house boasted a nice porch and gabled windows. Harlan let himself in the back door, while she and Greta ambled after him. Livy glanced in the direction of the barn and the outlying fields, hoping to catch sight of a familiar tall figure.

  “Do you know where Friedrick is working today? I’d like to speak to him.”

  Greta’s cheeks flushed and she pulled her hand from Livy’s grasp. “Friedrick isn’t—”

  “Hello,” a heavily accented voice interrupted.
>
  Mrs. Wagner stood at the back stoop, an apron tied around her faded cotton dress.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Wagner. It’s nice to see you again,” Livy said in a cheerful voice. She hadn’t forgotten the wary look the woman had given her when Friedrick had walked her home after church, all those weeks ago. Or the fact that the woman was friends with some of the gossipmongers at the German church.

  “Miss Campbell. How do you do?”

  “I’m well. Thank you.” Livy watched the woman shoot a silent question at Greta, a suspicious glint in her blue eyes. “I hope you don’t mind that I walked the children home. I know Friedrick normally picks them up, but he wasn’t there today and I wanted to…to…talk to him. If that’s all right.”

  “No, no. Not today.” Mrs. Wagner shook her head. “Friedrick cannot talk today. He is not…well.”

  So he was ill. Odd that his siblings hadn’t said as much. “I’m sorry. Is he very sick?”

  “I cannot say. Thank you for walking the children. Good day.” She cast another guarded look at Livy, then waved Greta inside. As the girl walked over, her mother scolded her in German.

  “But, Mama, I didn’t say anything about the secret,” Greta protested as she paused on the doorstep. “Honest.”

  Secret? Livy took a step backward. She hadn’t meant to get Greta into trouble.

  Mrs. Wagner said something else in German, but Greta shook her blond head vigorously. “I didn’t tell her about the empty bottle either.”

  Speaking in low tones, Greta’s mother placed a protective hand on her daughter’s shoulder as if to shield her. Livy pressed her lips together in frustration. Why did she constantly feel like the enemy?

  “She may not be German, Mama, but she’s nice.” Greta threw a sorrowful glance at Livy and waved. “Bye, Miss Campbell.”

  “Good-bye, Greta,” Livy managed to get out before Elsa shut the door.

  She gazed up at the second-story windows. Which bedroom was Friedrick’s? Her cheeks warmed at the question, and she spun back around to face the road.