Hope at Dawn (15 page)

“I apologize,” Friedrick said, kneeling to help her gather her magazines. As he handed the woman her belongings, he glanced at her face. Fear turned his gut to ice as he recognized her—it was Mr. Foster’s secretary. Friedrick had spoken to her once, when he’d seen the superintendent about the school job, but her eyes widened in recognition, too.

He thrust the last few magazines at her and hurried through the jail door the sheriff held open. The feeling of dread churning inside him worsened as Friedrick followed the man down the line of cells. Two of the four were occupied. Sheriff Tate locked him in the third and mumbled something about supper in another hour. Then the sheriff turned on his heel and marched away, his footsteps reverberating off the stone walls and metal bars.

Friedrick sank onto one of the two cots inside the cell and dropped his bag beside him. Surely the secretary would tell the superintendent she’d seen Friedrick climbing out of the sheriff’s car and entering the jail. He groaned and rested his head in his hands. Where would they get the money for his father’s medicine if Friedrick lost his job?

He lifted his chin and gazed at the bare stone wall across from him. The cell was chilly and smelled of unwashed bodies and mold. Thank goodness he’d come in Elsa’s place. He hated to think of her here, cold and alone.

The whole unfortunate day caught up with him, seeping exhaustion into every muscle. Friedrick shoved his bag onto the stone floor and lay down on the cot.

Have you abandoned us, God?
he questioned, his eyes on the stone ceiling above. He stewed in his anger and weariness for a few minutes until he remembered something Elsa often said—
Trouble comes before the dawn, but the sun will always follow.

Humbled, he shut his eyes and offered another prayer.
Forgive my doubts. I need this job, but if Thy will for me and my family is for greater things, help me find peace.

He reached into his bag and pulled out the book Greta had packed for him. A sardonic smile lifted one corner of his mouth. His sister had chosen
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
from Elsa’s collection of German-printed books, which meant he’d have to be careful reading it here.

Resting the book next to him on the cot to hide the cover, Friedrick opened to the first page. Perhaps the story would erase the memory of the secretary’s startled gaze from his mind, at least for a time. If nothing else, he could suddenly relate to the plight of young Alice. Today, his own world felt every bit as mixed up and bewildering as Wonderland.

The instant she woke up Monday morning, Livy’s gaze flew to the war bond poster she’d set on top of the bureau. As she dressed, she kept shooting glances at it. Every time she did, she saw Friedrick’s face from the day before—the frustration and confusion at her coolness. Guilt coated her stomach, making it difficult to swallow her breakfast.

She might have saved them both from Mr. Foster’s notice, but she wasn’t sure Friedrick would agree with the way she’d handled things. Especially after all he’d done for her.

She eyed the poster once more, then moved to the door. She wouldn’t hang it until she’d explained everything to Friedrick. Surely he would forgive her behavior once he knew her reasons for it.

The morning air wrapped itself around her as she hurried to the school. Shivering, she lit a fire in the stove and prepared her classroom. The students filed in on time, exclaiming over her return, except for Harlan and Greta. They hadn’t been late since her first day here. Were they sick?

Livy set aside her concern to begin class. The palpable excitement of her students brought a lift to her own mood. Twenty minutes ticked by before Harlan and Greta entered the room and slipped into their desks. Neither child looked at her as they pulled out their readers.

“Harlan,” Livy said in a soft voice as she knelt beside his desk, “you and Greta will need to clean erasers during recess for being tardy.”

He nodded, his gaze riveted to his desk.

“Are you feeling sick?”

“No, Miss Campbell,” he mumbled.

“Were you helping Friedrick with his chores again?”

He shook his head.

She wanted to question him further, but one of the other students asked for help. The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. At recess, Harlan and Greta ate their lunches, then took the erasers outside for cleaning. Any attempt at conversation with either one proved futile.

Anxiety spoiled Livy’s appetite again. Had Friedrick told his siblings about the awkward conversation between them in town? If she could apologize to him, she felt certain all would be right.

The hands of the clock seemed to move slower and slower as the afternoon passed. Livy busied herself with helping the children with mathematics and analyzing the caterpillar one of the older boys had caught and put in a Mason jar. All the while, though, her ears were listening for the sound of Friedrick’s wagon.

When the last hour of class finally rolled around and he still hadn’t arrived, Livy told herself he must have been waylaid by some chore around the farm. He wouldn’t place his anger at her over his job at the school.

By the time she dismissed the students, though, Friedrick had yet to appear. Livy’s concern turned to alarm when Harlan and Greta prepared to leave with the rest of the class.

“Is your brother coming to work on the school?” Livy asked Harlan in a nonchalant voice as she tidied up the room.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him throw a glance at his sister. “Uh, no, ma’am. He isn’t coming today.”

Livy averted her face so they wouldn’t see her worried frown. “Is Friedrick unwell?”

“He just can’t come. That’s all.”

What would prevent Friedrick from doing his job? A sudden thought made Livy bite the inside of her cheek. Perhaps Friedrick planned to come to the school much later, after she’d gone to her cabin. How was she supposed to explain things then?

On impulse, Livy called after the two children as they moved toward the door. “May I walk you home?” If Friedrick wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him.

Harlan’s face scrunched in confusion, but Greta smiled shyly. “Why’d you wanna do that, Miss Campbell?” the boy asked.

Livy grabbed her coat from off the back of her chair. “Because it’s a beautiful afternoon. And I want to spend it with two of my favorite pupils.” She lowered her voice and glanced surreptitiously around the room. “But don’t tell anyone else—about the favorite part.”

Greta giggled and walked over to place her hand inside Livy’s. The small fingers within her grasp reminded Livy of her brothers. Tom had held her tiny hand like this when she’d been younger. She coughed against the rise of emotion the memory provoked. “Is that all right, Harlan, if I join you two?”

He shrugged and raced toward the door, but not before Livy caught the smile he tried to hide. Whatever had made the boy uncomfortable earlier had been forgotten. Livy locked the school, and she and Greta headed up the road. Harlan was already a ways ahead of them.

“Is Friedrick going to come to the school tomorrow?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “Or is he busy with spring planting?”

Greta stared down at the dirt beneath their shoes. “He won’t be here until Wednesday when he gets—” She gasped softly as if she’d said too much and clamped her lips together.

Livy furrowed her eyebrows. What had Greta been about to say? She decided to change the subject to ease the girl’s discomfort. Things would make sense once she and Friedrick had talked.

“Your reading is really quite good for someone so young, Greta. Do you read a lot at home?”

Greta lifted her chin and beamed. “Friedrick reads the Bible to us every night and sometimes he lets me read some of the words. Then he reads another book like Mama’s fairy tale book. That’s my favorite. But I can’t read that one ’cause it’s in German and I can’t read German.”

It was the longest speech Livy had heard from her. She could easily picture Friedrick reading to his brother and sister. Her own parents had done the same with her and her siblings when Livy had been young, and yet she couldn’t imagine Robert doing such a thing with his children someday. Thank goodness she’d had the courage to end things with him.

“What’s your favorite fairy tale?” she asked Greta.

“Hmm. Probably the princess ones.”

Livy listened to Greta chatter on, as entertained by her retelling of the favorite stories as she was with how much the girl could talk when prompted. Harlan stayed in front of them. Every so often, he’d stop and let them nearly catch up to him before he hurried ahead again. The day felt cooler than the one before. But Livy’s coat and the exercise kept her warm enough.

When they reached the Wagner farm, Livy was surprised to find it larger than she remembered from driving past it on the way to the dance hall. Her parents’ place might be bigger still, but at least her father had the help of her siblings—and maybe a neighbor boy, if she had anything to do with it. Friedrick, on the other hand, was running this place on his own.

The front yard with its white picket fence appeared tidy and the two-story frame house boasted a nice porch and gabled windows. Harlan let himself in the back door, while she and Greta ambled after him. Livy glanced in the direction of the barn and the outlying fields, hoping to catch sight of a familiar tall figure.

“Do you know where Friedrick is working today? I’d like to speak to him.”

Greta’s cheeks flushed and she pulled her hand from Livy’s grasp. “Friedrick isn’t—”

“Hello,” a heavily accented voice interrupted.

Mrs. Wagner stood at the back stoop, an apron tied around her faded cotton dress.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Wagner. It’s nice to see you again,” Livy said in a cheerful voice. She hadn’t forgotten the wary look the woman had given her when Friedrick had walked her home after church, all those weeks ago. Or the fact that the woman was friends with some of the gossipmongers at the German church.

“Miss Campbell. How do you do?”

“I’m well. Thank you.” Livy watched the woman shoot a silent question at Greta, a suspicious glint in her blue eyes. “I hope you don’t mind that I walked the children home. I know Friedrick normally picks them up, but he wasn’t there today and I wanted to…to…talk to him. If that’s all right.”

“No, no. Not today.” Mrs. Wagner shook her head. “Friedrick cannot talk today. He is not…well.”

So he was ill. Odd that his siblings hadn’t said as much. “I’m sorry. Is he very sick?”

“I cannot say. Thank you for walking the children. Good day.” She cast another guarded look at Livy, then waved Greta inside. As the girl walked over, her mother scolded her in German.

“But, Mama, I didn’t say anything about the secret,” Greta protested as she paused on the doorstep. “Honest.”

Secret?
Livy took a step backward. She hadn’t meant to get Greta into trouble.

Mrs. Wagner said something else in German, but Greta shook her blond head vigorously. “I didn’t tell her about the empty bottle either.”

Speaking in low tones, Greta’s mother placed a protective hand on her daughter’s shoulder as if to shield her. Livy pressed her lips together in frustration. Why did she constantly feel like the enemy?

“She may not be German, Mama, but she’s nice.” Greta threw a sorrowful glance at Livy and waved. “Bye, Miss Campbell.”

“Good-bye, Greta,” Livy managed to get out before Elsa shut the door.

She gazed up at the second-story windows. Which bedroom was Friedrick’s? Her cheeks warmed at the question, and she spun back around to face the road.

What kind of ailment did he have? She guessed it had to be bad if no one would volunteer more information. A tremor of worry ran through her. Would he be all right? She didn’t like the thought of him being ill. If only she’d been allowed to talk to him or been able to help in some way.

As she walked back toward the school, Livy thought over the things Greta had said to Elsa. What had the girl meant about a secret and an empty bottle? Livy shook her head. It didn’t make sense, unless…Panic crept over her skin and she shivered.

Could Friedrick be drinking—like Robert? She’d never smelled alcohol on him or noticed any unusual behavior, but she hadn’t discovered Robert’s drinking troubles until they’d spent a lot of time together.

Her thoughts tripped faster and faster toward the awful and inevitable conclusion. How well did she really know Friedrick anyway? They’d talked in the afternoons when he came to work at the school, but the only evenings she’d spent in his company were the time they’d gone to the dance hall and the drive home the other week. He could easily hide a problem with alcohol from her. Perhaps he’d even been clever enough to hide it from his siblings until now. After all, Robert’s father still had no idea his son was imbibing.

The horrible truth knifed through her, the pain of it stealing her breath. Livy stumbled to the side of the road and sank onto a fallen log. How could she have let herself be deceived again?

Friedrick had seemed much different than Robert—kinder, safer. She’d responded to him differently, too. His searching looks, teasing smile, and gentle touch had stirred something inside her that Robert never had. Only, like Robert’s charms, everything she’d felt and experienced was a lie.

Anger mingled with the hurt squeezing at her heart and lungs. She’d been so concerned with how she’d acted yesterday, all in an effort to save Friedrick’s job. And yet he’d been putting on an act, too—a self-serving one—by drinking behind her back. Livy dug her fingernails into her palms and squeezed her hands into fists. She wanted to hit something hard, ease the pain choking her.

When would she learn not to trust these men she knew so little about? She didn’t need another drunken beau.
But Friedrick isn’t a beau
, she protested.

Then why do I feel more betrayed by him than I did with Robert?

The question cut too deeply to examine wholeheartedly. Instead she conjured up a quick and logical answer. She’d come to rely on Friedrick and his friendship—that was all. But she refused to put herself through the same rigmarole she’d gone through with Robert. She would continue to be polite to Friedrick, for the sake of their jobs, but she would no longer be his friend.