Love Finds You in Amana Iowa (17 page)

“Halt!” the sergeant commanded, and then the man lifted his field glasses and looked up the hills.

Before them, Friedrich could see a pile of felled logs blocking their way. The men around him groaned. They would have to climb up the rocky cliffs or turn back to the summit of the mountain.

The drumbeat continued, but above the pounding, he heard a yell. At first he thought one of the men was joking, Earl Smith or another one of them who liked to mimic the Rebel’s battle cry, but the cry came again.

The drums stopped and a ball whizzed over his head. He ducked down, his heart racing.

Jonah knelt beside him, his gun ready. “You can do this, Vinzenz.”

“I don’t know—”

“We have to fight for those who cannot.”

The sergeant yelled for them to charge, and Friedrich rushed toward the cliffs with the company of soldiers. Straight into the line of his brothers. His enemy.

He shook his head as he ran, like he could shake off his doubts as well. It was too late to think about his actions now. If he were wrong, he prayed God would forgive him. If he were right, he prayed God would allow him to forgive himself.

He didn’t know who fired the first shot, but in an instant, the air popped like kernels of sizzling corn over a fire. Shots echoed all around him, the smells of sulfur and gunpowder stifled the air. He forged ahead with his fellow soldiers, but he didn’t pull his trigger. His fingers seemed to be seared to his shotgun. Instead of firing it, he held it at his side.

Next to him, Earl Smith buckled on the ground with a howl of pain. Friedrich stopped running. He looked back down the hill, into a valley of smoke, and then looked above him, at the soldiers rushing toward him, their guns propped over their shoulders.

He could see the holes in the uniforms of the Rebels now. The dirt on their faces and their matted hair. With the exception of the faded gray color on their clothing, the enemy looked just like the soldiers who fought beside him.

Earl cried out again, and Friedrich looked down to see blood soaking the man’s leg. Was this how Colonel O’Neill went down, on a battlefield like this? He had lost his leg, but he hadn’t lost his life.

The wall of fallen logs was a good forty feet behind him. Fifty even. He didn’t know how he could make it to the safe place, behind the wall, but he couldn’t let this man die in the blood wash of the battle.

“Close it up, men!” the sergeant yelled through the chaos. “Close it up.”

Friedrich pushed the gun back over his shoulder and leaned down to the wounded man. The others would have to do the shooting this afternoon. He would do the rescuing.

He reached down, hooking his hands under Earl’s arms. The man screamed out in pain as he dragged him back down the hill. They were almost to the wall of logs when a blast knocked Friedrich off his feet. Where there had been grass, there were bodies now. Fragments exploded in the place Friedrich had been standing seconds ago.

Another soldier cried out below him, holding his hand over his eye. Friedrich wanted to run to him as well, hide him behind the wall, but it wasn’t possible for him to rescue everyone.

He pulled Smith behind the logs and then ripped off a piece of his own trousers to wrap around the man’s wound. Friedrich leaned Earl back against the wall and propped Earl’s gun in his hands. If Earl could ward off the enemy from here, his life might be spared.

As he started to go back into the fight, Earl reached for his arm, stopping him.

“Thank you, Vinzenz.”

Friedrich gave him a nod and rushed back to help the other men wounded from the shrapnel. He didn’t care what the sergeant or anyone else said. He would start by helping the man who’d hurt his eye.

As he ran to the soldier, he tripped over a body and fell, landing on the chest of a dead man. It was another one of the men who’d ridiculed him back at Camp Pope, but instead of showing mockery, his empty eyes stared up at the sky.

Friedrich vomited the little he’d had for breakfast. This wasn’t war. It was hell.

He picked himself off the ground, searching through the smoke for the wounded. The man who had hurt his eye was still alive, sitting up among the dead. Why didn’t he lie down, pretend that he was dead as well?

The moment Friedrich spotted the injured soldier, he watched a Confederate discover him too. The Reb raced toward the man, the blade of his bayonet pointed in front of him. In seconds, he would finish what the cannonball started.

Friedrich swung his gun over his shoulder. He didn’t stop to think about the repercussions. The Rebel was going to kill the wounded man, and he had to stop him.

The gun kicked back against his shoulder when he shot, and the Rebel fell onto another body. Friedrich felt no sense of glory in his conquest. He had killed one man to rescue another. One life lost, another one saved.

Friedrich raced to the wounded Union soldier and helped the man to his feet, steadying him.

Another Union soldier shoved Friedrich’s shoulder with the butt of his gun. “The ambulance will come back for him.”

But Friedrich didn’t stop.

Few if any of the wounded would be alive if they waited for the wagons to come.

What pleases God, O pious soul, accept with joy,
Though thunders roll and tempest low’r on every side.
Paul Gerhardt

Amalie’s fingers trembled with the weight of the envelope in her hands. The paper was smeared with dirt and a reddish blot that she dared not think of as blood. Even with the dark stains, the handwriting was clear. Friedrich had written to her.

She clutched the envelope to her chest for a moment before she looked down at it again. The postmark read I
OWA
C
ITY
, and she sighed with relief. Friedrich wasn’t in Tennessee.

“Who is it from?” Sophia asked over her shoulder.

“Friedrich.”

“Can I read it?”

She pulled it back to her chest again. “Of course not.”

The Homestead postmaster tipped his hat as he stepped out of the kitchen, on his way for his weekly mail delivery to all the villages. He could suspect, but he would never know how important it was for her to have a letter from Friedrich.

Friedrich’s location was all she’d been able to think about during the past week, since she had heard about the battle in Tennessee. Not even her work in the kitchen had been able to distract her from her thoughts. She’d tried to read more of the book about the slaves, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the man she loved, far away on a battlefield.

She wanted to sink down on the kitchen floor and savor every word he’d written, but she didn’t want Sophia to watch her. Nor did she want her or Henriette or the two other assistants in the kitchen to see her cry.

“Supper is in ten minutes,” Henriette said as she glanced around the busy kitchen. Then she pointed at the door. “But go read it first.”

She didn’t have to repeat her instruction. Amalie fled outside, to the orchard below the windmill. There in the solitude of the trees, she collapsed on the bench and ripped open Friedrich’s letter. A single piece of paper fell into her lap, and she lifted it to read about his weeks in Camp Pope and how much he missed her and Amana. His words were light, but the joviality in them sounded forced. Part of her wished she knew more about what he was thinking, even though she was afraid his thoughts might scare her.

He said he loved her, but in this letter, he didn’t mention their marriage, nor did he ask her to wait for him like he did in his first letter.

Had he changed his mind?

He said they were getting ready to transfer away from the camp, but he didn’t say where he was going next. Either he didn’t know or he didn’t want her to be afraid.

She read his words two more times and then refolded the letter. It was probably written in haste, along his journey. He didn’t have time to think about their future, only about his present. Their present. She would focus on what he said, not on what he omitted. It was most important that he was alive.

It had been so long since she had seen him; she didn’t even remember much of what he looked like anymore. The feelings in her heart might ebb and flow, her excitement about marriage waning with the years she’d waited, but she would remain firm in her commitment to him.

The bells rang out at 11:30, and she prayed again for his safety before she tucked the letter into her pocket and hurried back to her work.

“So what did he say?” Sophia asked as she scooped barley soup into a large bowl.

“He said he is well.”

Sophia sighed. “And what else?”

“Nothing is more important, Sophia.”

Henriette called to them. “Amalie, you are serving today.”

Amalie took one of the bowls with potato dumplings and rushed into the dining room as the people streamed in through the door, single file.

Once the food was distributed, Amalie stood at the side of the room. Everyone bowed their heads before they sat, and she joined them in silent prayer, thankful for Friedrich’s letter. She thanked God but she also asked, as she did every time she prayed, that God would continue to protect him. She couldn’t bear to pray that God’s will would be done, especially if God’s will was to call Friedrich home. She only wanted God to send him home to marry her.

Brother Schaube finished with a short prayer for all of them, and when everyone was seated, the meal began.

In minutes the soup disappeared, and Sophia joined Amalie in the kitchen to refill the bowls and platters.

“He’s not here again,” Sophia said as she held out her bowl for Henriette to fill.

“Who?”

“Matthias Roemig. He’s missed the midday meal all week.”

“Perhaps he is ill.”

Sophia shook her head.

When Amalie walked back into the dining room, she scanned the heads of the men and realized Sophia was right. Matthias had been working so hard on her kitchen house, he’d hardly even stopped to eat. Every time she walked past the new structure and saw him and Niklas putting up the frame, she was grateful for Matthias’s tenacity, but she didn’t want his dedication to be responsible for his getting ill.

After she set her bowl down on a table, she fingered the envelope in her pocket. She didn’t want to see Matthias, nor did he want to visit with her, but maybe she needed to be the one to speak with him about the kitchen house. And it was only right that she tell him about Friedrich’s letter. He would want to know that Friedrich was safe.

Dishes were passed quickly, utensils clinked against the ceramic plates, and then Brother Schaube stood and closed their time with prayer. Everyone had a half hour to rest before they went back to work, but she guessed Matthias wouldn’t be taking his break.

After a quick meal in the kitchen, Sophia slipped outside with the other kitchen workers. Instead of going back to her room or taking a walk, Amalie ladled soup into a tin and added two slices of buttered bread and a bottle of beer into a willow basket. She appreciated Matthias’s determination to complete her kitchen house, more than he would ever know, but he needed to eat.

Henriette eyed her basket as if Amalie was about to feed an outlaw instead of a brother. “Where are you going with that food?”

“I’m taking it to Brother Matthias.”

“The man’s got two good legs, Amalie. He can come eat in the dining room like everyone else.”

Amalie clutched the handles and held the basket to her side. “He’s been working almost every daylight hour on my—on our new kitchen.” She corrected herself lest Henriette begin to think she was planning to compete with her. “It is only right that I take food to him if he won’t stop work to come get it himself.”

“Matthias has suddenly become quite dedicated to his work.”

Amalie thought back to the days in Ebenezer, watching Matthias build furniture alongside the elder Vinzenz in the carpentry shop. “He’s always been dedicated to his work.”

Henriette leaned forward as if she was about to confide in Amalie. “The man never missed a meal before you arrived in Amana.”

Amalie stepped back. She knew Matthias didn’t like her, but was she really so awful that he couldn’t even stand to see her during mealtime? She must have done something to offend him deeply, but she didn’t know what it was.

“He wasn’t working on the kitchen house before I came.”

Henriette shook her head. “I don’t think the kitchen has anything to do with it.”

“So you’re saying it’s me—”

“I’m only making an observation.”

Amalie groaned as she walked out the door.

Why couldn’t Henriette keep her observations to herself? Amalie was already weighed down with enough of a burden. She didn’t need to add the guilt of Matthias skipping his meals to avoid her.

Physical nourishment was second only to spiritual nourishment among the Inspirationists. Men and women alike worked very hard and they all needed the nutrition to help them maintain their pace. Now, because of her, Matthias wasn’t getting enough food. She wasn’t going to let him starve because of his unwillingness to either confront her or forgive her.

Matthias was working alone on the building’s frame when she arrived, two nails sticking out of his lips and one between his fingers as he nailed a board. When he glanced up at her, she watched his eyes soften at first and then narrow.