Eve's Daughters Read online

  After dinner I curled in my chair beside the fire with my feet tucked beneath me, listening to the angry February wind as it circled our tiny cottage. How could I talk to Friedrich without revealing that I had broken my promise not to worry? I finished another row of knitting and smoothed the gray, woolen sock flat on my lap.

  “I’ll need your foot when you get a minute,” I told him. He looked up from the bookshelf he was building and grinned.

  “Why? Did you forget what Limburger cheese smells like?”

  I couldn’t help laughing as I held up the unfinished sock. Before we were married, I never would have imagined that a man as quiet and serious as he was could make me laugh. I smiled as I watched him work, his sandy hair bright in the lamplight. He had his vest unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, a fine layer of sawdust on his beard and forearms.

  Usually he sat at our little wooden table in the evenings, frowning slightly as he corrected papers or looked over his lessons, and I would study his lean hands and long fingers as he scrawled with his fountain pen or turned the pages of his books. I wanted to learn everything there was to learn about him—his likes and dislikes, the way his eyelashes drooped when he was tired, the way the muscles of his back moved as he stretched his broad shoulders when his work was finally finished. Watching him labor over the simple wooden bookshelf these past few evenings, I’d learned that he wasn’t very handy with tools and lumber. After each evening’s work, I had to dig the splinters out of his fingers and doctor all his nicks and scrapes with iodine.

  “I’m going to hang a shelf on this wall to give us more space,” he had told me when he arrived home with the lumber. “It’ll keep my books out of your way . . . and out of the baby’s reach.” He always smiled, so pleased with himself whenever he mentioned our baby, still a barely perceptible bump beneath my apron.

  Now as the wind howled outside, rattling the windowpanes as if looking for a way inside, I rehearsed the words I had longed to blurt out ever since Friedrich arrived home from school. My stomach fluttered uneasily as I prepared to speak.

  “I ran into Runa today while I was shopping,” I began. “Her new baby has the colic and she’s about worn-out from being up all night with him.” While Friedrich murmured sympathetically, I drew a deep breath, feeling as if I was about to plunge into icy water. “Runa also told me what her Ernst said about the military draft.” watched closely but Friedrich didn’t look up.

  “Oh? And what did he say?”

  “That Kaiser Wilhelm approved the new draft plan. Now even married men with families will have to serve two years.” I waited for him to respond but he seemed intent on his work. “Ernst said that General Something-or- Other is trying to—”

  “General von Schlieffen?”

  “Yes. That he’s trying to build a huge army.”

  “The Schlieffen Plan,” Friedrich said, and I heard the bitterness in his voice. “He wants enough men to fight a war on two fronts.”

  “You know about all this, Fritz?”

  “I’ve been following the news,” he said quietly.

  “Doesn’t it upset you? I can’t stand all this uncertainty about our future, especially with the baby coming and everything. How can you be so calm about it?”

  He finally looked up. “I’m very concerned, Louise. I’ve been praying about it for months. But I’ve learned that it’s wiser to leave things like this in God’s hands. There’s really nothing you or I can do about it anyway.” He returned to his work. I could tell that he didn’t want to discuss it. I also knew that I shouldn’t question him, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “If you pray hard enough, could God keep you from being drafted?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. But whatever does happen, I know He’ll get us through it.”

  He might as well have said, “Amen,” the way Reverend Lahr did when he finished reading the Scriptures—Friedrich’s words had the same ring of finality to them. But I didn’t know Friedrich or God well enough to trust either one of them with my future.

  “Oh, Friedrich, if worse comes to worst and you are drafted, can’t you just serve your two years and be done with it? That’s what Ernst is going to do. We’re not at war with anyone. You wouldn’t have to kill people.”

  He shook his head. “This race to arm all of Europe, this insane escalation of military firepower, goes against everything I believe in. I can’t possibly be part of it.”

  “But the Kaiser already approved the new law and—”

  “Just becayse the conscription laws have changed doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be drafted. The Reich always needs teachers, even in wartime.”

  “You mean, you might be excused from serving? And you wouldn’t have to go to jail?”

  He looked away. “It’s possible, yes.”

  Friedrich would never lie, but when he hesitated, I knew he had left something important unsaid. “What if they don’t excuse you?” I asked. “What if you are drafted?” I knew by the expression on his face that he didn’t want to answer me.

  “We can always leave Germany,” he said at last. “We could go to America. I have a cousin there.”

  “Leave? Oh, Friedrich, no!” America was a huge, wild, unknown land across the sea. I would have to leave behind everyone I loved. I would never see my family again. “Please don’t make me move to America! How can you even think about leaving Germany, leaving our families, our home?”

  I waited, certain by the sorrow in his eyes that there was more. He laid the hammer he had been tightly clutching on the table and wiped his palms on his trousers.

  “I applied for immigration papers last month at the consular office. I pray we won’t need them, but I was afraid that if the new draft law went through and my teacher’s exemption is denied, they would deny the visa too.”

  I suddenly felt terribly alone, as if Friedrich had already left. I knew it was irrational, but hadn’t he already taken the first step? I couldn’t even imagine leaving Germany, but my husband had not only imagined it he was preparing for it.

  “Please don’t make me leave Germany,” I begged.

  “I can’t promise that we’ll stay. Our future is in God’s hands.”

  The idea of leaving my fate to God didn’t comfort me. Surely there was something I could do to control the direction of my life. I felt like a rudderless boat on the Rhine, tossed about at the current’s mercy, floating downstream to a destination I couldn’t predict. Life wasn’t that way for Friedrich. He could make choices and plans. But he was a man.

  “Louise, I didn’t tell you about the immigration papers or the Kaiser’s decision because I didn’t want you to worry. You promised me you wouldn’t, remember? It’s not good for the baby. We’re going to take this one step at a time . . . and trust God. It could be another year or more before the new draft plan goes into effect, and maybe by that time I’ll be too old to serve. Or maybe I’ll get a teaching exemption.”

  I laid down my knitting and crossed the room to where he stood. I wanted to cling to him, plead with him, but I knew that I lacked the power to change his mind. Besides, I didn’t want to believe that Friedrich would make me move to America. It was just crazy talk. “I’m trying to keep my promise,” I said. “I’m trying not to worry.”

  He met my gaze. His eyes were tender, trustworthy. “I know you are.”

  I had pushed him further than any good wife should have pushed. I had no right to question my husband, and he had no obligation to answer me. Papa always walked away from Mama when she crossed the line. The fact that Friedrich had answered me, that he hadn’t become angry with me, drew me to him in a way I didn’t fully understand yet. His patience made me want to be a better wife, to do what he asked and forget all about the military draft.

  Before I could think of something to say, Friedrich pointed to his bookshelf. “Well? How do you like it?”

  He was trying to change the subject too. I saw a chance to atone for my behavior. I put worry out of my mind as firmly as I would put an unwelcome animal out of the house.

  “It’s great! Is it finished?”

  “Yes, finally. If you could help me, I think I’m ready to nail it to the wall. It isn’t too heavy.” He lifted the shelf into position and I steadied one end, while he pounded two nails through the brace on the other end, fastening it to the wall above the table. When he took my place, I stepped back to watch while he finished nailing it.

  “How do you know it’s level?” I asked.

  “I measured up from the floor and marked it.” I could tell he was proud of himself for thinking of it.

  “What makes you think the floor is level?” I teased. He pounded in one last nail and turned to me with a grin.

  “Well, if all the books are on the floor in the morning we’ll know the house is tilted. Thanks for your help.” He kissed me, a quick peck. When I didn’t move away, he took my face in his hands and kissed me again, a slower, hungrier kiss. I felt the uncharacteristic roughness of his hands from the wood. “How am I supposed to get any work done with my lovely wife distracting me?” he asked afterward.

  “Sorry. I’ll go sit over there so you can work.” I backed away from him, feeling shy suddenly, but he pulled me to himself and kissed me until neither one of us could breathe.

  “I’m all done working,” he said.

  “Don’t you have papers to grade?”

  “Later.” He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the tiny alcove off the main room that served as our bedroom.

  “Friedrich, it isn’t time for bed yet!” He laid me on top of the quilt and stretched out beside me. I enjoyed his affection, but his ardor still embarrassed me at times. Did other husbands carry their wives to bed this early in the evening? It wasn’t a subject I had ever heard discussed, nor had my parents openly displayed their affection in front of me when I was growing up. “I’m not even sleepy,” I protested.

  “That’s all right,” he said between kisses. “I don’t plan on sleeping.”

  “Oh? And just what are you planning to do?”

  “We’re going to celebrate.”

  I laughed, forgetting my shyness, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Again? What are we celebrating this time? Surely not another wedding anniversary. Didn’t we just celebrate our six-month anniversary a few days ago? It can’t be seven months already.”

  “I’ll have you know, my dear wife,” he said, pretending to be serious, “that tonight we are celebrating the successful completion of my bookshelf.”

  He kissed me again and I melted into his embrace, like butter in a hot skillet.

  “And if the books haven’t slid to the floor by morning, will we celebrate that too?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  THREE

  * * *

  As winter’s fury yielded to the soothing caress of spring, my brother Emil came to our cottage one evening to ask Friedrich for a favor.

  “I’ve decided to go to university next year,” Emil said. “I hear there are some excellent job opportunities in industry for men with engineering degrees. But I’ll need to pass the diploma exams first. I was wondering if you’d be willing to tutor me?”

  “Certainly, Emil. That’s wonderful news. I’ll be glad to arrange some extra lessons.” A pleased smile spread across Friedrich’s face. He’d often told me how much he loved to teach, especially a student who was eager to learn.

  I became accustomed to the sight of Friedrich and Emil bent in study over our kitchen table in the evenings—Friedrich’s hair as light and fine as a baby’s, Emil’s hair dark and thick and unruly from tugging on it whenever he grew frustrated. They filled huge sheets of butcher paper from my father-in-law’s shop with numbers and diagrams and mathematical formulas too complicated for me to follow, but as I listened, I glimpsed a side of Friedrich I had never seen before. He was a born teacher—patient, creative, dedicated. If Emil had trouble grasping a concept, Friedrich would search tirelessly for a new approach, a different explanation, until the light of understanding finally lit my brother’s eyes. I never saw Friedrich lose his temper or grow impatient, no matter how thick-skulled or stubborn Emil became at times.

  “You can do this,” he would urge. “It’s not as hard as it seems, take your time.” The satisfaction on his face when Emil finally caught on told me that for Friedrich, the joy of teaching was its own reward. He made the lessons so interesting that I felt a little envious that I hadn’t attended the Gymnasium or university. Like most rural girls, I had graduated from the Volkschule at fourteen, then prepared for marriage and housekeeping.

  But Friedrich’s tutoring sessions with Emil also brought an end to the privacy we had enjoyed as newlyweds for the past several months. It became a source of much amusement for me—and much frustration for Friedrich—that Emil chose the most inopportune times to pound on our front door. He arrived early on a Saturday morning as we lingered in bed; he took us by surprise one lazy Sunday afternoon; and several times he returned to the house for something he had forgotten moments after Friedrich had swept me into his arms murmuring, “It’s safe . . . he’s finally gone!”

  “He does it on purpose,” Friedrich grumbled one evening. He was helping me clear the dishes off the table so they would have a place to work. “I think your father sends him over here so I’ll keep my hands off his daughter.”

  “Don’t be silly, Fritz. Papa likes you. Emil doesn’t know he’s interrupting anything.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll have to tutor him on the facts of life tonight.”

  “Don’t you dare! I would die of embarrassment!”

  Friedrich grinned and traced my flaming cheek with his finger. “You are so pretty when you blush like that.” Then he suddenly grew serious as his eyes searched mine. “I think our parents made a good decision when they arranged our marriage, don’t you? I’ve grown very fond of you, Louise. I know that three months of courtship didn’t give you much time to get to know me, and I realize that I was a virtual stranger to you when we married, and I recognize that I have certain peculiarities that don’t always make me easy to live with, especially considering that I lived here alone before we were married and—”

  “Fritz . . .” I covered his lips with my fingers. “I’ve grown very fond of you too.”

  He looked surprised. And pleased. “You have? Truly?”

  “Yes,” I said, though I had never realized it until that very moment.

  He drew me close, pressing my head against his shoulder. “I’m glad. I’ve heard that it sometimes takes years for a couple to adjust to one another, and for . . . for fondness to grow. And I also know that sometimes a husband and wife can live together and raise a family without ever liking each other at all. But sometimes, Louise . . . sometimes their mutual fondness can even mature . . . into love.” He spoke the last words so softly I barely heard them above the sound of his heartbeat.

  I wondered what it felt like to be in love. Surely it was very different from this quiet contentment and affection I felt for Friedrich. Being in love, I imagined, would make all the colors in the world more vivid, all the stars shine more brightly, all the moments of my life dance and crackle with excitement like flames leaping in a bonfire. I had never heard my parents tell each other “I love you,” but did that mean that they didn’t? I wished I could ask Mama or my sisters what they felt for their husbands.

  “Fritz?” I said suddenly. “Can we tell them now? My family, I mean . . . about the baby?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Well, they’re certain to notice soon, and I’ll need to borrow some clothes from Ada and Runa before too long.” I gazed up at him, hopefully. “Maybe we could go to the farm for dinner this Sunday, after church?”

  I missed my family terribly, especially Mama and Oma, but I didn’t dare ask Friedrich to take me home too often. He had little in common with Papa and the other men in my family, and he grew restless out at the farm long before I was ready to leave.

  “I guess this Sunday is as good a time as any to tell your parents what we’ve been up to here in town.”

  The way he phrased it made me blush again, but I hugged him impulsively. “Oh, thank you, Fritz! Emil can let them know we’re coming.”

  “Ah yes. Good old Emil. You’ve been in my arms for a full five minutes now—I imagine he’ll start pounding the door down soon. May I steal one last kiss from you before he does?”

  I laughed and lifted my lips to his.

  * * *

  We went out to the farm the following Sunday, and my family greeted the news that I was expecting with such joy it might have been their first grandchild instead of their eighth. The men lit thick cigars and toasted Friedrich in the parlor with clinking glasses of Papa’s best schnapps while the women shared home remedies for morning sickness with me as we washed dishes in the kitchen. Becoming a mother forged a wonderful new bond between Mama and me, strengthening a love that was already strong and deep. It seemed to me that motherhood—even more than marriage—marked the dividing line between being a child and becoming a woman.

  Later that afternoon, when Runa climbed the stairs to nurse her squalling baby in the bedroom under the eaves, I followed her, remembering the whispered confidences we’d shared in that room as children. I sprawled comfortably at the foot of the big feather bed with my chin propped on my hand as I watched my sister put the baby to her breast. I wondered what it would be like, nursing my own child like that, but when I finally spoke, my thoughts were on my husband. He always seemed like a stranger to me again whenever we visited the farm. I was at home here, I belonged here—Friedrich didn’t.

  “Runa, what did you think of Ernst before you married him?”

  Runa leaned against the headboard, her baby making contented sounds as he suckled. “I thought he came from a good family, that he earned a good living . . . he would be able to provide a nice life for our children and me.”