Hope at Dawn (3 page)

He eyed the noose again and prayed Miss Lehmann hadn’t come to any harm before she’d left Hilden. However foolish she’d been to openly oppose the proclamation, she didn’t deserve any ill treatment.

“Did you hear we fired her?” the store owner shouted. His words were accompanied by cheers.

“We were aware the school was closed,” Friedrick said with dismissal, “but thank you, gentlemen, for the reminder.” He remained where he stood, though, certain their reason for being there wasn’t to share the old news about getting rid of the schoolteacher.

Joe released an ugly chuckle. “We’re not quite finished, son. Since Miss Lehmann is likely a German spy, we’re visiting all our good German neighbors tonight and seeing where their loyalties lie.”

Anger ignited inside Friedrick at the man’s veiled accusation. He and his half siblings had been born on American soil, same as these men. His father and Elsa, while German-born, were still as loyal to this country as anyone he knew.

He fought to keep his voice calm and even as he said, “We’re American citizens, same as you folks, and we honor the laws of this country.”

“Then how come you ain’t fightin’ over there with our boys?” a man at Joe’s elbow demanded.

Joe glanced at his friend and gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s a good question. What do you say to that, son?”

Friedrick’s growing resentment was making it hard to stand still and breathe normally. Why should he have to answer to the likes of them? “I have a farm deferment. My father is dying, so I run the place now.”

“Looks like your neighbor George Wyatt told us the truth about you,” Joe said.

Hearing the name of his neighbor caused a spark of shock to run through Friedrick. He looked past Joe to see George standing near the fence, hat in hand. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes reflected his sorrow. He and Friedrick had helped each other with their harvest the last few years. Though George’s presence in the mob bothered Friedrick, he appreciated the man’s defense.

“You might not be able to fight, son, but you can surely buy liberty bonds.”

“I bought a fifty-dollar bond last fall. Paid for it in full that day.” Friedrick stuck out his chin in pride. No one could accuse his family of slacking in their effort to fund the war.

“Times like these call for another demonstration of loyalty.” Joe brought his face so close to Friedrick’s he could smell the chewing tobacco resting inside Joe’s cheek. “So what’s it gonna be? You going to be the proud owner of a hundred-dollar bond, as part of our great country’s third loan drive?”

The outrageous sum hit Friedrick like a punch to the gut. His family didn’t have extra money to throw at bonds. His father’s costly medicine and frequent doctor visits had drained them of nearly all their savings.

“And if we decline, respectfully?” Friedrick said with intended sarcasm.

Joe examined the rope in his hand. “I’ll put it to you real simple. You buy a bond tonight, or you can try this rope on for size. You choose, son.”

Had things deteriorated so quickly for the German-Americans in Hilden that Friedrick must buy more bonds or risk his life? Rage burned hot through his veins at the injustice. He was being treated as an enemy, when he was as loyal and American as these men watching and waiting for his response. Would they have been any less insistent of his family if he’d been fighting overseas?

He pushed such a question from his mind—it was futile. He hadn’t been allowed to fight, at least not on the battlefields of France, but that didn’t mean the war had passed his family by. Friedrick was beginning to see there were battles here, too. Not between trained soldiers, but between townspeople and neighbors. While he couldn’t protect his country, he would protect his family. Even if it meant buying a bond with their remaining savings to satisfy these men and keep them from coming back.

Friedrick schooled his voice once again to hide his fury, though he took great pleasure from being able to look down his nose at Joe. “I’ll get the money,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

Joe nodded approval. “Good boy.”

He went back inside, though he left the door partway open to keep the men from thinking he wasn’t returning. Elsa and his siblings stood at the parlor entrance. Their expressions reflected concern but also innocence—they hadn’t overheard the awful conversation.

“Everything’s going to be all right.” His reassurance erased some of the tension radiating from the three of them. Friedrick went to the kitchen and pulled an old Mason jar from the back of one of the cupboards. His family followed him.

“What are you doing, Friedrick?” Elsa asked. “What do those men want?”

“We need to buy a liberty bond.” He removed all but one bill—and their $50 bond—from the jar.

“But you already bought a bond.” Her eyes narrowed in on the money in his hand. “How much?”

Friedrick put the jar back and shut the cupboard. “A hundred dollars,” he replied in a flat voice.

Elsa gasped, her hand rising to her throat. “But that leaves us only five dollars. What about your father’s medicine? We cannot—”

“Mother.” Friedrick waited for her to look at him. He was only too aware of how Harlan and Greta watched the two of them with wide eyes. “We will figure this out. I told you everything will be fine. You must trust me.” He didn’t want her coming outside in protest or upsetting his siblings any more than they had been at the sight of the mob. “Please.”

She studied his face for a long moment, then she lowered her head and nodded.

“Stay inside. I’ll be right back.”

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as he walked past them into the hallway. A noise from his father’s bedroom made him turn.

“Friedrick?” Heinrich swayed in the doorway. Friedrick hurried to support him. “I heard a noise outside.”

“It’s all right, Papa. Go back to bed.”

“What are you doing with that money?”

Before Friedrick could answer, the front door squeaked open and Joe’s loud voice boomed through the hall. “Hurry it up, son. We’ve got other people to visit.”
More like people to terrorize.
Friedrick strangled the bills in his hand.

“Who is that?” Heinrich asked him, his tone weary and concerned.

“I’ll explain later. Right now you need to let Mother help you back into bed.”

Elsa took Friedrick’s place at his father’s side, her face set in a determined expression. “Come, Heinrich. We must help you lie back down. Friedrick will take care of everything.”

He was keenly aware of all four of them watching him, looking to him for guidance. His responsibility, as man of the house, had never felt so daunting.

“Harlan,” Friedrick directed in a low voice as he moved down the hall, “you and Greta go wash up and put on your pajamas.” He wanted them far away from the men in the yard.

For once, the boy didn’t object. “Let’s go, Greta.”

When the two of them had disappeared up the stairs, Friedrick strode to the open door. He slapped their money into the man’s open palm. “There’s your hundred dollars.”

Joe pocketed the cash. “Now all’s left is to fill out your application.” He withdrew a paper and pencil from his coat and handed them to Friedrick.

Friedrick turned to use the doorjamb as a desk. Every cell in his body screamed at him to rip the application in half and take back his family’s money, but another glance at the noose silenced the urge. He filled in the required information, but he had the pencil pressed so hard to the paper, it tore in one place. Not caring, he thrust the application and pencil at Joe.

The man grinned as he took them in his free hand. “We’ll see this and your money get to the bank. You can pick up your bond there.” He swung the rope over his shoulder. “I knew a smart, patriotic young man like you wouldn’t be needin’ the likes of this. Have a nice night now.” He whirled around and marched down the porch steps. The rest of the mob trailed him across the yard and out the picket fence.

Friedrick watched them from the doorway, making certain every last one of them left before he shut and bolted the door. His hands shook slightly as he removed his boots for a second time. Instead of carrying them to the kitchen, he dropped them in a heap beside the front door. Elsa would surely forgive him if he left them there tonight.

“Oh, Friedrick.” Greta appeared in her long, white nightgown and threw her arms around his waist. “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”

Friedrick gave her a tight hug in return. “Me, too.”

Harlan joined them in the hall. Though the danger had passed, their faces were still pinched with worry. Friedrick didn’t want them to go to sleep and think of nothing but seeing their mother upset and their family threatened. “Why don’t you two go wait in your beds? I’ll come up and read you a story.”

Harlan lifted his chin. “Really?”

Friedrick nodded.

The two raced back up the stairs. Friedrick went into the parlor and grabbed the first storybook he found from the bookcase. Before heading upstairs, he decided to look in on his father. He paused outside the door when he heard Elsa talking.

“It will be fine, Heinrich. You’ll see.” The bright tone to her words sounded forced to Friedrick, but his father was likely too sick to notice. “Remember how trouble always comes before the dawn, before the sun returns. Friedrick will make things right. You’ll see.”

Friedrick turned away, not wishing to disturb them. There was nothing more to be said at the moment. He started up the stairs but halted halfway up as the weight of what he’d had to do tonight descended with full force upon him.

With his free hand, he gripped the banister tightly, one foot resting on the step above him. They’d skirted the danger this time, but what about the next? He didn’t think for a second the conflict was over. And now he had the added burden of stretching their last five dollars.

He could buy seed for spring planting on credit, but if the crops didn’t produce well…There was the option of selling both bonds for cash, to recoup their money, but he feared Joe and the mob finding out. How disloyal would he and his family appear then?

The weight of providing for and protecting his family pressed down on him, threatening to crush his spirit. He’d given away their money—money meant to help his father—but was that really protecting the ones he loved? Or hurting them? If he’d refused to buy the bond, he might have ended up half-dead, or worse. What would Elsa and his siblings have done then? Whether he fought against the injustice or submitted to it, his family lost something either way.

Friedrick pushed away from the banister and resumed climbing the stairs. Harlan and Greta were waiting for him. But the opposing viewpoints and compromises still squeezed at him, making it hard to swallow. Almost as if he had Joe’s rope around his neck after all.

F
riedrick shepherded his mother and siblings into the white clapboard church and up the aisle to their usual pew on the left, three rows from the front. The murmur of German voices pitched and roiled, louder than normal. An undercurrent of tension pulsed through the room.

“What is going on?” Elsa asked him.

Friedrick shook his head. He hadn’t seen the congregation this agitated since the United States had entered the war overseas.

Elsa twisted in her seat and voiced her question to her friend seated behind them. “What is all the talk about, Hannah?”

Hannah leaned forward, her buxom frame pressing against the pew, her heavy perfume overwhelming Friedrick’s nose. “Pastor Schwarz has an announcement. And not a good one, if the rumors be true. Something about the new language law.”

Friedrick faced the pulpit again. Concern tightened his jaw. What would the pastor say? Friedrick had expected more trouble after his dealings with Joe and the vigilance committee two weeks earlier, but not this soon.

The moment Pastor Schwarz took his place behind the pulpit, the noise in the church plummeted into silence. In the sudden quiet, Friedrick could hear the squeak of a boot against the hardwood floor and the soft snore of a baby several rows behind them.

The pastor cleared his throat. The lines around his eyes appeared deeper and his shoulders slumped forward. Today his body showed every one of his sixty years.

“
Geehrte mitglieder und freunde
,” he began before stopping. He coughed. When he opened his mouth again, he repeated what he’d said, only in English this time. “Dear members and friends.”

Even to Friedrick’s ears, the words sounded as garish as a fire gong. The songs, sermons, and prayers had always been conducted in German. Friedrick exchanged a glance with Elsa. Her eyes were large with shock.

“It is with heavy heart,” the pastor continued, “I announce that our humble services will no longer be given in German. As you well know, our governor has decreed no foreign languages may be spoken in public, which includes church meetings.”

Startled cries of outrage swept through the congregation. Pastor Schwarz raised his hand and the chatter faded to fierce whispers.

“I have been informed that those of you who do not wish to worship in English or who do not understand the language must hold services in your own homes.” He took a long, visible breath and squared his bony shoulders. “Now we will begin today by singing…”

Friedrick hardly heard the rest of the service. His family had always worshiped in German. Like most of the American-born children of the congregation, Friedrick felt deep pride for his German heritage. Joining with others each Sunday who spoke his parents’ native language allowed him to honor a culture as much a part of him as his American one and helped him feel connected to those relatives who hadn’t immigrated.

It wasn’t enough his people were being robbed of their savings. Now they were being forced to give up their very identity—all in the name of being loyal citizens. The injustice galled him and he couldn’t sit still.

He rested one leg on top of the other, his knee moving in a steady tense beat. How many of these families would choose not to attend anymore? Like the Wagners, most of them had been coming here for decades. Friedrick hated to think of their close-knit congregation dividing.

Would things ever return to the way they’d been? Or had life for him, his family, and his people been changed forever? Friedrick dropped his foot to the floor and rested his arms on his knees, his forehead nearly touching the pew in front of him. He couldn’t sit by, but he couldn’t openly protest either.

By the time the last song had been sung, in halting English, and the benediction given, Friedrick had made up his mind to speak with Pastor Schwarz. There had to be something he and his family could do to help.

“I’ll be a minute,” he told Elsa. “I need to talk to the pastor.” Elsa nodded before speaking with Hannah—in whispered German. Friedrick would have to remind her it was no longer safe to do so, even in church.

Hat in hand, Friedrick headed toward the back of the building, where a line of people had already formed near the pastor. Clearly he wasn’t the only one wishing to speak with the man.

He nodded at the couple waiting in front of him. He and the husband exchanged predictions about the weather and spring planting until someone latched on to Friedrick’s coat sleeve. He glanced down, knowing it was eighteen-year-old Maria Schmitt, before he saw those violet eyes and dark, fluttering lashes.

“Hello, Friedrick.” Her mouth curved in a coy smile, in spite of the devastating blow they’d all received today.

“Morning, Maria.”

“Are we going dancing this weekend?”

He searched his mind for yet another excuse—he hadn’t taken her to a dance hall since the mob had shown up. Still, it might do him good to get away for a while. Dancing would give him something else to think about besides how his family was going to survive on so little.

“All right.” His acceptance was laced with more resignation than joy, but Maria didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll pick you up at six on Friday.”

“Good. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” She hooked her arm through his. “Will your family keep coming to church, even with the sermons in English?”

“I don’t know if Elsa will want to, but I think we should.”

“I hope you will,” she said softly as though imparting a secret. “The church’s spring social would be such a bore without you.” She gave an indignant shake of her head, making the dark curls around her face sway. “Did you hear that my mother—with my help, of course—is planning the whole thing?”

She prattled on about the details of the upcoming event—the baseball game, the dance, the music. Friedrick didn’t have the heart to stop her. Let her find a bit of happiness where she could.

He liked Maria well enough. She was the only girl in the congregation near his own age who wasn’t married or had a beau overseas. Maria clearly hoped to be among the former, based on the not-so-subtle hints from her and her mother. Friedrick couldn’t imagine marrying anytime soon, though. He had nothing to offer a wife but a crowded house, a dying father-in-law, and no extra money.

The couple ahead of him bade the pastor farewell. Friedrick gently pried his arm from Maria’s grip and stepped forward with purpose. “I must talk to Pastor Schwarz now. I’ll see you Friday, Maria.”

“Friedrick,” the pastor said, gripping his hand. “What do you make of the announcement?”

“I think we’ll lose many good people.”

Pastor Schwarz lowered his hand to his side, his eyes taking in the still crowded room. “I fear you are right.”

“Can I help in some way?”

The pastor clapped his hand on Friedrick’s shoulder. “People look to you, Friedrick. If you continue to bring your family, I think others will follow.”

“I will,” he said without hesitation.

Elsa would take some convincing. More than any of them, she loved singing and praying in German. She’d told him more than once that doing so helped her feel close to her aunt and grandmother still living in Germany.

“Did you hear if the vigilance committee visited anyone else?” he asked the pastor.

Pastor Schwarz nodded. “At least twenty other families. They all bought bonds.” His face reflected his compassion. “Like you, they have little left over.”

“Is that what we must do, Pastor? Stand by and let them…” Friedrick lowered his voice. “Let them rob us of our savings and our language, just to prove we are loyal Americans?”

Pastor Schwarz looked past him toward the nearest window, but the man’s wistful gaze suggested he wasn’t seeing the houses across the street or the bare trees. “I miss the forests the most,” he said, his voice soft, reflective. “I can still remember the great trees near our home in Germany. My mother’s family still lives there.” He glanced at Friedrick, anguish in his gray eyes. “My boy Johann may be fighting his own relatives at the front lines.”

Mention of the war caused familiar guilt to nibble at Friedrick. If he were a solider in France, would he be fighting his German relations like Johann? Would his family be any safer in his absence?

The pastor coughed, and a sad smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You ask an excellent question, Friedrick. Fight or stand down? The Bible teaches us to love our enemies, to do good to those who hate us.”

Friedrick ran his hand along the brim of his hat. He hadn’t planted a fist in Joe’s face; that was something good. He’d also given the mob their money—money for his father’s medicine, money to help pull them through the winter if the crops failed.

“And yet…” Pastor Schwarz paused until Friedrick lifted his head. “And yet we are also told there are different times and seasons. There is a time to keep silent, but there is also a time to speak. Only you and the Lord will know when it is time to stand down, to be silent, Friedrick—and when it is time to act.”

The church member behind him cleared his throat in impatience, ending their discussion. “Thank you, Pastor.” The man’s words had given him much to think on. “We’ll be here next week.”

Friedrick set his hat on his head and walked outside. Harlan and Greta were playing with some of the other children. He called to them, and they headed to the wagon as Elsa broke free from a circle of women talking beneath one of the trees. After helping Elsa onto the seat, Friedrick unhitched the horses and climbed up beside her.

“Can you believe that?” she muttered in German as they set off for home. She seemed to have forgotten the children in the back of the wagon. “Forcing us to speak English in our own church? What will they do next? My family and I came to this great country when I was twenty years old because we wanted more freedom, more opportunity. Now they want to snatch it away.”

“I think we ought to keep coming,” Friedrick suggested.

Elsa made a noise of disgust. “Why? We can worship—in German—at home.”

He decided to try a different approach. “What are the other families doing?”

“Ach. Most of them will come back. There are even one or two who have changed their names to be more American. Mrs. Schwarz says she and the pastor will go by Black now. I guess that is what their son Johann chose to do before he left to fight.”

So the pastor believed this was a season for keeping silent. The thought depressed Friedrick. His father and mother had both come to this country as teenagers, and he and his siblings had never even been to Germany. Why should the sins of the fathers, so to speak, be visited upon his American family?

“I still think we ought to keep coming. You’d miss your friends if we didn’t, and as a people, we need to stick together.”

Elsa crossed her arms in anger, but Friedrick sensed her resolve weakening, especially at the mention of her friends. She’d always looked forward to Sundays when she could visit with other German women.

He could think of other reasons for returning as well—ones Elsa wouldn’t like but needed to hear. “There’s something else we need to consider. If our loyalty to this country is in question, we don’t want to do anything to call attention to ourselves. Staying home and worshiping alone in German might do that.” He threw a look over his shoulder at Harlan and Greta before continuing in a lower voice, “We can’t afford to buy more liberty bonds, Mother.”

To his surprise, Elsa covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook as she began to weep. Friedrick shifted the reins into one hand so he could put his arm around her.

“He’s almost out of medicine, Friedrick. How will we get more?” Her voice rose in pitch with the question. “Oh, I wish we’d never joined this war with Germany.”

“What’s the matter, Mama?” Greta had noiselessly moved up behind the wagon seat.

Elsa shook her head without answering.

“Is she upset about not having the sermons in German no more?” Harlan asked.

Friedrick nodded—better to have the boy think it was that, instead of fear over the future. He squeezed his mother’s shoulder and took the reins in both hands again.

“I like it in English better,” Harlan added. “I don’t have to concentrate so hard.”

“When you pay attention,” Greta retorted.

“Whatdaya mean? I listened good today. Besides, I wasn’t the one—”

“All right. That’s enough,” Friedrick said in a firm tone. Elsa straightened on the seat and swiped at her wet cheeks, but she stared silently into the distance.

A despondent feeling settled over the wagon as suffocating as a blanket on a hot summer day. Friedrick struggled to think of a funny song or story to amuse his siblings, but nothing came to mind. The drive back to the farm took them past the children’s schoolhouse. Friedrick’s gaze flicked to the building and away. He didn’t need another visual reminder of what they’d lost in the last few weeks.

As he urged the horses to pick up their pace, something inside him whispered to slow down, to look again. Puzzled, Friedrick turned to stare directly at the school. A large number of shingles were missing from the roof, cracks riddled the brick exterior, and the outhouse leaned to one side. The building had been neglected for some time. He recalled Harlan mentioning a young man from a neighboring farm who was supposed to come several days a week to do upkeep.

“Whatever happened to that boy…Francis…who used to clean up the school?”

“Don’t know,” Harlan said. “I think he might’ve left to go fight last year.”

“So nobody’s been keeping up with repairs?”

Harlan shrugged. “Haven’t seen anybody there but Miss Lehmann.”

Elsa twisted on the seat to study Friedrick. “What do you have in mind?”

“Just an idea,” he said in a noncommittal tone. It likely wouldn’t work out, but he couldn’t completely snuff the tiny flame of hope growing inside him. “I’ll see what comes of it tomorrow when I go into town.”

Livy clasped her hands in her lap to hide their slight trembling from the man seated at the desk in front of her. In the stillness of the superintendent’s office, the tick of the clock on the wall and the rustle of the secretary’s magazine pages in the next room sounded loud.