The young man smacked the cow’s backside affectionately before walking the length of the barn to check out the goats and the pigs. A barn cat and her kittens watched from a dark corner, the mama kitty oblivious to the strangers while her kittens pressed the milk from her underside. Andrew inspected the other animals, robust in good health. Pieter watched him. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t strike me as the farming type.”
Andrew chuckled at that. “You’re the second person to tell me that. I have a book engraved on my forehead or something?”
“Not sure what it is. Farmers got a certain look to them, you know? Like they couldn’t talk fast if they wanted to. You got that look like you’re ready to sprint.”
“Well, you’re right about not knowing farming, but I know animals.” He rubbed the hair of the spotted horse that sidled up to the paddock. “Used to help with the animals growing up and know how to till a garden, but farming a property I don’t have a clue.”
Pieter made a face like he was going to whistle. “Well, you getting off to a great start, my friend. A hundred acres without a blade of grass or chicken for soup.”
Andrew nodded. “Well, we got apples. Saw that first thing,” he said lightly. “And the chickens are coming.”
Pieter slapped him on the back. “Yeah, you got apples, my friend. About the only thing you guys got up there. But don’t worry. We Muellers haven’t got sense for anything but farming. We’ll help you if you need it.”
The young men left the animals behind. Fritz passed them, took turns carrying the little children upon his broad shoulders as they lanced imaginary knights on imaginary steeds. Will and Edgar, two foals who finally found strength within their spindly legs, hiccupped with laughter that sang upon the air no different than the chirps of sparrows.
Pieter and Andrew headed off to a trail in the woods, through the layer of pines and into the rows of oaks and maples and tulip trees. The young men shuffled a pinecone between them, back and forth over the sticks and raised roots. The air was cooler under the trees and they were comfortable, only stopping when a stealth spiderweb clung on a low limb to drape upon a face.
Andrew kicked the cone to Pieter’s shin. “We met the Mortons. Lily’s been working at the house, helping my aunt with the babies,” he shared.
A slight chuckle left Pieter’s mouth. He nodded but did not add anything, his smile in a thin, amused line. He kicked the cone back.
Andrew added, “Seem nice.”
With that, Pieter smiled unabashedly and kicked his pinecone deep into the woods. “She’s pretty, isn’t she? Lily, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Andrew agreed, and suddenly realized that Lily and Pieter might be more than neighbors.
“Pretty as poison.”
Andrew stopped. “What does that mean?”
Pieter smiled, but warning tainted his expression. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from that one.”
“If she’s your girl, just say so.”
“Ha!” Pieter smacked at a fly hovering around his nose. “Don’t have to worry about that. Poison, remember?” Pieter rubbed his elbow, contrite. “Better keep your distance. That’s all. Morton house carries more skeletons than the cemetery.”
Andrew’s pace slackened when they started moving again. He kicked at the stones along the path, missed having the pinecone as a distraction.
Pieter jumped to reach an old bird’s nest, averting the twigs by inches. His face grew serious. “The Morton house used to belong to Claire and Lily’s father—Mr. Hanson.” He pointed up the drive to an unseen spot above the road.
“Before Mr. Hanson moved up this way, word is he traveled around the mills, targeting the immigrants, scamming them. A grifter. Guess word started getting round about him, so he left the city and moved to the house where the Mortons are now. But they never farmed that land. Had some cows and chickens but not even a vegetable patch as far as I can remember. Anyway, folks say he took the money he made from all those scams and started lending to rural immigrants. Before you knew it, he was giving loans to half the farmers up this way. Not my pa, though. Pa said he’d feed us hay and oats before he’d take a nickel from that son of a bitch—‘Sohn von einem Weibchen,’ he’d scream out.” Pieter laughed at his imitation of his father.
Pieter rubbed the back of his neck then, looked like a man with heavy accounts resting on his shoulders. “We’ve had tough times here. Tough years for sure. Pa could have gone running to Hanson more times than I could count. Pa always said that a man who got to pick at the carcass of a man falling on hard times is no better than a cockroach.
“After Hanson’s wife died, something happened to that man. Like all the bad things he done to people came outta his skin, like he was going crazy with rage. I was young at the time, but my sisters said they’d see Claire heading to school bleeding most days, bruised nearly all the time. Then she stopped coming altogether. Ma went up there a couple times, but no one answered the door. She’d leave food on their front steps on Sundays, but never knew if or who ate it.”
Pieter gave a clean spit to the ground. “Then about ten years ago, Hanson was found shot in the back, lying in the puddle near the house. No one ever figured out who did it. The man made so many enemies could have been anyone.”
Pieter’s face shifted again face tightened with anger. “Frank Morton stepped up soon after and married Claire straightaway. Took over Hanson’s loans and property before the dust settled on the grave. Turned out to be as ruthless as Hanson.”
Pieter’s sudden vehemence shocked him. A rush of heat simmered down his nerves and he pulled Pieter to a stop by the arm. “Is he hitting those women?”
“No, nothing like that,” Pieter scoffed. “Not that I know of, anyway. Doubt Lilith would let him put a hand on her or her sister. She’s a tough cookie, that one.” He winked. “Once I saw some boys throwing rocks at a cat they had cornered and she came charging at them with a stick half her size. She came screaming like a banshee, swinging that stick at their backs till they ran crying. And these weren’t little boys, either, near men.”
Pieter laughed at that before turning serious again. “There was a farm about ten miles north from here. Norwegian family named Paulsen. Nice family. There was a girl there, Mary.” He fell into thought for a moment, a long, pained moment. “She and Lily were friends. Lily usually kept to herself, but she and Mary got on. We were all friends, playing in the woods like kids do. But Mary was my girl. Pa always made a fuss about her not being German, but inside he liked her as much as everybody else.”
His voice dropped. “Paulsens got in debt with Frank and lost the farm. Lost everything and had to move back to Minnesota. Still remember seeing Mary, couldn’t even look at me as they drove away in that wagon, kids and pots and chairs piled high. And at the auction—when they were rattling off all their farm stuff—who you think was sitting front and center picking at the bones?”
“Frank?”
“No.” He stepped forward and glowered. “Lily. Raising her number for everything Mary used to own. Dresses. Jewelry. Even the tea set she played with as a girl.
“Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do or who to like.” He pointed up the lane. “But there’s a lot of demons up that way. Better to stay clear of them all.” Pieter twisted his mouth. “Said you got apples at your place, about all you got, right? Well, you know what they say about apples . . . don’t fall far from the tree.”
The two men inched down a deep slope, the boot soles sliding in the underbrush. “You play baseball?” Pieter asked suddenly.
“Used to.”
“What position?”
“Pitcher.”
“Yeah? We got a game coming up against the Hornets, team on the other side of town. Play every week. You in?”
He hadn’t touched a baseball since the accident, probably couldn’t throw straight if he wanted. “There’s a lot of work to do. Doubt it.”
Pieter studied him. “All right. Think about it. We got the o
nly Germans on our side and the other boys act like they’re going to war against us at every bat. Feel good to teach them a lesson now and then.”
“Maybe I’ll come and watch.” He smirked and challenged, “Maybe I’ll bring Lily with me.”
Pieter grew quiet. “You’ll see Lily’s not welcomed too many places, Andrew.” Any chiding faded away and he was quite serious. “Might want to align yourself with a different girl.”
“Skeletons or not,” Andrew defended, “she seems fine to me.”
“Still haven’t figured it out yet, have you.” It wasn’t a question but an accusation. “The truth about Claire?”
“Truth?”
“About who she is.”
“She’s Lily’s sister.” Andrew put his hand to his hip, tiring of the riddles. “And a sweet one at that.”
“Yeah. She’s Lily’s sister,” Pieter agreed, then lowered his voice. “She’s also her mother.”
* * *
Dinner with the Muellers ran late into the night with laughter and stomachs nearly breaking at the sides from food. They kept eating and drinking stout and telling stories and the Kisers did not want to leave. But when they did, the family held on to the memories of the evening as they traversed the quiet miles back to the homestead. Pieter had whittled toy trains for Edgar and Will, and when they blew through the center holes a perfect train whistle sounded.
Three awake, four asleep—Eveline carried the twins, Wilhelm had Will and Andrew carried little Edgar, the boy clutching the toy train in his tiny fist. Andrew would come back for the piglets tomorrow.
The evening air danced between summer and autumn and when they returned home, the house was cool and each curled into light blankets to warm tired bodies. And Wilhelm, still thick with drink, and Eveline, still high from schnapps, touched each other under the covers until Eveline opened her body to her husband and they made love upon the creaking springs like they had when they were young.
CHAPTER 24
White old man Stevens and his black wife, Bernice, parked their bread wagon on the road and waited for Eveline. “Hallo, purdy lady!” Bob Stevens shouted, and waved, his bottom dancing off the wagon seat. Bernice gave a shy, gentle twist of her hand in greeting.
Eveline stepped up to the wagon and wiped her brow. “You gonna get that bridge fixed soon?” the old man asked. “Shame you got to walk all this way just to meet us.”
“I don’t mind. Have Lily Morton helping me with the babies. Nice to get out and walk a bit.”
“That Lily’s a sweet one, ain’t she?” He reached back and grabbed the fresh loaves wrapped in brown paper. “How many boys you got, Mrs. Kiser?” he asked. One wide eye watched her as the other squeezed tight against the sun’s glare.
“Four.” She thought about this with a grin. “Six if you count the men.”
“Christ almighty! And here you is with the hips of a teeny girl! Birthin’ all those boys an’ lookin’ as fresh an’ pretty as a daisy.” He elbowed his wife. “Ain’t that right, Bernie? Ain’t she a fine-lookin’ woman?”
“She is.” Bernice nodded seriously and then shook her head to stave off any chance of an argument. “You is a fine-lookin’ woman, Mrs. Kiser. Bob an’ me be talkin’ ’bout that all the way up here.”
Eveline put her hand on her heart, smiled until her face hurt with the sincere compliment. Bob Stevens was a remnant of the Civil War, met Bernice near the battlefields of Vicksburg. Fell in love and smuggled her up to Pennsylvania. The man told the story to anyone with ears, even if they had heard it a thousand times before.
Together, Bob and Bernice shared one tooth between them. They weren’t legally married, but all knew them as husband and wife. And by any definition, they were ugly individuals. But together, when their toothless, gummy grins were wide and their eyes sparkled as if they were still teenagers, there glowed a beauty that made the couple all that could be opposite of ugly. They were cracked and ancient like the musket balls from that very war, walking souvenirs that clung to each other like the smell of yeast against their skin. And it was worth the price of bread just to witness their bond.
“Hey, where’s that nephew a yours?” Bob asked.
“Andrew? Believe he’s working in the barn. You need him?”
“Naw! Jus’ my Bernie thinks he’s a looker. Has a thing fer ’em blue eyes.”
“Shush!” Bernice swatted his arm. “I ain’t never said such a thing. Why ya gotta go sayin’ stuff like that? Mrs. Kiser think I’m a dirty ole woman starin’ at her boy.”
Bob laughed and hugged his wife close. “Ya can’t fool me, Bernie! I see ya lookin’ fer the boy as soon we come drivin’ up.” Daintily, he imitated his wife fixing her collar and straightening out her dress.
Bernice laughed then, pinched him on the knee. “Now, that ain’t so an’ ya know it!” Then she leaned over and whispered to Eveline, “Well, he is a fine-lookin’ young man. My ears don’t work so good no more, but my eyes see jus’ fine!”
“Told ya!” Bob shouted merrily. “An’ here she is pinchin’ me jus’ fer speakin’ the truth. Told ya!”
With a click of his tongue, old man Bob had his lone, old horse moving again and gave a high wave to Eveline as they headed down to Widow Sullivan’s house. The cackling of the couple rode above the wheels and made the roses open a little wider.
Back at the house, Eveline placed the bread on the counter next to Lily as she finished up the breakfast dishes and then went back outside to the clothesline and hung up the full line of Kiser clothing. When the last dress was hung, the rope unwound from its square knot and dropped to the ground, jumbling the clothes in a soiled bundle.
Eveline sighed and picked up the rope, wobbled unsteadily upon a footstool as she tried to reattach the clothesline to the old post, the wet clothes now spotted. Her fingers reached to hook the rope but were just shy of the height, the step stool leaning unstably to the right when two large hands grabbed her waist to keep her from falling.
Frank lowered her to the ground and took the rope from her hand, easily latched it into place.
Eveline patted her chest, the adrenaline pumping from nearly toppling over and by the surprise of the man at her side. “Thank you, Mr. Morton.”
“Frank.” He tipped his hat.
The soiled underclothes draped and swayed in the wind. Eveline frantically pulled each off the line. “They’ll all need washing again,” she said absently, making an excuse.
“Women work too hard,” he commiserated as he reached up and added a second knot to the line. “Hope your husband appreciates all you do for him.”
She laughed at this. “My husband works hard himself.”
He watched her in a calm, easy way. “Sure, he does. Wasn’t saying he didn’t. Just that men get the recognition, so to speak. Women get treated like their work’s expected without the appreciation.”
She gave him an incredulous look, had never heard a man speak like that before. “Well,” she said stoically. “We all do what we must, whether we’re appreciated or not, don’t we?”
“Guess so.” He put his leather boot on the stool, showing the silver tip and the stylish stitching.
Eveline gathered the last of the clothes and hustled them tight against her abdomen. Lily came outside and huffed when she saw her brother-in-law. She pushed past Frank. “I can take those for you,” she offered. Lily shimmied in front of Eveline as she handed off the clothes.
“Frank, don’t you need to get going?” Lily suggested roughly. “Thought you were heading out.”
“No, I got time.” He pointed to the load in her hands. “Better get those rinsed before the mud sets.” Grudgingly, Lily turned back to the kitchen, peeking back several times before losing them in view.
“Gorgeous day, eh?” Frank said simply. “Enjoy it while you can. Feeling the cold inching from the north already.”
She could still feel the heat against her waist where his strong hands had touched. “Are you looking for Wilhelm?” she asked as the
guilt plucked.
“No. Heading to Pittsburgh today. Wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’m sorry Wilhelm’s not here for you to ask.”
“No disrespect to your husband, but the question was for you. Can’t find too many pretty lady things in the country.”
The phrase was completely innocent, yet her mind spontaneously tied “lady things” to undergarments and she blushed. “Thank you, but no. I don’t believe I need anything.”
Frank looped a finger through a belt ring, seemed to smell the air. “How’s Lily doing? She helping you?”
“Lily’s been a godsend. Not sure how I ever managed without her.”
He nodded in approval. “Good. Glad to hear it.” His face turned soft. “It’s been hard taking care of her and Claire all these years. Not complaining, mind you, just been hard trying to do what’s best for them.”
With the confiding tone, Eveline relaxed. Frank’s large face was open and vulnerable. His forehead wrinkled right in the center as if a pea pressed against the skin.
Frank twisted his thin wedding ring around his finger, his hands large and fine. “Have to apologize for my wife not paying a visit. She’s a very shy woman. Gets nervous leaving the house. But I’ll have Lily bring her over one day so you can meet.” He smirked apologetically. “She’s a lovely woman, but anxious. But you’ll see what I’m talking about. Takes a lot of work keeping her calm. Mind you, I’m not complaining, just makes it hard always trying to keep things smooth so she doesn’t have to worry.”
“I’m sure she’s lovely.” Eveline moved closer and their shadows overlapped. She wondered how such a fine man could be married to a woman so fragile. “Looking forward to meeting her.”
He read her mind. “Guess I got a bit of the rescuer in me. Claire and Lily came from a bad home. Their father was a brute. Treated them real bad. Once he died, I came in, felt like I had to take care of them.” Frank bowed his head mournfully. “Let’s just say a whipping post had an easier life than my wife did.”
Eveline listened with her whole body. “I had no idea.”
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