The chatelaine Christian made me. I’d leave my drawing pencils. No room for those. The pearl necklace my mother sent me, the one I’d had Christian add the smaller Willapa pearl to. I’d pull it from its wrapping in the trunk after Jack left in the morning. Something of Christian’s. His medal for marksmanship and my drawing of him. And the letter he’d carried from me. I pulled it from its hiding place and reread it. I’d once promised faithfully to support his work. Had that meant following Keil, or was Christian’s real work about living out the Christian tenets of loving God and loving one another? Of late I’d done little of either. I never had reached out to the Shoalwater or Chehalis people in this region, even when they came by to trade their fish for my bread. I hadn’t taught my children to trust in God but rather to look to me for all their needs, and then I’d failed them, kindling my own flames and burning away a path of faithfulness. The food I’d fed them had kept them alive but not living. Would going to Aurora Mills change that? Would going there be what Christian had wanted for us all along?
My mind froze with fatigue. I hoped it would thaw by morning.
That night, I lay down beside Jack for the last time. My movements didn’t wake him. Hours later, when the moon was full in the window, I felt him rise from the bed while I pretended sleep. He dressed and went out. I hoped he’d come back, keep some little semblance of routine. Let him eat breakfast, get ready for work, leave. If this was one of his wandering-around nights, he might go straight to the mill and I wouldn’t know for certain. I imagined how to adapt my plan, how long to wait before leaving if he never returned in the night. Was I “beginning to weave,” hoping God would provide, or had I long ago used up God’s thread and now weaved on my own?
I dozed, awoke to Jack shouting, then pulling a chair from the table where he sat. I rushed up to fix his meal, lightheaded. “I’ll milk the cows for you,” I said, preparing cakes for him. “If you want to get an earlier start to the mill.”
“You’re up to that now, are you?”
“I’ll give a try,” I said, making my voice light as a butterfly. I hated knowing those cows would be bellowing before evening, but I couldn’t possibly take the time to milk them once Jack left. I couldn’t use up what strength I had for that.
He grunted. “I’ll see you this evening, then,” he said, as he picked up the food bag I’d prepared while he ate.
I nodded agreement. What was one more lie?
As soon as he left I woke Kate, helped her dress, fed her, then told her to watch the trail. “If you see Jack coming back for some reason, you come and tell me. Don’t wait to say hi to him, just come let me know.” She nodded agreement, then headed out.
I’d taken what food Kate and I might need, one change of clothes, and then I looked for the pearls. They’d been wrapped in soft cloth and buried at the bottom of a trunk brought by Christian’s parents for us when they came west. I pushed the latch and lifted the lid. They might be valuable enough to sell. Maybe it would buy our passage to … somewhere. Like taking a walk on a dark beach with a lantern to mark the path, I had just enough light for my next step but not yet a vision of where we’d end up. I folded my letter to Christian and put it in my reticule.
I felt a rush now, placing Ida in Christian’s old baby board and wrapping her securely. She slept on the table while I went out to saddle Fritz. Another irony: my husband had access to a mule all the time for farming; now I’d use him to slip away. Kate came running when she saw me. “Nothing, Mama. Just the birds and those scamper rats.”
“Ground squirrels,” I said. “That’s good. Now go inside and pick out your favorite toy. Just one. We’re going on a trip.”
Her eyes brightened. “To see Andy and Christian?”
“In part,” I said.
I scanned the house. Only memories remained to be packed.
The act of saddling up took strength. I stopped to catch my breath. The infection continued to need treatment, but if I could stay well for the next few days, that was all I needed. Maybe we should just head east, follow the Cowlitz, leave the way Louisa and Keil had come and gone. But no, that would mean backtracking with the boys, and we might run into Jack coming home.
I returned to the house, fed Ida, who was crying, then put the baby board on my back and grabbed the food sack, which I placed over Fritz’s neck. His tail flicked at flies. Kate carried her favorite soft doll. The cows bellowed and Opal bleated. “Sorry girls,” I said, setting the cows and Opal loose. I hugged the goat, inhaled her earthy smell. “Good-bye.” She bleated. At least they could graze. I hoped she wouldn’t follow us. Then I grabbed Kate, lifted her up, and led the mule to a stump so I could mount. I felt a warm trickle on the inside of my thigh. Blood. It would just have to be. I couldn’t stop to poultice it.
The mule trotted north along the trail. I looked back once, saw the goat trailing us. I turned the mule around. “Tie Opal back up,” I told Kate. “Poor thing,” I said. I couldn’t afford the attention her presence would bring us.
When I looked back the second time, I saw only what Christian and I had done there together: the cabin, the half barn, the garden, that section of frivolous flowers. We’d made a life believing we followed God’s plan. I turned away. I didn’t know what would happen next and could only see a few hours in front of me, a small light in the dark, unveiling just what I needed next and no more. I’d have to trust God for the rest.
We approached Mary’s house, Kate humming to make this a happy outing. Karl sat on the porch smoking his pipe. I waved but didn’t stop the mule from its fast-paced walk.
“Frau Giesy,” he stood, shouted to us. “Where are you off to this fine morning?”
“I thought I’d visit the children,” I yelled back. “Have a good day.”
“They’re both at the Giesys then?” I waved and nodded. We kept riding. “Well, stop for some tea then. You’ve plenty of time.”
“Nein. We need to be back before Jack gets home.”
“Ja, by golly. You have a nice trip then,” he called out. “Tell Henry and Martin hello for me.”
“I will,” I sang back over my shoulder. I held my arms to my stomach. My body ached all over.
We crossed Mill Creek. Jack worked upstream. There’d be sympathy galore for him once I was gone. Everyone would remind him of my willful ways and how difficult a wife I was and how fortunate he was to be rid of me. I could imagine how I’d add to the conversations at the stockade after I was gone. The mule plodded across the creek. I turned around now and then to see if anyone followed us. No one did. And I began to think I might be able to do this, I just might.
The Willapa ford came next. No need for the rowboat today. The mule splashed us across. Kate giggled at the wet splatter on her legs. On the far bank I slid down so I could nurse a hungry babe. “You stay close by, Kate,” I said. I staked the mule so that it could rip at grass while I unwound Ida from her board. “Shh, Liebchen,” I said. She was my sweetheart now. I sang softly to her, felt the breeze against my breast. The last time I’ll see these trees, I thought. I recorded last times, again.
When she was sated, I put Ida back in her board, then tried to stand. I felt dizzy, my knees as weak as Spätzel. I needed to eat. “Kate,” I said. “Come help Mama walk to the mule.” I looked around. “Kate?” Where had she gone? “Kate!”
“Here I am, Mama,” she stepped out of the willows.
“Don’t get out of my sight. Mama worries. She needs to see you all the time.”
Kate’s lower lip pooched out, but she came to me, helped steady me while I went to the mule. I opened the sack and gave Kate a biscuit and jerky, chewed a pancake myself. Kate and I drank from the canteen, then put the cork back. I lifted Ida. We were barely three miles from home and already I felt exhausted.
That’s when I heard the sound.
“Hush, Kate. Someone’s coming.”
“Papa Jack?” Her voice quivered.
“I hope not.”
There was no sense hiding. If it was
Jack, I’d do my best to defend my story: we had chosen the day to visit. He’d take us back home. I’d try another day. Part of me almost wished it would happen that way, I was so tired. But I remembered seeing Andy’s eyes as he held Jack’s muzzle loader across his bony knees, and I knew there was no turning back even if it was Jack behind us on the trail.
It wasn’t Jack, but Karl, who approached fast for an older man. “Karl,” I said. I heard relief in my voice. “Did we drop something when we passed by?”
“No, by golly. I decide to take a visit to Martin’s myself. You don’t mind if I walk with you?”
“Not at all,” I said. He’d slow us down but maybe his presence would give me cover if Jack appeared.
“Do you have business with Martin?” I asked Karl as we walked. We kept his slower pace. I tried not to let my fingers fidget.
“Maybe I’ll see how the school is readied for the term. Talk to Martin about the latest news and whatnot.” He walked in silence for a time. Then, “Maybe I’ll take a trip out to the sea. Remember when we did that, you and me and Christian?”
“I do,” I said.
“Ja. A long time ago that was. Christian’s gone.”
“Such a waste,” I said.
“Joe’s back in Bethel.”
“It was a very long time ago.”
We moved to the rhythm of Kate’s humming. Inside my own head I heard the refrain of You, you, you must go, less driven now that we were on our way, but still like a drumbeat, like a husband’s voice, encouraging. Maybe I should listen to that voice even if I wasn’t sure of the outcome.
I took a chance. “I wonder if you might like to take the trip again,” I said. “With the children and me.”
“Oh, ja, that would be a good thing sometime.”
“I mean … today,” I said.
“Oh? Is that your plan then?”
I bristled. “What do you mean, ‘my plan’?”
“You’re not planning to come back home tonight, Emma Giesy. I knew you told a lie when you said that.”
My mouth went dry.
“Why would you say that?”
“You have Fritz carrying a lot of food along for just an afternoon visit,” he said. “A big pack for such a little time away from home.”
“And if it were true that I wasn’t planning to come home this evening—”
“I’d say it would be better if you went south on the Bay and then down the Wallacut. Jack won’t think to look for you that way. He knows you don’t like the ocean.”
Karl knew! He knew about Jack’s sporadic behavior. He knew we were in danger. He even knew about some of my demons.
I swallowed. “Will he know where we’re headed?”
“Ja, to Aurora Mills. It’s the only place left for you to go.” He hesitated, then added, “But you don’t have to go alone.”
Aurora Mills. Keil. To go there was an admission of my need and failure, a silencing of my song. Yet it was what everyone else thought best for us. My parents were upset that I hadn’t gone there with Keil in the first place. Jonathan thought I should have gone there after Christian died. Louisa Keil and Helena, Christian’s sister, thought we should all come there to help relieve Keil’s burdens. Maybe I had to lean on the wisdom of others in order to move me through my distorted world.
I can’t go there.
“If it’s so obvious, I should go to San Francisco, then. Or …” I sighed. I could smell the rot from my stitches. Going anywhere distant was a fantasy.
“Your husband recruited me,” Karl reminded me. “I came to the colony as a way to be in service, to live my faith. When he went oystering, I promised your husband that whatever you needed would be provided. I didn’t expect you to resist good gifts.” He smiled. “You don’t have to let Wilhelm Keil decide your life for you, Emma, even if you do accept his help. I am led by a faithful God, by golly. Not by Keil.”
Was he suggesting that living in the colony didn’t mean one must follow all Keil’s teachings? I recalled a man in Bethel who’d operated a store in the middle of the town but never joined up.
“About Jack,” I told Karl. “He’s—”
“He spent long nights up and down at Boshie’s. That’s why Boshie provided a bed at the mill. He had a place for his drawings there,” Karl said. “Strange drawings.” He sped up to get in front as the trail narrowed, then walked beside Fritz again. He cleared his throat. “Jack hurts you. I didn’t know how to help. Now I do.”
“I … I annoy him, the children and I do. I think he struggles with how to live in a full house after staying alone at the mill.”
“You’re not leaving him because he’s annoyed,” Karl said.
I looked away. Shame bled through me. “I’m not a good wife, Karl. I am willful and wanting. But Jack … Andy … I have to get my children someplace safe. Jack, well Andy—”
“Aurora Mills. We’ll keep you safe there if you let us.”
“I have a pearl necklace. I can sell it, buy our way to San Francisco or Olympia.”
“And then? With four little children? You will be like a widow, Emma, all over again but in the outside world, where people are not always friendly.”
“They aren’t always friendly inside this colony, either.”
“Surrender, by golly. You are strong enough to accept the help of others, Emma. It does not mean your demise.”
Tears of weariness slid down my cheeks. The visions of an artist’s studio in Olympia rose before my eyes and faded. Those things would never be if I went to Aurora Mills. But Karl was right. My sons would be safe. I’d be safe. As much as Keil dominated the colonists, he was more like a band’s conductor, using his wand to guide and direct but never to strike us. We women worked harder to express our music there, but we could. We. Was I still a colonist at heart?
We moved in silence then until reaching Barbara’s home. This would be my last time here, too. I slid from the mule and stood for a time, just leaning against the animal, breathing in his scent of sweat. My whole body throbbed. My legs quivered with weakness. Ida made crying noises and I moved to pull her from my back. Karl assisted me. He grinned at the little wizened face that was my daughter. He would have made a fine father.
Andy ran out of the cabin. “You’re here, you’re here! I was afraid you wouldn’t come. Or that Jack hurt you again.”
“Shh, now. I’m fine,” I said, holding him into my skirts.
“Let me help you,” Barbara said. Had she not heard Andy’s words about Jack? “You shouldn’t be riding on a day like this. The boys do well here. There’s no need for you to worry over them.”
“She’s taking us away,” Andy said. He fairly sang the words. “We’re going far away aren’t we, Mama?”
“We may,” I said. “I just need to rest now.”
“Where are you going?” Barbara asked. “You surely didn’t leave anything in Olympia you have to go back for.”
I gave her a weak smile, motioned for the steps and sat down on them.
How can I possibly take these children and leave, moving fast enough to not be caught by Jack?
“I’ll fix you something to eat,” Barbara said.
Food. It solved everything for us Germans. Just feed the worry or problem and it would make it better. I shook my head. “No. We have to be going.” I thought of the tides taking us out and wanting to be on a ship that went with it. I’d have to throw myself on the mercy of these people and ask them for money. Money to get away from them. Money to take my children to a place I could only hope was safer than where they were.
“You need to eat,” Barbara insisted. Is she stalling for time?
“If you want to help, I need to go to Sarah and Sam’s. If you’ll watch Kate and the boys for a minute more.”
She frowned.
Louisa shuffled outside with Christian following at her heels. He ran to me, patted my back. Maybe Louisa could travel with us.
“You’ll be back right away?” Barbara asked.
I nod
ded. Karl frowned, but when I motioned to him, he assisted with my mounting the mule and handing Ida up to me. “I’ll introduce her to Sam and Sarah. They haven’t met her yet.”
“I’ll come too, Mama,” Andy said.
“I’ll be back,” I said. “You wait here with Christian and Kate.” I ignored my son’s scowl as I pressed the reins to the mule’s neck.
I rode the short distance to Sarah’s and shouted for her. I didn’t dare get off the mule for fear that I wouldn’t have the strength to get back on. She opened her door to me, her own child on her hip. “Emma! Come in, come in.”
I shook my head. “I’ve come to ask for money. I need money to buy fares to take me and the children away from here. I know I’m always thinking of myself, never was a good friend to you, and now I’m here being needy again.”
“You can stay here, with us,” she said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“It wouldn’t work. Jack would be here constantly demanding. I have to go away, far away. Someplace safe.” I pulled the pearls from my reticule.
“Oh. Jack. Well, where will you go? Olympia? Portland?”
“Aurora Mills will keep my children safe,” I said. I said it as though it was a truth.
“We’ll get the fares for you,” Sarah said. “It’s a gift. I don’t want your pearls and neither would Sam. Go back and get the children. The boat will leave before long. If you miss this one, you’ll have to wait until morning.”
I loved that she asked no more questions, just accepted my need. I headed back realizing she really hadn’t met Ida. The sting of loss pricked my eyes. I couldn’t afford to pay attention to it now. We were escaping. I’d deal with the difficulties of Keil when I reached him, but Karl was right: Keil needn’t map out my life or my faith. I didn’t want Jack to illustrate who I was, either. I needed to do that myself.