Joseph was perplexed to discover that there was nothing he could do to dampen his sister’s affection for him. The meaner he was, the more she begged him to play with her. Rosa suffered his hostilities without a murmur of complaint, and he found that her occasional tears were an insufficient return for all the effort he put into making her miserable. And then, to his horror, those same tears began to make him feel guilty.
In the end, Joseph capitulated. He stopped pinching her and grudgingly began to accept her as a playmate. Rosa was in raptures. There was only one problem. While Joseph was prepared to play with his sister in the privacy of the little bedroom that they shared, he refused to let her join in his elaborate games with Stefan. They didn’t need a pesky girl tagging along with them on their adventures through the woods. Rosa begged to be included, promising that she wouldn’t get in their way. Stefan listened to her desperate entreaties with an amused glint in his eye, but said nothing. Joseph just waved her away, embarrassed and impatient to be off.
My aunt never gave up; she would continue to plead with the boys until they got bored with her. Then they would escape by running the length of the yard and disappearing into the forest with a gleeful holler of triumph. Rosa could never keep up with them. She chased them as far as the maple tree, but by then they were already long gone. She leaned against the trunk while she regained her breath, and used her shirtsleeve to wipe her tears away.
ELEVEN
In the summer of 1914, while Frederick and Jette struggled to maintain a grip on their own fragile peace, an assassin’s bullet pushed Europe toward the abyss of hell. Even the
Beatrice Optimist
, proud peddler of parochial tittle-tattle, turned its gaze to the dark clouds gathering on the other side of the Atlantic. With every passing day its headlines grew starker, until one morning in August came the dread words
war in europe
.
As Germany mobilized its military and swept through Belgium and into northern France, President Wilson declared the United States’ neutrality in the coming conflict. For three days in September the Allies defended the Germans’ first drive into France, both sides sustaining dreadful casualties. Frederick could not look away. Men he had known, old colleagues and schoolmates, would be lining up to go into battle. In neutral America, he cheered every German victory, willing his old country on.
And he was not alone. At prizefights, the Hun’s arrival in the ring was now met with patriotic cheers as onlookers celebrated their German heritage. The bookmakers ended their arrangement with Kliever, their lucrative scheme spoiled by proud immigrants betting on the wrong man. War, it turned out, was bad for the fight business.
By that stage, Frederick had amassed sufficient funds to make Dr. Becker an offer both for the Nick-Nack and the house. The amount represented a good return on the doctor’s original investment, and he agreed immediately. To Frederick’s relief, he did not ask where the money had come from.
And so, on May 7, 1915, thanks largely to the illegal thuggery of Johann Kliever, Frederick became the sole proprietor of his own business, and a proud homeowner. That night at the Nick-Nack, William Henry Harris played the piano. Frederick refused to take a cent for drinks all evening. It should have been the proudest day of his life, but as he stood behind the bar and surveyed his prize, his heart was full of regret.
Jette was not there.
It was not her fault. She did not know what he had done that day. Frederick had still not found a way to tell her.
T
he following morning, two words on the front of the newspaper changed everything, forever:
LUSITANIA SUNK
Frederick stood in the middle of the tavern and stared numbly at the headline. The
British passenger ship had been attacked by a German U-boat eight miles off the coast of Ireland. A single torpedo hit the ship’s starboard side. She sank in under an hour.
Over twelve hundred civilian casualties were reported.
One hundred and twenty-eight of them were American.
In the end there was no rush to war. Woodrow Wilson chose the diplomatic solution, demanding German assurances that the atrocity would never be repeated. The two countries brokered an uneasy truce, but everyone knew that the Germans were the enemy now. In Beatrice, people hardly knew where to look. The war was no longer a topic of animated conversation at the Nick-Nack; now men skirted uneasily around the subject. German was rarely spoken in public anymore.
For nearly two years the sinking of the
Lusitania
cast its shadow over the country. Then, in March of 1917, three American ships were destroyed by U-boats. On April 6, Woodrow Wilson announced that the United States was at war with Germany.
In Beatrice the news was met almost with relief. The townspeople were suddenly overcome by patriotic delirium. Overnight the streets became a fluttering sea of red, white, and blue. Merchants festooned their shops with flags and balloons. A seventy-foot flagpole was erected in the main square and Old Glory was hoisted into the sky, cheered on by a crowd of hundreds. A parade in support of the war marched through the town. Beneath the disapproving glare of Beatrice Eitzen, citizens assembled in front of the courthouse. The mayor praised the president’s courage and fortitude; he gave thanks to the Lord for the freedoms that America had been blessed with; he roundly damned the Germans for their cowardly attacks, and vowed that with the might of the United States now amassed against it, the enemy would be crushed without pity or remorse. Frederick applauded every line. Next to him, Jette silently held Rosa’s hand, paralyzed by fear. All around her, men threw their hats into the air, cheering the imminent destruction of her homeland.
The people’s enthusiasm for the war effort did not abate. Sacrifices were willingly made. America now had troops to feed: farmers were encouraged to maximize production of crops and livestock for the hungry armies fighting in Europe. Families signed food pledges, promising to eat less. Empty stomachs rumbled proudly. Men invested their savings in government war bonds while their wives sewed patriotic garlands late into the night.
It did not take long for the atmosphere of hysterical patriotism to mutate into something more sinister. Fear was put to work. Leaflets encouraged citizens to inform on others who might harbor sympathies for the enemy. Americans fell upon their own language, hunting down sinister words. Sauerkraut was renamed Liberty Cabbage. Frankfurters became hot dogs. In St. Louis, a man defended Germany in an argument, and a furious mob stripped him naked and dragged him through the streets. Then they lynched him. The people of Beatrice shuddered and hung out another American flag.
Frederick decorated the Nick-Nack with yards of bunting, inside and out. The old German folk tunes disappeared from the musical repertoire. Now people wanted songs forged in America, tales of frontier bravery and derring-do. Each evening ended with the national anthem. The audience would gravely stumble to their feet and listen as the night’s band—no matter how unlikely the agglomeration of instruments—wheezed their way through “The Star-Spangled Banner
.
”
Frederick liked the version played by William Henry Harris the best. The pianist performed the tune straight and true, shorn of embellishment or syncopated trickery. Beneath his fingers it became stately and dignified, and bursting with hope. When he heard those first notes ring out through the room, Frederick would stand to attention and put his hand on his chest, and he could feel his heart beating its own celebratory rhythm within him.
Every day the newspaper was full of stories of the drive for new recruits. In June the United States Congress introduced the draft for all American men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-one. By then Frederick was thirty-nine years old. In the opinion of the government he was too old to fight, but every day spent safely stationed behind the bar of the Nick-Nack weighed on his conscience. The words of Joseph Wall kept echoing through his head. Frederick wanted to be a good American.
One night at the end of the pier, he said, “It’s strange to think that if I’d stayed in Hanover I would have spent the last three years fighting.”
Johann Kliever looked at him sideways. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re too old. Children make better cannon fodder.”
“You know what I mean. Over here, we’re out of harm’s way.”
“Thank God. This lunatic war.”
Frederick looked out over the water. “American boys are fighting now.”
Kliever grunted. “Poor beggars.”
There was a long pause. “We could always volunteer,” said Frederick.
“I’m not volunteering for a damned thing,” growled Kliever. “And neither are you.”
“Our country is at
war
, Johann.”
Kliever was silent for several moments. “You’re serious,” he said.
Frederick nodded.
“Well, if the Germans don’t kill you,” said Kliever with a grimace, “your wife surely will.”
T
he following afternoon, Frederick came home early from the Nick-Nack. The children were playing outside. Jette was washing clothes at the kitchen sink.
“You’re home early,” she said without looking around. As usual, she spoke in German. “Is something the matter?”
Frederick answered her in English. “Jette, we must talk.”
She gave a small snort and continued to soap the clothes. Frederick watched her work for several minutes, saying nothing. He recognized every gesture his wife made, and yet he no longer knew this woman before him. A sudden sadness threatened to unstitch him, there and then.
“So talk,” she said eventually.
Frederick sighed and switched to German. “I’ve been thinking about this war.”
Jette paused for the briefest of moments, and then continued to scrub. “What about it?” she said.
“I feel so helpless.”
“Helpless?”
“We’re so far away from everything that’s going on,” said Frederick.
“Wouldn’t you say that was a good thing?”
“Perhaps. But hanging out flags and singing the national anthem every night doesn’t feel like enough.”
She stopped her work and turned toward him. “What do you mean?”
“What I say. It’s not enough.”
“What more
could
you do?”
“I could volunteer. Sign up to fight.”
Jette turned back to the sink. “You won’t do that,” she said.
Up until that moment Frederick had been cautiously circling the idea, unsure what he would do. But suddenly he knew. “Yes I will,” he said sadly.
Jette turned to face him. “You cannot do this,” she said. “You cannot bring us here and then
leave
.”
“But Jette, I’ll come back.”
“Millions have died already. Why should you be any different?”
“Things will change now that America has joined the war.”
Jette stared at him. “Do you think taking that oath made you
immortal?
You’re still only flesh and blood. The bullets will still kill you.” She stepped toward him and put a hand up to his cheek. “Where did you go, Frederick?” she asked. “Where’s the man I fell in love with?”
He gazed back at her unhappily. “I’m still here.”
Jette’s hand dropped back down to her side.
They stood there in an agony of silence. Finally Frederick spoke. “Jette, I have to go and fight.”
“But we need you
here
.”
“Oh, let’s not pretend. You don’t need me for anything.”
Jette began to cry. “And so you’re running away?” she said, pushing an angry fist across her eyes. “If you’re so keen to fight, why not stay and fight for your marriage?”
Frederick looked sadly at his wife. “Because I don’t know
if there’s anything left to fight for.” Without another word he turned and left the house.
Jette remained where she was. As she leaned heavily against the kitchen table, she knocked an empty bowl to the floor. Then, with one angry sweep of her arm, she pushed all the china off the table. Cups, saucers, bowls, and plates fell to the ground in a terrible crash. Not one piece remained intact. She sank to the floor, surrounded by the broken china, and let out a long wail of grief.
Joseph had been standing unseen at the kitchen door, listening. His mother’s cry of pain was a sound he would never forget.
F
rederick walked to the Nick-Nack, scarcely feeling the ground beneath his feet. He tried to bury his dismay beneath the drudgery of chores.
Jette didn’t understand. Going to fight for his adopted country would root his family in this soil. America had welcomed him in, and had asked for nothing in return. But there was a debt to be paid, and he intended to pay it.
That evening Frederick walked back from the Nick-Nack alone. He had poured every drink as if it were his last. On his way home he stood at the end of the pier, listening to the waters of the Missouri rushing beneath his feet, and wondered whether he would ever hear that sound again.
When he arrived at the house, the front door was locked. He tried the door to the kitchen, but it would not yield, either. Frederick stood in the darkness and shivered. Jette had made her feelings clear. He crossed the yard and opened the door of the outhouse. He settled at an uncomfortable angle across the floor, his legs propped up against the wooden commode that he had installed during their first summer there. He lay awake for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling.
By the time the first soft whispers of morning woke him, Frederick was so stiff that he could barely move. Gingerly he crept back to the house and tried the doors again. They were still locked. He peered through the window. There was no sign of movement inside.
“Jette!” he whispered, his face pressed up against the window. “Let me in, please.”
There was no reply.
“I have to talk to you,” Frederick said through the glass. “I need to make you understand.”
Inside, Jette sat hidden in the shadows and watched her husband mouth words she could not hear.
F
rederick finally gave up. He turned away from his home and made his way through the early-morning streets. A military recruitment station had been opened in an unused building behind the courthouse. The door was locked there, too. He had to wait for an hour before a clerk arrived, keys jangling, to let him in.
He spent the morning filling out forms, trying to forget his family waking up without him on the other side of town. He had never, he realized sadly, even said good-bye to his children. Well, he told himself, there will be plenty of time to explain when I return. I’ll make it up to them then.
That afternoon he and a few other men were driven to the nearest railway station, where they joined conscripts from other small towns on a train that took them to Kansas City, where their military training would begin. Men stared out the windows, lost in their private thoughts. As the train rattled through the flat Missouri countryside, Frederick borrowed some paper from his neighbor and began to write a letter home.