by Jason Heit
“You’re going to tell on me?”
Kaspar laughed. “Who’d believe me?”
“What are you going to do?”
“First thing we need to do is get him out of here before anyone else finds him. I need you to stay put and keep an eye on him while I go get my wagon.” Kaspar picked himself up off his bad knee. “Now if someone comes while I’m gone you tell them I did this. They’ll believe that.”
Frank nodded.
“What did I say?”
“To watch him.”
“What else?”
“You want me to lie.”
“Just this once,” Kaspar said. “Trust me. It’s better this way.”
Frank nodded.
“Good.” Kaspar said, and he hobbled away as fast as he could.
It didn’t take long for Kaspar to return with his team, yet it seemed like hours to young Frank. The old man set his wagon so that the end of it was only a few feet from where Bernhard was lying. They’d been lucky – Bernhard had parked the wagon toward the end of the row, and it hid them from prying eyes. Kaspar picked Bernhard up from under the arms and around the chest. “Grab his feet,” he told Frank. “Help lift them up.”
Frank grabbed his stepfather’s boots and lifted them with all his might as Kaspar slid Bernhard onto the floor of the wagon.
“That’s it,” Kaspar said. He repositioned himself, grabbed Bernhard by the waist of his pants, and pushed him further into the wagon box, leaving only his legs hanging outside the wagon.
“Keep holding up his feet,” Kaspar said as he climbed into the wagon.
It was getting harder and harder for Frank to hold up his step-father’s legs. He let the right leg drop so he could use all his strength to hold up the other one; and, just when Frank was thinking he’d have to drop it too, Kaspar grabbed Bernhard under the armpits pulling him all the way into the box.
Frank’s arms dropped to his side – they were vibrating from the exertion. He noticed the old man’s Sunday dress shirt was soaked with blood from Bernhard’s wound. “Your shirt.” He pointed to Kaspar.
Kaspar removed his jacket and the bloody shirt. He bunched up the ruined shirt and wiped his chest with it, before slipping it under Bernhard’s head. “He’s going to have a big goose egg. But it’s done now. You get back to the others.”
Frank nodded.
“And don’t go around telling folks what we’ve done. This is our secret.”
“Can I come with you?” Frank asked.
Kaspar slipped his jacket on over his bare chest. “No. You stay here and pray for him. Pray for us too.”
Frank took a deep breath.
“It’ll be all right, son,” Kaspar said. “I know something about how you feel. We’ve all hurt people. I’ll tell you a story about that some day, but for now I need you to get out of here so I can fix up your stepfather.”
Frank turned to go back to the picnic. He tried to take a step but he froze. He wondered what kind of story the old man would tell him. Maybe it was a story about his real father. He turned to ask him, but the old man’s horses had already kicked up the dust and the wagon wheels turned round and round.
VI
Jakob sat in the pew next to Annaliese; her brothers and sisters sat next to her, and her parents were at the end. At the front of the church Father Selz talked on about something of which Jakob was only vaguely aware. He was too anxious to notice anything more than Annaliese and the sweat from the palms of his hands. He was sure he had overcome his nervousness towards Annaliese, so it had to be her parents or the fact that everyone could see him sitting beside her that made him so nervous. It had to be one of those things, he thought.
He felt a cool breeze as Father Selz passed by him. Jakob wiped his hands on his trousers as the steady click, click, click of the projector took life. Light danced on the starched white sheet before them. The room sighed as the title frame appeared before them and switched to the black and white image of a man wearing a loose-fitting dark suit and a derby hat and carrying a walking stick and walking – waddling, one might argue – down a road. Behind him, a car sped his way; it barely missed him. My God. Jakob gasped in time with the rest of room. Then, a second car, this one from the opposite direction, raced past the unfortunate man, spinning him around and knocking him to the ground. Undaunted, the man in the derby hat picked himself up and proceeded to dust himself off in almost every way one could imagine. Jakob looked to Annaliese; she was smiling, her eyes were wide with pleasure. He watched her laugh, not really caring that he was missing the show; yet, he knew he ought to be watching it. It was impolite to stare. She glanced at him, smiled, and returned her eyes to the picture. Jakob blushed and quickly turned to see a ruffian threaten a young woman. The woman ran and found the man with the derby hat from earlier sitting under a tree; he saved her from the thug in his clumsy way. Jakob laughed. The man was about as lucky as he was. Then the whole room flooded with laughter as the man in the derby hat knocked out a much larger thug and sent him back to his gang’s camp bruised and beaten.
-
“It was like a dream,” she said, plucking the words from his thoughts.
“A dream we all shared,” he added.
“Yes, because we all know what happened.”
“I thought he’d marry the girl.”
“So did I. It made me sad, but I think he’ll be fine.”
Jakob laughed. “Yes, he’s used to getting knocked around.”
“Kind of like you,” she teased.
He laughed. She was funny, smart, and pretty. He wanted to spend the rest of the evening with her – watching the fireworks, talking with her, and holding hands – and when she smiled at him, he thought, maybe she’d like that too.
They followed the last of the people out of the church. The sun was low in the sky.
“Annaliese,” called her younger brother, “Father says for you to say good-bye to your friend because it’s time for us to go. And, hurry.” Then the kid ran off toward the wagons.
“You’re not staying for the fireworks?” Jakob asked. It was a silly question. He already knew the answer.
“I wish I could.”
His eyes bounced from the ground to her lips. “I hope I can see you again.”
“I’d love nothing more,” she said. Then she planted a soft kiss on his cheek before running off toward the wagons.
He watched her run and waited for her to turn back so he could wave good-bye. How could he be so happy and so sad at the same time, especially the sad part, he wondered. Because really everything that had happened to him this day seemed more like a dream than nearly any other day in his life.
Later, as he watched the fireworks burst red and green in the night sky, he decided he’d go see her. He’d ride out to her farm, although he didn’t know where it was exactly. There were a lot of farms near Crane Hills, but he could ask old man Gutenberg where it was. Gutenberg knew his way around those parts. He’d bring something for the family and maybe they’d ask him to stay for supper. Yes, he’d do that. He’d do anything to feel like this again.
VII
Bernhard was going to miss the moving pictures. The church was filling up. Katherine had put some food aside for him but he wouldn’t find it with them in the church. Had he planned this as part of some lesson he wanted to teach her? She couldn’t imagine what point it served, nor could she wait any longer.
Elisabetha pulled at her arm. The child was strong for a three-year-old. “Let’s go with the people.”
“Yes, yes,” Katherine hushed. She turned to Frankie. “Come on.” She grabbed him by the arm; he seemed to wither in her grasp. The boy had been unusually quiet since the pushing and shoving at the ball game. “Frankie,” she coaxed.
He stumbled towards her. “I’m sorry, Momma,” he said, almost teary-eyed.
Whatever di
d he mean? The boy looked stricken. Had the older boys done something to hurt him? It was difficult being the young one in the group. Oh, did she want to give Bernhard a piece of her mind! If he’d only come back at a normal time, she could’ve spoken with Frankie away from this crowd. “It’s all right, Frankie.” She kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, my boy.” Katherine pressed her lips together and smiled at him, pityingly.
A tear had stained his cheek. “Mother,” he said, “I don’t want you to call me Frankie anymore.”
Katherine was taken aback by the boy’s request; her shoulders had lifted to her ears. Why is this happening now? With everything else, she wondered. “Why?”
“Because it’s a little kid’s name. I want to be called by my real name. My father’s name.”
“I see,” she nodded. He was a sweet boy and in such a rush to grow up and to do everything his father had done. “That’s fine… Frank. It’d make your father proud.” She smiled.
Frank nodded and wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. He looked at her with his dark eyes; they were somehow harder now, somehow more like his father’s.
The smile washed from her face. “Now, let’s go find your Aunt Aggie and cousin Lambert and go sit with them.”
“Sure,” said the boy, straight-faced as he took Katherine’s hand.
They walked to the front of the church where Agatha and her children were seated; Agatha scooted her children down the bench to make room for them. Katherine managed a grateful smile as Frank pulled loose and snuck by Agatha, burying himself between his cousin Lambert and the wall. The church filled with a sort of quiet chatter – a mix of decorum and respect that befit the space and excitement for the event that was now so close at hand.
Katherine took a seat next to Agatha. “I don’t know where he is. I’m so mad at him.”
“He’ll be back. He loves you like a dog; he can barely leave your side.”
Katherine shook her head. The thought of Bernhard tied to her side like some loyal mutt only made her more upset. “He wanted to see the moving pictures. I don’t know why he’s late.”
“Things happen –”
“Don’t they? You’d never guess what Frankie, I mean, Little Frank told me just now.”
“What’s that?”
“He said he wanted me to stop calling him Frankie.”
Agatha nodded. “Well, Lambert told me those boys were pretty hard on him today. I’d say that’s part of it.” Then she hushed the children as Father Selz approached the front. “He’s such a kind-hearted man.”
“Who?”
“Father Selz.”
“Oh.”
“The whole day is his doing. The kids have had so much fun.”
Katherine nodded.
Father Selz approached the lectern and stopped. He smiled and looked over the congregation; Katherine felt his eyes on her for a moment. It was a good feeling, safe and warm, and when his gaze passed the feeling stayed just a little bit longer. Katherine looked to Agatha – her eyes were locked on the young priest and a smile beamed across her face – it seemed she was not the only one who’d been enchanted by Father Selz.
“Tonight I want to share with you a view onto the world. A world we see through the invention and imagination of men, but one that is ultimately inspired by God’s will. It is certainly a marvel. Not only can we see faraway places and contemplate the stories of people who live a great distance from us, but also we see that the world is smaller for it. That we are closer to our fellow man than the distance that ships can sail or rail can haul,” he paused. “And so, too, in Heaven will we know the stories of our brethren, their pains and misfortunes, their joys and triumphs. This is nothing to fear. We will celebrate each other as we’ve celebrated today.” He bowed his head for a moment. “Well, then,” he said, setting his gaze back on the congregation, “I hope you enjoy the splendour of the moving-picture show and take a moment to ponder the marvels and wonder that God himself has revealed to us and has yet to reveal.”
A tingling sensation travelled down the nape of Katherine’s neck and for a moment she forgot everything else that had been on her mind.
“Now if everyone is ready, let’s begin.” Father Selz left them with one last smile and walked briskly to the back of the church. The place was silent except for a cough and the sound of Father Selz’s equipment humming in the background.
She hoped that Bernhard would walk in the room now or not at all.
There was a clicking sound and a light appeared on the sheet in front of them. The light flickered and danced; then, after a few seconds, the sheet turned black and a design in white appeared. She recognized the words, ‘THE TRAMP’, and wondered if it was the same as the German, meaning ‘hobo’. Then the image took her away to a country road someplace she had never seen before, far from where she was, and her thoughts turned to her cousin, Peter. She wondered if he had been there in his travels; maybe it was a place familiar to him.
She sighed. No, not just her, the whole room sighed in awe as the first picture moved before them. This was magic.
-
Katherine hadn’t enjoyed the moving picture after all. There were too many things on her mind – and, besides, the story seemed too much like her own life, beset with a series of misfortunes, some big and some small, but all of them caused by clumsy men wanting what wasn’t theirs in the first place. And still she had no idea where Bernhard was. He could’ve walked to the farm and back in all of this time. He had to be drinking. There was no other explanation. After all these years, he’d gone back to his old ways.
“Have you seen Bernhard?” she asked Agatha when they met outside the church.
“No, I haven’t.”
She passed Agatha her daughter’s hand. “Can you watch Elisabetha? I need to look for him.”
“What’s happening?” Nels asked.
“I can’t find Bernhard and it’s getting dark. He should be here by now.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Not since this afternoon by the wagons.” She watched his face take on a fearful look.
“I’ll ask Christian and Joseph,” Nels said. Then he wormed his way through the crowd to find them.
Katherine grabbed Frank by the arm. “I want you to stay with your cousins and Aunt Aggie.”
“Yes, Mother,” the boy said. He looked scared, like he was about to cry.
“It’ll be fine,” Katherine said. “I need you to keep an eye on your sister.”
“Yes, Mother.” Frank looked down to the ground.
She paused for a moment. Thank God it wasn’t Frankie – Frank – who was missing. She ran her hand through the boy’s hair, then tilted his head up, so she could look into his eyes – those eyes always reminded her of his father.
“I love you.” Frank sniffed back his runny nose.
She smiled and kissed him once more on the forehead. “I love you too, my son,” she said. Then she shuffled through the crowd looking for Nels or Christian and hoping to find Bernhard. She spotted Mr. Harrison, who was talking with Mr. Stolz and Mr. Gutenberg near the church doors, and veered in the opposite direction.
“Katherine,” Nels called. He was standing with Joseph. She hurried toward them. “Joseph tells me that Bernhard’s horse and wagon are here. He must be close by.”
“Are you sure it’s our wagon? There must be over fifty of them out there.”
“There’s no mistaking that old quarter horse,” Joseph said.
She clenched her fists. “If he’s back, then why didn’t he come find me.”
“Maybe he’s drinking?”
She noticed Nels raise an eye to Joseph. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked.
“Only he wouldn’t be drinking,” Nels said. “Listen. We’re going to get Christian and we’ll ask around, quietly. I don’t wan
t to get people in a fuss. He’s probably off in a corner chatting away with some old-timer about one thing or another. Go back to the children and we’ll figure this out.” And he and Joseph made their way back into the crowd.
She shook her head. Something was going on; Nels was acting weird. And none of them were looking in the right places. It was only a feeling, but she had to check the wagons.
The sun had nearly set. Some of the crowd was already leaving. There were plenty of folks here that lived more than an hour away. They’d be travelling in the moonlight and trusting their horses to stay on course. She walked the row of wagons checking inside the boxes and hoping she wouldn’t find Bernhard passed out drunk in someone else’s wagon. Then she saw Bernhard’s horse and realized the horse and the wagon hadn’t moved since this morning. Her heart raced. She checked the ground next to the horse. Nothing. That was a relief. She checked the wagon.
“My God, Bernhard!”
He was lying on his back.
“Damn it.” He must be drunk, she thought. She climbed into the box of the wagon and shook his shoulders to wake him. “Bernhard, get up. Get up, Bernhard.” She gave him another shake. “I can’t believe you’d do this. I thought you were done drinking. Bernhard –” There was no response. Dusk was falling and it was getting harder to see; she couldn’t tell whether he was breathing or not. She put her cheek to his nose and could feel the slightest touch of air on her skin. He was alive, but she had never seen him this way before.
“Get up,” she said again, this time it came as a whisper. A plea. Stroking his hair, she felt something wet. She touched the wetness to her tongue. It was blood.
“Help me, God!” She put her hand behind his head again and felt for the cut. She couldn’t tell if the bleeding had stopped.
“Is something wrong?” said a voice, a man’s voice. For an instant, she feared it was Mr. Harrison. Had he done this? Could he do such a thing?
“Yes,” she said, “it’s my husband. He’s bleeding. He’s not awake.”
“Can you stop the bleeding?”
“I think so.”
“I have something that might help him. I’ll be back.” And he ran off.