Authors: Lynn Austin
I closed my eyes, feeling drowsy in the sun’s warmth. I had only dozed for a moment when Friedrich gripped my arm.
“Louise . . .”
“Hmm?” I opened my eyes and saw two men in uniform—an officer and a younger soldier—slowly making their way across the deck. They scanned the passengers as if searching for someone, their expressions cold, unsmiling.
“They weren’t on the ship earlier today,” Friedrich whispered. “They must have boarded at the last stop.” We watched as they paused beside the young bank clerk from Cologne we had met earlier. The officer held out his hand, probably asking to see the identification papers, which all men of draft age were required to carry. Then they made the man stand while they searched his pockets and bags. All the color, tinged by wind and sun, washed from Friedrich’s face.
“No . . .” he whispered.
With perfect clarity, I saw that I could alter my future. I could keep Friedrich in Germany, cling to the life I loved. I didn’t have to be swept away to America against my will. The decision was mine to make, and I wouldn’t even have to say a word because Friedrich would never lie. The soldiers would find the packet containing his money, his emigration papers, the map marked with the trail across the border, his cousin’s address in America. I felt the power of control as I had felt the power of the ship when it had begun to move, plowing upstream against the current. I could fight the current too.
Now the soldiers were questioning the young medical student Friedrich had chatted with. The student seemed to be making light of the situation, smiling as he showed his identification papers and as he unbuttoned his jacket to be searched. But the soldiers responded with haughty efficiency. They had guns, power, authority. I tried to imagine Friedrich in a uniform, forced to
act like these men, forced to aim a gun and kill. Then I tried to imagine him in prison, with real criminals.
My feelings toward Friedrich were like a tangled skein of yarn that I couldn’t unravel. I hated the choice he had made, hated his complete power over me as my husband. Yet he was a good man, a hardworking man, tender and affectionate. Part of me wanted to protect him, part of me wanted to punish him.
I cuddled my daughter, asleep on my shoulder, brushing my lips against her soft, sweet skin. Friedrich was her father. She needed him to provide for her, protect her. I had no means of supporting Sophie without him.
What I was unable to decide for Friedrich’s sake became an easy choice to make for my daughter. I leaned my head near Friedrich as if to nuzzle his neck, as I had seen lovers do.
“Fritz,” I whispered, “give me your papers and the map.”
He didn’t move. One of the soldiers glanced our way as if scanning the deck for his next victim, while the other continued to interrogate the young student. I caressed Friedrich’s hand, lying clenched on his thigh.
“Hurry, Fritz.”
I lowered the sleeping baby from my shoulder to my lap. Sophie awoke and began to fuss, but I didn’t try to soothe her back to sleep. Maybe her cries would distract the soldiers. Men always seemed unnerved by fussing infants.
“The money too. Quickly.”
At last Friedrich summoned the strength to move. He bent over Sophie, speaking softly to her as he reached into his breast pocket for the packet containing all his papers and the money he had saved for America. He had tied up everything with butcher paper and string like a packet of pork chops. Leaning over the baby to conceal it from view, Friedrich slipped the packet to me.
I pretended to check Sophie’s diaper and slid everything into her knitted soaker pants. She wailed in protest. She hated lying on her back, and I knew if I lifted her to my shoulder she would stop. But as the officials approached, I wrapped her shawl around her legs again and allowed her to cry.
“Your identification papers, please.”
I wondered if they saw the tremor in Friedrich’s hand as he gave them over, or noticed the knotted muscle in his clenched jaw. I studied the officer’s face as he took his time reading. He was a thin, colorless man with pale hair and skin and eyes. He reminded me of a fish that lives deep inside a cave, far from the warmth of the sun. The touch of his slender hand would be as cold as an underground stream.
“I see that you are eligible for military service, Herr Schroder,” he finally said. “Have you received your draft notice?”
“Yes, I have.”
“How long ago?”
“It arrived the day my daughter was born. About a month ago.”
“Why haven’t you reported for duty?”
Friedrich hesitated. I almost spoke for him, but finally he said, “As I’m sure you’re aware, the government allows me three months to get my affairs in order before I’m required to report for duty.”
The officer stared long and hard at Friedrich, but my husband’s gaze never wavered. I prayed that the official wouldn’t ask him a more direct question.
“Your ticket, please.”
Friedrich fumbled in his coat pocket and produced our two round-trip tickets. Sophie was screaming in earnest now, the sound fraying my nerves. The soldiers seemed deaf to it.
“What is your business in this village?”
“My wife’s aunt lives there. We’re visiting her with our new baby.” Friedrich spoke only the truth, but it sounded stilted. The younger soldier pulled out a small notebook and a pencil.
“Your aunt’s name and address?”
While the soldier scribbled down the information, the officer eyed Friedrich as if he were a farm animal he was thinking of purchasing.
“Stand up,” he said abruptly.
They searched Friedrich in front of the other passengers, forcing him to raise his arms and spread his legs as they patted him down like a criminal. Their arrogance outraged me. One of them removed Friedrich’s wallet and counted his money, while the other leafed through the book he had been reading. His bookmark fluttered away on the breeze.
“Just what, exactly, are you looking for?” I asked angrily.
“Shh . . . It’s all right, Louise,” Friedrich murmured.
“Where are your bags?” they asked when they finished with him. Friedrich reached beneath his deck chair and pulled out our satchel. The soldier pawed through it, scattering all our belongings on the deck. I fought tears as he tossed my nightgown aside in plain sight.
“Is this all of your luggage?” the officer asked.
“We’re only staying the weekend,” I said with controlled fury. “But here is the baby’s bag, if you’d care to see wet diapers.” I shoved it toward him
with my foot. They searched it carefully, in spite of the sopping diapers and soaker pants.
When they finished I stood, lifting Sophie to my shoulder. “Would you care to search me, as well?”
The officer’s pale eyes bored into mine for a moment. My heart pounded with anger and fear. I wondered if I would go to prison along with Friedrich if they found the packet.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said at last. The two men turned in unison and proceeded up the deck as if they’d merely inquired about the weather, not searched us like thieves.
When they were out of sight, I sat again. I didn’t dare look at Friedrich for fear that my tears would be unleashed. He bent to scoop our rifled belongings back into the satchel, then sat down and opened his book. It trembled in his hand.
I gazed at the tranquil hills floating past, the autumn-tinged leaves that hinted at the winter to come, and rocked my sobbing baby in my arms. For the first time I understood that Friedrich’s power to choose my fate wasn’t something to be envied. Making a decision was a balancing act, like the acrobat I had seen in the circus, suspended on a wire between two platforms. Once you’ve chosen, once you’ve taken the first step, you must continue no matter how terrifying the journey, until you either fall to your death or reach the other side. You can only hope that you’ve made the right choice, and pray for the strength to follow through.
The baby found her thumb and finally stopped crying. The afternoon turned chilly as the ferry churned into the lengthening shadows cast by the hills. Friedrich slowly closed his book and clasped his hands together on top of it.
“Louise . . .” I turned and saw a tear glistening on his lashes. “Thank you.”
We docked in my aunt’s village late in the afternoon. During the warmer months it was a favorite tourist destination with pleasure boats anchored in the Rhine and sidewalk cafes dotting the waterfront. Even in autumn the village was picturesque with Swiss-style buildings, painted flower boxes, and a clock tower on the village square that chimed the hour. It was also much cooler here and I was grateful for my shawl.
The fresh air and long journey had made me drowsy, and my legs wobbled
feebly on dry land. My skin felt tight and wind-washed, my hair tangled from the breeze. I longed for a hot bath and a thick feather bed. A row of carriages for hire stood across the street.
“Fritz, can we afford to take a carriage to Aunt Marta’s? I’m too tired to walk.”
“Yes, but I . . . I’ve been thinking.” He searched my face, struggling for words. Was he going to change his mind about leaving us, after all? I held my breath, waiting.
“Louise, I don’t want to involve your aunt in this.”
“What do you mean? She’s expecting us . . . and we gave the soldiers her address.”
“I know. That’s the problem. I’ll need to explain to her that I’m breaking the law when I leave tonight, and then she might have to lie to the authorities. I don’t want to put her or you at risk if I can avoid it. I’ll hire a carriage to take you and Sophie there . . . but I think I’d better leave you now.”
“Fritz, no!” My disappointment was quickly overwhelmed by my rising panic. Until this moment I hadn’t really comprehended what his leaving meant. Now a terrible emptiness echoed through me—I felt so light I might have blown away on the breeze if Friedrich hadn’t had his hand on my shoulder. I remembered Oma’s description of feeling incomplete after Grandpa died. How could I feel so angry with Fritz for leaving me, yet feel such a loss when he did?
“Louise, it’s for your aunt’s sake. It’s bad enough that I involved you.”
“But we can’t say good-bye like this . . . standing here!”
A row of shops and restaurants faced the wharf. Friedrich steered me across the busy street and into a cafe. We sat at a table in a rear corner and ordered hot chocolate, but the cups sat untouched. Twice Friedrich started to speak, then stopped, before finally finding the words he sought.
“If there were any other way out of this . . . if I had any other choice . . . I swear I’d never leave you like this, Louise.”
I nodded, too close to tears to trust myself to reply.
“Will you and Sophie be all right?” he asked uncertainly. “The journey home?”
I nodded again, biting my lip.
He reached across the table for my hand. “Louise . . . why did you help me today on the ferry? I know you don’t want me to go . . . yet you made it possible for me to leave.”
I lifted my chin, wanting to hurt him for some reason. “I only did it for
Sophie’s sake. How would she survive if her papa went to jail?” When I saw how much my words had hurt him, I quickly relented. “Besides, the soldiers made me angry. They were so arrogant. I was afraid of what they would do to you if . . . and I realized that you could never be like them. And you would have to be, wouldn’t you . . . if you joined the army?”
“It’s part of their code . . . order and discipline and unquestioning obedience to authority. Do you regret your decision now that the soldiers are gone?”
I felt tears burning. “What difference does it make? It’s over and done.”
“The Scriptures say a husband and wife will become one flesh. What you did . . . moved me . . . because it was such a loving act. You put my welfare before your own wishes.” He was having trouble speaking as he battled his emotions. I felt a knot growing in my own throat.
“I know you felt something for me once, in the beginning,” he continued. “I treasure our early days together before . . . this. And I pray that you’ll feel the same affection for me again someday.” He propped one elbow on the table and rested his forehead on his hand, shielding his eyes. “I know you still don’t understand why I’m doing this . . . why I have to leave . . . why I’m making you move away from everyone you love . . .” He paused, then looked up at me. “But do you think you will ever be able to forgive me?”
The tears I had been holding at bay rolled down my cheeks, one after the other. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know the answer.
“Louise . . . please say something.”
I slowly lowered Sophie from my shoulder and held the swaddled bundle out to Friedrich, across the table. “Do you want to hold her one last time?”
He took her awkwardly, tenderly, nestling Sophie in the crook of his arm. He studied her delicate face for a moment, tracing her cheek with his finger. She rewarded him with a smile. When he closed his eyes and lowered his head, I thought he was weeping; then I realized that he was praying for our daughter. When he finished, he kissed her forehead. We both stood at the same time and Friedrich laid Sophie in my arms again. He gathered our things.
The door to the cafe closed behind us, cutting off the warmth. Dusk was falling and the air near the river had a frosty edge to it. A carriage and driver stood at the curb, as if waiting for us. I watched as if in a dream as Friedrich told the driver the address and paid him in advance. He lifted our bags aboard.
Friedrich’s departure should have been a memorable occasion, marking a new chapter in both of our lives. Instead it would end like any ordinary departure,
with a few hasty words, a quick embrace, the impatient stamping of horses.
“It’s going to be all right, Louise, I promise you.” He enfolded Sophie and me in his arms. “Everything is going to be all right for us in America.”
Another tear escaped to race down my cheek at the dreaded word. Clinging to Sophie, I couldn’t return his embrace. He bent to kiss my forehead, all he dared to do on such a busy street. It was a stranger’s kiss, polite, tentative, and I remembered how he had once smothered me with kisses. He was no longer the same carefree man who had kissed me with playful abandon when we were first married, when our life together held only joy and promise.