A Mending at the Edge: A Novel (Change And Cherish)

  “They didn’t want to come here—”

  “But they did. For you.”

  “But then why aren’t they here for me?” How much could I tell him? And in front of Andy. “My parents are…” I looked at Andy. “We should be going,” I said. “Thank you for the spring water and the berries. Will we see you on the Fourth of July? The band will play. Maybe there’ll be a horse race.”

  “Of course,” Adam said. “But you ask Herr Keil again about your home. Maybe you can get him to sign a statement, Emma. Wilhelm believes in the written words he signs. You remind him that your Christian paid back the money loaned to him by the colony to buy your Willapa land. That’s right, ja?” I nodded. “Get it in writing, and you can have your colony house without fear of its being given to someone else before you’re ready to give it up. Ja, that would be better for you and your children than trying to homestead on your own.”

  Adam was a good man, a calm and faithful man, not unlike my Christian. Perhaps my parents resented that I’d begged them to come, causing them to leave their home in Bethel for this…this distant colony with tangles in the threads that should have joined us together, instead of separating us further.

  Adam ruffled Andy’s hair, told the boy the story of his birth, and boasted that he’d been one of the first to greet my son in this world. Andy’s sparkling eyes told me he enjoyed the attention. We spoke our good-byes. As we rode back, I thought of Adam’s words. If I pushed for the house, got it in writing, rather than try to homestead, Andy could continue to go to school and to learn from Martin, and maybe, just maybe, I could convince the colony to send Andy to medical school when that time came.

  “Get it in writing” was what I remembered three days later, when we learned of Adam’s death. He’d collapsed on his way to attend the Fourth of July picnic in Aurora, 1863. I resolved I’d make my home a memorial to Adam, to the scouts who had been my family, and to Christian too. I’d dedicate my home to making other lives better than my own…if I ever got a home of my own.

  Keil didn’t attend the funeral, so Karl Ruge spoke the blessing. My parents and brothers and sisters were there to mourn Adam, and of course, my brood did too. Few others attended, and I wondered if perhaps it was the hold Keil still had over people, muting even their wish to openly grieve someone who no longer held favor in Keil’s eyes. I’d filled two of the glasses we’d made with blooms from the herb garden. I placed one on Adam’s fresh grave, then walked over and put the other on Lucinda Wolfer’s grave.

  I chose the next day to see Jonathan. “Has Keil said anything about my house being built?”

  “What brings that up?”

  “I spent some time with Adam before he died, and we talked about it.”

  “I’m surprised Adam would be interested,” Jonathan said. I thought he bristled a bit.

  “And the answer is?”

  “He picked a site. But he hesitates. He wants to be fair.”

  “Fair? After what I’ve given? The colony owes me a home. I’m widowed because of the colony.”

  “Nein, Sister. There is another way to see that. You had separated from the colony.”

  “Separated, yes, but my husband continued to act as though we belonged to Aurora, and he repaid what the colony gave us to make purchases in Willapa.”

  “Some still stay in Willapa, and Brother Keil knows that is in part because of Christian’s decision. Money for all those purchases has not been returned.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t demand the house, Emma. There are many others who would like a home built for them, and they might resent your receiving one before them.”

  “Ach! Then I’ll go homestead,” I said.

  “Ja. I hear you’re stopping at the courthouse in Oregon City.”

  “I meant to tell you. I just forgot,” I said.

  Jonathan sighed. “You can’t homestead, Emma.”

  “I can find a place. Women alone can do this,” I said. “Single women and widows are allowed. My friend Brita is going to do it. She has acreage—”

  “If they are heads of households. But you aren’t. You can’t homestead, because you’re married still. Unless you’re thinking of getting Jack to homestead with you…or maybe…a divorce.”

  A fly could have buzzed in and out of my mouth without my noticing, I was so aghast at his words. How can I keep being surprised at the boulders on my road? Women bore the brunt, no matter how dangerous it might have been to remain married to some brute. Women were left to fend for themselves and their children, to pay for the rest of their days for the poor choices they once made. Women suffered whether they stayed married, chose to live with the disgrace of divorce, or dangled dangerously in between.

  “I don’t want a divorce,” I wailed. “I want a home.”

  “You could find someone else to file for you, I suppose,” Jonathan said. He’d leaned back in his chair, the front two legs lifting. He now dropped them down with a plop. “But that wouldn’t be legal, and there’d be no way to protect yourself if they decided to write you out of it someday in the future.”

  “Papa…?”

  “Papa’s looking for land with potential that can support his family. He doesn’t want to depend on the colony. He’s wrong in that, but that’s his way.”

  “I’m not the head of the household.”

  “Not in the law’s eyes,” Jonathan said. “I’m sorry, Emma.” He patted my hand, offering comfort. “Without Jack around, your oldest son comes closer to being that.”

  My former mother-in-law, who was still the grandmother of my children, arrived in Aurora in late July. My sister-in-law Louisa Giesy, Christian’s younger sister, held her mother’s hand, and they were swinging their arms back and forth in delight. John and his wife, Barbara White Giesy (I thought of her as BW), came in the wagon with their girls. Behind them followed Sebastian and Mary with their children. They’d even brought Opal, our goat.

  No Jack Giesy in sight.

  Louisa Keil gushed. “So good, so good you are here! Now my husband will have all the help he needs.” She clasped her hands, unclasped them. Her eyes glistened with happy tears.

  “John is a good head at business,” BW said of her husband. “It was a good time maybe to come and help Brother Keil out. Sometimes older men with more experience can do a better job.” She looked straight at me, and I wondered if she knew that my brother had been the manager and done fine work for the colony.

  Everyone gathered at the ox barn. Neither Louisa nor Helena, who had joined us, acted surprised at their family’s arrival, so once again news had come in and slipped past me like bats in the night. The women stepped down and shook dust from their skirts. We’d be taking them to the log hotel for something to eat, then setting yet another family up in the gross Haus. There isn’t any more room. “From the looks of your wagons, you must be planning to stay a long time,” I ventured.

  “Ach, ja,” young Louisa Giesy said. Her face was flushed. “Didn’t you know?” She’d lost that drifting look she’d had while she tended to her mother and my children, back in Willapa. Something had inspired a change. Maybe it was the move out of the Willapa Valley.

  “Louisa stays for sure,” Helena said. She smiled and put her arm around her sister.

  “Goodness, ja,” Louisa Keil said. “She’s here for her wedding. It’s one marriage my husband has approved.”

  “Who are you marrying?” I asked. People exchanged looks, so apparently everyone else knew.

  “My son,” Louisa Keil said. “Frederick. They’ve been writing back and forth for years.”

  “Some things don’t change, ja, Emma? You’re always a step behind,” my mother-in-law chided. “But then you don’t always have so much to contribute either.”

  I felt my face grow hot. A headache threatened. My fingers did their rubbing dance of irritation.

  I turned to Mary. “Thanks for bringing our Opal,” I said. “At least goats don’t keep secrets.”

  Mary blushed. We’d been neighbors bac
k in Willapa but hadn’t communicated at all since I’d left. The goat’s knees had dirt spots on them, like dark brown eyes on white legs, and she pushed her way to me, yanking against the tether. She placed her front feet on my shoulders. “Opal missed you,” Mary said.

  “Emma spoils her goat as she spoils her children,” my mother-in-law said. “It’s so good that our Jack let you have her.”

  I scratched behind Opal’s ears, no longer ambivalent about their arrival. Except for the goat, I was wishing they’d all stayed at Willapa.

  A few days later, I saw Keil swinging his cane with more lift than the day before, so I left my post at the hotel and intercepted him on the path. He headed toward the millpond area. A tiny mist of steam rose from some hot springs in the lowlands across from the mill, and today I could smell the sulfur in the breeze. On winter mornings, the area made me think of fairy tales and dragon mouths blowing hot breath in the air.

  “Brother Keil,” I said. He turned at my voice. His eyes grew wider. Wariness?

  “Sister Emma,” he said. “Walk with me.”

  I kept his pace, which was slow, though he had long legs and we could have strode right out if he hadn’t been so run down. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  He is in one of his good moods. Thank You, God!

  “I want to begin my house,” I said. “It’s been nearly two years since you said I could have a place of my own for my family. I’ve proven myself to be a good worker. I’ve caused you no trouble and been a help, I hope. You need more room in the gross Haus. It seems the time.”

  He sighed. “It is difficult to think of such things when my mind has been so filled with grief and the business of affairs here. And I’ve enjoyed seeing you and your children outside my workroom. I’ve hardly left our Aurora, you know.” His voice caught at the name of his lost daughter. I wondered if maybe he’d change the name of the town now, since it grieved him so to speak it.

  “The cotillion put a lift to your steps for a few days,” I noted. “Helena was a fine encouragement there for you.” Bite your tongue, Emma.

  “What? Helena? Ach, ja, aber such joys are fleeting.” He paused. “Like a dance at a spring cotillion, ja?”

  Touché, as my French ambassador uncle would say.

  I looked up at the crows gathering in the firs. “The Giesys offer you good support, ja.”

  “Very gut. Very gut.”

  “And soon you’ll have a new daughter-in-law.”

  “A Giesy,” he said. “She’s a good girl for my Fred.”

  “It’s wise to allow marriage,” I said. I could have bitten my tongue again for raising a potentially contentious issue. “But the happiness of your children was always paramount. This I know.” I cleared my throat. “I have a design for the kind of house I want. It will be for two families, one on each side though a two-story house. It will have two front doors.”

  “Helena believes we should build the church next,” Keil said. I remained silent. A part of me agreed with her, but I so wanted that house! “But such a huge undertaking needs people,” Keil continued. “I’ve had to send our boys out to work in Portland and Oregon City and Salem, because we have not enough sales from products here. So they are not available for building. I pray for people to come from Bethel and all the rest from Willapa. Maybe you could share your home with one of those from Willapa?” He turned to me, smiled.

  “Not Jack Giesy,” I said.

  “Families are best when reconciled,” he said.

  “This is not negotiable.”

  “There is always hope within a family, Emma. You must remember this.”

  “Aurora has become my family,” I said. “I’ve reconciled with it.”

  He found a tree stump and sat down on it, the cane now between his knees with his hands resting on it. He pushed his hat from his forehead. He motioned me to sit beside him. I don’t suppose he liked having a woman look down on him. “Maybe your parents would live in your house. I have failed to understand your father’s moving about the country, as though Aurora was insufficient to meet his needs.”

  “I have no control over my parents,” I said.

  “I suppose this is true. That Christine they fostered is a sturdy woman. Hard worker in the hotel. She exudes…mystery, that one. Perhaps you could have her share the house with you. It would make her travel easier. Now I understand she rides in from Adam Schuele’s place.”

  “Perhaps. I know that I could make the house be in service to the colony, I could promise that much.”

  “We could use a house for the unmarried women, such as we had back in Bethel,” he said.

  “It would have to be twice as large,” I said. “We have so many.”

  He frowned at me. I wondered if he thought I was being critical of his not allowing some to marry. But he moved on. “Ja, well, maybe we don’t have material for such a big house. Those women can remain at the gross Haus or stay with their families.”

  I wanted to say, “Or you could allow them to marry,” but I held my tongue. No sense getting distracted from my present doing.

  “And you would commit to working here as we see fit, to giving back what we give by building you a house?” Keil insisted.

  “Yes. If you’ll allow me to use the house to benefit the colony as I see fit,” I said.

  He stared at me awhile. The scent of sulfur from the hot springs nearby filled my head.

  “But there is this pressure, about the church,” he said.

  “I’ll write letters myself, urging more to come from Bethel,” I said. “I’ll approach them as the wife of your former lieutenant. My little house will require few people to build it. And you’ll have more room in your house for those who come.”

  “You don’t think we are challenging God by building for ourselves first, Sister Emma?” I couldn’t tell if he truly wanted my opinion about a theological matter—something so rare it was frightening—or if he was looking for new words to silence Helena.

  “The church building is important,” I said. “But even in the beginning, the early followers went from house to house to worship and practice their faith. More important than even the structure is that there be a time set aside to worship. As we once did, all together. Even twice a month, Brother Keil. You’ve let that lapse in your grieving.” He raised an eyebrow. Don’t be critical. “I mourned Christian poorly,” I said. “Separated myself from everything, everyone. When I first came here, our twice-monthly gatherings in your home helped bring me back. I miss them.”

  He stayed silent for a long time. Perhaps I’d gone too far by offering up any personal thoughts about a spiritual matter. He wouldn’t think it was my place.

  “I will have Jonathan draw up our agreement, and he can begin your house,” he said at last. “Or perhaps it should come from John Giesy. Maybe he should sign it.”

  “You ought not to bother John with such an insignificant matter, him having just arrived. Jonathan can tend to it.” I felt my heart pounding. I was so very close. “Should I assist by talking with my brother?”

  “I’ll see to it. Of course, you’ll want to write those letters to Bethel. Get them to come out. Your home will be your reward.”

  “There is a meadow—”

  “Nein,” he said. He pounded the ground with his cane. “We will build it not far from the Pudding, but in Aurora proper.”

  “Not on the site I choose?”

  “Nein.”

  “But is it a site that will flood?” I cautioned. “Water is a fright to me. My husband—”

  “I know.” He patted my knee, kept his hand there. I moved as though to brush lint from my skirt and stood. “Well, it might be closer to the slough than you’d like, but you will adapt, Emma Giesy. You always adapt, ja? And it will make it easier to build there. We don’t want you too far out. Isolation is not a good thing for a woman. And besides”—he smiled now—“I wouldn’t want Emma Giesy too far from my sight.”

  Diamonds on Edge

  August 9, 1863. Lo
uisa and Frederick’s wedding day. I baked the wedding cake. Fifteen eggs (three blue), butter, sugar, three pounds of seeded raisins, serviceberries, molasses, cinnamon, cloves, and bolted flour! It rose like a mountaintop in an oven set at dark yellow paper heat. When cooled, the frosting smoothed across it like a dragonfly flitting at the river’s edge. There were several other cakes but many commented mine was tastiest. Is this pride, I wonder? Or a gift received?

  October 3. We have new arrivals! I fell back on the grass and sent arrow prayers upward for my house.

  Brother Keil officiated at his son’s wedding, and it did seem to lighten his step. Louisa Giesy’s face glowed, framed by white blossoms in her hair. She allowed Helena and the rest to fuss over her. Frederick, too, appeared to have matured, wearing a tailored suit that his mother let everyone know had been sewn by his father. Several of our colony now worked in the tailor shop, and people from Salem and Oregon City came to make purchases at our growing garment industry. Trust Brother Keil to find a way to use even his son’s own wedding as a way to promote our products.

  Martha Miller attended, along with other single women and men of the colony. Martin was there, and Karl Ruge and my foster sister, Christine. It was as festive as Christday without all the presents.

  Jonathan and my sister Kitty came too, despite snatches of malcontent expressed by my sister about the Willapa Giesys’ arrival. I mostly saw Kitty at the hotel kitchen, which gave us little time to talk of family or future. But while the Aurora Band played for the wedding festivities, she and I sat on my new red and blue quilt.