Chapter 23

Fall, 1921

Gassmann homestead

            When Hans knocked on the Walters’ door that evening in 1921, he was met by his Aunt Lorena.

            “It’s a shame you didn’t come by a bit earlier,” she told him, motioning him into the kitchen. “You could have had some coffee and cake with your father and us.  But that’s okay, I’ll put out some more.”

            But Hans, acting as if he hadn’t even heard her, said that he’d stopped by to have a word with Ewald.  Lorena was taken aback, since Hans was always one to say yes to sweets. But she called Ewald, who emerged from the main room. 

At Hans’ request, the two men went back outside.  Hans wanted to speak to his uncle in private.  The conversation didn’t last long.  Lorena wasn’t shy about looking out the kitchen window in the men’s direction, as she tried – and failed – to catch some of the conversation taking place out in the yard beneath the apple tree. She saw Hans shake his head once, vehemently.  Ewald nodded and clapped his nephew on the shoulder. Then watched as Hans turned and walked quickly down the lane and back out onto the main road, heading in the direction of home. 

Back inside, Ewald, uncharacteristically, rebuffed his sister’s request for information about the conversation. Then, seeing that she was hurt by his reticence, he put his arm around her.

“Don’t ask, Sis. Guy stuff.  That’s all.  Nothing for you to busy your head with.”

Ewald may have been gone for the past seventeen years, but Lorena still recognized the look she now saw on his face.  It was the expression that he always wore – beginning when they were tiny kids – when he had a secret.  Not a secret he was holding off telling her, just to tease her, but one it might not be safe to tell. Back then, it was because one of them might get a thrashing if he told. Like the time when their cousin accidentally broke a piece of farm equipment they were playing on, and Ewald had been with him.  But what about now? Lorena wondered. What here might not be safe to tell?

*          *          *

            For the remainder of Ewald’s visit – and for nearly the next 28 years, for that matter – there was no more discussion of God or faith or faith healing or that little boy Bruno over supper or dinner or breakfast at the Gassmanns’ place.  Renate made sure of that. Her brother’s time with them was too precious to her to allow it to be marred by any discord caused by religious topics.  Everyone else clearly felt the same way, because the rest of the month flowed by with little more than small talk when the family was all together.  There were plenty of other topics to explore, such as more details about Ewald’s life in America. But even at these times, all parties were vigilant, censoring their own words when it occurred to them that the remarks on the tip of their tongues might lead someone to feel hurt or insulted or left out… The list of emotions to avoid causing in others was long, and this naturally limited the mealtime conversations. 

As a result, the rest of the month passed very smoothly, it seemed to Renate: no ill will, no bruised feelings, no resentment. Renate made this assessment based on what she herself observed, and on all that she heard from the other individual family members.  Of course she was sorry to say goodbye to Ewald that day when they all got together at the Walters’ farm to send him off, but she wasn’t despairing, the way she’d been when he left the first time, in 1904.  This time, the whole family gathered around him, and the tears that were shed were of sadness, certainly – at the fact that he hadn’t been able to stay longer, and at the knowledge that they had no idea when they might see each other again, if ever.

But there were other kinds of tears mixed in, too.  Ulrich and Ewald embraced in tenderness and love, grateful that they had swept away the misunderstanding they’d carried with them for so long.  Renate, too, had forgiven her brother for what she had interpreted as his slight of her, in writing to Ulrich and not to her.  As well, she had learned enough of his life in America, that she could feel genuinely joyful for him.  Thank goodness he had found a wife who made him happy, and that they were raising a wonderful family.  Renate kept reminding herself of this and pushed away her own feelings of regret that she’d never meet her sister-in-law and nieces and nephew.

“You know that young man is in love with you, don’t you?” Ewald asked Ethel quietly as he hugged her goodbye.  Taking her blushing cheeks as an answer, he said, “Be happy, Ethel, dear. This family’s been through so much. Allow yourself to bring some joy into it. Some new life.”

Only a few words passed between Hans and Ewald as they took leave of each other, and no one overheard what they said. The two shook hands heartily, and Ewald clapped Hans on the shoulder.

Lorena and her mother shared their own, private words with Ewald. Then he hopped up in the front of the wagon, alongside his father, who was taking him to the train station in Varel.  The two men would talk about whatever needed discussing on this ride and make their final, brief, and undemonstrative goodbyes on the platform.

A job well done! Renate thought to herself, as she walked slowly back to the homestead with her husband and children, hand in hand with Ulrich.  Now life can get back to normal. God knows there’s enough work to be done to prepare for winter!

*          *          *

About a month later, on a sunny Saturday afternoon in November, Viktor and Ethel took an after supper walk to the old treehouse.  They walked together nearly every day now, in the early evening, after the light meal was cleared and the dishes washed, and the horses and goats and chickens put in for the night, and whatever woodworking project was under way put to bed, too. Although their strolls took them in various directions – toward Bockhorn or Varel, or down any of a number of paths through the Gassmanns’ forest – the treehouse had become their favorite spot to sit with each other and share their thoughts.  So, on this day, it didn’t surprise Ethel when Viktor expressed the wish to go there.

The days were growing both shorter and cooler, and when they climbed the rope ladder, they found the treehouse floor littered with fallen leaves in various stages of dryness. 

“I love the scent of the leaves!” Ethel exclaimed, as her head emerged from over the edge.  This time, Viktor had gone up the ladder first, since he enjoyed reaching a strong hand out to Ethel to grasp as she reached the top of the ladder. She delighted in this part of the visit, too. So, she often shooed Viktor up the ladder before her, even though, as he had learned on their first visit, Ethel needed no help whatsoever climbing the rope rungs and hoisting herself onto the treehouse floor.

“They do smell wonderful, don’t they?” Viktor replied, nodding. “The green ones still smell like the tree, somehow, and the dry ones already smell like the earth.  It’s the whole yearly cycle before us.”

Ethel hadn’t been up in the treehouse during the autumn for many years, and she had missed being there at that time. She began sweeping the leaves up into a small pile using the small broom she’d found resting against the railing when she and Viktor had first climbed up here a couple of months earlier.

“I can still hardly believe this lasted all those years,” she said with delight, pausing in her sweeping to wave the broom in Viktor’s direction.

He laughed, swept up himself by Ethel’s childlike joy.  “It must have magical properties,” he said.

“Oh, yes!” Ethel replied, sweeping again now.  “Or maybe the fairies used it while Hans and I were absent.  Maybe they replaced any broken or rotted straws.”

It didn’t even occur to Viktor to ask if he could help.  He understood that this was Ethel’s own personal communion with the leaves. So, he watched silently from where he sat near the ladder, as Ethel moved the leaves into a pile against the beech tree’s trunk, next to where he was sitting.  It seemed to him that she was nudging them the way she’d urge a goat kid or a kitten along, not wanting to hurt it, but with her goal still clearly in mind.

When the leaves were all gathered together into the shape of a narrow bench, Ethel motioned to him.  “Come, sit!”  He did, and the two of them settled down atop the leaves, some of which crackled, while others slipped.

“Did you do this with the leaves when you were growing up?” Viktor asked.

Ethel nodded.  She was picking up leaves, one by one, examining them, crumbling some of the driest ones, and bending the ones that were holding tight to their green-ness this way and that, testing their flexibility.  “What we liked best was to cover the whole floor with a thick layer. Then we’d lie on them for hours, like they were a featherbed and look up at the sky.”

“There must have been more leaves then – or did you do that later in the fall?”

Ethel laughed, remembering it. “No, we didn’t wait. We couldn’t wait. As soon as the leaves began falling, we’d bring a rake along with us, and collect all the fallen leaves around this tree. Sometimes for a long ways in all directions. Then we’d put them in baskets we’d brought with us– we came prepared! – and haul them up to the top of the ladder with a rope and dump them out here, and spread them all around.”

“Quite the production!” Viktor said, laughing, too.  He loved watching her when she told these stories of her childhood, as she often did when they were up here in the treehouse.  She really came alive out in the big beech.  Although the treehouse was barely ten feet above the forest floor, it was as if Ethel was transported even higher, into some divine realm free of all domestic cares, or worries about family matters.  Not that Ethel ever really seemed weighed down to him, not the way others in the family often did, but here she was even lighter. When he was with her in this spot, Viktor understood why her brother and parents had felt the need to tether their dear, ethereal Ethel, lest she float away, up into the heavens, and never return.

Sitting with her now, Viktor suddenly began to wonder about that tethering.

“Ethel,” he asked thoughtfully, “do you ever feel that your parents, or Hans even, have kept you from being yourself?” He had turned to face her, and his serious question surprised her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, even though she grasped what he meant right away.

“I mean… you’re so full of joy and life. I see it so clearly up here in the treehouse.  You’re like a beacon of happiness here.  Even in the way you swept up the leaves.”

“And I’m not full of life when I’m not up here?” she asked, with a light tone and a slight teasing smile she hoped would mask her emotion, the love she felt so strongly for the man beside her.

Viktor shook his head and, smiling, wagged his finger at her. “Don’t try to trip me up, now!  That’s not what I meant at all.”

Ethel took his hand and tapped it against his leg. “I know. I was just teasing you, Viktor.”

            He laid his other hand atop hers. “But I asked in all seriousness, Ethel,” he continued. “Because I see your quilts.  And how close to God you are.  I think you’re the one in the family who most believes in God.”

            “Why are you bringing this up, all of a sudden?”  Ethel scrutinized his face.  The two of them hadn’t ever discussed the question of faith, even after the argument about it when Ewald was visiting.  That was probably because of the to-do that the discussion caused that day when Hans had left the table.

            Viktor shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure of the answer himself.  He hadn’t planned to bring it up.  “I just see how full of the divine you are, Ethel.  And I remember how – that day when your Uncle Ewald was still here and we were talking about God and why he doesn’t stop us from doing certain things, even if they’re bad for us. I saw it then in you”

            “I remember that conversation well,” Ethel said with a nod.  “And Hans asked me whether I believed God could heal you if only you believed enough. Is that what you’re thinking of?”

            “Yes, but not just that.  You talked about how we all have free will.  Because …. I think you said it’s because God wants us to learn for ourselves what’s right and wrong.”

            “I do think that. I don’t remember exactly what I said that day.”

            “I do,” Viktor told her, squeezing her hand. “You said that God is always around us, giving us signs that He’s there, and showing us the way. The right way. Helping us choose.”

            “Yes. Even if He can’t stop us from walking off a cliff. That’s the phrase Hans used, isn’t it?”

            “I think so. Something like that.”

            “But, Viktor, dear, why did you want to talk about that now? And here?”

            Viktor turned and looked out through the branches that formed the pillars of the railing that ran around the treehouse. 

            “I guess,” he began slowly, “because I see how light a spirit you are, and I want you never to lose your connection to God.”

            “But why would I lose it?” Ethel asked him, a confused frown forming on her face.

            “I saw how hard it was for you when Hans disagreed with you. You had this beautiful idea and hope and belief, and he did his best to crush it.”  He waved his hand to encompass the treehouse around them.  “But here. Here, Ethel. This is your pure element, where you’re surrounded by God. Where no one would dare tell you not to believe in that.  At least I hope they wouldn’t.  I wouldn’t.”

            Ethel was so surprised by the turn the conversation had taken that she didn’t even know where to start with a reply.  So she just looked at Viktor and allowed her hand to rest in his, and to feel the love for him that rested so strongly in her heart.

            “And I would never want you to walk off a cliff,” Viktor went on, his voice very earnest now. 

            “A cliff?  What cliff?” Ethel asked, feeling a bit exasperated.  “Viktor, what are you talking about?”

            Silently, Viktor pulled his right hand free and began brushing aside some of the leaves in the pile that lay between them. Then he stopped and motioned to Ethel. “Go on,” he told her, indicating that she was to keep brushing the leaves away.

            She did so, and after a moment, she came upon a small, dark gray, cloth bag with a drawstring closure. She looked to Viktor, still confused. He motioned to her to pick it up.

            “Go on, look inside,” he urged her.

            Ethel picked up the bag, which was light as air in her hand, and slowly loosened the drawstring.  First she peered into the opening, but since she couldn’t see anything, and could only feel that there was something rather solid, but light inside, she tipped the bag upside down above her palm.  She had to give it a bit of a shake, and when she did this, something small and wooden fell into her hand.  She realized right away that it was a ring, and she brought it up to her face to get a closer look. Carved of light wood, with a band the width of the nail on her pinky finger, it had been sanded to silky smoothness. But it wasn’t just a plain band: A carved flower nestled amongst delicate leaves rose up from one edge. 

            “I carved it from a piece of a fallen branch, from beneath this tree,” Viktor told her quietly.  “Since this tree means so much to you.”  He paused and took her free hand in his. “And since you mean so much to me.”

            Ethel was quite literally speechless, captivated by the beauty of the little wooden ring, and overwhelmed by the surge of joy that was rising up in her. 

            Viktor, seeing that Ethel didn’t know how to proceed, gently picked the ring up from her palm.  “Can we see if it fits?” he asked, and when Ethel nodded silently, he slipped it onto the ring finger on her right hand. 

            “How did you get it just the right size?” Ethel asked in amazement, having found her voice. 

            “That’s a woodworker’s secret,” Viktor whispered, leaning down and kissing her hand.  “Do you like it?”

            “It’s beautiful,” Ethel whispered back. “I can’t even imagine how you made it.”

            “With love,” Viktor told her, somewhat embarrassed by his show of emotion. “I love you, Ethel,” he went on.  “Am I wrong in thinking you feel the same way?”

            Ethel shook her head and smiled, as tears began flowing down her cheeks.  “I love you, too, Viktor.”  It felt so wonderful to say this to him, after all the times she had said the words in her thoughts.

            Viktor turned so that he was sitting cross-legged before her. “If that’s the case,” he said, “then, will you marry me?”

            “Yes, yes. Oh, yes, of course!” Ethel told him, her arms around his neck now, and her head resting on his shoulder as she allowed her tears to flow freely now. 

            Viktor stroked her hair with one hand, taking in the sweet scent of her hair and the joy that filled him, too.  After a minute, he turned his head and found her lips with his. Their first kiss as a betrothed couple.

            They sat up in the treehouse for a while after that, watching as the sun got lower in the sky.  Ethel was leaning against Viktor, his arm around her shoulders.  For a bit, neither of them spoke, each taking in the love that flowed through them, and the divine love they felt coming more strongly now from the forest around them.

            Then Ethel, her head still on Viktor’s shoulder, remembered something he’d said earlier.  “Viktor, tell me: Why did you mention all that about free will? And the cliff?”  She felt him shrug.

            “I didn’t intend to talk about that,” he told her.  “It’s just that I wanted to ask you to marry me up here, in this most heavenly spot in this divine forest you love. That we both love!”

            “But that doesn’t explain the cliff,” Ethel persisted.

            Viktor felt a little sheepish, but he answered her. “Well, I wanted to ask you in this spot, because this is where you feel closest to God.  And since you believe God guides us along the right path, I was hoping you’d feel guided by God to give whatever answer was best for you. To decide with your own free will.”

            “Even if that was a ‘No’?” Ethel asked.  She lifted her head off his shoulder, so that she could look at his face.

            “Yes,” he told her, facing her now, too. “If marrying me would mean that you were jumping off a cliff, then I wanted God to tell you that now, so that you could refuse me. Because I don’t ever want to lead you off a cliff, Ethel.”

            Ethel shook her head and looked at him, hoping that he could see all the love she felt for him.  “No, Viktor.  I don’t feel God’s telling me there’s any cliff up ahead with you. Just love.  That’s the way it feels to me.  I’ve never felt so happy in my life.”

            Viktor wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her close.  “As God is my witness, Ethel, I don’t want to ever tether you to the earth the way I saw Hans do. I want you always to feel as light and free and happy as you feel here tonight.”

*          *          *

            Ethel was feeling a bit anxious when she went back into the house that night, after accepting Viktor’s proposal. When Ethel came in from the yard, Renate was laying a towel over a bowl of bread dough on the counter for its overnight rise.  Ethel approached her mother from behind, but said nothing, not knowing quite what to say.  But, hearing her, Renate turned around and looked her up and down, barely able to conceal a smile whose origin Ethel couldn’t surmise.

            “Well,” Renate asked in a jolly tone, “what do you have to say for yourself, Ethel, dear?”

            At a loss for words, Ethel simply stretched her right hand out toward her mother.  Renate noticed the trembling fingers and immediately grasped her daughter’s hand. First she brought it up to her lips.  Then, smiling now without trying to hide it, she leaned over to study the beechwood ring on Ethel’s finger.

            “Mama,” Ethel said quietly, with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, “Viktor asked me to marry him.”  She held her breath, waiting to hear what her mother would say.

            Renate took her time responding. She realized this was perhaps not the kindest way to treat Ethel, since it left the young woman in doubt for long, long seconds, but this was a big moment, and Renate wanted to dramatize it as much as possible.  After all, there seemed to be so few occasions these days for big bursts of happiness in their lives.  So, she peered at the ring, and then up at Ethel’s face, and then back at the ring. Finally, she squeezed her daughter’s hand.

            “Well, I hope you said yes!” she replied, beaming now.

            Ethel threw her arms around her mother, grateful that Renate approved of the engagement. Now she could let her tears out, and her breath, too. 

“I did, Mama!” Ethel burst out. “I did!” 

As the two women were hugging each other and swaying in a joyful dance, Ulrich walked into the kitchen.

“What’s all the commotion about?” he asked, smiling, too, but acting as if he knew nothing.

“Our Ethel’s engaged,” Renate told him, lifting Ethel’s hand up to show him the ring.

“Papa, look!” Ethel said.  “Viktor made it for me, out of wood from the beech tree the treehouse is in.”

Ulrich inspected the ring, turning Ethel’s hand this way and that, with dramatized seriousness, as if he were a jeweler taking the measure of a rare and expertly-cut diamond.

“Lovely work,” he said finally, and he clasped her hands in his.  “He’s a good man, Ethel.  He’ll do right by you.”

“I think so, too, Papa.  I know so.”  She hugged her father, too, noticing a look of happiness and peace on his face that she hadn’t seen for many years.

She also noticed that neither of her parents looked the least bit surprised.

“Did you know he was going to propose?” she asked them.

Renate and Ulrich exchanged glances, as if deciding who should be the one to tell her.

“He came to me yesterday,” Ulrich said.  “Asked me for your hand. Once I said I’d be very happy to have him as my son-in-law – as long as you agreed, of course –” Here Ethel laughed.  “- he showed me the ring.  Asked whether it would be an insult to give you this instead of a traditional ring.”

“And what did you tell him?” Ethel asked.

“That I thought it couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Oh, Papa, you’re right!”  And she began pointing out this or that detail of the ring to her parents, marveling at the beauty of the design, and at how it was both delicate and sturdy at the same time.

“An engagement ring should be just like this,” Renate told her.  “It should be just like your love for each other: beautiful enough to inspire you to make each other happy, and strong enough to weather everything you’ll have to go through together.”

*          *          *

So, as it turned out, the news of Viktor and Ethel’s engagement came as no surprise to anyone but Hans.  He noticed the ring on Ethel’s finger at breakfast the next morning.

“What’s that, Ethel?” he asked, reaching across the table to take her hand.

Ethel looked over at Viktor, seated on Hans’ left, but he encouraged her with a tip of his head. Their news was hers to share.

“Well,” Ethel said, for some reason smoothing her apron with her free hand and then looking at the ring herself once more before continuing, “Viktor asked me to marry him last night.  And I said yes!”

Hans’ jaw literally dropped open. He turned to Viktor, his eyes squinting in disbelief.  He looked like he was hoping Viktor would deny it. 

“It’s true,” Viktor told him.  “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Hans looked to his mother’s face, and then his father’s.

“Did you two know about this?” he asked, his tone accusatory.

Is he upset we didn’t tell him earlier? Or about the engagement itself? That’s the question they were all asking themselves.

Renate, wanting to calm the turbulent waters they could all feel rising inside Hans, quickly answered.  “Now, Hans,” she began, immediately realizing she’d chosen the wrong words. Now, Hans… She knew he hated when she began sentences that way, because it meant she didn’t agree with whatever opinion he was voicing.  Striving to salvage the situation, she forged ahead, using a different tack.

“Ethel just told us last night,” she told him, “after you’d already gone up to bed.”

Hans sighed audibly, looking from one to the other of them.  Ethel was beaming. Their parents had donned subdued expressions, but Hans could tell they were happy about it, too.  Viktor was keeping his mouth shut.  Smart man, Hans thought.  He’ll fit in well with the Gassmanns. Even as this thought came into his head, Hans didn’t yet realize that he was already distancing himself from the family.  His family.  Now they weren’t “us Gassmanns”, but, rather, “the Gassmanns”.  I’m on the outside. Yet again. That thought came into his head, too. Along with, They couldn’t bother telling me. But, at the same time, he wasn’t yet ready to relinquish his lifelong role as Ethel’s closest ally, as her protector. 

“I’d like to talk to you later,” he said to Viktor. “I have a few questions for you.”  He was trying to strike a tone that would show Viktor that he had something of a say in his sister’s future. That Viktor would have to satisfy both Ulrich and him if Ethel was going to be allowed to marry him.

Ethel did not take his words the right way at all. “Hans!” she whispered as if no one else at the table could hear her. “Stop. You’re embarrassing me.  Viktor already talked to Papa, before he proposed to me.”

Ulrich nodded and was about to speak, but Hans held his hand up. 

“I’m your older brother. I should have the chance to discuss this with the man who wants to marry you.”

Now Ethel tossed her napkin onto the table. She opened her mouth to speak, but Renate quickly laid her hand on Ethel’s and squeezed it. This was the motion she had always used to signal to her children that they were going off the rails in a conversation. But she hadn’t had to use in years, not since they’d been little. What’s going on with them? she asked herself. First Hans last month, and now Ethel…

Renate would have squeezed Hans’ hand, too, but Viktor was in the way: His seat at the table was next to Hans, while she was seated to Viktor’s right, at the end of the table. But, after his six months living with the Gassmanns, Viktor possessed keen enough insight into the various family members, that he’d anticipated Hans would react this way to the news.  The evening before, in the treehouse, he even thought of suggesting to Ethel that she share their news with Hans right away, so that he wouldn’t feel left out. But she was so giddy with happiness when he proposed to her, that Viktor didn’t have the heart to dampen her high spirits by trying to guide the situation.  Besides, he figured Renate would be equally aware of the possibility that Hans might feel left out, and would make sure Ethel confided in her brother before bed. A second line of defense. Evidently, though, Renate, too, was overcome by the high spirits of the occasion. And the news came to light in a clumsy way.  No problem, Viktor thought. I can still make this right.

“It’s fine, Ethel,” Viktor said calmly, looking at his fiancée and nodding gently to her when she seemed on the verge of continuing her protest.  Then he turned to Hans and went on. 

“I’ll be happy to sit down with you. It’s natural that you feel protective of her. If Ethel were my sister, I’d want to do just the same.”

Hans nodded and pressed his lips together, an expression that said, Yes. That’s good. This is the way men who respect each other act.

“Later on, then,” he said to Viktor, and clapped him on the shoulder.

Now that the crisis was averted, everyone could all turn their attention back to their rolls and cheese and coffee.  The conversation shifted to lighter topics. When Viktor happened to glance in Renate’s direction a minute later, she gave a barely perceptible nod and a quick blink, showing her appreciation that he had salvaged the meal.  We’re going to do well together, Mr. Bunke, Renate thought to herself.

Renate was genuinely happy that Viktor had proposed to Ethel.  It was clear that he doted on her, and although they hadn’t known each other long, certainly not as long as she and Ulrich had been acquainted before getting engaged, she felt this would be a good step, both for Ethel and for the family.  Viktor had shown himself to be a good worker.  More than good, even. He’d grown so connected to the forestry work since he came: Ulrich had even remarked to her that it was as if it was in the young man’s blood.  Renate could see how much this pleased her husband, especially since Hans showed no interest in the forest itself.  As we’ve noted before, Ulrich’s melancholy had noticeably eased since Viktor’s arrival, and Viktor himself had grown more open and joyful as he worked alongside Ulrich and his connection to the forest deepened. 

Renate had noticed the atmosphere in the home growing lighter these past six months, too. Seeing everyone else’s growing happiness, she, too, grew more at ease, and when she gave Ethel her assent for Viktor’s courtship, that felt like just the right move: Reflecting on Ethel’s giddy delight at her engagement, and Viktor’s considerate treatment of Hans at breakfast, Renate concluded that this current state of the Gassmann household was a clear sign from God that she’d taken the right approach in her carefully-planned management of the family.  She even sighed with relief, thinking about the engagement and what this meant for the future here on the Gassmann homestead.  She’d learned from Ulrich that Viktor no longer had any family left. That means he and Ethel won’t be moving away, back to any Bunke family home.  They’ll marry, there’ll be children… The Gassmann homestead will become the Gassmann-Bunke homestead.  Renate felt such joy rise up in her at the mere thought of it…True, as she contemplated the various ways her daughter’s marriage would affect life there at home, Renate did feel a faint undercurrent of unease where Hans was concerned, but she pushed it away. I must be sensing some holdover from last month’s kerfluffle. That’ll pass, too.

*          *          *

            Viktor had begun considering how to deal with Hans late the previous evening, after Ethel accepted his proposal. Imagining that Ethel must already have told her brother, Viktor pondered the question as he lay in his bed in the room off the workshop.  He did his best to put himself in Hans’ position, to see the various reasons Ethel’s brother might view their engagement as a threat to himself and his position in the family.  Viktor, like Renate, had felt tension in Hans during the past month.  Also like Renate, he attributed most of Hans’ prickliness to the awkward suppertime discussion about God that they’d all endured during Ewald’s visit. Unlike Renate, though, Viktor also saw that other factors were contributing to the chip his future brother-in-law seemed to have on his shoulder. 

            He’d seen Hans tense when Ulrich praised Viktor’s work. And there was the afternoon when Ulrich and Viktor emerged from the woods, laughing and high-spirited after a day spent soaking up the trees’ heavenliness as they worked.  They met Hans as he came out of the workshop. At the sight of them, his placid expression shifted, and he greeted them with a dour countenance. This wasn’t the last time this kind of scene played out, and so, then – at the beginning of the summer – Viktor began approaching his interactions with Hans with extra care and forethought.

            Here was Viktor’s dilemma: How could he establish a good relationship with Hans, while also strengthening his connection with Ulrich?  Good relations with Ulrich were absolutely key, if he was to fit in here over the long term.  (He began considering all of this right from the start, long before he even considered trying to court Ethel, but once he made up his mind to woo her, he knew that cultivating good terms with her father and brother could only help…)

Looking at all of this from the outside, it might seem that Viktor had sought – and was continuing to seek –  to actively manipulate both Hans and Ulrich, so that he could reach his goal of a long-term job at the Gassmann homestead.  Indeed, he was striving for this goal.  At least that had been his objective at the beginning.  And really, Is there anything wrong with that?  After all, for the first time in his life, Viktor had landed in a spot where he had good work amongst good people. He wasn’t about to let that slip away through inattention, or because he overlooked something in the relationships.  Thus, he felt he had to not only utilize his powers of observation and intuition, but hone them. 

When Viktor began falling in love with Ethel, though, the situation grew more complicated.   Yes, doing the best job he could do, both in the forest and the workshop, was still paramount for him. But Ethel gradually came to occupy an equally important place in his life. There was his work on the Gassmann homestead, and there was Ethel, and he felt he couldn’t do without either of them.  He pushed aside worrying thoughts that sometimes came into his head: that Ethel’s family might suspect him of courting her as a way of solidifying his work position. 

When this concern finally made its way fully into his head, Viktor, for the first time in his life, actually examined his motives with a critical eye.  He reflected on all of this one summer afternoon in the woods.  He was taking a break from cutting down a thick spruce. Ulrich had gone back to the workshop and left him to his task.  As he sat there, his back against another spruce, he realized how others might view his interest in Ethel.  This awareness was a gift of insight from the divinely-infused forest around him. And a question formed inside his heart: Do I really feel this way about her, or is this just a ploy? 

It was a moment of deep honesty for Viktor.  He felt a chill run through his body. Whether it flowed up into him from the spruce behind him, or whether the cold originated in his heart and was now streaming out and down into the forest floor beneath him, he couldn’t tell.  But as it flowed, he realized, for the first time ever, the extent to which he had spent his life jockeying for position, employing ploys: sensing what others wanted and giving it to them so that he could gain a measure of security for himself.  His had been a lifetime of doing things that he maybe didn’t even really want to do.  He could see this now.  It horrified him. What do I want? he asked himself. What do others want of me? Can I even tell the difference?

How terrifying it was for him to come face to face with these thoughts!  It was as if his entire life had been called into question.  And it wasn’t just the realization of how he had lived up until now that horrified Viktor. No. Now that he knew what he knew, he had to make a decision: How do I live from now on? How do I know what I really want? And then the next thought: Do I really have the right to move toward what I do want?

At this moment, Viktor was grateful for Ulrich’s absence, since it gave him time to ponder. But at the same time, part of him wished the other man would come back, so that he could put off trying to solve this dilemma he’d uncovered.  But Ulrich didn’t come back.   Viktor, leaning against the spruce, which seemed to be linking him to the divine power of the heavens, found himself also resting his palms against the forest floor, so that he could feel the earth and its power, too. Help me, Lord, he mouthed silently. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to notice the energies flowing into him from, as it seemed to him now, two directions. 

Gradually, his breathing slowed, and after a bit, he noticed that all his anxiety and fear had drained out and away from him. In their place, he now felt deep peace and calm.  Joy. And a strong feeling of love in his heart.  Love for the forest and the trees, for this place on earth where he now found himself. But the love he felt most strongly… that was his love for Ethel.  

This love was so profound in him that Viktor knew it was genuine. That it was his. That he really felt it, and could trust it. He knew then for certain, that his motivation for courting Ethel was pure.  He could move forward now without doubting himself.  He hoped this would be the start of a new way of approaching life: He would strive to feel in his own heart what it felt right to do, and then to do that.  To deal honestly with others, to take note and care of other’s wishes, but without manipulating them. No more ploys, he vowed as he sat there anchored firmly between heaven and earth.

But Viktor’s determination to be keenly aware of what both he and those around him were feeling, actually had an unintended consequence: It led him into what we could characterize as a double life. While working in the forest with Ulrich, he gave full rein to expressing his genuine love of the trees and his growing affection for his employer. But when Hans was around, Viktor dialed back the intensity of his enthusiasm, so as to not cause tension between father and son, or son and himself.  He also allowed his true inclinations to come out when he was speaking with Ethel, and even, though in a more subdued form, with her mother. 

The upshot of this was that, while Ulrich, Renate, and Ethel saw before them a jovial, open, and strong young man who was full of joy for the natural world and for those whom he held in affection, Hans – although he didn’t consciously think about this – felt that he was working with a man who had a habit of keeping everything inside.  Not that their whole family didn’t do this, but Hans was confused: He saw his family members treating Viktor with a kindness and affection he himself didn’t understand.  What is there in this man to be so fond of? The two of them hadn’t formed a close bond, despite working together for months now, not even a friendship, really, and Hans began to wonder whether he was missing something that all the others saw. Or whether he was seeing the real Viktor Bunke. 

As it turns out, all of them were seeing the real Viktor Bunke, just different sides of him.  And although Viktor did manage to avoid seeming overly fond of Ulrich and Renate and Ethel in Hans’ presence, this duplicity didn’t feel right to him in his heart.  He wondered whether the fact that he was – as he saw it – less himself when Hans was around, caused the others to doubt his sincere affection for them.  He didn’t see any signs of this in his interactions with Ulrich or Renate, and certainly not with Ethel, but it weighed on him.  He didn’t want to have to dampen the joy inside him around Hans, just because he felt it was crucial for relations between them to be good.  Viktor didn’t see the irony of this: that his careful attempts to avoid giving Hans cause to fear that he was trying to usurp the other man’s position in the family actually caused Hans to feel more and more of an outsider in his very own home.  

The engagement brought everything to a head for Hans.  Upon discovering, that November morning, that everyone but him already knew that Viktor had proposed to Ethel, and that she had accepted, Hans felt he had been suddenly and violently and permanently shoved outside his family circle.  Certainly, he knew how things were decided around here: His parents were the decision-makers, giving a thumbs up or thumbs down on any matter of importance, i.e., one that would affect the whole family.  Hans had long ago accepted that way of doing things. But upon seeing Ethel’s ring, he suddenly suspected that the whole system had been controverted. That was why he asked his parents whether they’d known about the engagement.  Later on, he wished he hadn’t posed the question, because it seemed to him too revealing of his true feelings: To Hans, this engagement represented the final step in Viktor’s gradual invasion of his family. First he won Ulrich over, then Renate, and now, Ethel. Now there’ll be no getting rid of him.

As we know, Viktor foresaw that Hans would feel left out if Ethel didn’t tell him of their engagement right away.  When he heard Hans’ question at the breakfast table, Viktor kicked himself for not discussing with Ethel about how to handle telling Hans.  What he felt was a combination of frustration with himself at mishandling the situation, and a genuine desire to be on good terms with his future brother-in-law. It was this feeling that led him to immediately express his willingness to talk with Hans.  It would have been better if they’d avoided this awkwardness in the first place.  But what’s done is done, Viktor told himself.  Now go make it right.

*          *          *

            After spending the morning in the forest with Ulrich, Viktor sought out Hans. He found him in the workshop, where he was planing a piece of wood for a table leg.  Viktor stood for a moment, just inside the door, watching Hans rhythmically lean forward and then straighten up, as he pushed the plane along the wood and then drew it back, brushing aside the thin, curling wisps of wood so he could see his path clearly for the next round.  Viktor knew Hans had caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, but Viktor didn’t want to disturb him in the midst of this delicate work.  So, he sat down on a stool at the workbench at the far end of the room and waited until Hans leaned back and reached over to set the plane down on the workbench.

            “You could have told me, you know,” Hans said, speaking even before he turned toward Viktor. “No one in this family tells me anything.” He brushed some sawdust off his forearms and then turned to look at Viktor.  “Not that you’re family,” he added snidely, without giving Viktor a change to reply.  “Not yet.”

            Viktor stayed seated, surmising that if he stood up, Hans would perceive this as a challenge. Don’t take the bait. “No,” he said calmly. “I’ll never be family.” Good to tell him that.

            “But you want to be, right?” Hans asked in a clipped voice. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? Worming your way into everyone’s affections here? First my father’s, then my sister’s?”

            “Hans, I…” Viktor began, but Hans interrupted him.

            “It’s a nice setup here, isn’t it?  We’re all so nice, except for me, of course. I was on to you from the start.”

            Viktor could tell that there was no point in trying to rebut anything Hans was saying.  He was too upset to be able to take anything in right now. Besides, Viktor had the sense that if he took even a single step forward, Hans would immediately strike him.  And that would be hard to walk back. So, Viktor stayed seated and let Hans have his say.

            Now Hans walked right up to Viktor, who was still seated on the stool, his right knee bent and his foot on one of the stool’s rungs.  To Hans, he looked relaxed, cavalier, even.  Bastard! Hans thought. He doesn’t give a damn!

            “No one even thought to ask me,” Hans went on.  He was standing right in front of Viktor, and he slapped his palm against his own chest, emphasizing the words as he spoke.  “Me, who has taken care of Ethel since she was a little girl.  I was the one who made sure she was always okay, that she never got hurt.  Spent all those hours, days even, with her in the treehouse.” He paused and shook his head, then let out an exasperated laugh.  “And now,” he said, looking Viktor in the eye, “she thinks she can take care of herself.  So does my father, evidently.  Good God!” He looked away now and, hands on his hips, strode back to the workbench.  He placed his hands on the edge of the bench and leaned forward, head down, tapping one toe.  He stayed like that for a bit, then spun around and walked back to Viktor.  Raising one hand before Viktor’s face, as if he were about to hit him, he extended his index finger toward Viktor and said, in a low and angry voice, “If you do a single thing to hurt her, Bunke, you’ll have to answer to me. Do you understand?”

            Viktor, doing his best to maintain a calm demeanor, despite his inner desire to defend himself, both verbally and physically, simply nodded. 

            “I gather that you asked my father for her hand before you proposed?” Hans was a bit less agitated now.

            Viktor nodded again.

            “But you didn’t think to confide in me. Me, your future brother-in-law.” Hans gave his head a disgusted shake.

            What can I say to that? Viktor thought.  Better to say nothing than to start explaining myself. Is he hurt that I never brought the topic up, never let on that I was in love with Ethel?

            “To tell the truth, Hans,” Viktor said finally, “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.  I know how protective you are of Ethel.”

            “Damn right!” Hans frowned, then scratched his arm where a bit of sawdust still clung.

            “Like I said this morning,” Viktor went on, “I would be, too, in your place.”

            “Do you have a sister?” Hans asked, challenging him. “Have you looked out for her?”

            “I had a sister,” Viktor told him. That was all he said.

            “Then you do know, maybe,” Hans replied, softening a bit.  “What it’s like.  All I want is for her to be happy.”

            “I love her, Hans,” Viktor said, his tone serious and sincere. “All I want is for her to be happy. And safe. Just like you do.  I’ll do all I can to make sure she is.  We all will,” he added. “I mean, you’re still her brother.  Always will be. That won’t change just because she’s getting married. Besides, we’ll still be living here.  You’ll be able to keep an eye on us.” He gauged whether a bit of a smile might be in order, and determined that it would.  But Hans seemed not to notice.

            “Well, actually, it will change,” he said.  “I won’t be able to keep an eye on her. Or you.” He’d pursed his lips and was looking over toward the workbench now, instead of at Viktor.

            “What do you mean?”

            “What I mean is, I’m not going to be around here much longer.” Now he turned to face Viktor again.

            “Not around much longer? How’s that?” Viktor was the one frowning now.

            Hans let out a big sigh and stood up straighter.  “I’m going to Illinois, to work with my uncle Ewald.”

            At this, Viktor let out a long whistle.  “For a while? Or forever?”

            “Seems like it’ll be forever.”

            “But why?” Viktor asked, although he didn’t much expect that Hans would give him an answer. 

            “What, now that we’re going to be brothers-in-law, you think suddenly I’m going to tell you all my secret thoughts and desires?” Hans smirked.

            “I’m just surprised, that’s all,” Viktor told him.  In fact, his mind had begun to race, full of questions about the business and how they’d carry on without Hans. “Does Ulrich know?” he asked.

            “You two are so close,” Hans said sarcastically, looking Viktor in the eye. “I’d think you’d already know the answer to that question.” With that, he turned and strode out the side entrance of the workshop, pulling the door closed behind him with just enough force that it banged, but not loudly enough that you could call it a slam.

            Viktor sat motionless on the stool for several minutes, as if rooted to the spot.  Here, he’d come out to make things right with Hans, but he seemed to have failed completely.  He hadn’t even gotten a clear idea of how Hans felt about him marrying Ethel, or even about him personally, for that matter. But he had learned that one bit of crucial information. Leaving for Illinois to join Ewald? That came as a total shock.

            Viktor wondered whether he’d missed any clues in the past month.  He’d been so caught up in everything to do with Ethel and proposing to her that he hadn’t paid much attention to Hans, aside from the projects they were working on together. Damn it.  Great job he’d done of cultivating a relationship with his future brother-in-law. 

            As he thought over their conversation now, Viktor wished Hans had never told him about his plans. Did Ulrich know? To be honest, Viktor had felt a sting at Hans’ remark about his closeness to Ulrich. Wouldn’t Ulrich have told him what Hans was planning, if he knew himself? Damn it. Now he was in a difficult spot. Do I mention it to Ulrich or not? It’s not my family.  Not yet, anyway.  Which means, it’s not my business.  But it’s not entirely not my business, either… I’m damned if I ask Ulrich about it, and damned if I don’t.  And now Viktor realized that Hans was pleased to have put his not-yet-brother-in-law in this difficult position by telling him a secret.   Holy hell.

*          *          *

They set the wedding for June 11^th, the Sunday after Pentecost.  This would give enough them time to make arrangements for the church in Bockhorn, and for Renate and Ethel to sew the wedding dress and get the trousseau ready. On an early December day, Renate brought up the topic, so that she and Ethel could discuss what all they’d need to make.

            “Mama,” Ethel protested, “why bother with that?  It’s so old fashioned.  It isn’t as if I’m moving away, to his family’s home. Viktor will just be moving into the house. I’ll even be in the same room!”

            Renate shook her head.  “But Ethel, we need to do things the right way.”

            “Who are we trying to impress, Mama?” Ethel protested again.

            They were talking while making supper in the kitchen, and at this question from Ethel, Renate set the pot of stew she was about to warm up onto the stove, wiped her hands on a towel, and turned to her daughter.

            “It’s not about impressing anyone, Ethel.  It’s about starting you and Viktor off on your married life in a beautiful way.  You’re beginning a whole new stage of life, and everything about it should be very special and new.”

            Ethel nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.  And it’s true – I am excited to make a quilt for us.”

            “See?” Renate said, smiling, and running her hand over her daughter’s blond hair.  “It’s not just a regular day, and we don’t want to treat it that way. We want to celebrate in every way possible.”

            “All right, then,” Ethel told her, acquiescing.

            “Heavens, child,” her mother remarked, turning back to the stove, “you must be the first girl in the history of the world not to care about a new nightgown for her wedding night.”

            Ethel laughed, but said nothing. Her mother was right: She really didn’t care about the nightgown or towels or sheets, or even the wedding dress, if you came right down to it.  She knew that Viktor loved her for the person she was, not for any trappings she might adorn herself with.  The two of them would be happy to live in the treehouse with a bed and blanket of leaves.  They didn’t really need anything other than each other.

*          *          *

That night in bed, Renate related her conversation with Ethel to Ulrich.

“Like mother, like daughter,” he told her, smiling as he thought back to their own engagement.

Renate objected. “What do you mean?  I wasn’t like that!”

Ulrich nodded.  “You certainly were. How can you have forgotten? Lorena was going on and on about what she and your mother were going to make for your trousseau, what embroidery patterns they’d use, where they’d get the silk for your dress – “

“I don’t recall any of this!” Renate objected again.  “You’re making it up. My dress was made of cotton.”

“And where they’d get the silk for your dress…” Ulrich went on.  “And you – “ he held up his hand playfully to silence Renate, who was about to protest once more.

“And you said that you wouldn’t have any of that talk, because none of it mattered.  It was too frivolous to spend time and money making fancy dresses everyone would wear only once, and embroidering sheets no one but you and me would see.”  Ulrich raised one eyebrow and waited for Renate’s response.

She pursed her lips, so as not to laugh, then raised her chin and replied haughtily, “It was frivolous.  And my dress was not made of silk!”

“I know.  I remember that very well, too. You told your mother you’d be just as happy to get married in a cotton flour sack.”

Here Renate couldn’t contain herself anymore, and a smile spread across her face.

“So yes,” Ulrich said, “your dress wasn’t silk, but it wasn’t a flour sack, either.”

“That’s right,” Renate relented, taking his hand in her two.  “Mama’s a good negotiator.  She realized I wouldn’t accept silk, so cotton was the compromise.”

Ulrich nodded. “Yes.  That’s exactly the way you originally told the story to me.  Funny that you didn’t remember that when Ethel started down the same road.”

Renate gave him a sly smile.  “I didn’t want to remember, silly.  I knew I was happy with the cotton dress.  Maybe I’d even have been happy with silk in the end. Who knows?”

“Cotton was perfect,” her husband replied, pulling her to him.  “Come to think of it now, though, the flour sack would have been even more perfect. You bake so much, you’re as good as covered with flour most days, anyway!”

The two of them, married now for a bit more than twenty years, laughed at this memory. Ethel, who heard their merry voices from her room above theirs, smiled, too, imagining how she and Viktor would be just as joyful and in love twenty years hence.

Chapter 20

Fall, 1921

Gassmann homestead

            There was much to be happy about and thankful for on the Gassmann homestead as the fall progressed.  The family business was picking up: More and more orders for furniture were coming in, and since construction was up in the area, they were also able to easily sell all the wood they wanted to the saw mill in Varel.  For the first time in so many years, there was a sense that work was going in the right direction: They were able to support themselves (and pay Viktor his wages), and Ulrich even hired two workers from Bockhorn to help out in the forest, since Hans and Viktor were increasingly occupied with cabinet-making.

It was also a banner year for the vegetable garden and fruit trees and bushes. Renate and Ethel were flat out with canning and preserving now, as harvest season approached its end. For her part, Ethel was also working on several quilt commissions, thanks to the enthusiastic reviews of her handiwork that Mrs. Kropp and Hannah had given to relatives and friends. Ethel thus found herself in the kitchen with her mother by day, surrounded by canning jars and crocks and vegetables and fruits waiting to be put up, while her evenings were spent in her joyful creative pursuits.  She was looking forward to the onset of fall: The jars and crocks would be lined up in the root cellar, and she would be free to sew and quilt during the day, too.  She would also have more time to herself, which meant more time to spend with Viktor.  She was looking forward to that at least as much as to the quilting. Perhaps more, even. 

Their courtship was proceeding quietly, without fanfare.  Or, at least that was how it might have looked from the outside.  A casual observer who passed by the homestead or an acquaintance who stepped into the yard might see Viktor and Ethel in quiet conversation. Fairies in the forest might glimpse them sitting together in the woods beneath cover of a decades-old lean-to. Quiet laughter might be heard, but no more.  And although Ethel often popped into the workshop to check on Viktor’s progress with a chest of drawers or kitchen table, none of their gestures or words indicated more than simply a cordial, friendly relationship.  That was the way the two of them wanted it, especially for Hans’ benefit.   But despite the lack of any outward show of affection or words that would betray a growing depth of feeling and attachment, the connection was, nonetheless, there, and the young couple themselves felt it growing deeper and deeper. 

This strengthening of their bond was clearly visible to Renate, though, and she was, on the whole, pleased by it. After all, her gauge of whether any given development was good or not was how much harmony it produced in the family. For now, life in the home was as harmonious as she had ever experienced since her marriage to Ulrich. There was a combination of hard work that produced good results and good prospects for the future; a stability in the supply of foods and other goods they needed to live; and a state of peace and joyfulness between everyone in the household.  Touched by the sweetness that new love contributed to the atmosphere on the homestead, Renate told Ulrich that she was glad she’d given Ethel the go-ahead to think about Viktor, to allow him to court her, if he wanted to. 

Ulrich, who hadn’t been informed previously of his wife’s initial discussion with Ethel, saw no reason to question Renate’s judgment.  When had he ever done so? Why start now? Besides, he himself was growing fonder of Viktor, seeing in him a hard-working man with just enough creative vision to help the business, without derailing it with frivolities.  There was also the sensitivity Viktor showed to the forest, his clear love for the trees, and for communicating with them.  Ulrich was grateful for this younger man, whom he felt might be a good match for his daughter, in both his dedication to his work and his blossoming spiritual awareness.  Unlike Renate, Ulrich didn’t really realize anything was growing between Viktor and Ethel until she pointed it out to him.  But like his wife, he did recognize how Viktor had changed. He’d been observing with interest the young man’s transformation since the two of them had begun spending more time working together in the forest.

Hans, on the other hand, hadn’t yet caught onto either of these developments.  What had captured his attention, and was holding it fast, was the swift growth of the business.  Seeing the positive effects of Viktor’s methods – that’s what he called Viktor’s approach to working with clients: his methods – he discarded his initial skepticism and suspicion of the newcomer in favor of outright enthusiasm, and even respect.

Hans’ new view of Viktor was revealed quite powerfully toward the beginning of November, when Uncle Ewald, Renate’s older brother, came from America – “all the way from America!” “From the state of Illinois!” – to spend a month with the extended family. 

Hans was only three years old when Ewald emigrated to Illinois, and so had almost no memory of his uncle. But he could see that Renate and Ulrich were – in their own, understated ways – growing more and more excited as Ewald’s arrival drew closer and closer, and this piqued his interest, too. Both Hans and Ethel – who had been born a few months after Ewald’s emigration and thus, had no memories of him whatsoever – noticed a combination of anticipation and impatience in their parents in the week leading up to arrival day. Ethel also sensed an anxiety in both of them that surprised her. In the course of the eighteen years she’d lived so far, she hadn’t yet had to endure the pain of such a separation from a beloved person. Thus, she didn’t have the personal experience with the doubts, offenses, resentments, disappointments, hopes, and fears that might have enabled her to interpret this fleeting expression on her mother’s face, or that moment of seemingly anxious silence in her father’s presence. But, although she lacked insight into her parents’ feelings, she was nonetheless fully aware of them, since they represented shifts in the homestead atmosphere.  As a result, she, like the rest of the extended family, felt a strong sense of anticipation in the days leading up to what everyone saw as Ewald’s homecoming.

He spent the month staying with Renate’s sister, Lorena and her family, and their parents, on the farm where he’d grown up. Indeed, part of the reason he decided to make this long trip by boat was to see his parents, perhaps for the last time.  Both Ingo and Veronika were very elderly now, and although of hardy farmer stock, both were failing. Ingo was nearly deaf, and Veronika was so crippled with rheumatism that Lorena had almost entirely taken over the running of the household, with her daughter Esther’s help. Lorena’s husband Stefan ran the farm with several hired hands. (Life was good for the Walters now, too.)

Since it was only a short walking distance between the Gassmanns’ homestead and the Walters’ farm, various members of both families trooped back and forth each day – sometimes even more than once a day! – so they could spend as much time as possible with this beloved son, brother, and uncle.  And brother-in-law. Ulrich, who had been so saddened by Ewald’s emigration seventeen years earlier, was perhaps the most moved of all of them to lay eyes once again on this man who had headed off across the sea so long ago.  Thirty-nine years old now – to Ulrich’s forty – Ewald reminded Ulrich so much of the way his father-in-law had looked back then, as if both elderly Ingo and young Ingo were somehow standing side by side. 

At that first meeting, on the day of Ewald’s arrival, Ulrich sought in his friend’s face traces of the young man he’d once been so close to. He asked himself: How? How did I not write to him these past seventeen years? How did I not write about what was really important?  It suddenly seemed inexplicable to him: the combination of sadness and the feeling of loss, and of betrayal, even, that crept into his heart when Ewald first announced his plan to leave. He realized now, that this pain had remained there ever since, lying atop the layers of those same feelings which were laid down during his childhood, and which bore fruit as the melancholy that he couldn’t name, but felt nonetheless.  How will Ewald greet me? Ulrich wondered as he walked to the Walters’ that first afternoon with Renate and Hans and Ethel. He was feeling nervous, wondering what lay within Ewald’s heart. Was he angry back then, too? Is he still? These questions flooded Ulrich’s brain more and more powerfully as the Walters’ farmstead came into view.

But now, in 1921, when the two men met anew, the time that had passed since 1904 – and all the myriad, conflicting thoughts and emotions –  seemed not to exist.   Ulrich and Ewald clasped each other in a strong, tender, and long embrace, each man’s cheeks wet with tears long kept inside. Their hearts overflowed with the love they both still held dear, despite the years and the distance and the as yet unresolved tensions.

The first time Ewald joined them all for dinner at the Gassmann homestead, he immediately and naturally took a seated next to Ethel (which, it turned out, had always been his spot) and opposite Viktor. Renate sat on his left, at one end of the table. This was the first look Viktor got at Ethel’s uncle: He, perhaps naturally, hadn’t been invited to the big welcome dinner at the Walters’.  Here was a very strong man, Viktor saw right away. He also noticed a lightness and confidence that set him apart from Ulrich and Hans, and from Renate.  He wondered whether this was part of Ethel’s family inheritance. Did she come by her ethereal nature thanks to the same hereditary qualities that seemed to inhabit her uncle? Of course, Viktor noted, Ewald’s ethereality was expressed not in his body, which was strong and solid, but in the very air with which he moved through space. Ethel’s, by contrast, manifested not just in her ringing voice and light hair and energy, but also in her seemingly weightless body.  

How much of Ewald’s relaxed and self-assured air, Viktor wondered, could be attributed to the fact that he’d lived so long in America and – more to the point, as far as Viktor’s current reflections were concerned – that he hadn’t lived through the war in Germany?  Sure, Viktor was willing to grant, America went through the war, too.  But not the same way we we did here. Glancing at each person sitting around the table, he saw inscribed on each of the Gassmanns’ faces the imprint of the wartime cares and trials. Least of all on Ethel’s, it seemed to him, but still, it was there, too.  But not on Ewald’s.  His face radiated health and joy and strength. It seemed to Viktor that part of the reason for this must be the life he’d been living since he’d crossed the ocean to start a new life abroad.

Viktor’s suppositions were borne out when Ewald began telling about his life in the small town of Durand, in the large Midwestern state of Illinois, in the inconceivably – in Ewald’s view – sprawling country of America.

“I don’t know how to give you the idea of how large it is,” he told them as they all sat at dinner. The table was barely visible beneath the plates and platters and bowls full of the foods Renate knew her brother loved. 

“When the ship arrived in New York, a relative of Mr. Becker – he was my sponsor from the Methodist church there – met me, took me home with him, and then got me on a train to Chicago.  How long do you figure it took me to get to Chicago on that train from New York?” Ewald asked, looking to each of them in turn, already delighted in anticipation of what were sure to be their wildly inaccurate guesses.

Hans sat there, his brows coming together as he evidently strived to work out in his mind how long the train took from Oldenburg up to the coast, and how many times he’d have to multiply that number… He was good at calculations, but this was stumping him.  While he was still working out this math problem in his head, Ethel blithely called out her answer:

“Eighteen hours!” She, too, looked at each other person around the table, her bubbly mood evident in her light tone and the laugh that followed her answer.

Ewald shook his head and looked at Ulrich.  “Well, my friend? Your guess?”

Ulrich took in a deep breath, let it out with a sigh, and leaned back in his chair before answering, “A year and a day.” 

“Close!” Ewald laughed, and Ulrich’s mouth showed a good-natured grin. It’s good to be laughing together again.

“Sis?”

“I’m not playing your game here, big brother,” Renate told him, shaking her head affectionately.  “I know you too well.  You love nothing better than when you know something we all don’t!”

“Anyone else?” Ewald asked.  Viktor put up his hands in a gesture of surrender, not sure whether he had even been included in the invitation to guess.

“Going once….” Ewald began.  “Going twice…”

“Three days, six hours!” Hans shouted out at the last moment, hurrying to raise his hand, like a bidder at an auction.

Ewald wagged his finger at Hans.  “You always were good at measuring,” he told his nephew, “even at three.”

“Did he guess it?” Ethel piped up.  “Tell us!  How long?”

“Two days, nine hours,” he announced. “To Chicago.  And then another two – hours, that is – to Rockford.  That’s where Mr. Becker picked me up.  But if you count the time waiting at Union Station in Chicago – now that’s  a train station! – for the connection, add on three hours…”

“For a total of two days, fourteen hours!” Hans announced.  “I win!” He jumped up from his chair, fists raised in triumph.  

Renate observed this exchange with satisfaction. She was heartened by seeing Ewald and Ulrich in the same room once more, and by the generally lighthearted atmosphere.  Life had been so demanding and draining for so long that she almost thought they’d all forgotten how to laugh and relax and simply enjoy each other’s company. Even Ulrich, she thought, although she could tell there were words yet to be said between him and Ewald.  But that time will come, she knew.  Soon.

As the many dishes were passed once, and then again, and again, everyone was eager to hear about Ewald’s new life. 

“What’s Illinois like? Durand?” Ethel asked.

Ewald paused, knife at the ready to slice the piece of roast pork that his fork had already pierced, so as to think how best to describe the town where he lived.

“It’s a small town, smaller than Bockhorn, certainly,” he began.  “A town square, a ‘downtown’ they call it, with a little park in the middle, between the two sides of the main street – that’s where most of the shops are.”

“Is that where your shop is?” Hans inquired.

Ewald shook his head as he chewed a bit of meat. “No. We’re off on one of the side streets.” He stretched his hand out, in front of Ethel’s face, in fact, as if to show which direction they should walk to find it. “But the town isn’t big, like I said. Doesn’t take long to walk from one end of it to the other.”

“What’s the land like?” This from Ulrich.

“Rolling in some places, flat in others.  Flatter than here.  You can see so far. That’s when you begin to be able to see how large the country is. Goes on forever.  Farms. Corn fields. Cows and pigs.”  He shook his head from side to side, as if still amazed by this.

“And what about the forests?” Ethel asked. 

“Not so many forests there, I’m afraid,” Ewald told her.

She put down her fork. “What do you mean?  I thought you went there to be a woodworker. Didn’t you?”

Ewald nodded. “Yes, yes, I did. And I am.  But not a forester.  No one does that there.”

This bit of information was met with disbelief.  How can that be? they all seemed to ask at once. They looked back and forth to each other.

“I know,” Ewald told them. “Took me a while to get used to that, too.  Here I get to Durand, to work with Mr. Becker, and all the way we’re riding there in the wagon, I’m looking around. Fields, farm houses, cows, and grain silos – these tall round buildings they store the grain in.  But hardly any trees. Trees by the farmhouses, trees along the edges of the fields. Maybe a small stand of oaks or maples here and there. Finally, we get to Durand, and I say, Mr. Becker, Sir, where are all the forests?  And he laughs and says to me, Son, this is farming country.  Trees block the light!”

Ulrich was frowning by now. The rest of them were just staring, until Hans finally spoke up.

“But then where does the wood come from for your carpentry work?”

Ewald shrugged.  “Up north. Minnesota, Canada. Still forests galore up there.”

“So,” Viktor said, speaking up for the first time, “looks like Germany has something on America after all – our forests!”

They all laughed, but then also felt a certain awkwardness. Everyone felt certain that Viktor wasn’t intending to bring politics or the recent war into the conversation.  But his comment reminded them all that Ewald, although German by birth, was now an American citizen.  What had that meant: being a German and an American, too, in America during the war?  This was not a conversation anyone wanted to begin, at least not now, and Viktor was quick to try to shift the tone.

“I mean, we do have the best forests, right? That’s just a fact.”

“Yes, sir!” Ewald confirmed, his convivial tone and smile showing that he had taken no offense, and was even grateful to Viktor for understanding what he’d been thinking.  “I may be a citizen of America now, but I am still a German in my heart, and it does my German heart good to see our woods again. And you’re right, Mr. Bunke, even the Americans admit that our forests can’t be matched. I’ve missed them,” he added, sighing. “I really have. The landscape just looks barren without them.  Funny, isn’t it?  All those fields there growing food for the whole country, and all I want to do is walk in the woods!”

“Well, we’ll do that, too, that’s for sure!” Ulrich told his old friend. He felt relieved that the rough patch had been smoothed over, and glad for the chance he knew a walk in the woods would give them to talk.

“Enough about wood and forests, now,” Renate announced, pointing a serving spoon from the bowl of potato salad at her brother.  “What can you tell us about American women?  Specifically, about your American woman.  And those half-American children you’ve managed to produce.”

Ethel turned to face her uncle, tipped her head to the right, and pursed her lips slightly, while taking one braid in her hand and bobbing it up and down. “Now, you’d better tell me those American girls can’t hold a candle to us German girls!”

Ewald laughed and then looked from Ulrich to Renate, but neither showed any inclination to help him out of this pickle.

“You’re on your own,” Ulrich told him. 

“Well?” Renate nudged.

“Now, you’re putting me in a difficult spot,” Ewald began.  “I want to ‘plead the fifth’, as we – they – say in America. That means you don’t have to say anything that’ll incriminate yourself.  But, as we say, damned if you do, damned if you don’t.  Between a rock and a hard place.”

“Enough stalling!” Ethel teased him. “What’s your answer?”

“Can’t a man eat a homecoming dinner in peace?”

Hans shook his head. “Nope.  This is crucial information about American culture.” He turned to Viktor and winked.  At this, Ethel looked at Viktor and raised one eyebrow. Viktor wisely maintained a poker face.

“All right, all right,” Ewald replied.  “Well, if push comes to shove, I’d have to say that my Elise is the most wonderful girl in any country.”
            Ethel feigned offense, frowning and planting her hands on her hips.

“Sorry, my dear Ethel,” Ewald told her.  “I should have said, the most wonderful girl for me in any country.  And I’m sure there’s a man right here in Germany who will say the very same about you someday.”

Ethel blushed, and it was all she could do to keep from turning her eyes to Viktor. Instead, she just said, “Well, all right, Uncle Ewald, I’ll let you off the hook.”

Having once more avoided discord, Ewald went on to tell about his family.  Funny to think, Renate mused, as she listened to her brother, that he has a family of his own now.  But then again, I have my own, too. Nothing so strange about it. As natural as could be. That’s what she told herself, but deep inside she detected a sadness that her brother had built an entire life for himself on the other side of the world, a wife and two sons and a daughter she might never meet. How can such a state of affairs be natural? Renate didn’t voice these thoughts, not wanting to dampen the high spirits of the occasion.  At the same time, she recognized that Ulrich was feeling something similar: a regret that he had not been alongside his best friend as he built this new life, that he had missed standing up with him at his wedding, or being godfather to his children.

Hans and Ethel, though, Renate noted, were genuinely taken with Ewald’s tales of life in America. Especially Hans. He told Ewald that wanted to know more about the social life of Durand, by which he really meant that he wanted to know more about the girls there.

“What, not enough eligible young women here, in Bockhorn, or in Varel?” Ewald asked.

“Do you see anyone here with me?” Hans replied, spreading his hands open and turning to gesture at those at the table.  “No such luck. Haven’t found anyone to suit me.”

“Another condemnation of German maidens!” Ethel announced with a ringing laugh.

“Well, my Elise is a German maiden,” Ewald objected.  “By blood, anyway.  She was born there, in Illinois, just in another town, but not far off.  Lots of German families settled there, for some reason, in Freeport, in Lena. Durand, too.  Lucky for me, they raised their children to speak German. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had anyone to talk to when I got there!”

“And your children?” Renate asked him.  “Do they speak German, too?”

Ewald nodded.  “We speak German at home.  Or, German with a bit of English thrown in. That started once the kids went to school.  Elise knew English, of course, since she went through school there. But she speaks perfect German.  Cooks perfect German, too!” he added with a laugh. “But don’t get on your high horse, Renate.  German food still tastes more like home here than it does there.  Same ingredients, but they taste different there, somehow.”

Renate, pleased at her brother’s praise, immediately began spooning more potatoes onto his plate from the serving bowl.  He didn’t object.

“Tell us about our cousins,” Ethel asked.  “But eat, too!  I’m sure we can come up with something else to talk about and give you a break for a few minutes.”

“Yes, let me eat!  Ulrich, Hans, tell me about the business, how it’s going.”

“We had some tough years,” Ulrich began, “during the war.  You know. Or can imagine. All I can say is, thank the Lord above for our forest.  It’s the game and the mushrooms and berries that saved us when rations were scarce, or when there weren’t any at all.  Naturally, there was no carpentry work for us then.  Folks wanted wood from us, but without any money to pay for it.”

“Sometimes folks bartered with us for wood, or for meat, for eggs,” Renate explained.  “And sometimes we just gave it to them,” she added. “What did we need with their heirloom plates or lace or jewelry?” She shook her head. “Could I really sit here now, eating off someone else’s plates, our serving bowls on top of some other woman’s doilies, knowing I’d taken their possessions for the rabbits that happened to breed on our land by happy circumstance?”

“Plenty of people did,” Ethel said quietly. “Barter that way, I mean.”

Ulrich nodded.  “True.  But your mother and I, we didn’t want to do that.  Between Ingo and Veronika’s farm and our woods and garden, we were better off than most.  We shared when it felt like we could.”

“But we also kept an eye on the forest,” Hans reminded him.  “I patrolled.  You patrolled, Papa.” He turned to Ewald.  “Firewood was scarce or, as Papa said, people couldn’t pay for it. So they came in at the edges of the forest and wanted to cut their own on our land.  We couldn’t let that happen.”

“We did do our best to hold the line on that,” Ulrich agreed. But those times of need and despair, and those moments when they had to confront trespassers in the woods weighed heavily on his heart.  Hans, though, was a teenager at the time, and his devotion to protecting the family assets was more pronounced than his consideration for their neighbors’ plight.  Still today, he saw little reason to apologize for safeguarding what was precious and life-preserving from those who sought to take it without right or permission.

“We were blessed,” Ethel remarked. The lightness in her eyes and smile took on a different quality now, as tears began flowing.  “God protected us.  We always had enough, and we had enough to help others, too.  I know that most people wouldn’t say that – that we were blessed.  And Hans,” she said, glancing over at her brother, “please forgive me for saying it, because I know you didn’t feel blessed when you were injured and sent home from training…“ She raised her hand to show that he needn’t say anything in response.  “But you know, during that time, during the whole war, I never felt in danger, not really.  We were always hearing news – from Aunt Lorena and Uncle Stefan, and Grandma and Grandpa, from the folks who came by. It was always bad news, and they poured out their hearts and their sorrows.  But I always felt in my heart that we would all survive. And we did.  By the grace of God.”

“By the grace of God,” Renate repeated softly. The others bowed their heads briefly in prayer, too.

“Let us give thanks for God’s bounty that He provides for us still,” Ulrich said.

He held out a hand to each of his children beside them who, in turn, reached to clasp the hand of the person sitting next to them, until they were all holding hands around the table, each silently expressing gratitude to God that they had come through the war. Except for Viktor, who had become acquainted with God only in recent months, in the forest that helped the Gassmanns survive the war.  It wasn’t that Viktor wasn’t giving thanks.  He was. It was just that, at this moment, he wasn’t focused on having lived through the war – he managed that, he reckoned, more by the skin of his teeth and the sharpness of his wits, than thanks to any divine help.

Precisely because Viktor hadn’t opened up communication with God before arriving at this heavenly spot, he concluded, during all those tough years of growing up and making his way, that God wasn’t working on his behalf.  It was only once he landed in this divine spot and got acquainted with God, that he came to believe – totally, one hundred percent! – that God was protecting and helping him.  He knew this had to be the case. Otherwise, how would I have found Ethel?  He had watched her and listened in amazed silence as she said what she’d just said. He took in the shining light in her eyes – the light of God, he felt –and the depth of faith and love that her whole being expressed to a degree he had not seen before this. Certainly, both the faith and the love also found expression in her quilts and her cheese and her bread, but now it was simply radiating from her, Viktor saw.  It was for this that he was offering thanks to God.  For Ethel.  For the gift of her in his life.  Glancing around at everyone else at the table, he could tell that each and every one of them felt the same away about her.

“Yes, things have come back since then,” Ulrich began, slowly and softly, as if reflecting on the war years and the nearly three years that had passed since the war ended.  “People are rebuilding, and even though so many are still out of work, enough are working that there is work for us, too.”

Ewald had taken a look in the workshop with Ulrich earlier in the afternoon, and he’d been pleased to see several projects in progress and hear that the orders were coming in steadily.

“Enough work for a new helper, too, I see!” Ewald said, gesturing at Viktor, who nodded.

“He’s a clever one,” Hans said, even clapping Viktor on the shoulder.  “Always seems to know what’ll bring a client in, what they’ll like.  And then we make it. We’re on more solid ground every day, thanks to him.” 

  “I’m glad to be able to help out,” Viktor said plainly. Then he added, “and grateful for the work.  It’s been a scarce commodity, as you’ve heard.”

Viktor felt pleased at Hans’ praise, but cautious, too, since he was well aware that Hans didn’t feel at all welcoming to him early on. He knew he was treading a narrow path here: He was a valued employee, and Hans was even presenting him as key to the business.  But Viktor was also developing a new role here – not just in business dealings, but in the family, with his courtship of Ethel. And he knew that he had to proceed with utmost care as he moved forward, so that Hans wouldn’t feel threatened by his success with the clients, or by what he hoped and prayed would be success with Ethel. 

“We’re grateful to have you,” Ulrich said. Then he inquired of Ewald, “So you have plenty of work there, too, in Illinois?”

Ewald nodded.  “We fared better there than you did here…” He paused.  “It pains me to say that, though. It was really hard being there while you all were here, and knowing I couldn’t do anything.” Ewald knew how much his family had gone through here during the war years, and he felt guilty, somehow, for having always had enough food at home – home in Illinois – and for never having to worry that his daughters or wife would be in physical danger.  And yet, it didn’t seem right to pretend that all had been smooth sailing. “I had to keep my own head down, actually.”

“Germans not so popular in America then?” Ulrich asked, without any trace of a smile.

Ewald nodded.  “Some folks we know – other German immigrants – they forbade their kids from speaking any German, and spoke only English themselves at home.  We didn’t.  We reckoned, everyone we worked for or with already knew who we were, knew us well. If they didn’t want to work with us, they wouldn’t.”

“Your Mr. Becker,” Ulrich asked, “he’s a German, too, if memory doesn’t fail me?”

“That’s right.  But his family came over late in the last century, and they married Americans, some of them.  He and his brothers and sisters, they all learned English first, along with German. Actually, his German’s kind of old-fashioned, stilted. His schooling was in English, and he picked up what German he did at home and from relatives.  So, Germans like him, they had an easier time of it.  Since his shop has had a good reputation for years, and since he vouched for me and Ralf – we’re the only two German Germans working there – he didn’t lose any business.”

“But what about you and Ralf, and your and Elise’s family?” Ethel asked, laying her hand on her uncle’s wrist.  “Did you run into any trouble because of the war?”

Ewald shook his head.  “The benefit of living in small towns where everybody knows each other, I guess.  I mean, I can’t say what people thought in their heads, or what they said in their own kitchens. But what I can say is that we really encountered mostly kindness from everyone.”

“Mostly?” Renate asked.

“There’s always this and that,” Ewald replied with a shrug. But the look he gave her, and which she immediately understood, told her it was better not to get into this topic more than they already had.  She got it: This is a happy occasion.  Let’s count our blessings. 

Ethel, who also intuited her uncle’s wish for a shift in topic, asked him to tell them everything about her cousins, and he happily obliged.  Pulling out two cardstock black-and-white photographs from the satchel he’d hung on the back of his chair, he proudly displayed them, introducing his children to their cousins, aunt, and uncle.

“This is Marie, our oldest,” he began, pointing to the tallest of the three children.  Thirteen years old, she had blonde braids, like Ethel, and she was healthy and strong looking.  She wore a gingham dress and dark stockings and black, lace-up shoes. 

“She looks like you, Mama, don’t you think?” Ethel asked Renate.

Peering at the photo, Renate nodded.  “More like you when you were that age, I’d say.”

“And this is John.  He’s in the middle, twelve now.”

“And already tall like his dad,” Ulrich noted with a smile.  He liked the look of the young man in the plaid shirt and the dark pants that hung on him.  “Got some filling out to do, hasn’t he?”

“Yep, a bean pole!” Ewald laughed, too.  “He’ll tower over me before long, I think.”

“Interested in carpentry?” Hans asked.

“Afraid not,” Ewald told them.  “For some reason, he’s gotten into the dairy business, helping on one of the farms with the milking.  Who knows why?  Can’t stand the animals myself.  My God, the smell that comes off those cow fields when you ride by!”

“And who’s this one?” Hans asked, pointing to the third child, a dark-haired girl, with braids that matched her sister’s, and a similar dress, too.

“Little Erika.  She’s just about to turn ten.”

Ethel held the photo up close to her face to study it, while the others complained that they couldn’t get a good look at the girl.

“Who’s she look like?” Ethel asked. “What do you think?” She passed the photo around, but no one had a clue.

“She might have your mouth, Ewald,” Renate ventured, “and your hair, except hers is dark, but other than that, I don’t see any of you there.”

“Yep,” Ewald confirmed with a nod. “She’s practically all Elise.”  And, so that the group could draw their own conclusions, he took out a second photo, one of him and Elise together, and laid it on the table next to the photo of the children.

“Oh, yes!” Renate exclaimed.  “Erika’s the spitting image of your wife!” She noted her own delight and marveled at it, somehow both surprised and pleased that she was experiencing genuine happiness at Ewald’s family, pleased that joy had replaced her earlier disappointment at having missed out on being near Ewald over the past seventeen years.

“You weren’t lying,” Hans told him, eyebrows raised. “A real beauty!  If she’s what your Midwest has to offer, sign me up!”

Everyone laughed and expressed their agreement with Hans’ assessment. But Ulrich’s smile faded before the others’, and Renate noticed some slight anxiety in her husband.

Ewald, though, pleased that his wife and children seemed to have won his family’s approval, was in an expansive mood. 

“Plenty of good girls to marry,” he said, tipping his head to the side as he looked back at Hans. “And plenty of work for good cabinet makers.”  Here, he, too, must have sensed that Ulrich was becoming tense, and he tried to turn it all into a joke.  “For all of you,” he said, taking in Ulrich, Hans, and even Viktor in an encompassing gesture. “We can move your whole operation to Illinois!”

“That won’t do at all!” Ethel objected lightheartedly. “I’d miss our forest too much, seeing as how they’re in short supply there in your Illinois.  Unless we can take it with us, that is. Can we?”

“Guess not,” Ewald told her.  “Guess not.”

“Then count me out,” Ethel told him firmly. “I’ll stay a German girl in Germany.  Especially since you have plenty of German girls there!”

And so, the discussion of the life in the great American Midwest ended for now, and although it seemed to have finished up on a light note, Ulrich felt a rising anxiety in his guts. Renate noticed it. So did Viktor, who had, over the past few months, grown more attuned to his employer’s moods.  But Hans noticed none of this. A seed had been planted.

*          *          *

            The very next day, Ulrich got the chance for the private conversation with Ewald that he’d been wishing for ever since he learned his old friend would be coming to visit.  It was Saturday afternoon, and Ewald walked over from the Walters’ farm, also eager for some time alone with Ulrich.  When Ulrich saw him walk into the workshop, he immediately set down the piece of wood he was holding and put his hand out.  Ewald took it, drew Ulrich in, and gave him a hearty hug.  Without even talking it over, the two men headed out into the forest. They eventually came to sit on a fallen spruce trunk that was waiting to be attended to before the snow set in.

            They sat silently at first, both men taking in the sounds and smells of the forest. This helped calm Ulrich, and soothe his mind, so that he’d be able to speak clearly with Ewald. But Ewald was overcome with nostalgia: Once again, after seventeen years, he was sitting deep in the forest, and not just any forest, but one in which each and every sound and sight and scent came together to form a whole that to him represented that very specific German forest of his youth.  He was so moved by the unexpected feeling of being home, that he felt tears rising.  Ulrich knew Ewald – at least the Ewald of their shared youth – well enough to let him sit, quietly, until he felt ready to speak.  This approach also had the benefit of giving Ulrich time to decide what he wanted to say to Ewald.

            After a bit, Ewald sat up straight and let out a long sigh.  “It’s been a long seventeen years, Ulrich,” he said finally.  “Don’t get me wrong.  A good seventeen years, very good.”

            “You have a beautiful family,” Ulrich said, nodding. “Mostly, I think that’s the most important thing – family.”

            Ewald grasped two meanings to Ulrich’s words, even if his brother-in-law didn’t consciously mean them that way. “It’s not easy having your family split on two sides of the ocean,” Ewald went on, “even if the family you’re with is the most loving one there could be.”

            Ulrich nodded.  “Renate’s missed you.  I’ve missed you.  You parents have, too.  And Lorena.”

            What am I supposed to say to that? wondered Ewald.  He could feel Ulrich’s melancholy, and his own annoyance.  Why can’t he just be happy that I’m back for a while?  Why replay all of that again? Or if he has to, why not just shout at me and be done with it?

            “All of that” was the scene – that’s how Ewald thought of it, and had done, for all these long years – the scene Ulrich made just before Ewald set off, back in ’04.  In a rare – or, rather, singular, unique – display of strong emotion, Ulrich came to him in his bedroom, where he stood, in the middle of packing his trunk for the ship, and begged him to stay.  It’s not fair to your parents to leave, he said.  Not fair to Renate.  And not fair to me, to our work.  How will we get by without you?

            That was the only time Ulrich ever played on his brother-in-law’s emotions – or anyone’s, as far as Ewald was aware of.  It wasn’t something he did. Ewald always knew that Ulrich felt things deeply.  Even before his emigration, he’d long been aware of his friend’s tendency to melancholy.  But never had he seen Ulrich try to change someone’s mind about a decision using what, these days, we’d call emotional manipulation.  And, unwilling to be influenced by this tactic that his own mother had employed, ultimately unsuccessfully, Ewald said something to Ulrich which he had regretted for the past seventeen years:

            “Just because you’re going to have a harder time in the workshop, doesn’t mean I can’t go live and work where I see fit.”  That was it.  And it worked, if by “worked”, we mean that these words shut Ulrich up.  What could his friend say to that? Stay for the sake of those who love you. Sacrifice your plans and your dreams for us.  No.  It had cost Ulrich a great deal of pride and strength to make the request in the first place, and after Ewald’s response, he had no strength left to mount a second campaign. 

            “Look,” Ewald said, softening a bit when he saw Ulrich’s face fall, saw him drop his eyes to the floor, “I’m going to miss you all, too.  But – it’s America, Ulrich!  There’s no limit to what we can do there.  It could be good for all of us!”

            Ulrich frowned. Then he found his voice again – not to try to sway his brother-in-law, but just to set out what was in his heart. “Good for all of us, Ewald?  I don’t see how.  How is you leaving hearth and home going to be good for us when we’re here and you’re there?”

            But Ewald’s reasoning convinced him that his decision was fully validated by all Ralf had told him about Illinois and Mr. Becker and the booming carpentry business there. Why wouldn’t it benefit us all if I get set up with good work, even if it’s far across the ocean?  Ewald didn’t consider that this might be just the thought he clung to in order to justify indulging his wanderlust, as well as a certain conviction that dogged him: that the last place he wanted to be trapped for the rest of his life was on a farm in the German countryside, where he’d end up marrying some girl he’d known since he was three, a girl from a neighboring farm (and he knew full well that his mother had such a girl in mind) and raising a family of his own within no more than half a mile from where he grew up.  Yes, he certainly would miss Ulrich – Ulrich was the only one he would probably truly miss – but Ulrich was not reason enough to stay. 

This is exactly what Ewald’s original response conveyed to his brother-in-law, and it stung Ulrich: the realization that, when push came to shove, this friendship between them was just not strong enough.  But, Ulrich did not ask himself, Strong enough to what? To survive being apart? To keep Ewald here? What was it that Ulrich was really worrying about here? What did he want from Ewald, exactly?  He wasn’t able to formulate an answer for himself.  All he could do was fall back on the same thought that came to him, over and over, during his childhood, when fate dealt him this or that blow: This is not fair! That’s what it came down to for Ulrich, even if he couldn’t articulate it: It wasn’t fair that his mother left and died, that Aunt Claudia poisoned his childhood, that his father grew distant, that Erich grew distant… A whole string of It’s not fair! experiences.

In 1904, at age twenty-four, Ulrich still, remembered each of these unfair moments, but with a child’s brain and heart.  At this moment, when his closest friend was about to leave him, Ulrich felt every bit as powerless as during all those other unfair moments.  So, he couldn’t have said what he wanted from Ewald.  He had no sense of himself as someone who could take action to remedy a situation so large and painful.  All he felt capable of doing – and this was a monumental achievement in and of itself! – was to state his view of the situation.  Then, he hoped, although without consciously realizing it, Ewald himself might make a decision that would turn it all around.  That was what Ulrich was hoping for, deep inside, when he made “the scene”. But Ewald didn’t play along.  He simply and bluntly stated that his friendship with Ulrich was not enough to hold him there.  He doesn’t love me enough to stay, Ulrich concluded suddenly. Just like Mama.  Just like Erich. This realization – and all that lay beneath it in his heart – devastated Ulrich and added a new, deep, and rich layer to his mind’s already fertile field of melancholy.  

And that was how the two men left it.  That was how it was between them when Ewald’s father drove him off in the wagon to meet the train that would take him to the coast, to his ship.  

            Once in America, once he got a bit settled in Durand, Ewald began writing to his family regularly, letters full of cheery news about his work, and amusing details about life in America.  He wrote about meeting and marrying Elise, about the birth of the three children. Except during the war.  The other Germans there advised him not to write.  Indeed, the same conversations played out here, at home, in Germany. The Walters’ friends whispered, or even said in loud voices, that it would be best not to write.  Thus, during those four long years, there was no communication, while worries abounded on each side of the ocean, alongside hopes that their loved ones were being protected through all their prayers.  And so they were.  

            But throughout the years between 1904 and now, whenever the letters could flow freely, Lorena always passed them on to Renate. She read them to Ulrich, who invariably nodded and replied, “Good. He’s doing well then. That’s good.”  Or, when the first one arrived after the war ended, Ulrich crossed himself and murmured, “Thank God.”  But he never once asked to hold or read one of these letters himself.

            Several letters written just to Ulrich arrived, too, in the early years.  Ulrich didn’t share them with Renate, so she had no idea what was in them. Nor did Ulrich volunteer any information, even when Renate asked him outright what Ewald had written. “All going well.”  That was the most Ulrich ever said.  All these years, Renate had wondered.  Is he telling the truth? What does Ewald have to say to Ulrich that he can’t say to us all in the regular letters?  In her own, sisterly, sadness, she felt envious of these individual letters to Ulrich, even a bit resentful.  And envious whenever she saw Ulrich sit down and put pen to paper, to write back to Ewald.  What heartfelt things was her brother sharing with her husband, with whom he didn’t even parted on good terms?  Why did he receive letters of his own, while she, his very own blood sister, had had to make do with the family letters?           

Now, in 1921, as Renate stood at the kitchen window (her favorite vantage point for keeping an eye on the goings on on the homestead, since it afforded a clear view of the yard and the workshop, as well as the main path into the woods), she got to wondering again.  What was in the letters?  Is that what they’re going to talk about? She stood, a dish rag in her hand, and watched these two men, both so dear to her, walk slowly into the woods. The short distance between them conveyed to Renate both a desire to be physically close and friendly, and an invisible obstacle that was keeping them from achieving that, despite how warmly they’d greeted each other at their reunion.  Yes, she could see that the obstacle was still there.  At least for now. Renate prayed that they would emerge from the forest different men.

            Ulrich was surprised by the way Ewald started their conversation.  Things were hard for him? Ulrich thought.     

            “Was it really so hard?” Ulrich responded, a bit surprised that he had gotten right to the heart of it. Ewald was surprised, too.  He didn’t realize that his friend, the friend of “the scene” had learned a little about transcending feelings and moving to action in the past nearly two decades.  Ulrich had learned this, with difficulty, during the war, when it ceased being possible to live one’s life without deciding how to live it, without choosing sides, without assertiveness.

            Ewald turned and looked at him, in an attempt to interpret Ulrich’s tone, which sounded both challenging and sad.  He nodded.  Then he began to feel annoyance rising in him.  Anger, even, an old and deep feeling of resentment.  “Did you even read my letters?” He asked, an edge in his voice, too.

            Ulrich nodded.

            “And?” Ewald asked.

            “’And’ what?” Ulrich was just looking at him, and it seemed to Ewald that the sadness was winning out in Ulrich, despite his somewhat hard tone.  He seemed in some ways the same Ulrich of that departure day in 1904, the “it’s not fair” Ulrich.  Ulrich the sad sack.  But the fact that Ulrich was now questioning him so openly hinted that something had changed in his old friend.

            “Well, I mean, did you read them?  I ask, because you never wrote back.”  Ewald was holding Ulrich’s gaze now.

            “Oh,” Ulrich said with a sigh and a shake of his head, “I did read them.  And I did write back.”

            “But I never got a letter back from you,” Ewald said, his brows knitting together.

            “That’s because I never mailed them,” Ulrich told him, and a hint of a smile came to his lips. This was a very conscious choice – to write but not mail that letters – that Ulrich made once and then held to for the intervening years.

            Ewald stood up and spread his arms in exasperation. “And you’re laughing about it?”

            “Nothing else to do about it now,” Ulrich offered.  It was already seeming ridiculous to him that he stubbornly remained silent all those years. He’d realized the ridiculousness of that as soon as he saw Ewald again.  And, having understood this himself, it somehow didn’t occur to him that Ewald might not have gained the same insight.

            “But why not send them?” Ewald pressed him.  He was confused by Ulrich’s laugh. Has he been mocking me all these years? Did he really stop caring about me the day I left? “Why didn’t you send them?” he repeated.

            “Pride?”

            “Pride?” Ewald asked. “But I was the one who wrote to ask you to forgive me for being so cruel.” He paused, sat back down on the tree trunk, and asked, without looking at Ulrich, “You couldn’t forgive me?  Was that it?”

            Ulrich shook his head.  He kept his eyes ahead of him as he answered, focusing on the beetles scurrying in and out among the fallen, dried leaves.  “No, that wasn’t it.  Of course I forgave you.  I was hurt. I was mad.  But I forgave you.”

            Now Ewald looked at Ulrich.  “But then why not write?  Were you trying to punish me?  All these years, I just figured, when I never got any answers back, that you just disowned me, that you decided it was best to cut me off and show me just how bad a mistake I made in leaving.”

            This surprised Ulrich. “Do you think it was a mistake?”

            “No.  Well, not exactly. Not entirely.” He paused. “Yes, in some ways.”

            “What ways are those?”

            Ewald took a deep breath and then let it out, and lifted his eyes to stare out into the forest.  “This, for one thing.  The forest.  You know, I… I don’t know what I thought.  Well, yes, I do, in fact. I thought, if I’m going there to do carpentry work, there’ll of course be places like this.  How could there not be?  Or, well, actually, now I come to think about it, I didn’t think about whether there would be forests like this.  I assumed there would be. But not in the sense that I consciously asked in my mind, ‘Will there be forests like this?’  I never asked myself that, because it wasn’t until I got there, to Illinois and those Midwest plains, that it even occurred to me how important these forests were to me.  It dawned on me gradually, when I woke up in the morning and there was no scent of the forest nearby. When there was no place I could go where the day turned dark from all the trees around… That’s when I began to understand.  That was one mistake.”

            “And others?” Ulrich asked.  He was fully aware that he had not answered Ewald’s question, about whether he’d sought to punish him through his silence. But he wasn’t yet ready to answer the question, just as he hadn’t been ready back then to send off the letters he’d written. 

            Ewald understood this, too, and he chose not to press his brother-in-law.  He’d grant him the right to answer when he chose to do so, if he ever did.

            “Others…” Ewald replied, thinking.  “Family.  Friends.  Friend,” he said quietly, as if to himself.  “This is a cruel thing to say, Ulrich, but I’ll say it only because I don’t see things this way anymore. The way it seemed to me back then, when I was leaving, was that America was far, but it wasn’t so far, and that, anyway, what I wanted to do was most important. I figured I could do without you all.  At least for a while.” He paused.  “You may not believe me, Ulrich, believe what I wrote in those letters to you. About wanting to bring the family over, so we could all live a good, solid life there together.  But it was the truth.  I had these two ideas – and I know they don’t work together – that, on the one hand, I didn’t need you all in order to make in there in America. And on the other hand, I concocted this idea of all of us together.  As if I was just the pioneer, and you’d come along afterwards.  Ralf and I talked a lot about that, about bringing both our families over.”

            “Oh, I believed you, all right,” Ulrich told him, reaching out now to rest a hand on Ewald’s shoulder.  “And I understood both those things you’re talking about here: that here you didn’t need us, but that you wanted us there.  Clear to me.”

            “Then why not write and tell me you understood?” Ewald asked again, exasperated now.

            “I couldn’t figure out a way to say what I needed to say without it being hurtful,” Ulrich began.

            “And what was it you needed to say?”

            Ulrich swept his right hand across the view before them and then pointed in the direction of the house they’d come from.  “I couldn’t leave any more than you could stay,” Ulrich told him, turning to look him in the eye.  “Not even for your friendship.”

            The two men didn’t speak for a bit. At one point, Ewald rested his bent elbows on his thighs and lowered his head to his hands.  Ulrich saw the head shaking slowly back and forth.

            “That’s the hard thing, isn’t it?” Ulrich asked finally, laying his arm once more on Ewald’s shoulders and pulling his friend gently toward him.

            Ewald nodded.  He no longer needed an answer to his question about punishment.

            “But you know, Ulrich,” he said, “Sure, I have a good life over there. Like I said, a wonderful family, a loving family. And I love them. Don’t get me wrong! But at the same time… I’ve felt so alone there. Like an outsider in my own town. Sometimes in my own home. If you had been there, Ulrich, it would have been different. I’m sure of it.”

            Ulrich listened quietly, nodding to show that he was taking in what Ewald was saying, but staring off into the forest before him.

            Then he turned his gaze to Ewald. “I’ve felt alone, too, Brother.”

            Ewald felt a twinge in his heart. He couldn’t bear to answer for a minute or so. And Ulrich didn’t push him for a reply.

            “Are things any better now?” Ewald asked finally. “I mean, business is good. And the new fellow, Viktor. He seems to have fit in well?”

            Ulrich nodded. “I’m grateful for him. He’s great with the wood. But more than that… I don’t feel as alone with him around.”

            “I’m grateful for him, too, then,” Ewald replied softly.

            After another quiet moment, Ulrich gave his brother-in-law’s shoulder a gentle shake.

            “Let’s not make these mistakes again, Ewald. Let’s not.”

            Ewald nodded again. “Life is too short. Too much of it has already passed.”

A while later, Renate saw the two men emerge from the forest, Ewald with his arm around Ulrich’s shoulder, and Ulrich smiling and joking. Renate let out a sigh and nodded, smiling out of gratitude, as tears began flowing down her cheeks.