Veritas et Libertas » Fiction

Lines of Phreedom

Savannah — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 23:54:43 +0000

Thanks to a friend, I stumbled upon this website, Lines of Phreedom, last week and it was very encouraging. Encouraging because it means I’m not the only young person who sees the importance of literature in introducing people to liberty. From the About page,

Guns will put you in a position of power for a limited time, and rhetoric will get you fame for a while, but what is written will last forever.

I’m probably a bit biased because Lines of Phreedom is helping to promote Path of Grass, but even before the webmaster, K.J. Herr, kindly did so, I was impressed by the website. This is what we need. We need a place where young people can freely share their works. No, we’re aren’t all Ayn Rands right now, but if we keep writing and keep trying and keep practicing, someday there might be that one work which will become a common title in every household, as 1984 is, or the phrase “Who is John Galt?”

So go check out Lines of Phreedom, browse the works posted so far, and share some of your own lines for liberty.

Path of Grass: Coming Soon to a Bookshelf Near You

Savannah — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 15:39:35 +0000

I think the first day of summer is June 21st. I wanted to have Path of Grass published in the spring. So if I get it published on June 20th, that still counts as the spring. And it might end up being June 20th, I’m not sure.

I’m so ready to get this book out there…it is becoming very exciting! Much of the delay in publishing has been the time it takes to get the book from one person or one step to the next. My copy to the typesetter. The typesetter mails it to me. I give it to the proof-reader. My proof-reader returns it. I look it over again and send it back, and so it goes…Just a lot of steps that can’t be hurried.

Let me share with you one of my favorite parts from Path of Grass. This is also one of the oldest sections, I probably wrote it when I was 13 or so. It was the very first section I wrote that in the series of stories that became Path of Grass. There’s something about it that always surprises me, something that always delights me, and I’m left wondering how I could have written something that lovely.

My name is Adele. But the other sisters call me Catherine, so I do not know who I am. My mother was French; my father was German. My father’s family was angry because he married a foolish French woman. After my parents died I was given to a convent and have lived there ever since. I remember the day when I was four years old. My Aunt Matilda pulled me impatiently through the streets and stopped at the nunnery door. She crossly straightened my little brown dress and tied the old shoes that were too big for me, and then a nun opened the door. My aunt at once became grown up and wouldn’t look at me anymore.

“This is an orphan; her name is Catherine. Will you take her and bring her up to be a good girl?”

“Please come in. I will go ask the mother superior.”

I was confused that my aunt lied about my name, but she gave me a sharp glance that made me afraid to protest.

We were led into a hollow-sounding, dark courtyard and made to wait a great while, it seemed to me. My aunt amused herself by rummaging through her small purse and looking at relics of the past stashed in it. She would not allow me the privilege of touching anything, so I wandered around the room and stared at the strange pictures of a woman holding a child, angels, and a man wrapped in sheets floating on clouds. At last another nun came in and spoke to my aunt for a few minutes. My aunt sounded angry and, after shouting a little, became satisfied. As I look back, perhaps she did not shout, but the vastness and emptiness of the room made her voice louder than it really was. My aunt smiled too sweetly at me and walked out. The nun took my hand gently and led me into another place. It was a long hallway, and I was afraid it would never end. We at last reached the last door, and the nun slowly opened it. It was a sort of chapel with candles lining the walls. At the very front of it was a statue of that same woman I saw in the courtyard pictures, smiling down at her baby. The nun paused where we stood.

“This is where we worship God,” she said softly. I didn’t want to speak; the lady with the child seemed to be telling us to be quiet and just look at her. “This is where you will come also, to worship God with us. Do you know who that lady there is? It is the mother of Jesus Christ. He delivered His people from their sins by dying for them. He was perfect. He never sinned, but He bore our sins for us. We now pray to Him and His Father because His Father is now our Father. You used to have a father, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“But he died. Christ’s Father never died and never will. He is in Heaven, and he listens when we speak to him. Now, enough of that.” She turned around suddenly, as if remembering her real duty. “My name is Sister Clotilde. Let me show you where you are to sleep.”

She took me out of the chapel and down the hall about halfway. She opened another door that led into a very small room that had a little bed in the corner, a window, and a shelf next to the window. The walls were brick. I felt them, and they were cold.

Meeting Margaret, Chapter 9

Savannah — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 20:16:22 +0000

It was a spring day—Margie took a basket of wet clothes out on the porch and gulped in the warmth and freshness of the air. The only thing troubling her in this fine weather was that she had not received a letter from Lee in quite some time. But she heard about all the great Allied victories across Germany, and was somewhat relieved, thinking that he was probably too busy ending the war to write letters—and he would be coming home soon anyways.

She walked out to the front yard where the clothesline hung, and started pinning garments to the line, happily watching them flap in the breeze. Margie smiled to hear Lovely mooing contentedly from the barnyard, enjoying the spring weather also. She laughed a little to think of herself out in the sun laboring like the other farm women she had so dreaded—and despite her fears she was becoming like them, and strangely, she didn’t seem to mind. She understood why they stayed on their farms, it was their land, and it felt good to work the earth, to raise crops and keep animals.

Margie looked up from her work and frowned to see a man walking down the lane. It wasn’t Avery, and she couldn’t think of anyone else she knew who would be coming. All the men were busy out in their fields. She didn’t want a stranger interrupting the quiet pleasure of a spring day. He was walking very slowly, it was odd to watch.

And then he came closer, and she gasped. It looked like Lee—but it couldn’t be him.

She walked out towards the lane to see him better.

He waved and shouted,

“Margie—I am back!”

She ran towards him, the moist earth like a sponge under her feet. As she approached him she noticed his arm was in a sling, but was too happy to worry about it.

“Lee, you’re here! I didn’t think you would ever come back.”  He wrapped his good arm around her and kissed her face, both of them laughing with joy.

“I didn’t think I would ever make it either—but I am home now.”

They stood still for a few minutes, just looking at each other and trying to recover the lost months. Finally they walked down the lane together, hand in hand, like they had come home on their wedding day.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked as they neared the house.

He sighed and looked troubled.

“Oh, I’ll tell you about it later, I want to see the farm first.”

So she led him down to the barn to see Lovely, and to see the newly hatched chicks. They looked at the garden, some brave vegetables already peering up through the still-cold earth. She pointed to the clothes blowing on the clothesline. They sat on the porch steps together, smelling the scents of spring.

Avery soon appeared, and was sent to get Eva and Wilson so they could all celebrate together.

It was very late before Wilson, Eva and Avery said good-bye and headed for their own home. Margie was sitting beside Lee, tracing patterns with her finger on his arm.

“You said you were going to tell me what happened to your arm,” she reminded him gently.

“Yes, yes, I know. I will.”

They were silent.

Finally he began.

“It was in a small village, and I got in a fight with a loony man. He had a knife, and…and, well, he did a lot of damage to my hand. By the time we got a doctor to look at it, there was too much infection, and they had to amputate it.”

“Oh, Lee…I am so sorry…” she whispered.

“No, Margie, that’s not all.”

She looked up, surprised.

“Would you call me a coward for escaping something that I believe is wrong?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered slowly, not sure what he meant.

“Something else happened in that village,” he continued. “We were sweeping across Germany, and winning. But we had to be careful. Although they were losing, we couldn’t afford to make mistakes. This village where I was wounded—Elsteraue—is where they decided we would make a base for supplies. We didn’t want moles—people to spy on us and report to the Germans about our every move. So we had to search the village and get them all out of there. I was sent to a house a couple miles out of town. We wouldn’t have known it was there except there was a light shining in the window. So I went to see what it was. There was a woman in the house, no one else. I don’t know if I can explain this…it sounds so strange now. But that woman looked just like you. Her eyes, her hair, everything, just like you. And her name was the same. Her husband called her Margie too. She was waiting for her husband to return from the war—he was fighting for the Germans of course. They had a farm, and she started telling me about how she was waiting for him to come home so they could grow a garden together, and plant the fields…Margie, I just couldn’t make her leave. I couldn’t stop thinking of you, waiting for me here on our farm. I realized what the war was all about—how could we be fighting evil when we forced innocent women off their land? I would be outraged if some country came over here and did that to you while I was away. How can we say this is a moral war when we’re killing thousands of children and women? And that old man who hurt my hand—Ralph and the other soldiers killed him.”

“But of course they should have, look at what he did to you,” Margie interrupted.

“No, I am not done yet. So I left that woman in her house, I didn’t make her leave—how could I? And I realized I couldn’t keep fighting, I couldn’t pretend we were doing a noble thing. So when I saw that crazy man waving the knife, I provoked him. I made him hurt me. I did it on purpose. I could have stopped him, I could have grabbed the knife from his hands, he was just an old man, I could have easily overpowered him. But I didn’t. I let him plunge that knife into my hand—my right hand. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fight again. But I didn’t know they would amputate my hand. But that’s what happened. And so how could I fight, without a right hand? They sent me home, since I was worthless.”

They were both silent.

“My only regret is that Ralph killed that man. It wasn’t his fault, it was mine for provoking him to do it. So now what do you think of me? I didn’t want to tell you earlier, I wanted a few happy hours with you, before you knew what a coward I was.”

She smiled and put her arm around him.

“How could I think you were a coward? Not many men would be that brave. You’re my hero, Lee, I am proud of you. How can a man be a coward for standing for what he believes in? And what man could be a coward for sacrificing his pride, his position, and even his body for what he knows is right?”

The End

Meeting Margaret, Chapter 8

Savannah — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 19:37:01 +0000

Dear Margie,

I know I will be home soon. We’re almost done beating Germany into the dust. It is such a wonderful feeling, to know that America has won—or will win—and to know that I helped, I am part of it.

I will be home in time to plant the crops this year, I am sure. By then the flowers will be blooming, the grass will be lush and green. We can plant the garden together. And we can put our clean clothes out on the line to dry in the spring breezes. The hens will hatch their chicks and lead them proudly around the barnyard. And we will be there together. Hold on, Margie, don’t give up—we’re almost together now, it won’t be long now.

With all my love, Lee

Margie smiled and pressed the letter to her lips. It was still cold and wintery outside, but she could almost feel spring coming. It won’t be long now, she whispered.

“We’re coming up to another village,” Ralph said.

Lee groaned.

“Not another one—they just slow us down.”

“I’ve heard that we’re going to turn this one into a support base, that should be more interesting.”

They reached the village—it appeared to be mostly deserted.

“Go through and search the houses. Make sure there’s no one left anywhere, not for 10 miles around. We can’t afford spies here,” they were commanded.

Lee, Ralph, and the rest of their group started down the main street of the village. They found an old woman crouched near a flickering fire. She was crazed, and they couldn’t talk any sense into her. She was frightened by the men—she shrunk back from them in terror, and refused to open her mouth, save for screaming unintelligible sounds at them.

The men shrugged and decided to leave her for the time and come back later for her. They divided the town up into sections to cover, Lee and Ralph took the outskirts of it.

“Looks like there’s someone out there,” Ralph said. It was evening, and a light gleamed from the countryside.

“We were told not to leave anybody around here,” Lee replied. “I suppose I should go out there and see,” he sighed.

“Want me to come?”

“No, it probably isn’t anything much, you don’t need to walk out there in the snow and waste your night. I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”

Lee trudged towards the light—away from that village that was called Elsteraue.

Margaret had another dream about Nikki. She dreamt that he returned home, only to find Margaret in the village, and the farm overtaken by strange people who refused to accept Nikki as the true owner. He found Margaret and asked her what had happened.

“Those people wanted it, and I didn’t think you would mind. It is just a piece of land—what does that matter? We still have each other,” she said.

He became angry with her—angrier than he had ever been.

“It is just a piece of land?” he shouted. “It is our land, it is where we belong. We’ll wander around without a penny to our name now. We’ll work for other people just to get enough money to survive. We’ll just be beggars, without anything.”

She started crying.

He continued ruthlessly.

“We were known as Nikki and Margaret, with the farm that could make them rich. Now we’re nothing. What do we have now? Nothing. We have each other, but what is that if we have to spend our time finding just enough food for today?”

And Margaret woke up, there was a knock at the door.

He reached the house, it looked deserted save for the candle burning in the window. He knocked at the door.

There was no sound.

So he knocked again.

At last he heard footsteps.

A woman opened the door.

“Yes?” she said cautiously.

Lee said nothing for a moment, but finally gained the courage to speak.

“I am from America, I am a soldier.”

“Yes, I know that,” she said, looking over his clothing.

“The Americans are winning the war. We are taking over Germany.”

She was shocked at these words—what would happen to Nikki if the Americans won?  “Are you telling the truth? Is this for real?”  He nodded, and couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Yes, it is true—we have won.”

“You have won—I have lost,” she said bitterly.

There was an awkward silence as Lee realized her position.

“So what are you doing here?”

“We’re claiming the land. You will have to leave, you’ll have to come to town and the commanders will decide what to do with you. We kill most of the people we find or take prisoners—maybe we will let you go,” he added to appease her.

She said nothing.

“Do you have any food here?” he asked.

She nodded grimly.

“And animals?”

She nodded again.

“I am sorry, but we will have to confiscate that. The troops need food, they are starving.”

“I will not leave this land,” she said quietly, but forcefully.

“But I have orders—we don’t want spies, and how do we know you aren’t a Germany spy who will report on us?”

“I will not leave.”

She tried to close the door on him, but in fit of anger he shoved it open again—hitting the woman on the head.   “Don’t come in here,” she screamed, but he burst into her home.

They stood looking at each other for a moment. Lee noticed her dark hair was pulled back in a disheveled bun, her strong jaw was set firmly and stubbornly, and her green eyes glared at the intruder.

“My husband is coming back to our farm, and I will not leave,” she said. “What if he comes back and I am not here?”

Her anger broke into sorrow, and she started crying.

“I’ve been waiting here for him, it seems like years and years. We’re going to plant the fields, and grow a garden together, and..and…and raise children. You can’t take this away from me—it is all we have.”

“Margie?” he murmured. “What is going on?”

She was startled to hear his words.

“Who are you? I don’t know you.” 
“Margie…Margie…what is this?” he said, as if in a daze.

“How do you know my name? How do you know who I am?” 
He looked at her in confusion.

“I don’t know you.”  “But that’s my name—that’s what my husband called me, Margie. How do you know?”

“I can’t do this…” he cried. “I can’t keep going.”

“What do you know? Do you know Nikki? Tell me how he is,” she continued begging, frightened by what he said.

“What would Margie say? How could I face her and remember what I have done?”

He backed out of the house, as if afraid of the woman.

“Where are you going? Tell me about Nikki, please!” she called after him, falling on her knees and crying into her hands.

Lee stood outside in the snow for a long time, not knowing what to do.

“I have to get out of this, I can’t keep going.”

Lee walked slowly back to the village, hoping that perhaps an idea would come to him, a way to escape.

He realized he would have to say something about the house he visited, who was there, and why he didn’t bring them back.

I’ll tell them it was an old woman, she was nearly dead and I didn’t want to bother dragging her back here, he decided.

He just reached the fringe of the village when he heard strange sounds from behind a building. Lee followed the noise, to see what it was.

It was an insane man, raving and screaming. He brandished a knife, and waved it around as if it were not a deadly weapon. Lee watched him—unseen—for a moment, and then recklessly accosted the man.

“Who are you?” Lee demanded.

“Karl, but it is not of your business,” the man said.

“What are you doing with that knife?” Lee asked.

“Protecting myself, so I can defend myself if they come again.”

Lee heard footsteps, it was probably Ralph and others coming to see what the commotion was. Lee lunged at the man—they wrestled viciously. And as he heard Ralph approaching, Lee threw his right hand in front of his face to protect himself from the knife aimed for his face. It sliced through his hand instead.

The other soldiers quickly grabbed the man, but it was too late to save Lee, his hand was already mangled.

“There’s no way we can save it, there’s too much infection already,” a doctor said, leaning over Lee. “We’ll have to amputate.”

Meeting Margaret, Chapter 7

Savannah — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 19:13:30 +0000

Winter passed slowly for Margie. She found that she could manage more of the farm work, and Eva was teaching her how to keep the farmhouse clean and do all the things that were needed on a farm.

Margie grew to love the farm even more. She went out to help Avery every evening with barn chores. He showed her how to milk the cow, Lovely. She remembered Lee introducing her to the farm animals.

“You named a cow Lovely?”

He laughed.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I really have no idea. It is a crazy name, I know.”

But after Margie started milking Lovely, she almost understood why Lee named her Lovely. She was a very small cow, nearly a “midget” in the other farmers’ estimations. She was tawny brown and plump, not gaunt and bony like most cows. Lovely always moved slowly, and it seemed, almost gracefully. Margie laughed when she thought of a cow moving gracefully, but it was the best description for Lovely.

Spring came early that year, Margie was relieved.

“Thank goodness the snow is melting,” Eva said one day. “It was beginning to drive me insane. I am used to arctic weather here, but for some reason I just don’t have patience for it this year.”

Margie felt the same way. She was glad when she could walk to the barn without bundling up in many woolen layers. The animals were happy for the fresh spring grass and the pastures to romp in.

“Are you going to keep up the garden this year?” Eva asked.

Margie hadn’t thought about it. Last year, by the time she came out, Lee had it started already, and she just followed his directions in maintaining it.

“Well…I suppose, I should…I mean, Lee would want me to. But I don’t know how…”

“Oh, that’s fine. We’ll do it together,” Eva said happily.

It occurred to Margie that perhaps Eva was glad to have another woman around, like a daughter she never had.

By summer Margie was happy and adjusted to life on the farm without Lee. At night she would still cry for him. But she was kept so busy working there wasn’t time to miss him. For the first time she could see what kept the women from leaving this place. It was beautiful land, hilly enough to be interesting, flat enough for farming. The fields rippled to the horizon, and the expanse was calming.

Dear Lee,

It is summer now, and the garden is growing very fine. We shall do a lot of canning this fall. All the plants are doing so well (except for the green beans, which are being eating by some sort of bug—but I don’t mind that much because I never liked green beans), and your mother has been so helpful in telling me how to do the garden.

Lovely’s milk is very creamy and delicious, she’s eating all the good grass out in the field. She’s becoming even lovelier with the fresh meals.

I’ve been out picking strawberries—your mother showed me some of the best patches. I make biscuits to go with them, and give it to Avery for his breakfast, he likes that.

There is so much to discover on our farm, I enjoy it all, and I just wish you could be here with me, it would make me so happy.

Please come back soon, I love you Lee.

Margie

Margaret sadly watched the fields lay fallow, weeds grew up tall and strong, but no crops. She longed to keep it up, just for Nikki—when he returned, but she couldn’t do it on her own. At least she managed their large garden, as she always had, and it made her happy to think of Nikki coming home to find the garden growing lush and green with enough food to keep them through the winter. She didn’t realize he wouldn’t be home before winter.

One day she decided to venture into the village for one of her rare visits. There were a few things she wanted to buy, and hoped the store might have them. Within the last few years she had odd feelings about being around other people. Things weren’t the same, there was something dangerous in the atmosphere, the glances people gave, the tight and nervous words. It was just better not to risk it too much, so she stayed to herself mostly. Besides buying things like cloth or tea, she avoided going into the town. But this late summer day she was restless and wanted something to do.

The village was like a ghost-town, hardly anyone out on the streets. It gave her a queer feeling, and she shivered, even under the hot summer sun. The shelves of the store were bare, nothing on them—not a thing. She finally found the store keeper, sweeping back behind the building.

“Karl, what happened?”

The aged man turned to her, startled at the sound of another voice.

“Oh, Margaret, it is you.”

“Yes, me—what has happened here?”  “What…what do you mean?” He returned, trying to act ignorant of what she meant.

“The town, what happened to Elsteraue? And your store? I came for sugar and tea, but there is nothing on the shelves.”

He leaned nervously on his broom.

“You don’t know what is going on?”

“No, tell me, Karl, tell me,” she implored.

“The shelves are bare because I cannot get any more supplies. You know there is a war?”

“Of course, that’s where my husband is.”

“Well, that means that things are in short supply. We’re trying to support the troops and keep them fed, and so we have to give up on some of our luxuries.”

“Yes, but what about the people? Where is everyone?”

“Most of them are gone.”

“Where?”

He shrugged nervously, as if afraid someone was listening.

“I was told they were traitors. Not true Germans. They needed to be taken away.”

She was silent, shocked at his words.

“Sophie was the first,” he continued. “You remember her?”

Margaret nodded.

“She was here one day, gone the next. She came into my store one day, and the next day no one could find her anywhere. Her husband, poor man, could hardly take it. He knew where she was, but he was afraid to speak. But he wouldn’t let anyone take their children, although he was in no condition to take care of them. Then a few weeks later, soldiers came. They burned Sophie’s house. I’ve heard they took her husband away. And the children were left inside. There’s nothing left now, just rubble. You can go see it for yourself.”

Margaret shuddered.

Karl went on, like a deluge of horror that could not be stopped.

“The night they burned Sophie’s house, they took others away also. Only a few are left now, after the soldiers…”

“No, no,” Margaret cried, hiding her face with her hands, “don’t say anymore, I can’t listen.”

He stood there, silent and grim. He was once one of the most kind people in Elsteraue, always there with a smile. But Margaret’s cries did not move him now.

Margaret turned away from him, ran down the deserted street and away from the village. She stumbled and scraped her hand. It began bleeding, but she didn’t stop. She ran until she reached her home, she rushed inside, shut the door behind her and collapsed in front of it, tears mingling with the blood from her hand.

Dear Margie,

I hope I will be coming home soon, it can’t be long now. This war has lasted so long—it has been nearly a year since I left you. But at least I am doing the right thing. There are so many times I’ve wondered what I am doing over here. There’s the blood, the pain, the death, the mud, the hunger, the exhaustion—for what? For our country, for America, and so the world will become a better place.

I am glad that you are growing to love our farm, I only wish I could be there with you. When I am lonely, I think of you sitting on our old stool milking Lovely. I can almost smell the barn scents, the sunlight gleaming in through the knotholes of the walls, making streams of light in the dust. It won’t be much longer, the war will end, we will be victorious over evil, I will return, and we will live together on our farm again. I love you Margie, don’t forget that.

Lee

Margaret shivered in the deep winter cold. It seemed colder than any winter she could remember—or was that just because she was alone and afraid?

She had tried to store firewood all summer, but her supply seemed pitiful now. The house echoed around her, bringing vivid memories to light, and casting strange thoughts on her troubled mind.

Now there was no one, the village was gone, her husband was gone, she didn’t know where to turn. She wanted Nikki back, to turn this horrible nightmare into just that—a nightmare that never really existed. She dreamed of waking up and finding Nikki beside her, and a child cooing happily in a cradle by her bed.

And then one night she had a different dream. She dreamt that Nikki was returning from the war, it was dark and snowy outside. He was walking past the house, but he couldn’t see it. He called out to her, but she did not hear. He walked farther and farther away, and she didn’t know it. He wandered about the countryside, trying to find Margaret, but the snow was too much for him, and he froze to death out there—alone and lost.

When Margaret awake from that dream, she ran outside screaming for Nikki, thinking he was lying in the snow somewhere. She walked through the snow until her feet were numb, and finally returned to the weak warmth of her house.

And so, after that night she left a light burning in the window every evening, in case Nikki came back, he would be able to find his way.

It was a very quiet Christmas for Margie. She had even less of a holiday spirit than the year before. All year she thought that Lee must return by Christmas—this year he would be there.

But he wasn’t.

Eva too felt the disappointment, and they didn’t even force themselves to be merry—it was too hard.

So Margie went to Eva’s home again for Christmas, but they had only a simple meal, and a sparse Christmas tree.

“We put the tree up only because Avery wanted it,” Eva explained. “I didn’t want to bother with it. And the rationing is getting so bad, there wasn’t much that I could make for the holiday.”

But Margie knew Eva would not have made the traditional Christmas food, even if she had the ingredients. They just wanted Lee to come home.

Lee was feeling more hopeful this Christmas than before. They heard rumors that Germany was weakening, and the Allies were planning an attack that would end the war at last.

This Christmas the men were laughing and counting down the days until the supposed end of the war, and then they would all go home.

The rumors proved to be right. By the end of January the Allies had destroyed a pocket of resistance, and the final sweep was about to begin.

And Lee was in the middle of it.

“We’re going for it!” Ralph exclaimed. “We’re gonna march across Germany and get this all over with. We’ll stamp down everything and everyone in our way, and make America proud of us.”

Lee smiled to think of finally going home, and going after such a glorious victory would be even better.

By mid-February Lee was marching across Germany.

Meeting Margaret, Chapter 6

Savannah — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 19:11:51 +0000

Sometimes the loneliness was too much for Margie. The large echoing house was too big for her. Out of desperation she would write letters to her parents, but she never sent them. They were letter of misery and boredom—she knew that if her parents found out how unhappy she was, they would demand that she return home. No, she would wait here for Lee to come back. It wasn’t her marriage that she regretted, she still loved Lee—it was his departure she hated.

It was after Pearl Harbor when it started. He was not happy being at the farm. Margie wasn’t worried, because Lee had found out he was not required to go into the military, since he was a farmer. So she didn’t think he would actually leave.

But by the summer after Pearl Harbor Margie knew he wanted to leave. He didn’t say a word, but she could tell. He didn’t like talking about the war.

“Did you hear the news?” Margie said one evening as they were having dinner. “The British tried to attack the Germans, but it failed. It ended very badly. Apparently there were a lot of British deaths. It is a shame they have to keep on fighting like that, wasting so many lives…”

“Margie, will you be quiet?” Lee shouted.

He had never shouted at her before.

She stared at him for a moment, shocked and not sure what to say. She slowly stood up, pushed her chair in to the table with solemn finality and left the room. He could hear her going up the stairs, going into her room and shutting the door.

He sat silently for a long time—till the sky outside grew dark, till it was lit up with the summer stars. Then he got up and went quietly upstairs. He knocked gently on her door.

“Margie?” He said in a muted voice.

“Yes?”  “Please let me come in.”  “The door isn’t locked.”  He paused for a moment, and turned the knob, opening the heavy old door.

She was kneeling beside the window, looking out at the expanse of land—their land.

“Margie, I am sorry.”

“I know.”

He was silent, not knowing how to tell her.

She looked up at him sadly.

“You want to go off to the war?”

He nodded.

“The only thing that’s held me back is you—I know you want me to stay here.”

“But that won’t keep you any longer.”

“Margie, I don’t want to make you unhappy, but I can’t just sit here and watch every other man give their lives for our country—and stay here, like a coward.”

“Your father isn’t going.”

“Yes, but he is too old, they won’t let him.”

“I wish the war had never happened,” she said softly.

He knelt down beside her, and she cried into his shoulder.

“What if you die? What will I have?”

There was nothing he could say.

And so the next week he was gone. His parents were upset, although not as much as when he married Margie. At least his leaving for the war was a good cause.

Lee left early in the morning. Margie walked down their farm’s long winding lane with him. Brown September grass covered the path.

“Take good care of the farm, Margie—I know you will.”

She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes and trying to smile bravely, for him.

“Are you going to stop and see your parents again?”

He sighed.

“No, I don’t think so. I said good bye to them yesterday.”

They were silent for a moment, looking at each other for the last time in a long while. Early morning birds chirped in the background. A breeze rustled through the tree branches.

“Lee, I love you,” Margie whispered.

“I love you Margie—don’t forget that.”

He wrapped his arms around her once more, and then walked away.

“Lee, no, please don’t go!” she cried, as the empty space enveloped her, and he became smaller and smaller, walking down that dusty country road. She shouted after him again, but he was too far away to hear.

She stood looking after him until he could be seen no more.

“Why?” she screamed into the bright morning. The sound startled the birds, and they fluttered away nervously, so she was left with only herself.

It felt good to laugh again. Margie held up her dough covered hands and laughed again. She was baking Christmas cookies with Eva, and they were both enjoying it.

The whole idea had started as a labor of love—Eva didn’t want to ask Margie to come over and help make cookies, a stranger intruding into their family traditions. She asked Margie anyways. Margie didn’t want to go, she was so much happier alone, thinking of Lee and his return. But she knew Eva was trying to welcome her, so she accepted the invitation.

And so—surprisingly—they were have a merry time together. Margie discovered Eva could be light-hearted and happy. Eva realized Margie was more than a pretty but useless city girl.

“Back home we used to make Lebkuchen,” Margie explained. “It is a German cookie, my family…” she stopped suddenly, “…is from Germany.”

She paused to finish rolling out the dough, a little out of breath.

Eva glanced at the young girl, her hair disheveled but her face bright. Yes, she did look German, her strong jawbone, dark thick hair, green eyes. Funny that she hadn’t noticed the resemblance sooner—most of the people in the area were German also. Margie wasn’t that different.

Margie looked up quickly.

“My family came from Germany a long time ago,” she said sharply. “Before any of this happened with Hitler, and all that. We’re Americans now, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Eva laughed.

“No, no, I wasn’t worried about that. I believe you.”

Margie looked relieved.

“I’ve been worried about that—people might talk about me being a German.”

“No, they wouldn’t, most of us here have at least some German in us. And what does it matter? There are good Germans and bad Germans, just like there are good Americans and bad Americans. Being German doesn’t make you evil, just because some Germans are.” Eva paused. “You are going to come over on Christmas Eve, right?”

Margie was silent.

“I don’t know…I wasn’t planning on it…”

“What else would you do?”

I’ll sit at home and cry for Lee, Margie thought, but didn’t say it.

“Yes, I suppose I can come.”

“Very good. And maybe do you want to make those German cookies to bring?”

“I am not sure if I remember how to make them, but I will try.”

Margie trudged through the snow to Eva’s home on Christmas Eve. Avery walked beside her with a lantern. She was glad he was there—it was very cold and very dark.

They finally reached the warm house, glowing with lights and holiday decorations.

“I am glad you finally made it—and merry Christmas!” Eva exclaimed.

“We thought we’d never get here, the snow was so deep,” Margie laughed. “Here are the cookies I made, I hope you like them.”

She handed Eva a red tin, Eva took it to the table.

“Avery, take Margie’s coat,” she said. “Hang it back in the hall.”

“Come sit down, Margie, and get warmed, you must be freezing.”

“Hello Margie,” Wilson said, and returned to reading the newspaper. Margie had discovered Wilson was a very silent man, not much for talking unless it was necessary.

“Well,” Eva said brightly, “I hope you’re ready for lots of good things to eat. I’ve been busy all day making food. We don’t have the usual pies, but it is so hard to get sugar nowadays—I used all of mine for the cookies. Hopefully the men won’t be too disappointed. That’s a lovely dress you have, Margie. Is it from town?”

“Yes, my mother bought it for me, right before I left. I am glad you like it.”

“Why don’t you come in the drawing room and see our tree? It isn’t quite like most years, but I think it still looks nice.”

It was a bitterly cold night, but at least the holiday spirit seemed to warm it a little.

The men sat around smoking their treasured cigarettes and talking about their homes.

“There’s a pretty girl waiting for me when I get back—we’re gonna get married. She’s blonde, the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen.”

“By the time I get home, my wife will have had her baby—our first.”

“My wife is waiting for me, and our twins. They’re about a year old now.”

“And what about you, Lee? A sweetheart back home?”

He smiled.

“Yes, my wife, Margie.”

He was too wrapped up in the memories of Margie to keep talking.

“My family always went out on Christmas Eve Day to cut a tree. Then we’d decorate it in the evening and sing carols,” another man said.

“We had our tree up right after Thanksgiving. My mother would make treats on Christmas Eve, we would sit together eating popcorn and all her candies.”

All Lee could think about was home—and Margie. The happy chatting of the other men seemed to fade away. “Lord, please let me get home,” he whispered. “Please let me see Margie again. And make her happy while I am away.”

Margaret sat quietly, knitting beside the fireplace and watching the blizzard outside. It was Christmas Eve, and she was alone. The howling wind made her shiver. There was no one to talk to. There hadn’t been since Nikolaus left. But this night especially she felt alone. The silence—save for the gusts outside—seemed to pound against her, at last she couldn’t bear it.

She stood up and walked nervously around the room, and began singing softly. At first it was just a murmur.

“Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright.”

“And then she grew bolder, it sounded good to hear a voice, if only her own.

“Round yon virgin mother and child. Holy infant so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.”

And so she sang, all evening, until she was exhausted and she fell down on her bed and was asleep.

Meeting Margaret, Chapter 5

Savannah — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 20:15:34 +0000

Margaret lived alone, in the old stone house, and no one came to visit. She went out every morning to feed the chickens and milk the cow. During the day she would weed the garden and tidy up the house. And in the evening she sat and stared at the fire until it died away into blackness, and then she would go to bed.

It was true, when she was younger she had friends, there was Loise, and Sophie, they were once good friends. But Loise went away to Berlin, with her husband. Although Sophie still lived in the village, she had three children already, with another on the way, and the two women were no longer close. Margaret could not bear to visit Sophie’s house, with the merry prattle of children all around, a house full of brightness, hope and energy. And Sophie was not sure how to speak to Margaret, how to comfort her old friend after the miscarriage…

Both the doctor and midwife were called for the delivery. It was early, and unexpected—Margaret and Nikolaus were worried. Elsteraue had a doctor, a new-fangled addition to the village, and the old midwife, who had been around longer than any of the women could remember. The baby was born in the morning, and Sophie decided that by late afternoon Margaret would have enough time to rest, and perhaps she could help around the house and let Margaret relax. So she gathered up some blankets, a jar of her own jam, a loaf of freshly baked bread, and a few other things, put them in her basket and set out to visit Margaret. But as she approached the house, she felt something wasn’t quite right. Even the air seemed to bode ill as she went closer. She was ready to knock on the door when she heard a scream.

“No…not my baby!”

It was Margaret.

Sophie paused and did not knock.

“Margie, come, lay down, don’t go over there,” Sophie could hear Nikolaus pleading.

“What’s wrong with my baby? Don’t let her die! Nikki, do something, please…don’t let her die!”

“Margie, don’t get up, lay down, let me cover you up. Everything will be alright…”

And Sophie suddenly heard the crack of breaking glass.

“She’s dead! And we didn’t do anything! Nothing! Now it is too late,” Margaret cried. There was the sound of fabric rent in pieces, chairs knocked over, and more glass shattering.

“Nikki…our baby is dead…” Margaret’s shrieking ripped through the calm of dusk.

Sophie backed away from the door, and as Margaret’s voice followed, she began to run—she ran all the way back to her home, frightened and disturbed by what had come over Margaret.

After that, she didn’t know what to say to Margaret, and so they slipped apart, Sophie consumed with her own family and home, Margaret enveloped by her husband and their love, until he left. Then the sounds, the sights, the smells of her past haunted her every moment.

She would hear someone out walking on the road and jump up, for it sounded just like her father, returning from the war. She made soup, and the aroma of the spices brought back her childhood, those cheery nights with her mother—just the two of them, dunking thick wedges of bread in their soup. Margaret would tell stories to her mother about her day’s adventures, what she played with Nikolaus, and what they discovered together.

And then Margaret’s mother became the child, and Margaret had to grow up quickly, in order to take care of her. She didn’t have time to go out and join in on the plans of her friends, she sat at home, in a chair beside her mother, next to the window so she could watch the day pass, and they talked together. Margaret’s mother talked a great deal of nonsense, and Margaret quietly assented to what she said, not wanting to disturb her little world. And sometimes, just sometimes, Margaret wished she could escape into her own world too, where life was always happy and there was always the expectation of it becoming even happier.

“Your father will be home soon from his business, won’t he?”

Margaret’s mother pushed the war out of her mind, it didn’t exist for her, and she believed her husband was in Berlin, on a business trip.

“Yes, it will be very soon.”

“And he will bring lovely things back to us, chocolates, and silks, and lace…” and she would go on all day, dreaming of a better life that would never come.

But Margaret wasn’t patient all the time.

“You don’t want Papa to come home, do you?” her mother said one day, in an accusing voice. “You don’t want him to come back because he’ll make you stop seeing that boy from the village. I suppose you hope he’ll be killed on the way home, or something dreadful will happen to stop him.”

“Mother! What are you talking about?”

“That boy, Fredrick, you’re always sneaking out to see, and you know Papa doesn’t approve. It would be just like you to secretly hope Papa never returns. And then you’ll probably sit around and wait for me to die, and then go off and marry Fredrick.”

“I will not let you sit and say those lies!”

“It isn’t a lie—it is the truth, I know it! You go off every morning to see him…”

And Margaret rushed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. She ran, not knowing where, just running away.”

“Margie! What’s wrong?” She heard a familiar voice.

She stumbled and fell on Nikolaus, nearly knocking him over.

“Nikolaus?” she asked, as if in a daze.

“Yes, it is me. Are you alright? What’s going on?”

He held her steady while she wiped the tears from her face.

“Come sit down, this log will do, tell me what happened.”

“Oh, Nikki, I am so tired of everything, this isn’t what life is supposed to be. I am young, I want to live, I want to do so much, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Nikki, I live with a crazy woman. My mother isn’t in her right mind anymore. You’ve been so busy with your farm, and your family, we haven’t talked for so long. But she’s crazy now. She sits and talks of my father coming back from Berlin, she asks where my little brother is, and I have no brother or sister. I am tired of it all.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, Nikki, of course I am serious. You can come see for yourself.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since at least the spring, it started quite a while ago, but didn’t get bad until then. It has been fine, but today she said I didn’t want Papa to come back from Berlin because I wanted to marry some boy Papa didn’t approve of.” She tried to laugh, a tight and strained laugh. “I just couldn’t take it anymore, she is so unreasonable, there’s nothing I could do to stop her from prattling on.”

“Doesn’t anyone come out from the village to visit?”

“Not much. Sometimes a few of the ladies make some jam or soup and bring it out, but they never stay long. I think they’re afraid of my mother, they don’t know what to do around her.”

“So it is just the two of you, all the time?”

“Who else would come?” she said, almost bitterly, “so of course it is just us.”

Nikolaus was silent for a moment and finally spoke.

“Margaret, my father has some jobs for me to do today, otherwise I’d come home with you right now. But I’ll come over tomorrow to see you, alright?”

“I don’t want to take you away from your work and everything…”

“It is fine, I don’t mind, really.”

“Thank you, Nikki, thank you. I didn’t realize how lonely I was, until today. I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Will you be alright going home by yourself?”

She laughed.

“If I can’t walk home by myself, I am not much good for anything. I’ll be fine. Thank you again, Nikki. Good-bye.”

Margaret slowly walked home, thinking of Nikolaus and his kindness to her. There were many pretty girls in the village who would give anything to have Nikolaus look their way, and yet he was still so thoughtful to Margaret.

When she entered the house she didn’t seem to mind her mother’s fretting and childish whining over her absence.

“Mother, there will be someone visiting us tomorrow, so you must look your best.”

Margaret rushed around the house, straightening the furniture, plumping the pillows and dusting the shelves.

“Who is coming? Is your father returning already?”

“No, not father,” she said quietly. “Someone else. A friend of mine.”  “I didn’t think you had any friends.”

Despite her buoyant mood, this sharp statement left her stunned for a moment, before recovering herself.

“Well, mother, I suppose this will be quite a surprise to you, but I do have at least one friend,” she returned briskly.

The rest of the day seemed to drag so slowly, and it was with a sigh of relief that she helped her mother into bed, and collapsed—weary, but happy—on her own bed.

Margaret was up early the next morning, straightening the house again and worrying about if Nikolaus would come at a mealtime, and what to prepare.

She helped her mother dress, and they both sat in silent expectation, until Margaret began to worry that maybe Nikki wasn’t coming until later in the day. Her mother grew tired of sitting for so long, and was irritable.

“I don’t know what you meant by someone coming to visit, I can’t think of anyone who would want to visit us. Whoever it was probably just lied, and doesn’t mean to come at all.”

She went on like this longer and longer, Margaret was growing desperate.

At last there were footsteps outside. Margaret jumped up and ran to the door.

“It is Papa returning!” Her mother cried joyfully, “He has come back at last!”

“No, Mama, it is my friend coming to visit.”

“But it sounds just like Papa—you are telling lies again.”  Margaret was ready to retort, but there was a knock at the door. She smiled and opened it slowly.

“Oh, hello Nikolaus, it is so good to see you. Please come in.”

“Mother, this is my friend Nikki, he came to see us.”

“Hello, Mrs. Bachmeier, it has been a long time since I’ve seen you.”

He spoke in polite and quiet tones, but was shocked to see how frail and small Margaret’s mother had become. Like a child. Her eyes betrayed her simplicity and childishness. He said nothing of this to Margaret though, they both knew it, why talk about?

“Nikki, please sit down.”

“Thank you.”

They both sat down awkwardly and silently.

“So where are you from, boy?”

Margaret winced at her mother’s overbearing voice.

“I live just up the road, on my family farm,” Nikki answered patiently.

“I suppose you help your family and are a credit to them.” Margaret’s mother sighed. “What a blessing that would be—Margaret here is nothing but trouble. She doesn’t lift a finger more than she has to, it makes life so difficult.”

Nikolaus glanced at Margaret. Her eyes were filling with tears. He slipped his hand over her’s and held it tightly.

Margaret smiled, and was glad for once of her mother’s failing eyesight—seeing Nikolaus holding her hand would surely incite much fury.

“So, I see you have a nice garden, Mrs. Bachmeier, is it growing well?”

“Oh yes, the peas are just gorgeous, plump and juicy. I am so eager for Heinreich to get back, he will be so happy.”

Nikolaus gave Margaret a questioning glance.

“My dead father,” she whispered.

Margaret’s mother rattled on and on, Nikolaus always patiently replying. At last he stood up and said,

“Well, I really need to get back to my farm. But I was wondering if Margaret could come over some time and visit.”

Margaret stood up, shocked at his daring. My mother would never allow it, she seemed to say silently.

“I’ve heard Margaret is very good at knitting, and my younger sister has such a time with knitting, she just can’t get it right. Perhaps Margaret can come and show her how to do it properly? It would make my mother so happy if my sister learned how to knit.”

“Well…” Margaret’s mother sat deliberating, and Margaret was trembling with fear, that she might say no. “I suppose she can, she is rather good at knitting, and if it would make your mother happy.”

“Yes, yes, it would. Thank you so much,” Nikolaus said, “can she come tomorrow evening?”

“I suppose it is best to get it over with…yes, she can go.”

“Thank you, Mama, thank you.”

Margaret led Nikolaus to the door.

“I have no younger sister,” he whispered.

“Yes, I know,” she smiled.

“But don’t forget to bring your needles anyways, to make your mother happy. I will come by to get you tomorrow evening. Good bye!”  “Good bye, Nikki—and thank you!”

Meeting Margaret, Chapter 4

Savannah — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 19:08:06 +0000

It was a very quiet and small wedding. Lee knew Margie wasn’t used to their country weddings, and the neighbors wouldn’t know what to make of Margie.

And so although Margie was married, and officially part of the community, she hardly knew any of the people.

“Lee, your mother mentioned that there is an ice cream social in town next week. Will we go?”

“Do you want to?”  “Yes, I want to meet your neighbors, the people you know. They will be my friends now.”

“It is different from what you know.”

“Yes, but I can adjust. It will be fine. Can we go?”

“If you want to, of course.”

“Is it alright if my parents come along with us?”

“Lee, this is your farm, you make the decisions, you don’t have to ask permission from me. Do I look good enough?”

“Margie, you’re beautiful.”

She was wearing a full red dress, with cream lace around the neck, and black trimming.

“Will they think I look nice?”

“I don’t mean this against the others, but they are very plain. You see…the girls here…”

She was staring intently into his face, trying to understand what he meant.

“…oh well, it doesn’t matter. You will see soon enough. Come along, we need to get going.”

“Here we are,” Lee said. He smiled at Margie and took her hand. “Let me introduce you.” 
“Lee, how nice of you to come,” Mrs. Gratcher exclaimed. “And this must be…?”

“This is my wife, Margie. And this is Mrs. Gratcher, a long-time friend of our family.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Margie said quietly.

“I hope you are adjusting to country life?”

“Yes, I enjoy living here.”

“Oh, Josie, here is Lee, come back from the city,” Mrs. Gratcher said, catching a girl walking past. “And this is his new wife, Margie.”

“Hello, Lee.”

She did not speak to Margie, but her eyes scanned Margie quickly.

Josie was a strong girl, her face was tanned from long hours in the sun, she walked with a heavy tread.

“How has your family been doing, Josie?” Lee asked.

“Fine. Mother had another baby, a little girl. And that makes eight of us now, plenty of help around the farm!”

Lee laughed and asked Josie to give his congratulations to her mother.

“Lee, glad to see you back,” a man said, coming up and shaking his hand. “And you brought someone with you?”

“Yes, Henry, this is my wife, Margie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell.”

“And you, as well.”

“Lee, I wanted to ask what you do for calves that are…”

And suddenly Lee was whisked away from Margie, to talk with the other farmers about calving. She stood there, alone and surprised at her husband being gone, and felt very out of place. Margie was an only child, she had no experience with children, and all the young women her age were either watching their own children or their siblings. She didn’t realize it, but she began to stare at the girls, watching their faces, studying their clothing. They’re so coarse, she thought, and loud, what dark skin they have! And their hands are so red and rough. I suppose they do nothing but work on their farm, day after day, year after year, nothing more to life than that. And she felt a twinge of panic and fear—that she would turn into them. That one day she would look into the mirror and see a brown-tanned face, hair pulled back in a tight bun, an ugly bonnet over her head, a dirty worn-out dress, and hands rough as sand, chapped, with torn fingernails. Suddenly she realized the other girls were staring back at her, and she was embarrassed for a moment before glancing down at her dress and seeing the impeccable fashion of it. There’s no reason to be ashamed, those poor girls just don’t know what stylish dresses look like. She lifted her chin high and resolutely, sweeping over the young women with a hollow glance, and walked towards her husband.

“Margie, that’s no place for you,” Eva said, coming up to her quickly.

“Why not?”  “They’re talking menfolk talk, and we don’t go and interrupt them.”

“Oh,” she stammered. “But Lee’s there, and I want to be with him…”

“We don’t do that around here, so come meet these girls, they’re about your age.”

So Eva led her back to the same cluster of women she had just fled from.

“Girls, I’d like you to meet Margie, Lee’s wife. Margie, this is Josie, and Mary, and Helen, and Gladys. Margie’s from the city, and is new out here.”

Margie thought it sounded like Eva meant that to be an apology for something about Margie, “she’s new out here, so she can’t help it,” but wasn’t sure what “it” was.

Eva was called away by someone to help with the ice cream, and the girls were left staring silently at each other. To Margie’s relief, the multitude of children around soon distracted everyone’s attention, and it wasn’t necessary for her to even speak to the other girls. Eventually Lee returned to her.

“I am sorry I left you, the others wanted to know about our calves.”

“That’s alright,” and Margie smiled for she noticed he said “our” calves. But then it washed over her—the confusion she felt when he wasn’t there, the loneliness when Eva said it wasn’t proper for her to go stand beside him, and the quiet strain of looking at the other women but not knowing what to say.

“Lee, I want to go home,” she murmured and put her head against his shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I don’t want to stay here,” and she closed her eyes and buried her face in his arm.

“Margie, I am so sorry this happened…I wanted you to get along with the others…” He led her away from the group of people until it was quiet. “I didn’t want this to happen, I knew you weren’t like them…”

“Lee, don’t blame yourself—you tried to tell me,” she said, looking up at him and wiping tears from her face. “I didn’t understand; it isn’t your fault.”

“I should have done something, so you wouldn’t feel so left out.”

“Never mind about it now, can we just go home?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll go get my parents, we’ll leave right now then.”

And she stood looking back at the others, talking and laughing together. She shivered and turned to leave.

Meeting Margaret, Chapter 3

Savannah — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 19:00:23 +0000

He wondered about Margie. Her letter didn’t seem quite right. Something about the tone of it, didn’t seem like Margie. Perhaps she was just worried about him. Perhaps she was lonely. Perhaps…he tried not to think about it too much. Margie was his Margie, and she would always be there for him.

Margie, his Margie, she followed him faithfully from the city, she didn’t even consider not going back to his home—of course she would move the country, that’s where Lee wanted to be, and so that’s where she would be.

“Whatcha doing, mister?” a girlish voice called.

Lee quickly drew his hand back from the tree branches, startled, but it was too late. There was already an apple fallen into his palm.

“Oh…just picking an apple.”

“But that’s my apple tree, mister. See?”

The girl across the fence pointed to the ground.

“The trunk comes up on our side. It is my tree.”

She stared expectantly at him.

Lee wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

“I…uh…I mean, I didn’t, um…”

“But I suppose I’ll let you go this once. My papa would probably nearly strangle you, if he found out you took one of our apples.”  Lee wasn’t sure if the girl was serious, or only joking.

“You’re a stranger around here?”

“Yes, from out of town. I am staying with my uncle, Mr. Husemann.”

“He is a good neighbor. But has quite a rude nephew…” she laughed. “I am just teasing, don’t worry so much.”

Lee smiled, awkwardly.

“I’d still like to know your name, mister.”

“Lee. Lee Mitchell.”

“Margie Johns.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Johns.”  “And you, Mr. Mitchell.” Margie took a step forward and leaned on the fence. “So what brings you here?”

“Just visiting. To see what it’s like.”

“Where are you from?”  “Out in the country, Alwein is the town near our farm.”

“I never heard of it.”

“No one has, we’re used to it.”

“And so why did you come here?” 
“To see the world.”

“Is this what you think the world is?”  “Not all of it, but more than what we have in Alwein.”

“Do you like the city?”

“Not really. There isn’t room to move around, to think, to breathe.”

“We get along just fine, the city is so exciting, always changing, always something happening.”  “Yes, but on my farm, we know we can trust the land, it will always be there. It doesn’t change. It is a good thing.”

“How long are you staying?”

“I don’t know yet. I just got here, it depends on if I get used to it or not.”

“Well, I need to be going,” Margie said, “nice to meet you.”

Then she was gone, and Lee was left in a whirlwind.

There weren’t girls like that back in the country. All the girls he knew were strong workers, tan and silent. But Margie was slim, like a slip of sunshine, and she wasn’t afraid to speak. Her eyes were bright and bold. He liked her already.

“Aunt Jane, who are your neighbors?” Lee asked quietly.

“Old Mrs. Gates?”

“No, on the other side.”

“You mean the Johns?”  “Yes.”  “Why do you ask?”

“I met Miss Johns today.”

“Oh.” She was silent, and then suddenly looked up from her embroidery. “You met Margie?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! What happened? How did you meet her?”

“Well…I didn’t realize it, but the apple tree in the back belongs to them, and I was ready to take an apple, and Miss Johns came out and told me that it was their tree.”

“Was that all?”  “No, we talked for a few minutes.”

“Hmmm…how interesting.”

“Fredrick, I think we need to invite the Johns family over for dinner,” Jane said.

He looked up sharply from the paper.

“Why would we need to do that? We already know them.”  “Yes, but Lee doesn’t.” She spoke in a low whisper, as if afraid of someone listening in. “And I think he likes Margie. There can’t be any decent girls out there where he lives. Think of what it would do for him, and his family, if he married her.”

Lee was thrown in with Margie frequently, and they grew to know each other better. He discovered that Margie on the inside was even more entrancing than Margie on the outside.

And then the day came when Lee realized he had to return home. His help would be needed on the farm. He promised his mother he would return. She was begging him to come back. But he could not leave Margie there, alone, without telling her how he felt.

They were together under the apple tree. Margie had given him the privilege of enjoying its fruits.

“Margie,” he said quietly. “I am going to be leaving.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“Already? I thought you would stay longer. I mean…you haven’t really gotten to see the city much, and it would be a shame…it would be a shame if you went back to the country without knowing it better.”

“I know, but my family needs me to help. And they miss me.”  Margie was silent.

“But, Margie, can we write to each other? And Margie…I, I, um…I want you to come out to my farm, and marry me. I love you Margie, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever known. I want to live with you, to share my life with you.”

“Oh!” She glanced at him with shock. “You want to marry me?” She asked, a little breathless.

“Yes, I love you, Margie. Will you marry me?”  “I don’t know…I need to ask my papa…I don’t know.”  “But do you love me?”

“Yes, yes. I love you, Lee, I do.”

“Then I will ask your father.”

Margie heard the door close. She heard Lee’s footsteps outside on the sidewalk.

“Margie, papa wants you,” her mother called.

She took a deep breath and went into his room.

“Yes, papa?”  “I think you know. That young man, Lee, he just asked for permission to marry you.”

“Yes. And…?”  He took his glasses off and looked steadily at her.

“Margie, do you realize what you are doing?”  “Yes.”

“You’re devoting your life to this country bumpkin?”

“He’s not a bumpkin. He is just different. And I want to spend my life with him.”  “You love him?”  “Yes.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know, papa,” she took his hand, “but I do. Please let us marry,” she pleaded.

“We may never see you again.”

“His farm isn’t that far away.”

“And you’ve never been to the country.”

“I will get used to it. And I love him.”

“What if you don’t get used to it? And you marry him? You’ll be trapped.”

“I’ll be happy. I’ll get used to it because that is where Lee is.”

He sighed.

“You’re stubborn.”

“I know. Like my father.”

He smiled.

“What will I do? What will I do without my little girl? And he is poor, and you will never be famous or rich. You’ll just be stuck out on that deserted countryside, with a poor farmer.”

“Papa, don’t say that! Lee is a good man, and he isn’t poor. He isn’t rich, but he isn’t poor. We will manage. Have you told mama?”

“No, I’ll let you do that,” he laughed.

“Margie, I can’t let you do that!” her mother moaned. “That is just too much. I didn’t like that boy hanging around here, now I see I should have stopped it at the beginning.”

“But mama, we love each other…”

“Love? How can that silly young boy love? His head is full of cows, and corn, and…” she broke down and began crying. “Margie, you’re the only child we have. And you want to leave and go off there?”

“Yes, I love him.”

“But what will we do without you?”

Margie shrugged.

“You did something before I was born, didn’t you? You can still go to parties and drink tea with fancy ladies.”

“But the house will be so lonely without you…”

Margie put her arms around her mother.

“I know. But would you have me give up an opportunity for love and happiness?”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want that. I want you to be happy. But how will you find happiness on that farm? It seems so strange.”

“I know, but I love him. That makes all the difference.”

“Well, Lee, my parents finally agreed,” she said quietly. “It took some convincing. And there are some conditions.”

“Like what?”

“We have to wait until the spring. But we can write letters.”

“I am leaving in five minutes, to catch the train. My uncle is tired of me being here, I think, he is rushing me out on the soonest train,” Lee laughed. “But I will write you. And make plans—there shall be a wedding in May!”

“Yes, Lee, I will look forward to that, and write to you in the meantime. What do you think your parents will say?”  “I don’t know. But they cannot stop me. Once my mind is made up, no one can stop me.”

He took her hand and kissed it.

“Don’t worry, and don’t get lonesome. I will be back to take you home. I will always love you—don’t forget that.”  She brushed tears from her eyes and nodded.

“Yes, I love you, and I’ll try not to become impatient. I’ll be waiting for you.”

And in the distance they heard the train whistling.

“I need to go. Good-bye, Margie.

“Good-bye, Lee.”

And so he was gone. She watched after him, fading away into the blur of crowds until she could see him no more.

“I love you, Lee” she whispered. “I love you.”

He didn’t notice the other passengers, or anything about the train. He couldn’t get his mind off Margie. But as he drew closer to home, a nagging worry grew. How would he tell his parents?

“Oh, Lee, you’re home!” Eva threw her arms around him. “We’ve missed you so much. I nearly thought you wouldn’t come back at all.”

“I promised I would return, so here I am.”

And even then, as she embraced him, she knew there was something different. She knew something had happened to him in the city. She looked up at him, hoping he would tell her. But he brushed her silent questions aside.

“Where is father?”

“Out in the barn, Avery’s out there too.”

“I’ll go surprise them.”

He nonchalantly greeted his father and brother.

“I am back. Here to help out with the chores again,” he laughed.

“Glad you’re back,” his father said simply.

It wasn’t until after dinner that night did he tell them.

“Mother, father, I have some news for you.” He paused, unsure of how to say it. “While I was in the city…I mean, there were—there are—some neighbors, they live next to Uncle Fredrick. They have a…oh, I’ll start again. Next May, I am going to marry Margie Johns, a girl I met in the city.”

His father looked at him, slightly surprised, more confused than shocked. His mother looked down, her lips tight.

“And you didn’t ask for our permission?” his mother said.

“I knew you would say no.”

“Why?” she asked, a bit offended at his presumption.

“Because she isn’t who you wanted me to marry. But she is a good girl, very nice, very pretty.”

“And you love her?”

“Yes.”

“And she loves you?”  “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Only a girl in love would want to marry some nearly-poor farmer and move out to this sort of place.”

“Well, I hope she can adjust to life out here. And I hope she is really a good girl,” his father said.

His mother was silent.

Meeting Margaret, Chapter 2

Savannah — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 19:00:08 +0000

“Nikolaus, please don’t leave, don’t go away now,” Margaret cried, wrapping her arms around him.

“Margie, it is for our country, it is for Germany, it is for the Fatherland. Otherwise they will come and take our land, they will take away everything that we know.”

“But I want you with me, I will be left alone,” she pleaded.

“Kneel down,” he said. “Feel this,” he put his hands on the earth. “This is our land, this is ours. If we let the British and the Russians, and the Americans win, this will be gone. Be brave, Margie, for our country, for us, and for what we are protecting.”

He kissed her gently, stood up, and walked away.

She knelt there, on the ground, weeping, until there were no more tears.

She had always known Nikolaus. When they were grown, it was just natural, she married Nikolaus. No one was surprised, it seemed the way things were meant to be.

Margaret never realized how much she loved him, until he declared he was leaving for the war. And then she felt alone and afraid. Nikolaus was everything. He provided for her, he protected her, he loved her, and now he would not be there.

Margaret sat down at the table. She was tired. She hadn’t slept the night before. The house was big and dangerous without Nikolaus. She looked around, her eyes weary. It was an old house. Mostly stone. It was cold in the winter—like it was now. The stones were worn and smooth, she tried to calculate how long it had been there, and figured at least a hundred years. Children had been born. Families had been raised. And children had died.

As her own had.

Margaret pictured the tiny grave in her mind, the small lump of earth. Her child, her beautiful daughter, who died before they even named her, before Margaret even knew her.

And so now Margaret was all alone, with Nikolaus gone.

Her father died when she was young, from a war wound that never healed. She vaguely remembered it—or maybe she was just imagining it from the stories her mother told. She would never know for sure…

“Here he comes!” Margaret shouted. “Papa is coming!”

She ran out of the house to greet him. He was walking slowly, and she reached him before he even approached the house.

“Papa, you’re home!”

“Ja,” he said quietly. Her father was a silent man. He never spoke much.

“Heinreich, we weren’t expecting you yet,” Margaret’s mother said, as she too came running towards him.

“Louise, it is good to be home,” was all he said.

“But you are limping, are you hurt?”

“Ja, but it is nothing. It will be gone soon.”

“Come inside, lie down and rest,” Louise urged.

He rested, and they cleaned his wound, and no one worried any more.

But one morning he woke up feverish.

“Heinreich, what is wrong? You are in pain? What is it?”

“My leg, it hurts.”

Louise felt him.

“You have a fever.”

“I must go to work.”

“You will not work today, you are sick. Lay still and rest.”

He was a stubborn man, he tried to get up anyways, but he collapsed again on the bed.

“Ja, I will rest.”

So he lay down, fell asleep, and never woke up. He tossed in a feverish sleep for three days, and then was gone.

“Mama, what happened?” Margaret asked. Papa was sleeping, but he was strangely still. And Mama was crying.

“Papa is gone,” she said. “Go outside.”  Margaret went outside and found Nikolaus, working out in his family’s field.

“Nikki, something is wrong with my father.”

“I know, my papa told me. He is sick.”

“But now Mama says he is gone. What does that mean?”  He paused from his hoeing.

“Margie, it means he is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Ja.”

“But how?”  “I don’t know.”

“What does it mean? To be dead?”

“I don’t know. It is like he is a asleep, but he will never wake up now.”

“Never?”

“Never. Until God comes again. Then he will wake up.”

“I hope God comes soon. I want my papa.”  She thought of her father, lying silent and still on his bed. He would never play with her again. Never tell her stories. Never be there for her. Margaret started crying.

“Nikki…I want my papa…I don’t want him to be dead. Can’t he come back? He came back from the war. Can’t he come back from being dead?”

Nikolaus wrapped his arms around her.

“Margie, he can’t come back now. It is too late. But you’ll see him again, remember? When God comes. Don’t cry, your papa would want you to be happy.”  He stood and held her while she wept, until she was exhausted.

“Margie, you need to go home, you’re tired. You need to sleep.”

And so Nikolaus took over, he comforted Margaret when she was afraid or sorrowful. Her mother could no longer help her. As Margaret grew older, her mother became a child again.

“Margie, when will Heinreich come back from the war? He has been gone too long.”

“I don’t know, Mama, but soon. Soon.”

She was fifteen, and used to this now.

Her mother sat and knit by the window, asking questions about long dead relatives, and creating stories about her life.

“Your brother, Gottlieb, such a naughty little boy he was, always getting into mischief.”

Margaret was an only child.

But she was kind, and did not argue with her mother.

And then one day her mother was gone too. Peacefully, during the night.

So Margaret was alone. Nikolaus asked if she would marry him. It was two weeks after her mother died. She could not refuse, what else was there for her to do? Of course she would marry him, and they would raise a family, and have a happy life.

They were happy, Nikki and Margaret together.

She announced to Nikolaus that she was pregnant.

“Nikki, we are going to have a child,” she told him one evening, her face bright with excitement.

Nikolaus carved a cradle for their baby. Margaret knitted blankets and hats and socks.

But when the child was born, she was too young and fragile. She was born in the morning, and did not outlast the day.

So when they had planned to celebrate new life, they were digging a miniature grave.

“This is all we have now,” Nikolaus told her one night, “each other and this land. My parents are gone, your parents are gone. Our child is gone. This is what is left. And we can’t lose it. What would I do without you? And what would you do with me? We’ve got our house, and our love.”

All of this Margaret remembered, sitting at that sturdy oak table.

Now she wasn’t even sure if she would have Nikolaus. He might be so easily taken from her. It happened to so many others, why would it not happen to him?