Hope at Dawn (17 page)

The entire class had come in as noisily as usual, but the happy sounds had quickly evaporated when they’d noticed the poster at the front of the room. Livy had done her best to appear unruffled by their reactions. In a calm tone, she’d explained Mr. Foster’s request and the purpose of liberty bonds before she had them pull out their reading primers.

Still, she couldn’t forget the poster. It hung like a vulture behind her. Both she and her students hadn’t been able to leave fast enough at the end of school the past two days. Unlike the children, though, Livy had little to distract her from her own guilt and loneliness.

If only Friedrick hadn’t been absent from his job the past three days, then she would have had someone to talk to. The thought of conversing with a drunk was preferable to being in the solitary cabin with her memories of home and Tom.

How was the rest of her family faring? she wondered for the hundredth time. She’d written them a letter the day before, but it would take a few days before she received a reply. Did her siblings or parents harbor any of the same misgivings she felt at moving on with life so soon after Tom’s death? Had she made the right decision by returning to Hilden? The silence held no answers.

She cleared her throat to disrupt the awful quiet and flipped through her sketchbook. More drawings filled it now. There was a picture of her sister, Mary, dressed in one of their grandmother’s old gowns from the attic. Another of her parents, standing beside the lilac bushes. One of her and her older brothers, as children, in the hayloft at home. She’d even sketched one of Robert, looking as handsome and charismatic as he had his first week home from the war, before she knew the truth about him. This was how she wanted to remember him—his smile charming, his eyes bright with promise.

A sudden knock at the door yanked her from her despondent thoughts. Who would be out in this weather? Perhaps one of the children who lived close by had forgotten something inside the school. Livy unlocked the door and opened it just enough to peer out. A tall man in drenched clothes stood on her doorstep, his head down. Her heart beat fast with fear until he lifted his chin.

“Friedrick?” She pulled the door open wider. “What are you doing here?” Her surprise soon gave way to sharp annoyance when she remembered his secret. “What is it you want? You can’t fix anything in this rain.”

“I’ve been in town,” he rasped, “and I’m on my way home.”

“Where’s your wagon?” She glanced past him but couldn’t see much through the pounding rain.

“It’s at home. I walked.”

Probably because Elsa refused to drive him into town to buy his illegal alcohol.
Well, good for her.
Livy would be firm with him, too, something she should have done with Robert from the beginning.

“May I come in?” He voiced the question pleasantly enough, but Livy didn’t miss the firm set of his whiskered jaw. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved in days.

How could he be mad at
her
? She might not have been amiable during their last encounter, but she wasn’t the one drinking.

To her chagrin, the old sympathies she used to feel for Robert blossomed inside her, bringing indecision. She wanted to refuse to help him, but his handsome face looked unusually pale and his clothes were soaked.

Oh, bother.
She couldn’t very well leave him outside. One cup of coffee, she told herself, then she’d go ask one of the neighbors to drive him home.

With a sigh, she stepped back and held the door open for him.

“Thanks.” He stumbled over the doorstep as he entered and didn’t seem at all bothered when he tracked mud and water onto her floor.

Livy shut the door with an irritated growl and pointed to his feet. “Your boots.”

“Sorry. I suppose I should…” He glanced at the door and swayed a moment. “I think I need to sit down.” Without waiting for an invitation, he collapsed into one of the chairs at the table, dropping his things, and removed his cap. “My head is pounding.”

I’m sure it is.
“I’ll make some coffee,” she said curtly.

Livy made no attempt to hide her irritation as she banged about the kitchen, preparing water and getting the coffee bean canister.

“Sorry to impose. I would have kept going, if I hadn’t felt so poorly…” He lowered his head onto his arms as if it were too heavy to hold up anymore.

Livy slammed the canister onto the counter and whirled around. “Don’t play innocent with me, Friedrick Wagner. I know all about your drinking habit and the reason why Harlan and Greta have been sulking about school the past few days.”

Friedrick lifted his head. “What?”

“I figured it out.” The words hurt her to say. “The secret your family wouldn’t tell me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Friedrick.” She folded her arms against the rise of anger his denial created in her. “I’m not stupid. I know the signs of a hangover. I saw it over and over again with Robert, but this time—”

“I am not drunk, Livy.” He twisted around to face her. His eyes blazed with barely controlled fury, though his tone remained calm. “I’ve never tasted a drop of alcohol, nor do I plan to.”

Her rising ire deflated like a pricked balloon. “But…but…Elsa asked Greta if she told me about the secret, and Greta said something about a bottle.” Livy sank back against the cupboard, her cheeks hot. She’d been so certain her conclusions had been right.

“When did you see Elsa?” He turned back to the table and fingered his cap.

“On Monday. When you didn’t come after school, I walked Harlan and Greta home. I wanted to…” She let her voice trail off as fresh embarrassment washed over her.

Friedrick blew out his breath, his shoulders slumping. “Elsa meant the secret about me being taken to jail.”

“To jail? Whatever for?”

“Because I’m German-American,” he said, his voice hard.

Livy shook her head. None of this conversation was making sense. “I don’t understand.”

“Elsa was overheard speaking German on the telephone, a direct violation of the recent language law. My father needs her home more than me, so I went in her place. I’ve been in the Hilden jail since Sunday afternoon.” Friedrick massaged his forehead. “I told my family to keep it a secret. I didn’t want Mr. Foster finding out.”

Shame clogged Livy’s throat as she went back to making the coffee. Friedrick had gone in his stepmother’s place? Such courage and love of family heaped more humiliation onto her already tormented conscience.

“How badly are you feeling?” she asked. There would be time enough when he felt better to explain the reason for her uncharacteristic indifference in town.

“Just tired and sore.” He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. “The old man sharing my cell had a cold. I must have caught it.”

“Old man?” Livy poured the hot liquid into a mug.

“He resisted buying bonds because he’s a Mennonite.”

“So they threw him in jail?” Livy set the cup of coffee in front of Friedrick.

He wrapped his hands around the mug and stared at the dark liquid. “It doesn’t matter who you are or what you believe if you’re German-American. We can’t speak our native language in church and the liberty bond people don’t care if they’re robbing families of their savings. That’s the bottle Greta mentioned. It’s the one with our extra cash and it’s empty now. Which is why I had to get this job.”

Livy dropped into the other chair. Her chest felt tight, like the wind had been knocked from her. Her thoughts were a snarled mess. Joel might be fighting Germans across the ocean, but most of the ones Livy had met here in Hilden were hardworking people who cared for their families.

After a few sips of coffee, Friedrick set down his mug and put on his cap. “I’d better go. My family will be wondering why I’m not back yet.” He slowly stood, one hand gripping the table for support.

Livy leaped up in alarm. “You’re in no condition to walk home, Friedrick. You need to rest and dry off some more.”

He threw a glance around the tiny cabin. “I can’t stay here. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“The school then,” she suggested, though the image of the bond poster rose before her eyes. He was likely too ill to notice it. “I can stoke the fire and you can rest there until you feel well enough.”

He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. “All right.”

Friedrick struggled to put on his coat and heft his bag, but Livy sensed he didn’t want her help. She pulled on her own coat and grabbed a blanket from the pile she’d brought from home.

They went outside and started through the rain toward the school. Friedrick’s breathing became more labored after only a few feet. He stopped and lowered his bag to the wet ground. “Just…give me a moment.”

Livy worried the inside of her cheek. He had to be suffering from more than a simple cold if he could hardly walk without being fatigued. “Can I help?”

He eyed her skeptically, but he finally relented. “Would you mind carrying my bag? It isn’t very heavy, but…”

She accepted the pack from him and slowed her pace to match his as he slogged forward again. The short distance to the school took twice as long as normal. When they reached the building, Friedrick sagged against the door frame, while Livy unlocked the door. She glanced up to find those blue eyes intently watching her from beneath his cap. Sick as he may be, he looked quite handsome with his blond beard and damp hair.

“Thank you…for your help,” he murmured.

Despite her concern for his condition and her lingering embarrassment over misjudging him, the low tremor of his voice and the way his arm rested against her shoulder made Livy’s stomach twist with anticipation. Robert hadn’t thanked her—not once—when she’d cared for him while he was drunk or afterward when he was sober again.

“Y-You’re welcome.” She wanted to stay there, especially when his gaze flicked to her lips, but a rush of moist air at her skirt hem snapped her back to the present.

Livy opened the door and Friedrick stumbled inside. Thankfully the room still retained some of the warmth from the fire she’d kept burning in the stove throughout the day. She helped Friedrick out of his wet coat and stowed his things in the closet.

“Sit down, near the stove,” she directed.
Away from that poster.

Friedrick sank down onto one of the desks as Livy pushed some of the others away from the stove to make more room for him. She spread her blanket on the empty floor and checked the fire. She added some kindling to the glowing embers, her back to Friedrick.

“I see you hung a war bond poster.”

The wood in her hand clattered to the floor as Livy whirled around.

“Even you don’t believe we’re really, truly American, do you, Livy?”

The rawness of his words didn’t wound her half as badly as the disappointment emanating from him. That hurt worst of all. Only moments ago he’d stared at her with sincere appreciation, as if he might kiss her.

“Friedrick, it’s not what you—”

He shook his head. “I need to lie down.” He stumbled onto the blanket, knocking his hat to the floor.

“I didn’t want to hang the poster.” She picked up the wood she’d dropped and returned to stoking the fire. The rest of her words came tumbling out, too fast to stop. “Mr. Foster gave it to me after church on Sunday and told me to hang it. He also asked me if you’d said anything against the war, and I started to think of all the things
I’d
said. Then I saw you on the street and Mr. Foster was still down the block. I wanted to save us both from losing our jobs.” She pulled in a shaky breath. “That was why I acted the way I did.”

No response came. Livy shut the stove door and turned around. Friedrick’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. Had he heard any of her explanation?

“Friedrick?”

When he didn’t answer, Livy lifted his cap off the floor. She turned the wet wool hat over in her hands. It looked exactly like those she’d seen on her brothers and countless other young men. Was Friedrick any different from them? Like Tom or Joel, he’d been born in America. He worked hard; he cared about his family. In many ways—when it came to loyalty and love—his family wasn’t so different from her own.

Fresh guilt washed over her as she set the hat on a nearby desk. Her gaze jumped to the ugly poster. She couldn’t leave it up now, even with the superintendent’s impending visit. If she did, she was showing she agreed with what was happening to Friedrick’s people. And she didn’t.

Livy stepped softly to the front of the room. With a quick yank, she tore the poster free from its nail. What should she do with it now? She eyed the stove, and a feeling of warmth and confidence filled her. It was the same emotion she’d felt when she applied for the teaching job, the same one she’d had when she drove away from Robert’s house last week.

The poster was too big to fit through the stove door, so Livy slipped into the coat closet to tear the thing into smaller pieces. How good it felt to rip the offending words to shreds. When there was nothing left of the poster but two fistfuls of jagged paper, she went to the stove and shoved the scraps inside.

She would have to come up with something else to prove the school’s patriotism to Mr. Foster, but first, she needed to help Friedrick get well. While he still slept, Livy hurried back through the rain to her house. She collected water from the pump and set some of it boiling on the cabin stove for tea. The stew she’d prepared earlier that afternoon would be thoroughly cooked soon and would surely give Friedrick needed energy.

She envisioned what he would say when he saw the blank spot where the poster had been. Livy smiled at the thought as she carried the remaining water back to the school. Once he saw what she’d done and heard her apology for her silly behavior, they could surely go back to being good friends.

A dry throat nudged Friedrick to wakefulness, though he didn’t open his eyes. He’d had the strangest dream—Livy had an American flag draped around her shoulders and kept asking,
How American are you, Friedrick?

He attempted to swallow and ended up releasing a hoarse cough instead. “Water,” he murmured to the person he sensed nearby.