cottage in the village. And I knew I didn’t belong in America either.
I heard footsteps on the stairs, then Mama’s soft voice behind me. “You miss your Friedrich, don’t you, Liebchen.”
“Yes,” I whispered, wiping my tears. Mama’s arms surrounded me.
“It won’t be much longer now. He’ll send for you soon.” I lifted my head from her shoulder.
“But I don’t want to go to America. I want Friedrich to come back home, like Kurt did. I want everything to be the way it was.”
“I know, Liebchen. I know,” she sighed. “But that just isn’t going to happen.”
March 2, 1896
Dear Louise ,
I have wonderful news! I have been praying about finding a better home for us, as I know you would never be happy in the city, and God has answered my prayer in a most remarkable way. I have received an offer to pastor a small country church in a German community called Bremenville, ninety miles from here. The pastorate even includes a modest parsonage on about six acres of land beside the church. I was concerned, at first, that we couldn’t afford to live on the meager pay, but construction is scheduled to begin soon on a new textile mill outside Bremenville and it will require hundreds of workers. How perfectly God fits everything together!
Now that the ice in the river has begun to thaw, I’ve started a new job—delivering the morning newspaper from the printers to newsstands throughout the city. The pay isn’t bad for three hours of work, and I can still make it to the mine by 6:30 A.M. —provided the horse cooperates!
I have nearly enough money to send for you, Louise. We can celebrate Sophie’s first birthday together this August I know she is no longer the tiny newborn I kissed good-bye, but that’s the way I still picture her. Whenever I see other men spending time with their families on Sunday afternoons, the longing I feel for my own family is more than I can bear .
Soon, Louise. Very soon we’ll be together again .
With love ,
Fritz
EIGHT
----
Spring arrived, bringing with it a beautiful, breezy day with sky the color of robins’ eggs. Wooly white clouds skipped across it like lambs. Mama, Oma, and I carried the washtubs into the sunshine to launder our winter petticoats, flannel nightgowns, and Papa’s woolen union suits. I tied a handkerchief over my nose and mouth and beat the dust from the rugs with a carpet beater, then we hung the feather beds on the line to air. Sophie watched us work from beneath the parasol of her wicker carriage. She was sitting so nicely now, propped up with pillows and bundled in sweaters. Her cheeks were as round and rosy as two apples.
Shortly before noon, Papa and Emil arrived home from the village, where they’d gone to do errands. But instead of driving the wagon into the barn to unload the supplies, Papa pulled into the yard and set the brake. His face was somber as he climbed down from the seat, his back and shoulders rigid, as if he were walking to a funeral. He strode to where I was scrubbing bed sheets on the washboard.
“This came. It’s for you.” His voice was as thick as the official-looking envelope he held out to me. As soon as I dried my hands on my apron and took it from him, Papa turned and hurried away. I knew without opening it that my tickets to America had arrived.
The sun should have disappeared behind a cloud, the wind should have suddenly blown bitter and cold, the birds should have stopped singing to mark this dreadful moment in my life. But none of that happened. Instead, Oma gave a little cry and covered her mouth with her hand. Mama’s arms went limp, leaving the corner of the bed sheet she had been pegging to the line to billow like a loose sail in the wind.
“So. The day has finally come,” she said.
I ripped open the envelope and quickly read the information, but later I would have to read it again as I would be unable to recall a word of it. It contained my second-class ticket on the Hibernia , departing
I heard footsteps on the stairs, then Mama’s soft voice behind me. “You miss your Friedrich, don’t you, Liebchen.”
“Yes,” I whispered, wiping my tears. Mama’s arms surrounded me.
“It won’t be much longer now. He’ll send for you soon.” I lifted my head from her shoulder.
“But I don’t want to go to America. I want Friedrich to come back home, like Kurt did. I want everything to be the way it was.”
“I know, Liebchen. I know,” she sighed. “But that just isn’t going to happen.”
March 2, 1896
Dear Louise ,
I have wonderful news! I have been praying about finding a better home for us, as I know you would never be happy in the city, and God has answered my prayer in a most remarkable way. I have received an offer to pastor a small country church in a German community called Bremenville, ninety miles from here. The pastorate even includes a modest parsonage on about six acres of land beside the church. I was concerned, at first, that we couldn’t afford to live on the meager pay, but construction is scheduled to begin soon on a new textile mill outside Bremenville and it will require hundreds of workers. How perfectly God fits everything together!
Now that the ice in the river has begun to thaw, I’ve started a new job—delivering the morning newspaper from the printers to newsstands throughout the city. The pay isn’t bad for three hours of work, and I can still make it to the mine by 6:30 A.M. —provided the horse cooperates!
I have nearly enough money to send for you, Louise. We can celebrate Sophie’s first birthday together this August I know she is no longer the tiny newborn I kissed good-bye, but that’s the way I still picture her. Whenever I see other men spending time with their families on Sunday afternoons, the longing I feel for my own family is more than I can bear .
Soon, Louise. Very soon we’ll be together again .
With love ,
Fritz
EIGHT
----
Spring arrived, bringing with it a beautiful, breezy day with sky the color of robins’ eggs. Wooly white clouds skipped across it like lambs. Mama, Oma, and I carried the washtubs into the sunshine to launder our winter petticoats, flannel nightgowns, and Papa’s woolen union suits. I tied a handkerchief over my nose and mouth and beat the dust from the rugs with a carpet beater, then we hung the feather beds on the line to air. Sophie watched us work from beneath the parasol of her wicker carriage. She was sitting so nicely now, propped up with pillows and bundled in sweaters. Her cheeks were as round and rosy as two apples.
Shortly before noon, Papa and Emil arrived home from the village, where they’d gone to do errands. But instead of driving the wagon into the barn to unload the supplies, Papa pulled into the yard and set the brake. His face was somber as he climbed down from the seat, his back and shoulders rigid, as if he were walking to a funeral. He strode to where I was scrubbing bed sheets on the washboard.
“This came. It’s for you.” His voice was as thick as the official-looking envelope he held out to me. As soon as I dried my hands on my apron and took it from him, Papa turned and hurried away. I knew without opening it that my tickets to America had arrived.
The sun should have disappeared behind a cloud, the wind should have suddenly blown bitter and cold, the birds should have stopped singing to mark this dreadful moment in my life. But none of that happened. Instead, Oma gave a little cry and covered her mouth with her hand. Mama’s arms went limp, leaving the corner of the bed sheet she had been pegging to the line to billow like a loose sail in the wind.
“So. The day has finally come,” she said.
I ripped open the envelope and quickly read the information, but later I would have to read it again as I would be unable to recall a word of it. It contained my second-class ticket on the Hibernia , departing
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