The Solace of Stars, page 5
Frankly, though, Hanneke felt more at ease here than she did at many of her neighbors’ immaculate homes. The Pomeranian settlements were generally populated by multigenerational families with many able workers. The Goetsches’ only child, an adult daughter named Marie, had died some years back. Their son-in-law had compounded their grief by severing ties and moving west with their grandchildren. Like Hanneke, Hans and Elizabeth worked hard, hired seasonal laborers when necessary, and got by.
Elizabeth was a small, white-haired woman who walked with the aid of a cane. She was also an ardent knitter, and they’d spent many pleasant hours on the Goetsches’ front porch, chatting as their needles flashed. Hans raised sheep, which often led to lengthy discussions about how late into the fall to let the animals forage in the woods, what breeds produced the heaviest clip, which carding mill owner was honest. Today, Hanneke sorely wished that she’d come to knit with Elizabeth or ask Hans’ advice about winter fodder.
Well, there was nothing for it. She climbed the steps and knocked.
Elizabeth greeted her with red-rimmed eyes. “Oh, Hanneke. I can scarcely believe it.”
“I know.” Hanneke felt the same way. “Where is Jacobine?”
“She’s upstairs.” Elizabeth tipped her head toward the parlor. “Come and sit down.”
The room’s furniture was home-carpentered, but Elizabeth had sewn pillows for the chairs and created lace runners for the trunks. A vase of zinnias on a round table provided a splash of color beside the dark leather-bound family Bible.
A framed certificate of baptism—a memorial to the Goetsches’ daughter—hung in a place of honor, draped with a wreath of dried flowers. In Hanneke’s mind, the certificate helped explain why she and Elizabeth felt so easy in each other’s company. Elizabeth had lost her only child; Hanneke had lost hope of having a child. It created an unspoken bond.
Elizabeth sat, but leaned forward with a sense of urgency. “Is there any news?”
“Not much. Karoline knows that August is dead, but she’s frantic about Jacobine’s well-being. Unfortunately, I was so focused on August’s death and Karoline’s disappearance that I wasn’t able to give Jacobine much attention. How did she seem to you after Deputy Barlow dropped her off?”
“She was stunned, poor child. Quiet. I had to guide her up the steps so she could lie down.” Elizabeth pulled a half-knit stocking from her pocket and began mindlessly adding stitches.
Hanneke’s hands twitched. She yearned to ease her own frayed nerves in the same manner.
“She didn’t break down until we learned that Karoline was safe,” the older woman continued. “Then the poor girl cried herself sick.” Elizabeth frowned at the stocking, ripped out the new stitches, and stuffed the project away with shaking hands. “I don’t know how to comfort her!”
Hanneke tried to find her own appropriate reassurances, but exhaustion had fogged her mind. Mercy, she thought. The inability to think clearly was as intolerable as helplessness.
The awkward silence was broken by the sound of hesitant footsteps descending the stairs. Jacobine appeared in the doorway. “I heard voices. You’ve seen my mother?”
Hanneke hurried across the room and grasped Jacobine’s hands. “Dr. Rausch said she’s going to be fine.”
Jacobine looked fragile as a dead prairie flower, and just as brittle. “Where did Mutti go last night? Why wasn’t she there?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet myself,” Hanneke said carefully, “but I will tell you what I can. Let’s sit down.”
Jacobine flinched when she learned that August had struck her mother. Hanneke pressed her young friend’s hand, intently holding her gaze. “I’m sorry to add to your burdens. However, you deserve to know what I know.”
“Danke,” Jacobine murmured. She listened without interruption as Hanneke shared the rest of the story. Then the three of them sat still, listening to seconds tick past on the shelf clock.
Eventually, Elizabeth stirred, a concerned frown puckering her forehead. “What you both need right now is sleep.”
Jerked from her reverie, Jacobine shot to her feet. “Nein!” She put a hand on top of her chair to steady herself. “I want to go home and see my mother!”
“That’s understandable,” Hanneke told Jacobine softly, “but Elizabeth is right. You’re wobbling on your feet. That won’t reassure your mother. After we’ve both gotten some rest, we’ll go see her.”
* * *
Three hours later, Elizabeth drove them to the Ketzler place. Clara Steckelberg emerged from the house and greeted Jacobine with tenderness. “I’m terribly sorry for your troubles, child. Your mother is in bed upstairs. She’s anxious to see you.”
Jacobine scurried inside.
“Do you need help tending to August?” Elizabeth asked.
“Everything’s done. Your Hans fetched a coffin from that Brandenburg carpenter—the one who breeds Tamworth hogs on the side?—and I had help getting August laid out nicely in the parlor. The pastor’s been here too. And I’ve got one of Karoline’s dresses in a black dye bath.”
The three women retreated to the kitchen. Several bowls and baskets sat on the table, and two pies had joined Clara’s kuchen on the counter. “I was about to fix a few platters,” Clara said. “Some neighbors have already stopped by, and nobody came empty-handed.”
Elizabeth pulled out a chair and sat in front of a cutting board where links of Kartoffelwurst waited to be sliced. “I’m glad to hear it,” she admitted in a low voice. “August…well.”
Hanneke understood what had been left unsaid: August had lost a lot of friends lately.
“Most people will be kind, I expect,” Clara said. “Out of respect for Karoline and Jacobine.”
“If only he hadn’t turned to drink!” Elizabeth lamented. “Hans and I saw him lurching down the road more than once. I think he spent every evening in a tavern.”
“Not every evening, actually.” Clara sniffed the block of cheese she’d just unwrapped before adding it to a plate. “I’ve seen him walking home after dark quite a few times these past months. Sometimes he strode along nice and steady.”
Hanneke knew that Clara often worked outdoors well into the night, but her observation painted an unexpected picture. “What do you make of that?”
Clara shrugged. “All I know is what I see.”
Hearing footsteps in the hall, Hanneke held up a hand to end the conversation. Jacobine plodded into the kitchen with fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh, Liebchen.” Hanneke pulled her close. “I’m sorry.”
“Mutti’s face—it looks so awful!” Jacobine wept. “I could scarcely believe it when you said Papa had hit her, but now….”
“I know.”
“He never did anything like that before!”
“I know that too.”
Jacobine drew in a shuddery breath and wiped her eyes. “Mutti asked if you could go see her.”
“Of course.” Hanneke studied the girl. “Do you want to pay respects to your father?”
Jacobine nodded. “I do.”
Upstairs, Hanneke found the front bedroom door ajar. She knocked lightly before slipping inside. Despite Jacobine’s warning, it took effort to repress a wince. By daylight, with the bruises blossoming yellow and purple, Karoline’s eye looked even worse.
Hanneke balanced on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m all right.” Karoline pushed herself higher against the pillows. “I only agreed to stay up here because I don’t want to see people. The pastor came by, and that was enough. He wants to hold the funeral tomorrow. Perhaps he thinks a hasty service will help stop gossip.”
“Try not to worry about gossip,” Hanneke advised. “All that’s important is you getting your strength back, and taking care of your daughter.”
Karoline briefly pressed Hanneke’s hand. “Vielen Dank for tending to Jacobine, my friend. Please share my gratitude with Elizabeth as well.”
“I will.”
“I don’t think Jacobine should be here right now,” Karoline added. “At least until the funeral.”
That seemed wise. “We’ll take good care of her, I promise. She can stay with me.”
“Hanneke….” Karoline drew a deep breath. “Are you willing to become Jacobine’s formal guardian if something happens to me?”
Hanneke knew better than to assure Karoline that nothing was going to happen to her. “Of course I will. I love Jacobine. In the unlikely event that such a role is needed, I will always do my very best for her.”
“I’m grateful,” Karoline whispered. Relief flickered on her face, but only briefly. “This couldn’t have come at a worse time! I fear no one will want to court my daughter now.”
“Surely that’s not true. What happened to her father had nothing to do with her.”
Karoline opened her mouth, closed it again.
Hanneke could tell that her friend was not reassured. “What else can I do for you?”
“I don’t know!” Despair filled Karoline’s voice. “Hanneke, Deputy Barlow came back and questioned me again. I wasn’t fuzzy-headed, like I was earlier, and he frightened me. He seems to think that I killed August!”
Hanneke stifled an exasperated sigh, wishing that Barlow had managed to speak with Karoline without presenting that impression. “I imagine he makes everyone he talks to feel that way.”
“I told him the truth, but I don’t think he believed me. I’m the one who argued with August last night. I’m the one with a black eye.” Karoline fisted the sheet in her hands. “Mein Gott, what am I going to do? Jacobine just lost her father. I can’t bear the thought of her losing me as well!”
Seeing resolute Karoline fighting panic was as unnerving as anything else. “Well, let’s consider other scenarios. Did Deputy Barlow ask you about the trouble Caspar Wulff caused at the market?”
“No. He wanted to talk about what happened the last time I saw August.” Her mouth twisted with irritation. “And he asked blunt questions about our marriage.”
Hanneke pursed her lips. Since she’d made a point of mentioning Wulff to Barlow, it was disappointing to discover that he hadn’t asked Karoline about the altercation. “Has Wulff ever threatened you or August in any way?”
“Not directly. Wulff came to my shop last winter soon after I opened for business, complaining that a woman had no right to steal his livelihood. I refused to be intimidated, and he left.” Karoline hitched her shoulders up and down. “However, I do think he stole something from me. Wulff came back a few weeks ago and stalked around my shop, peering at my work. I’d just finished my first set of the nested heart cutters. Do you remember them from the market?”
“Of course. I’d never seen anything like them.”
“They caught his attention. A day or two later, I realized they had disappeared. No one else had stopped by. I suspect he took them simply to discourage me.”
Petty little man, Hanneke thought. “Did you tell August about it?”
“I did. He was furious.” Karoline sighed. “He worried that Wulff might copy the cutters and profit from my design.”
Hanneke shook her head in disgust. In her opinion, that concern was legitimate. “Did August confront Wulff about it?”
“Not that I know of. I couldn’t prove that Wulff had stolen them.”
Having no proof wouldn’t have stopped August, Hanneke thought, remembering how quickly he’d jumped to Karoline’s defense when Wulff insulted her at the market. “Let me ask something else. Did August go out drinking every night?”
The quack-quack of low-flying ducks drifted through the window, faded away. “He was hardly ever home in the evening anymore,” Karoline said. “Most nights, he came home smelling of drink. Occasionally, though, he came home sober.”
Just as Clara had observed. “Do you have any idea where he went on those nights he didn’t end up in a tavern?”
“Honestly, I stopped asking questions a long time ago.” Karoline sounded weary. “He was in a better mood on the nights he didn’t drink. Sometimes that gave me hope.” She lifted one palm in a gesture of futility. “Sometimes it made me wonder if he was being unfaithful.”
Hanneke’s eyebrows rose. Adultery had not crossed her mind, but the idea added a new dimension to the situation. If August had been unfaithful, an angry husband or father might have sought revenge.
Karoline licked her lips. “I simply don’t know what to do.”
The despair in her face, in her voice, tore at Hanneke’s heart. “Your friends will help you. Certainly, I will do my best. And you know I’d do anything for Jacobine.”
Karoline settled deeper onto the pillows. “Danke schön,” she murmured, but her eyes still brimmed with tears.
Hanneke smoothed the quilt, knowing that further questions would have to wait. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll come to see you again soon.”
Back downstairs, Hanneke found the house quiet. Clara and Elizabeth were sitting on the back porch. Jacobine stood by a support post, staring over the kitchen garden. “Karoline is resting,” Hanneke reported.
“Best thing for her.” Clara rose from her chair. “I need to go home. I left my Latin farmer harvesting squash. If I want them stored properly in the root cellar, I need to do it myself.”
Charles, Clara’s second husband, was one of the academics who’d fled the Old Country after a failed revolution in 1848. Clara did her own work and half of his—surreptitiously, and without rancor, because she was fond of him.
“My mother offered to spend the night here with Karoline,” Clara added.
“Bless Oma Pearl,” Hanneke murmured. The older woman was known by that fond appellation—Grandmother Pearl—to everyone in two counties.
“I’d stay myself,” Clara added, “but if I don’t get ten Blitz Tortes baked tonight, I won’t be ready for the Erntedankfest on Saturday.”
Hanneke had forgotten all about the harvest festival. The idea of a celebration seemed inappropriate after August’s murder…but invitations had gone out weeks ago. And, she reminded herself, you have some doughnuts to fry as well. She’d promised to bring Schürzkuchen to the party.
“It’s quite possible that Charles hasn’t even set foot in the field,” Clara added. “He and his friends plan to raise a liberty pole during the celebration. For all I know, he’s traipsing about the woods in search of a perfect specimen.”
“Danke for coming, Frau Steckelberg,” Jacobine said with grave courtesy. “Mutti and I are grateful.”
“I can stay until Oma Pearl arrives,” Elizabeth offered. “Karoline needs company and care.”
“Jacobine,” Hanneke said, “would you like to come home with me?”
Relief flashed in the girl’s eyes, and she nodded. Hanneke glanced at Elizabeth, hoping she hadn’t overstepped, but the older woman looked relieved as well.
Before leaving, Hanneke entered the parlor. The room smelled of beeswax and candle smoke. Someone had already made a funeral wreath and propped it near the open coffin. August appeared…not peaceful, honestly, but composed. The women had dressed him in his Sunday best. His hair was neatly combed.
Hanneke stepped to the coffin and rested one hand on the edge. “I’m sorry this happened to you, August,” she whispered. “I’m also sorry I didn’t have a chance to meet you before things got so bad.” She paused. “I promise that if there’s anything I can do to help Deputy Barlow identify your killer, I will. And I promise to do what I can to help clear Karoline of suspicion.”
And I pray to God, she thought as she turned away, that nothing puts those two promises in conflict.
Chapter Six
When Hanneke reached Safe Haven Farm with Jacobine, she was startled to see four people in her potato field. Then she recognized William Bluewing, his two younger sisters, and their mother, Annie. Of course. She’d forgotten that at the Viehmarkt, William had promised that his family would help harvest the crop. Hanneke was in no mood for labor, or for company…but the plants were dying, and it was essential to dig the root tubers before they rotted underground.
She led the way through the rows of potato hills to join them. Annie was crouched on the ground digging tubers by hand with her daughters. “Haho,” Hanneke called in greeting. “Thank you for coming.”
The older woman didn’t pause, but offered a smile. William, lugging a basket brimming with thin-skinned fingerlings, came to greet Hanneke and Jacobine. “We’re glad for the work,” he assured them. “I’ve been putting the harvest by the pass-through.” He gestured toward the house, where piles of potatoes already waited on a canvas tarp beneath the square hatch in the back wall that made quick work of getting produce inside.
“Perfect.” Hanneke put an arm around her ward’s shoulders and drew her forward. “William, have you met my friend Jacobine Ketzler? She’s visiting.”
“We are acquainted.” He tipped his head politely, obviously unaware of August’s murder. “My family has done some work for the Ketzlers.” Jacobine nodded, but kept her gaze fixed on her shoes.
Hanneke glanced at the sun. “It’s midday. I’ll put together a meal for us all. Jacobine, shall we go inside?”
The girl shook her head. “I’ll help out here, if you don’t mind.”
Hanneke hesitated before nodding, but she did understand. Jacobine was a farm girl, well used to doing what needed doing. Besides, physical labor would help pass the time.
After a simple picnic in the field, Hanneke and Jacobine began transferring the harvest to the cellar. Jacobine stood outside, handing baskets through the pass-through into the pantry. Hanneke lugged them down to the cellar and spread the potatoes out to cure before going into barrels.
“I hear someone coming,” Jacobine announced as Hanneke trudged up the stairs for the sixth time.
A welcome respite, Hanneke thought. “Who is it?”
The girl leaned away from the pass-through. “Deputy Barlow.”
Relief vanished. Hanneke stifled a groan before wiping her hands on her apron and going outside.
