Lies of Omission, page 4
Try to obtain copies of marriage certificate and will from Pomerania.
Visit farm. Talk to Christine alone.
Return to Buena Vista, inquire who had opportunity to steal my papers
Talk with the physician who attended Fridolin.
Find death notice.
Talk with Fridolin’s friends and neighbors.
The scribbling helped calm her quivering nerves, just a bit. I will not leave here until I know what happened, Hanneke promised herself—and Fridolin too.
Chapter Four
Hanneke rose the next morning just as the first faint flush of dawn began pushing at the night. Someone had left a bucket of clean water by the door, and she washed her face and hands, scrubbing as if she might rinse away yesterday’s tears and despair. She had no more time for those indulgences. She made the bed, and emptied and rinsed the nightjar in the alley behind the tavern. Then she fastened the belt with an oversized yarn pocket around her waist and pinned the hook she used to guide yarn near one shoulder. Nothing eased her mind like knitting. Now, with her world turned upside-down, she especially needed the comfort of yarn in her hands. More than that, she needed something, just a little something, that she could control. She desperately needed the ordered formation of stitches and a pattern that emerged exactly as she’d designed it.
Besides, in Pomerania, she’d occasionally sold some of her work. I am a skilled businesswoman, she reminded herself. She couldn’t support herself selling socks and shawls and other woolen goods, but it was something.
The small kitchen was empty. The taproom was also silent: chairs turned up on tables, the floor swept. Retracing her steps, Hanneke built a fire in the cookstove and put water on to heat. After considering, she selected two brown eggs from the pantry to fry.
A small lump of lard was melting in the skillet when Fraulein Zeidler appeared in the doorway. “Finding everything you need?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
Hanneke wasn’t sure if the question was sincere or sardonic. “I only thought to prepare breakfast for you. To repay your hospitality. I don’t expect you to feed me.” She swirled the grease around the skillet, then broke the eggs into it.
Fraulein Zeidler considered the eggs with distaste before turning away. “You and Adolf can share the eggs. If I have anything more than bread in the morning, I….” She spread her hands, palms up, with a small shrug.
“You’re still suffering from morning sickness?” Hanneke eyed the other woman. Angela Zeidler was surely at least five months into her pregnancy, maybe six. “Perhaps you should….” Her voice trailed away, and she turned back to the stove. “Forgive me. It’s not my business, of course. It’s just that I…well, back in Pomerania, I helped quite a few women in your condition.”
Fraulein Zeidler slid into a chair. “What were you about to suggest?”
“Ginger tea. If that’s not effective, try making an infusion from the inner bark of slippery elm.”
The other woman considered. “I do have a bit of ginger on hand. There, in that spice box.”
Hanneke found what she needed, and soon had a small tin pot of tea steeping. She discovered half a loaf of dark rye bread wrapped in a towel, and cut a generous slice for her hostess. When she’d served the other woman, she pulled the skillet from the stovetop, spooned a small portion of eggs onto a plate for herself, and covered the remainder to keep warm.
She ate her breakfast while Fraulein Zeidler nibbled bread. Then Hanneke placed her palms on the table and caught the other woman’s eye. “I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I feel that I should.” She pulled her knitting needles from their pocket. Tempted as she was to curl over the hurt and humiliation, not letting anyone else see, she also felt a need to make clear to Fraulein Zeidler that something more than carelessness or sloth had left her stranded and destitute.
After she summarized events of the day before, silence draped the room like a shroud. Fraulein Zeidler sipped her tea, expressionless. Finally, she asked, “Can you think of any reason why Fridolin would keep the news of his marriage from his sister and friends?”
Something small and hopeful lurched in Hanneke’s chest. This woman believed her. “No. I spent much of the night remembering everything Fridolin told me. Every detail of his letters. I can’t find any clue to explain why he would marry me, send letters that eagerly anticipated my arrival, and yet not tell anyone here.”
Fraulein Zeidler broke a bit of crust from the bread and crushed it between her fingers. “Was there money involved? A dowry?”
“A small one.” Hanneke gave a little mirthless laugh. “I had been living with my brother’s family since our father died. Most of what little I had went to help pay my keep. But—yes.” The word was sour as an old lemon. “And our marriage contract stated that what money I had went to Fridolin upon marriage. He said he wanted to use it to improve his farm, before I arrived. He spoke of having a summer kitchen built.” It will be more comfortable for you, he had promised, a happy glint in those blue eyes. Or…had she only imagined that shine? Had she been so desperate for affection that she had fabricated what she had given up hope of finding?
“So it is possible that Fridolin Bauer lied to you in order to obtain your dowry.”
Hanneke knit another dozen stitches and shifted needles before replying. “It is possible.”
Fraulein Zeidler stared at the dregs of her tea.
“And yet, I’m not ready to accept that,” Hanneke said. “Yesterday was…a nightmare. I wondered if Mr. Barlow was lying. I wondered if Fridolin was truly dead. I admit I didn’t know Fridolin well, but usually, I am a fair judge of character. I would not have thought him capable of such duplicity.” She sighed. “Then I met Fraulein Christine Bauer.”
“And he had never spoken of his sister?”
“No.” Hanneke pinched her lips together.
“So he did lie to you.”
Hanneke groped for an honest answer. “He did not directly lie. But he was certainly untruthful by omission. Do—did you know my husband?”
“No.” Fraulein Zeidler shrugged. “My customers are brickmakers and drovers and millhands. Gentlemen farmers—they don’t come here.”
No, Hanneke thought. Those people went to places like the Buena Vista.
“I did know of him,” the other woman added thoughtfully. “His name was in the newspaper from time to time. For little things. Joining the Männerchor, or growing the biggest turnip exhibited at the county agricultural fair. Something like that.”
“And you know of Christine Bauer?”
“I know she and Fridolin came to Watertown together. Fraulein Bauer keeps house for him. Did.”
Hanneke rubbed a gouge in the table with her thumb. Fridolin’s deception was stunning. Why? she demanded again of the man she had judged as good and decent. Why?
Fridolin did not answer.
“Fraulein Zeidler—”
“I think you may call me Angela.”
Hanneke judged that a gift. “And you must call me Hanneke. Angela, do you know how Fridolin died?”
“Not in great detail. An accident on the farm, I think. I remember seeing the death notice in the newspaper. You might be able to get an old copy at the Watertown Weltbuerg.”
The Watertown World Citizen. Hanneke nodded. “Yes. I’ll start there. And perhaps Christine Bauer will talk with me.”
“Perhaps.” Angela’s tone was dubious.
“She may refuse, but I have to try.” Hanneke studied the scarred tabletop. “She knew Fridolin better than anyone. Certainly better than me.” She sighed. “And…I want to see the farmhouse.”
“What good will that do?”
Excellent question, Hanneke thought. “I just know I need to see Fridolin’s farm.”
Angela pressed one fist against the small of her back, giving Hanneke a long look. “You seem determined to break your heart all over again.”
That, Hanneke thought, is quite possible. “It’s hard to explain, but…I dreamed of that farm for months. It was Fridolin’s home. And the place where he died.”
Angela picked up her teacup, then put it back down. “Hanneke. What are you planning to do?”
“Well, I’m going to cook, or scrub, or whatever else I can do to repay your kindness. With your permission, of course.”
“I’ll accept your help today. And I understand why you want to find some answers. But I suspect that you won’t get very far. So, what then? Will you go back to Milwaukee? Or Pomerania?”
“My passport was stolen along with my other papers. And I don’t have enough money for a stagecoach ticket to Milwaukee, much less fare back to Treptow.”
“And I don’t have enough money to offer you a job. You met Adolf last night—he’s an orphan. In return for his help I let him sleep in the stable, and I feed him and give him a little cash if we have a good night. That’s all I can afford.”
“Of course,” Hanneke said briskly. It would have been much too convenient if Angela Zeidler happened to be looking for domestic help. “But…might I trespass on your hospitality a short while longer? I can eat elsewhere, but if—”
Angela waved a dismissive hand. “I’m already cooking for a crowd. One more plate for a few days won’t matter. And the bedroom was sitting empty. Although there are those in town who will think less of you for staying here.”
Hanneke almost laughed. “After my reception yesterday, it’s safe to say that my presence here will do nothing to improve your standing in the community.”
“That’s of no matter.”
“Then I gratefully accept your hospitality. I won’t intrude on your kindness a moment longer than necessary.”
Angela eyed her. “You could earn ten or twelve dollars a month keeping house for a family in Milwaukee. I could find someone who would give you a ride there. I know people. Freight haulers.”
“I’m grateful, but no,” Hanneke said firmly. “I want to go to the newspaper office and look for the death notice. I need to go back to the Buena Vista and walk out to the farm. I also need to write to my brother, and ask him to send a copy of my marriage certificate.” Humiliating thought.
“It will take weeks to hear from your brother. If he answers at all.” Angela pressed her lips together into a tight line. “You’ve already caught the attention of a deputy sheriff.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong. I will not be driven off as if I had.”
Something flickered in Angela’s eyes—admiration, maybe, quickly overshadowed with worry.
“I can find work here as readily as in Milwaukee,” Hanneke added. At least she hoped that was true. Or had Christine Bauer and John Barlow already poisoned her reputation? Possibly, but likely only among their own circle. Gentlemen farmers, scholars, bankers, and the like. It was much less likely that Hanneke’s circumstances, her claim, would be of any interest to the laboring men and women in Watertown. And Hanneke was not afraid of hard work.
“You’ve been kind to a stranger,” she added. “I’ll find a situation somewhere. I simply can’t leave Watertown until I know more about Fridolin’s death. His secrets. And why someone felt so threatened by my arrival that they stole my papers. If I can’t find some answers….” If I can’t, she finished silently, I’ll go mad.
Angela’s forehead puckered. “And if Deputy Barlow doesn’t want—”
Hanneke picked up her dirty plate and stood. “What Deputy Barlow does or does not want,” she said, as she pulled a dishpan from its nail on the wall, “is of no interest to me.”
* * *
When the dishes were dried and returned to their shelves, Hanneke settled down at the kitchen table to write two letters. She had paper and envelope in her valise, although she had to ask Angela for ink. When Angela brought the pen and inkwell, Hanneke slid a penny across the table. Angela quietly picked up the coin and dropped it into her apron pocket.
The first letter was addressed to the lawyer in Pomerania who’d helped her and Fridolin update their wills, asking for a letter attesting to the transaction.
The second was to her brother and sister-in-law. Hanneke wrote, Dear Theodor and paused. “Good ink,” she murmured.
“What’s that?” Angela stood at the chopping block, mincing some wrinkled and musty-smelling potatoes and carrots she’d purchased from one of the farm wives who brought goods into the city to sell.
“Oh—nothing important,” Hanneke said. “I just noticed that your ink is of good quality, nice and black. I went half-blind trying to make out Fridolin’s letters. He must have watered the ink with tea.”
“I’d think Herr Bauer could have afforded decent ink.”
Hanneke stared at the vegetables. She couldn’t tell if they had been wintered over in the ground, or were the last barreled dregs from someone’s root cellar. “I expect he could,” she agreed. “I chose to conclude that he was simply thrifty.” She heard her own words ring in her mind: I chose to conclude…. What else had she chosen to believe?
Resolutely, she picked up the pen again. Stared at the words for a few moments. Put the pen down.
“What’s wrong?” Angela asked.
Hanneke rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “I’m trying to decide what to say to my brother. My situation is…well, it’s not an easy thing to explain.” Or admit to. Not when Theodor and Minnie—especially Minnie—had gotten so practiced, these past few years, at listing all the reasons why Hanneke had not yet married.
“Brothers.” Angela spoke the word softly, but with an edge of bitterness. Hanneke looked up, waiting for more. But after a few seconds of silence, Angela merely reached for another potato. She did, though, bring the knife down with a bit more force than necessary, sending half of the vegetable to the floor.
Hanneke wished Angela would confide in her. It would be nice to think about someone else’s problems, if even for a short while. But she didn’t want to intrude.
What she did want to do was finish the letter. Concentrate, she ordered herself.
Dear Theodor and Wilhelmine,
She put the pen down and leaned back in her chair. Just writing her sister-in-law’s name brought back a flood of bad memories. Even the single good memory—marrying Fridolin Bauer—had, in the end, led to her current disastrous situation.
Hanneke had agreed to marry for want of a ‘please.’
She and Wilhelmine had been dear friends as children, living on adjoining farms. “And now we are sisters,” Minnie had said joyfully when she married Hanneke’s brother Theodor. “You must find a good man to marry as well, and we will grow old sharing married women’s secrets.” But Hanneke had not found that good man—not among the farmers; not among the men who lived in town, where Theodor had managed to find a clerk position in a bank.
Instead, when her father died, she and her ailing mother relinquished the tired farmhouse and moved into Theodor and Minnie’s house in Treptow. Hanneke told herself she didn’t mind, and had made herself useful: caring for her mother, tending Minnie’s babies, weeding Minnie’s garden, scrubbing Minnie’s floors.
And slowly,Hanneke and Minnie’s friendship had faded. Minnie had first become critical of the way Hanneke sliced green beans or bleached linens or planted dahlias. Later came the barbs that hurt more: “You must try harder to find a husband,” Minnie snapped in exasperation when her attempts to match-make came to naught. “You read too many books. You mustn’t think so much.”
“I don’t believe I care to relinquish my right to thought,” Hanneke said mildly, reminding herself that Minnie was pregnant with her fourth child and very tired.
But the final line had been crossed on the morning that Hanneke’s niece Rosa, just five, had knocked an earthenware pitcher from the table. Milk splashed over Rosa’s shoes and puddled on the floor among the shards of broken crockery. “Rosa!” Minnie had cried. She snatched the child up and carried her toward the dry sink to clean her shoes. Over her shoulder she’d tossed, “Hanneke, clean that up.”
So, Hanneke had thought. I am no longer friend; no longer sister. I have become a maid.
That evening, Theodor brought a guest home from the bank. “Herr Bauer emigrated to Wisconsin several years ago,” he told Minnie and Hanneke. “He’s come back to Treptow to attend to some business affairs after the death of his father.” Theodor occasionally brought colleagues and clients home, so the women were well used to cutting the chicken into smaller pieces, taking smaller portions of sauerkraut or salad themselves. Mr. Bauer was polite, and complimentary of the food, but spent most of the meal discussing politics in Pomerania and abroad. Later Hanneke had retired to one corner with a volume of poetry while Theodor and his guest smoked and played cards.
Hanneke was, therefore, astonished when Theodor came to the henhouse the next morning to find her. “Herr Bauer has asked my permission to offer a proposal,” Theodor said.
“A proposal for what?” Hanneke asked, carefully sliding her hand beneath the red hen to retrieve an egg.
Theodor folded his arms. “Herr Bauer wishes to marry you.”
Hanneke almost dropped the egg. “He does?”
“He does.”
Hanneke’s heart began to flutter, but she kept her voice calm. “I will accept.”
Theodore’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t expect such a hasty response. And—you don’t have to marry Herr Bauer.”
Hanneke felt a rush of regard for her younger brother’s kindness. Still, they both knew that the proposal solved a problem. That’s what she had become: a spinster aunt, an extra mouth to feed, an unwanted second opinion on domestic matters…a problem.
“Danke schön for that,” she said quietly. “But I will accept.” As she watched her brother walk away, the enormity of her decision almost took her breath away. Not only a new husband—a new country! But that’s appropriate for a new beginning, she told herself. Hanneke wanted a hearth and family of her own.
Herr Bauer came to the kitchen half an hour later, where Hanneke was trying to calm tumbling thoughts by sorting twists of seeds saved from the early autumn harvest. “Your brother tells me that you might look favorably upon a betrothal.” He clasped his hands behind his back, a gesture that reminded her of the village schoolteacher. “I know it is a great deal to ask you to leave your home and family and cast your lot with me in America. Still, I hope that you will please consider my proposal.”
