teach, of how happy we’d been in our cozy cottage in the village. Sophie was growing up without him, I chided. She wouldn’t know him from a stranger. Was slaving underground in a coal mine better than serving two years in the army? Was what he’d gained worth more than what he’d lost?
The letters I wrote on paper were little more than weather reports and a chronicle of Sophie’s progress: her first tooth; her sprouting hair, which was the same sandy color as his; her attempts to sit up, to roll over, to eat from a spoon. If he noticed the lack of endearments in my letters he never spoke of them.
December 5, 1895
Dear Louise ,
I’ve been attending Sunday worship services at a little mission church that tries to bring the Gospel to coal miners and their families. The services are in English because the pastor and many of the miners are Welch immigrants, but there are a great many Germans in this area too. When the pastor discovered my interest, he asked me to help him conduct services in German. Last Sunday I preached my first sermon. It was quite well-received . . . .
Friedrich, a preacher? This wasn’t the same man I’d consented to marry. Haifa world away, he was changing, becoming someone else. I began to dread the day this stranger would send for me.
In all the bustle and excitement of Christmas on the farm, I barely had time to think about Friedrich. It wasn’t until Mama sent me into the parlor to light the tree candles that I remembered the previous Christmas and all the changes that had been set in motion that day. I found the atmosphere in the parlorquite different from a year ago as well. Friedrich and Kurt were gone, Papa and Emil seemed beaten down by all the changes they’d been forced to make in their lives, and Ernst and Konrad seemed on edge, waiting to receive their own draft notices. As I wondered how many more changes would take place in the coming year, and if I’d still be in Germany next Christmas, I was overtaken by a panic so strong I could scarcely breathe.
Later, as we gathered around the tree to open our Christmas presents, we heard the jangle of sleigh bells in the farmyard. Since I was sitting closest to the door, I went to see who it was. It took me a moment to recognize the stranger standing on our doorstep, brushing snowflakes from his uniform.
“Merry Christmas, Louise.”
“Kurt! For goodness’ sake! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” His woolen uniform felt scratchy against my cheek as he hugged me. I caught the scent of bay rum and missed Friedrich.
“They gave me two days leave for Christmas. I wanted to surprise Gerda. Is she here?”
“Everyone’s in the parlor, opening presents.”
I followed him inside and watched Gerda’s face light with joy and surprise when she saw her husband. Kurt couldn’t disguise the longing in his eyes as he swept her into his arms and held her close. Then everyone began shouting and cheering all at once. Kurt’s three boys attached themselves to his legs, clamoring for his attention. Mama pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. Papa uncorked a bottle of his best brandy. “This calls for a celebration,” he cried.
For the first time since he left, I missed the crush of my husband’s embrace, the fervor of his kisses. I imagined Gerda nestled beside her husband tonight and realized how empty my bed felt without Friedrich. How was it possible to be so angry with him, yet to miss him so terribly?
Overwhelmed, I fled upstairs to my room. The sterling silver mirror, Friedrich’s present to me last Christmas, lay on my dresser. I traced the engraved initials—L.S.—then turned it over and gazed at my reflection, blurred by falling tears. I didn’t know who this woman was. My name was no longer Louise Fischer—the initials reminded me of that. I was Louise Schroder now, but who was she? Where did she belong? Papa’s farmhouse wasn’t “home” anymore, nor was the schoolmaster’s
The letters I wrote on paper were little more than weather reports and a chronicle of Sophie’s progress: her first tooth; her sprouting hair, which was the same sandy color as his; her attempts to sit up, to roll over, to eat from a spoon. If he noticed the lack of endearments in my letters he never spoke of them.
December 5, 1895
Dear Louise ,
I’ve been attending Sunday worship services at a little mission church that tries to bring the Gospel to coal miners and their families. The services are in English because the pastor and many of the miners are Welch immigrants, but there are a great many Germans in this area too. When the pastor discovered my interest, he asked me to help him conduct services in German. Last Sunday I preached my first sermon. It was quite well-received . . . .
Friedrich, a preacher? This wasn’t the same man I’d consented to marry. Haifa world away, he was changing, becoming someone else. I began to dread the day this stranger would send for me.
In all the bustle and excitement of Christmas on the farm, I barely had time to think about Friedrich. It wasn’t until Mama sent me into the parlor to light the tree candles that I remembered the previous Christmas and all the changes that had been set in motion that day. I found the atmosphere in the parlorquite different from a year ago as well. Friedrich and Kurt were gone, Papa and Emil seemed beaten down by all the changes they’d been forced to make in their lives, and Ernst and Konrad seemed on edge, waiting to receive their own draft notices. As I wondered how many more changes would take place in the coming year, and if I’d still be in Germany next Christmas, I was overtaken by a panic so strong I could scarcely breathe.
Later, as we gathered around the tree to open our Christmas presents, we heard the jangle of sleigh bells in the farmyard. Since I was sitting closest to the door, I went to see who it was. It took me a moment to recognize the stranger standing on our doorstep, brushing snowflakes from his uniform.
“Merry Christmas, Louise.”
“Kurt! For goodness’ sake! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” His woolen uniform felt scratchy against my cheek as he hugged me. I caught the scent of bay rum and missed Friedrich.
“They gave me two days leave for Christmas. I wanted to surprise Gerda. Is she here?”
“Everyone’s in the parlor, opening presents.”
I followed him inside and watched Gerda’s face light with joy and surprise when she saw her husband. Kurt couldn’t disguise the longing in his eyes as he swept her into his arms and held her close. Then everyone began shouting and cheering all at once. Kurt’s three boys attached themselves to his legs, clamoring for his attention. Mama pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. Papa uncorked a bottle of his best brandy. “This calls for a celebration,” he cried.
For the first time since he left, I missed the crush of my husband’s embrace, the fervor of his kisses. I imagined Gerda nestled beside her husband tonight and realized how empty my bed felt without Friedrich. How was it possible to be so angry with him, yet to miss him so terribly?
Overwhelmed, I fled upstairs to my room. The sterling silver mirror, Friedrich’s present to me last Christmas, lay on my dresser. I traced the engraved initials—L.S.—then turned it over and gazed at my reflection, blurred by falling tears. I didn’t know who this woman was. My name was no longer Louise Fischer—the initials reminded me of that. I was Louise Schroder now, but who was she? Where did she belong? Papa’s farmhouse wasn’t “home” anymore, nor was the schoolmaster’s
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