by Jason Heit
Outside, Mrs. Gutenberg and Mrs. Feist took charge of things. Their husbands had, before the service, dutifully set up the long serving tables, and now shifts of women loaded them with fresh bread, roasted meat, cheeses, sauerkraut and pickles. Father Selz blessed the meal, and the men, women and children ate the picnic meal among their kin and neighbours – some in the shade of the church and others sitting on blankets in big circles on the summer grass.
After the midday meal was over and the plates and dishes had been cleared away, Father Selz set up his camera to take the first parish photograph. It was nearly an hour in the making. The children running helter-skelter were eventually corralled toward the church steps and lawn. The young women called out for their husbands, making sure that they had not slipped away at the last minute.
The men’s choir took its place on the stairs of the church, and the rest of the congregation sprawled out below – the single men stood to the back, in front of them were pockets of married men and women and some of the elders (minus Mrs. Stolz and Mrs. Zerr and their husbands), and, spreading out and onto the grass, the children took their places in descending order of age, some wearing newly handmade suits or summer dresses as they sat or kneeled in the grass and the sun shone down on them all. The breeze blew fresh enough to keep the men and boys in their Sunday jackets. Father Selz beamed with pride. This gathering was no small feat, but he – they – had done it. He took one last mental image of his flourishing happy congregation before hunkering down behind the camera. He focused the lens.
“Ein, zwei, drei!” Flash!
II
Bernhard Holtz felt the soft coolness of his daughter’s tiny hand in his own rough, sweaty misshapen paw. Elisabetha’s small fingers explored his hand for the severed finger. He watched her trace the wound as Father Selz went on about something from his lectern. The three-year-old looked up at him with sad, caring eyes and pulled on his hand in that way that signalled she needed to whisper a secret into his ear.
“Does it hurt, Daddy?”
Each word tickled his ear with a kind of crisp heat. He smiled and shook his head. “Not any more,” he told her. “You made it better.” And he truly believed it.
He’d been an angry kid who turned into an angry man who found all sorts of trouble – fighting and stealing, but fighting, mostly. He’d inherited his anger, just as he’d inherited his barrel chest and his big nose, from his father. At ten years old, he’d stood up to his father’s aggression, coming to the defense of his younger brother, Christian, while his older brothers sat quiet. Later, they taunted him for his bravery and the lashes on his backside, but he knew their secret: they were cowards. It was only his mother and Christian who showed him kindness in his suffering, and he’d never forgotten it. The beatings stopped just before he turned 14, when his father died quite suddenly from a bad heart. Perhaps if he’d had the chance to properly fight his father it might’ve calmed his spirit. Instead his anger seemed to flood out in all directions.
His drinking hadn’t helped things either. If he was alone he was fairly harmless, lost in his own dark thoughts, but if there were people around his temper was sure to flare. Over the years, he had managed to offend more than his share of the farm folk – first in North Dakota, and, later, here in Saskatchewan – and those he hadn’t offended were either friends or kin with the rest of them, and therefore held him in no higher esteem.
Still, he had changed, mellowed over the years, although he knew there were some who would never believe it. He’d had no other choice but to change. He had gone as low as he could without dying. It had been a slow turnaround. Meeting Katherine had strengthened him, given him the determination to slow his drinking, but it was their daughter Elisabetha who gave him the fuel he needed to carry on. Without his wife and daughter, he knew with certainty that his loneliness and frustration would bring him back to the bottle, and after that he’d be lost to his old ways. No one wanted that, least of all him.
-
Bernhard couldn’t bear the wait. It seemed the priest would go on forever blessing the congregation and saying this and that about the festivities to follow. He sighed. Then, as the men’s choir sang the last verse of their closing hymn, Bernhard picked Elisabetha up in his arms and carried her outside. Seeing that he’d lost Katherine and young Frank in the hustle and bustle of the folks streaming from the church, he set Elisabetha on the ground and turned back to scan the crowd. The congregation had broken into little groups, with the young men to one side kicking stones and stealing glances at the young women who pretended not to notice; while the married men laughed at each other’s jokes as their wives chatted free from their children, who were busy chasing each other through and around the rings of adults.
“Daddy, I play with the kids,” Elisabetha said.
He looked to the girl and shook his head. “Wait, my little mouse. We need to find Momma first.”
He eyed the crowd for Katherine and crossed the cold stare of Kaspar Feist’s son, Jakob, aimed at him through the crowd. Bernhard tried to ignore Jakob’s glare and focus his thoughts on finding Katherine, but the look on Jakob’s face took him back ten years to another July and what was probably the lowest point in his life.
Bernhard had just arrived in Canada along with about 40 other settlers from North Dakota, most of whom were either neighbours or kin. He’d been drinking nearly the entire trip. Angry at his failure to make something good from that land and at the land grabbers who’d offered him such a paltry sum to take it off his hands. At some point, he got it in his head to beat Kaspar Feist to the land titles office and take the quarter section of land Kaspar was wanting to farm for himself. He was still bent on revenge against the man: Kaspar was the one who’d set the fox trap that had mangled his hand. So he did it. He beat old Kaspar to the land. And yet, even as Bernhard left the land titles building with the coveted patent, he wasn’t satisfied; rather, he was immediately overwhelmed with regret. Even in his drunkenness he knew he’d gone one step too far. The days and weeks that followed were among the worst of his life. He had embittered himself to, and made a lasting enemy of, Kaspar Feist, and Bernhard’s whole family had become an object of scorn among their group of settlers. Even his brother Christian distanced himself from Bernhard. “I warned you not to do it, but oh no, you had to do it anyway. You’ve dug your own grave, and there are plenty who’d be happy to see you fall into it,” were his brother’s only words to him on the trail south to the homestead.
He knew he’d ruined his chances to make a clean and honest start on new land, yet he was too stubborn to make amends – had he traded his land to Feist the next day or the next week everything might have changed. But he hadn’t taken that step.
So, he worked his ill-gotten land, cleared the rocks from it, fenced it, and watched his neighbours grow their fields and families and realized how much of life and living he misunderstood, and had been shut out of. In time, he befriended his brother Christian and his older brothers, Peter and Markus, whom they had followed north. Friendship and affection began to trickle into his life again after their forgiveness, and he started to think of himself as a better man than what most others thought of him.
The news of Frank Weran’s death came as a great surprise to Bernhard and all of the settler families. It wasn’t the first death in the community, but it was the first to leave behind a new wife and expectant mother. Bernhard had paid his respects to Frank at the wake, and thought little more of the whole thing. That is, until spring when, riding by the Weran farm, he saw Katherine with her sleeves rolled up, working the riding plough with her newborn child swaddled behind her. He had never imagined such a sight – a woman with her baby on a riding plough driving a pair of horses down a dirt field – nor had he ever seen a woman look more beautiful than she did, even with her face caked with dirt from the dust kicked from the horses’ steps’ mixed with the sweat of her brow. It must be difficult to control the riding plough whi
le wearing a dress, he thought. He approached her almost shyly, and offered to help, but she tried to send him away. She told him it was her land to farm, and farm it she would. But he insisted.
“I’ve already sent my brother away,” she told him.
“I have less land to farm than your brother. Let me help you.”
“No thank you,” she said once more.
He tried a different tack. “If Frank were here, he wouldn’t want to see you working with his newborn tied to your back.”
“He ain’t here,” she said curtly. Then she whipped the team of quarter horses onward.
“You’re going to scare away all your suitors if you keep this up,” he teased, calling back to her.
“Good,” she hollered back at him as her plough cut through the prairie.
He made a point of riding past her farm on his way to or from town. He’d invent some reason to make conversation and she’d send him away again and again. But somewhere in their game of back and forth they softened toward one another. He no longer stressed the virtues he could offer or dared to call her stubborn or hard-headed, or chastise her for spoiling her feminine virtues by doing men’s work, and she’d entertain his hunting stories and listen to his helpful advice on how to clip the horses’ hooves or butcher a pig and humour him by not telling him she already knew how to do those things. Because they’d both come to realize they needed someone to talk to and to share the small parts of their day.
During harvest, he put his own field work on hold and helped her. She told him to go back to his own work, but he turned a deaf ear and leveled his sickle against the crop. She let him be and they worked quietly together and apart. With help from her brother, Nels, and his wife, Agatha, they finished with plenty of time for Bernhard to return to his crop, and with the help of his brothers he was no further behind. The following spring, she took him up on his offer to help with the seeding work. In the summer, she invited him to have dinner with her and her toddler, Little Frank, or Frankie, as she called him. He brought a young kitten for her and the boy. It was the most handsome of the new litter, a black long-haired cat with a splash of white running down from its nose to its chest. They named it Scratch, as that was the first thing it did when Bernhard handed it to Little Frank. The child dropped the cat and scrunched up his face as though he might cry, but he didn’t. He just patted its head, one, two, three, times as if he were telling it, “No. Bad kitty.” Bernhard and Katherine laughed as the boy disciplined the kitten, then Katherine touched Bernhard’s wrist and held his hand in hers. Her touch rendered him speechless for a time, turned him into a bit of a smiling fool. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled for that long.
They had three more dinners over the course of the summer and to Bernhard each one seemed better than the last – she laughed at his jokes and teased him when he offered her advice on farming. He’d put away the bottle, didn’t need it like he used to. He felt good. She was seeing him at what he knew was his best; God willing she’d never see him at his worst. Then harvest came and they combined their efforts first on her crop and later his, and once harvest was finished she invited him to dinner again.
“This time to celebrate,” she said.
“I’d be happy to join you.” He smiled.
She didn’t know it yet, but it would be a special night. He had been waiting for an evening like this to ask for her hand in marriage. He knew it was risky. There was no telling how she might react, since he didn’t really know how she felt about him other than that she liked his jokes. He certainly hadn’t kissed her; although he’d imagined it ever since the day he saw her working in the field. As far as he could determine, it was a coin toss as to how she might feel about the prospect.
It was easier for him to imagine what others would say. They’d say he didn’t deserve her, which was probably true. But he’d never relied on what other people told him when it came to doing or not doing something. Mostly, he’d just been foolish and impulsive, like with the quarter section, but this felt more calculated – maybe because he was scared. Or sober. In truth, he couldn’t tell whether he was more scared she’d say, “yes” or “no.” If she said “yes,” he had a wife and a little boy to take care of, and if she said “no,” he’d go back to his lonely life without the neighbourly visits, finding some companionship with his old friend, the bottle. It was a frightening feeling either way, but he had to do something.
He waited until the meal was over and they had cleared the table and washed the plates. She poured coffee and he waited for her to take her seat. He smiled nervously as he bent down on one knee and took her hand in his. “I’m not good at asking for things, Katherine, but I need to ask you if you’ll marry me.”
It seemed to Bernhard her face had filled with a mix of terror and surprise at his words, and it shook him. He stood up, embarrassed. “Forget I asked.” He turned to leave.
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm; held it tight. He turned to her and slowly her grip loosened; her hand fell to his wrist. “You surprised me.”
A shiver ran up his spine. It was terrible – how much he loved her.
“Will you let me think about it?”
“How long do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
A week later she gave him her answer. “Frankie keeps his father’s land and his father’s name,” she said.
“Of course.” He was halfway to the moon.
They were married before Christmas. Two years later, Elisabetha came to them, and he was happy all over again.
Outside the church, Bernhard shook off Jakob’s scowl and scanned the crowd again. Katherine wasn’t there. Fixing his eyes on the church door, he felt his chest tighten. It eased but only for a moment as she stepped out of the building followed by a man, the elevator agent, Charles Harrison. He remembered Harrison from the Zerr wedding a month earlier. He’d noticed the young man eyeing Kathrine from a distance. His long looks had irritated Bernhard more than any nasty look Jakob Feist had ever directed his way, and he’d have done something about that too, if Katherine hadn’t asked to leave. Bernhard had put it out of his head until now, but seeing Harrison’s big toothy smile infect Katherine had brought it all back like a steaming locomotive. She said something to Harrison and smiled in a way Bernhard had rarely seen.
“Let’s go to Mother,” Bernhard said. He picked up Elisabetha and walked back through the crowd toward his wife. He hated crowds.
-
Bernhard stood ready at third base. He had no glove. He reminded himself he should buy one or make one; he had forgotten how much he enjoyed the game. At the pitcher’s mark, Joseph Eberle hurled another fastball. The batter, Andreas Stolz, swung at the pitch and like lightning the ball was flying toward Bernhard. He stepped to his right and cupped the bullet shot in his outstretched hands. Three out.
He tossed the ball to the pitcher’s mark and walked back to the spattering of coats and blankets that was the team bench. Katherine smiled. “Good catch!”
“It was a hard one,” he said. “My hands sting.”
The congratulations and back patting continued as the other men returned from the field. A drink was offered, but he waved it away and took his seat next to Katherine and Elisabetha. He watched with curiosity as Katherine pulled the child close to her and began to braid her brown shoulder-length hair. Her hands moved with such speed and intention that the process seemed more machine than human, like one of those mechanical binders. He noticed Katherine’s eyes survey the Sunday crowd as her hands worked the mane of hair; her attention moved to Mr. Harrison as he went to fetch the bat. A slight smile crossed her face when Harrison caught her glance. It was there and gone just as fast. That made it twice he’d caught them smiling at each other.
Katherine finished the braid and patted the girl’s backside. “Now go show Papa.”
The little girl spun around looking for her father. She turne
d one and a half revolutions before her eyes landed on Bernhard. “Papa,” she said. “See.” She pointed to her hair with a bent arm and upturned palm.
Bernhard laughed. “Oh, my little mouse, Momma made your hair so pretty.”
The child nodded. Her eyes gleamed with pride.
The first pitch went wild and rolled off into the distance. Bernhard watched a pair of young children race for the runaway ball.
“Where’s Frankie?” Katherine said excitedly, to no one in particular. She turned to Nels. “Have you seen Frankie?”
“He’s over there with Lambert.” Nels pointed to a group of kids playing kick the can some hundred yards away. “Don’t worry, I told Lambert to keep an eye on him.”
“Thank you,” Katherine sighed, as she stared out into the distance.
The ball came in and Bernhard held Elisabetha tight as Harrison got ready for another pitch. Harrison hit the ball deep into right field and ran to first base. The crowd struck up a chorus of cheers, Katherine included. Bernhard spat. He was getting a sick feeling in his gut. He got to his feet, picked up Elisabetha and tossed her in the air. The child laughed and he squeezed her in his arms. He turned away from the game to watch Little Frank and the boys playing. Things were easier for kids, he thought. They didn’t know what awaited them when they got older, only parts of it, small parts. He hadn’t known these things when he was a child. Yet he doubted whether it would have changed anything if he had. He was weak. That hadn’t changed. Katherine had helped him ease off the booze, but now he wasn’t so sure. Booze couldn’t hurt him like Katherine could.
The boys kept on chasing each other. Actually, it dawned on him, they weren’t chasing each other; they were chasing Little Frank. The bigger kids – Lambert and Sebastian Feist’s boy, Ignaz – were trying to catch him. Ignaz gained on Frank and gave him a two-handed push to the back that sent him sliding face first into the short prairie grass.