“Yuck!”
Livy’s eyes flew open at Harlan’s disgusted tone. She jumped back from Friedrick and knocked her legs against her desk.
Friedrick steadied her, then turned toward his brother. “What do you need, Harlan? Is something wrong at home?”
The boy studied the two of them for a moment. “Mama said to come get this.” He crossed to his desk and grabbed the book. “Can I ride back with you, Friedrick?”
“Yes. I’ll be out in a minute. Go wait in the wagon.”
Harlan shot them another puzzled look, then headed back outside.
Livy pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “That was embarrassing.” Would Harlan tell Greta or Elsa about what he’d seen? Was her and Friedrick’s relationship doomed before it had even begun?
Friedrick lifted one of her hands and ran his finger against the back of her palm. “I don’t think Harlan will say anything.”
“What if it had been someone else who saw us?”
“But it wasn’t.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon to finish up the mortar and start on the outhouse.”
She nodded, though she couldn’t keep from biting her cheek in worry.
He pushed her chin up with his knuckle. “We’ll work it out, Livy. Promise me you’ll remember that.”
Livy hesitated. Her heart wanted so desperately to agree with him, while her mind argued the futility of being anything more than friends. But she was tired of letting other people dictate what she ought to do or feel or be. She was the one in charge of her life.
“I will,” she said with conviction.
“Good.” Friedrick smiled and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow,” she echoed.
She watched him leave, hating the idea of so many hours to go before she saw him again. Even then they wouldn’t be alone.
But we’ll figure things out. Livy held tightly to Friedrick’s reassurance as the door shut behind him.
Chapter Twelve
Friedrick plunged his pitchfork into the hay and tossed it from the loft to the ground below. A popular tune ran through his mind—“If You Were the Only Girl In the World.” He sang the words to himself, not caring too much if someone overheard. His voice wasn’t as polished as some, but he’d always enjoyed singing in church.
If you were the only girl in the world
And I were the only boy
Nothing else would matter in the world today
We could go on loving in the same old way
A garden of Eden just made for two
With nothing to mar our joy
I would say such wonderful things to you
There would be such wonderful things to do
If you were the only girl in the world
And I were the only boy.
The song adequately described his feelings for Livy. A week without seeing her, while he’d fully recovered from the influenza, had felt like a lifetime. But today he’d not only seen her, he had kissed her. Twice.
Friedrick grinned at the vivid memory of those kisses and the way Livy’s mouth had felt so soft and perfect against his. He felt like the luckiest man in the world to have earned her trust and her heart.
He finished with the hay and left the barn. Blues and golds stained the western sky, pulling Friedrick’s thoughts heavenward. Every day he saw evidence of God in the sky and soil, but today, he felt it inside himself. God had blessed him with life, despite being gravely ill a week ago, and now He’d blessed him again, with Livy.
Friedrick scraped the mud from his boots on the back step and entered the kitchen. “Smells good, Mother. I’m starving.”
She glanced at him from where she stood at the stove, her eyes troubled for a moment. “We will eat very soon. I am just waiting for the bread to finish. Keep reading, Harlan.”
The boy sat at the table, the book from Livy lying open in front of him. Harlan began reading out loud as Friedrick crossed to the sink and washed up.
After a minute or two, Elsa pulled the bread from the oven. “Harlan, will you please get some chokecherry jam from the cellar, then tell your sister it’s time for supper? I believe she’s playing upstairs.”
Harlan grumbled under his breath until Friedrick shot him a pointed look. The boy picked up his book and disappeared out the door, though his loud, stomping footsteps attested to his annoyance.
Friedrick chuckled and went to the cupboard to collect four plates. He set them on the table.
“Did you work at the school this afternoon?” Elsa asked as she arranged the bread loaves on a dish towel.
“I will tomorrow.”
“You drove Harlan home, though, didn’t you?”
He glanced at her, curious as to why she was fishing for information. “I needed to talk to Liv—Miss Campbell. I brought Harlan home after that.”
“Harlan said you and his teacher were doing more than talking.”
Friedrick frowned in irritation as he pulled eating utensils from a drawer. “Did Harlan volunteer that particular piece of information?”
Elsa’s heavy sigh filled the room. “I will not lie to you. I had a feeling where you were going and why. So when Harlan mentioned leaving his book behind, I sent him to collect it and see if you were working at the school.”
“You sent Harlan to spy on me?” He stared at her in surprise. What had gotten into Elsa? She hadn’t interfered in his life or questioned his way of doing things for years.
Instead of answering right away, she reached past him to collect four cups. She slammed each one on the table, reminding Friedrick of Harlan just now.
“Don’t you think I know what you are feeling?” She gripped the back of one of the chairs, her voice soft, pleading. “I was young once, too. Don’t you think I know why you have not sought out Maria as she has you?”
Friedrick finished setting the table and put his hand over one of hers. “Then give me your blessing.”
“I can’t.” It was little more than a whisper.
“Why not?” he pressed. “Is it because she isn’t German?”
Elsa’s face flushed pink, but she shook her head. “German, American. It makes no difference—except in time of war. She is not good for you.”
His annoyance festered into full anger, but Friedrick fought to check it. “How can you say that? Livy nursed me while I was on the brink of dying. She chose to stay in that school and care for me, even at the risk of her own life.”
“I know,” Elsa shot back as she lowered her head. “That is what I feared might happen. Don’t you think I have come to love your father even more as I have cared for him these past few years?” She drew in a shaky breath, the threat of tears evident in her voice as she continued. “I do not want to see you hurt, Friedrick. But you cannot be with Miss Campbell. It will not work.”
“Why not? She is the most extraordinary person, and when I’m with her, Mother…” He hazarded a smile. “I feel extraordinary, too.”
“She is a wonderful girl,” Elsa admitted. “But think what would happen if someone found about the two of you—someone who isn’t German?
“She could lose her job, Friedrick. And what would we do if you could no longer work at the school? This job is a gift from God. We cannot take that lightly. How else can we pay for your father’s medicine?”
“Livy and I both know there are complications.” Friedrick placed his hand on Elsa’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But they aren’t impossible to overcome. You always taught me to do what is right, no matter how difficult.”
Elsa twisted her apron between her fingers. “What if the right thing, this time, is to walk away from her?”
Harlan and Greta raced into the kitchen, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt and stopping Friedrick from having to answer the probing question. He didn’t agree with Elsa. Surely things would work out all right—that’s what he’d promised Livy.
Friedrick volunteered to be the one to take
his father’s tray into him. He no longer had a desire to eat or remain in the tense atmosphere of the kitchen. Some space would do him—and Elsa—some good.
He entered his father’s room and set the tray on the bedside table. His father’s eyes opened as Friedrick took a seat in the nearby chair.
“A pleasant surprise,” Heinrich said, “to dine with my son.”
“Shall I help you or would you like to do it yourself?”
Heinrich’s hands rose, trembling and pale, but he reached for the plate and fork Friedrick held out to him. “It is a good day. I shall do it myself.”
Friedrick set the plate on his father’s blanketed lap and watched as Heinrich scooped a piece of stewed carrot onto his fork. His father lifted it shakily to his lips. Most of the morsel made it inside, but some of it slipped onto his short gray beard.
“I’ll take care of cleanup,” Friedrick offered. He lifted the napkin from the tray and wiped the spill, then he arranged the cloth across his father’s chest.
“Thank you, son.”
Friedrick watched his father for a few moments, wondering how much Heinrich knew of the world outside this room. Had Elsa told him what was happening to their people?
“Elsa is worried about you,” Heinrich said, as though he’d been privy to the conversation in the kitchen just now. “She fears you still wish to fight.”
Friedrick shook his head. “Not overseas, Papa. I am needed here, and this is where I’ll stay.” Especially now that he knew how much Livy cared.
He’d been so full of hope talking with her earlier—he’d convinced her, and himself, everything would be all right for them. Why did the war have to constantly intervene in his life? Why did he feel as if his own freedoms were constantly being threatened, when supposedly the country was fighting to regain freedom for so many others?
“Something on your mind, Friedrick?” Heinrich eyed him with parental concern. He seemed more lucid today than he’d been in months.
Friedrick had a sudden desire to hear his father’s advice—something he hadn’t sought in a long time. “You always taught us to be proud of our heritage, Papa. To stand for what is right and good in this world.”
Heinrich nodded and brought another forkful of food to his mouth.
“What if doing so hurts, rather than helps, those you love?” Friedrick leaned forward, his arms resting on the bed. “What is the right course of action then?”
“Standing for the truth will always come at a price, Friedrick, whether it is being bold and sure or silent and strong. Neither one is easy.” He pinned Friedrick with an intent look. “Only God can tell you which to be.”
Friedrick hung his head. His father’s words echoed what Pastor Schwarz and Peter Hoffmann had already told him. Wasn’t there anyone who would tell him not to yield?
“Perhaps your real question is not how to stand for goodness but when. Am I right?”
“I suppose,” Friedrick said, lifting his chin.
To Friedrick’s surprise, his father chuckled—the sound of it was like the distant rumbling of thunder. “Remember how impatient you were as a boy? You wanted everything to happen right away, no waiting.” Heinrich smiled. “You would watch the sky for the first snowflakes or a mother cat with her unborn kittens and grow tired when the tiny miracles did not happen immediately. It is not so different now, Friedrick. You want your chance to fight…”
Friedrick sat back in his chair, annoyance lashing through him. He’d just explained his desire was to be here on the farm, instead of at the front lines.
“I do not mean with guns, my son.” His father’s perceptiveness startled Friedrick. Though his body might be weak, Heinrich’s mind was far from it. “I mean fighting for justice and decency and family. It will not happen on your timetable, but it will on God’s. You must wait upon the Lord. You must trust He will guide and mold you to the task. As Elsa always says, the night is longest right before the dawn. But dawn will come, Friedrick, and when it does where, or rather, who will you be standing beside?”
The impassioned speech was the longest Friedrick could recall hearing from his father in some time. Regret cooled his earlier irritation. How much more wisdom did his father have to impart, if Friedrick would seek and listen?
“Thank you, Papa.” He placed his hand over his father’s heavily lined one.
How he’d always looked up to and revered this man. Friedrick would do anything for him and his family, even if it meant he had to go back on what he’d said to Livy this afternoon.
The thought of not being with her—or worse, of hurting her—cut him deeply. Somehow, though, he had to find the courage to let her go and hope someday the world would allow them to be together.
* * *
Surely the clock must be broken, Livy thought with a frown. The minutes had ticked by with painful slowness the entire day, postponing the moment when she’d see Friedrick again.
Concentrating had been a difficult task through nearly every lesson she’d taught. Her mind kept wandering to the memory of Friedrick’s lips against hers, the safety of his arms, the tenderness of his words. When doubts or fears crept in, Livy banished them with reminders of Friedrick’s promise—things would be all right; they’d figure them out together.
At last the clock dictated the end of the school day. Livy announced it was time to leave, her enthusiasm matching her students’. Any minute now, Friedrick would be here. She couldn’t wait to see his smile, hear his voice, perhaps steal a kiss or a quick embrace.
Her students rushed out the door, including Harlan and Greta, while Livy hurried to set the classroom to rights. She wanted as much time with Friedrick as possible. The sound of wagon wheels on the dirt road out front sent her pulse pounding at a frenzied pace.
She smoothed her hair and skirt and walked calmly to the door, in direct contrast to the anticipation fluttering inside her. Friedrick was finally here. A day away from him had never felt longer.
Livy stepped outside and stopped short, her smile freezing in place. Mrs. Norton’s daughter, Mrs. Smithson, and two of her children were disembarking from their wagon. It hadn’t been Friedrick after all.
“Mrs. Smithson,” Livy said, doing her best to sound friendly instead of annoyed or surprised. “What brings you out this way?”
The woman had a basket on her arm and a look of pity on her face. Her two children trailed her to the alcove where Livy stood. “Mother and I just can’t seem to get you out of our minds, Livy. We hate thinking of you all alone out here, away from your family, at such a time as this.” She brightened her tone to add, “So I baked you a few goodies to eat.”
“Um…thank you.” Livy threw a furtive glance up the road. Any moment Friedrick would be here, but there’d be no hope of talking to him with Mrs. Smithson hovering about. “That’s very kind of you. Especially to drive all this way.”
Mrs. Smithson waved away her words. “No bother at all—not for a dear old neighbor of Mother’s.”
“Mama,” her son, Timmy, said. “Can I go explore that field?” He pointed to where Harlan and Greta were playing.
His mother immediately frowned. “No, Timmy. You can play right here, while I visit with Miss Campbell.”
“Ah, Ma. There’s no one to play with here.”
“Play with Emmaline.” She gently pushed his sister toward him. “Better her than with those German children,” she added under her breath.
Livy schooled her face to be the picture of calm, despite the anger Mrs. Smithson’s comment inspired. Why did the townspeople have to be so narrow-minded, so ruled by fear? If they would only get to know Friedrick and the other German-American families, she knew they’d come to respect them as she had.
The rumble of another wagon reached her ears. She sensed without looking it was Friedrick. “Would you like to see inside my classroom?” she volunteered. She didn’t want Mrs. Smithson lingering outside, ready to cast insults at Friedrick.
“That would be—”
Emmaline’
s startled cry drew their attention. The girl had tripped. Livy bit back a groan as she and Mrs. Smithson moved to the girl’s side.
Mrs. Smithson handed Livy the basket and scooped up her sniffling daughter. “There, there, Emmaline. You’ll be fine.”
“Would she like to come sit inside?” Livy offered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Friedrick stop his wagon and climb down.
“I’m sure she would,” Mrs. Smithson said. She followed Livy to the school. Livy allowed herself a breath of relief, but it was premature. The woman paused outside the alcove. “Who is that man?”
Livy meant to spare Friedrick a mere glance, to avoid raising Mrs. Smithson’s suspicions, but once she looked, she couldn’t turn away. The familiar sight of him renewed the rapid thrumming of her heart. She wanted so much to cross the distance between them and rush straight into his arms.
With great effort, she cleared her throat and moved to open the school door. “He is the maintenance man,” she answered in a nonchalant tone.
“Looks rather young and healthy to be sitting out the war. Do you suppose he’s refused to enlist?”
Livy pressed her lips together in frustration and forced a deep breath to quell saying something she shouldn’t. “I believe he has a farm deferment. Something about his father being very ill.” There, she thought, that ought to quiet her.
At that moment, Friedrick noticed them standing in the alcove. His eyes went to Livy’s. She silently pleaded that he’d play along with her impartiality, though her heart begged the opposite.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he said as he carried his tools past them.
“Afternoon,” Livy repeated, her gaze following him until he disappeared around the corner of the school.
“He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?” Mrs. Smithson said as Livy led her and her daughter inside.
Livy chose not to respond.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen him in church.” Mrs. Smithson helped Emmaline into one of the desks. “What lovely drawings. Did your students do those?” She waved to the patriotic pictures adorning the windowsills.
“They did,” Livy said as she set the woman’s basket on her desk and causally walked to the drawing of Friedrick. Mrs. Smithson didn’t need to see this one. She picked it up, along with a few others, as though she were collecting them.
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