A Bride's Sweet Surprise in Sauers, Indiana Read online

  In their two and a half months aboard the bark Franziska , Diedrich had spent many hours alone in his stinking, cramped bunk. Day and night the ship had pitched and rolled over the Atlantic, keeping Diedrich’s head swimming and his stomach empty. During those agonizing hours, it wasn’t thoughts of a bride he’d never met that had given him reason to endure the hardships, but thoughts of the California goldfields and the riches waiting there for him. Gold nuggets, the newspapers said, just lay on the ground waiting for anyone with an industrious nature and an appetite for adventure to claim their treasure and realize riches beyond their wildest imaginings. But Diedrich couldn’t get to the gold in California without first getting to America. And it was Ernst Seitz’s generous offer to pay Diedrich’s and Father’s passage in exchange for Diedrich marrying Herr Seitz’s youngest daughter that had gotten them to America.

  In all his twenty-one years, Diedrich had never prayed longer or more earnestly than he had during that sea voyage. As the apostle Paul had charged in his first letter to the Thessalonians, Diedrich had virtually prayed without ceasing. And many of his prayers were petitions for God to somehow release him from the bargain Father and Herr Seitz had struck without breaking the girl’s heart or dishonoring Father.

  Guilt smote his conscience. No virtue was more sacred to Father than honor. And Father was an honorable man. How many times had Diedrich heard his father say, “A man’s word is his bond”? Scheming behind Father’s back to figure a way to break the word bond he had made with their benefactor didn’t sit well. But at the same time, Diedrich couldn’t imagine God would bless the union of two people who had no love for each other.

  The wind whipped up, snatching at the short bill of his wool cap and sending a shiver through him. He handed the trunk up to the driver to secure to the top of the coach while Father practiced his English, carrying on a halting conversation with their fellow travelers—a middle-aged couple and a dapperly dressed gentleman. Barbs of bright lightning lit up the pewter sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. All five travelers hurried to board in advance of the storm. They’d scarcely settled themselves in the coach when the heavens opened, pelting the conveyance with raindrops that quickly became a buffeting deluge.

  Sitting next to the door and facing his father, Diedrich settled back against the seat. The next instant a whip cracked, the driver hollered a hearty “Heyaa!” and the coach jerked to a roll. The other passengers began to talk in English. Diedrich understood only an occasional word, but the conversation seemed mostly centered on the weather. The woman, especially, looked worried, and Diedrich shared her concern. Herr Seitz had written that the roads were particularly bad in the springtime and often impassable.

  Father leaned forward and tapped Diedrich on the knee. A knowing grin began a slow march across his whiskered face. “Why so glum, mein Sohn? You look as if you are going to the executioner instead of into the embrace of a lovely young bride.”

  Diedrich tried to return Father’s smile but couldn’t sustain it.

  Father’s expression turned somber. “It was to save you from conscription that we came, remember? Who knows if King Ernest can keep Hanover out of the revolution.” He shook his head. “I would not have you sacrificed in the ridiculous war with Denmark.” Moisture appeared in Father’s gray eyes, and Diedrich hoped their fellow travelers didn’t understand German.

  Leaning forward, he grasped his father’s forearm. “I am grateful, Father.” And he was. This time his smile held. Although for many years Father had shared Diedrich’s dream to come to America, Diedrich knew the heartache leaving Venne had cost his parent. He would never forget how Father had hugged Diedrich’s brothers, Johann and Frederic, as if he would never let them go. How the tears had flowed unashamed between the father and his grown sons and daughters-in-law at their parting. Hot tears stung the back of Diedrich’s nose at the memory. But as hard as it had been to say those good-byes, he knew the hardest parting for Father was with the five little ones—knowing that he may never see his liebe Enkelkinder again this side of heaven.

  Father shook his head. “Nein . It is not me to whom you should be grateful, mein Sohn. We both owe Herr Seitz our gratitude.” A grin quirked up the corner of his mouth, and a teasing twinkle appeared in his eye. “Not only did he send us one hundred and fifty American dollars for our passage, but he will give you a good wife and me a fine Christian daughter-in-law.”

  The coach jostled as a wheel bounced in and out of a rut, and Diedrich pressed the soles of his boots harder against the floor to steady himself. Bitterness at what he was being forced to do welled up in him. And before he could stop the words, he blurted, “You do not know if she is a fine Christian woman or if she will make me a good wife, Father.”

  Father’s face scrunched down in the kind of scowl that used to make Diedrich tremble as a child, though his father had never once lifted a hand against him in anger. “I may not know the daughter, but I know the Vater. Any daughter of Ernst’s would be both a good wife and a fine Christian woman.” Father’s stormy expression cleared, and his smile returned. “And Ernst says she is pretty as well.”

  Diedrich crossed his arms over his chest and snorted. “Every father thinks his daughter is pretty.”

  Father yawned then grinned, obviously unfazed by Diedrich’s surly mood. “You were too small, only a kleines Kind when the Seitz family left Venne for America. But I remember well Ernst’s bride, Catharine, and she was eine Schöne . And their two little ones were like Engelchen . I have no doubt that your bride will be pretty as well.”

  Diedrich shrugged and turned toward the foggy window. Learning that Regina Seitz’s mother was once a beauty and her sisters had looked like little angels as children did nothing to squelch his growing trepidation. But arguing with Father would not improve his mood. And that was just as well, for the sound of a muffled snore brought his attention back to Father, whose bearded chin had dropped to his chest and eyes had closed in slumber.

  With Father dozing and the three other passengers engaged in a lively conversation in English, Diedrich turned his attention toward the window again. The rain had stopped. At least he didn’t hear it pattering on the roof of the coach now. Peering through raindrops still snaking down the glass, he gazed at the green countryside speeding past them. If all went as he planned, it would matter little whether Regina Seitz was ugly, a beauty, or simply plain. By autumn, Diedrich should be on his way to California and the goldfields. But if things didn’t go as he planned … No. He would not even consider the alternative. Dear Lord, please do something to stop this marriage .

  Suddenly the coach came to a jarring halt, jolting him from his prayerful petition. Through the coach window, he could make out the front of a large white house. Apprehension knotted in his stomach. They had arrived. As he gazed at the building before him, he still could not help marveling at the size of the houses here in America. Though some were small and crudely made of logs, many others, like the one framed by the coach’s window, were far larger and either made of brick or sided with thin planks of wood called clapboards. At least the Seitz home would have plenty of room for him and Father.

  Sitting up straight, Father blinked and yawned. He stretched his arms as far as the coach’s low ceiling allowed. “Why are we stopping?”

  “I think we have come to the end of our journey.” Diedrich had scarcely gotten the words out of his mouth when the coach driver opened the door at his elbow. Diedrich climbed out first, followed by Father, while their fellow passengers exited by the opposite door.

  Back on the ground, Diedrich stretched his legs and arms. Though he did not look forward to the meeting that would soon take place inside the house before him, he was glad to leave the cramped quarters of the conveyance behind him. Coaches were clearly not built for the comfort of people Diedrich’s height.

  “Come on up to the porch, folks.” The driver closed the coach door and ushered everyone up to the house’s front porch. He balled his fist as if to rap on the
door, but before he could, it opened, and Diedrich’s jaw went slack.

  A pleasant-faced young woman stood in the doorway. Though not stunning in looks, she was by no means ugly. In fact, the only remarkable thing about her was her distended middle, which clearly revealed she was in the family way.

  Diedrich’s heart plummeted. So it wasn’t that Herr Seitz desired a German farmer for a son-in-law; he simply needed a husband for his daughter. Anger coiled in his midsection. Had he and Father endured an excruciating journey of two and a half months to now be played for fools?

  He glanced at Father, whose wide-eyed expression reflected his own shock.

  “Guten Tag.” The girl dipped her head in greeting then stepped back to allow her guests entrance. “Please come in.” She ushered them into a spacious room furnished with several benches and chairs, some arranged on either side of a large fireplace.

  Motioning for everyone to sit down, she began speaking rapidly in English. As he had in countless other such situations since his arrival in America, Diedrich caught only an occasional word. “Coffee” and “bread” suggested they would be offered food. The next moment a man of about thirty years entered the room from the house’s interior.

  The young woman smiled up at the man, who now stood beside her and rested his hand on her shoulder. Again the woman spoke and Diedrich understood only two of her words, but they were the most important ones: “Husband” and “Gerhart.”

  The coach driver spoke to the man and nodded toward Diedrich and Father, who sat together on one of the benches that flanked the fireplace. This time, the word “Deutsch” caught Diedrich’s attention.

  The man smiled and nodded. He stepped toward them, and Diedrich and his father rose. “Guten Tag,” he said, reaching his hand out to each man in turn. “I am Gerhart Driehaus, and you have already met my wife, Maria.” He cast a smile in the woman’s direction as she waddled out of the room. “I understand you wish to go to the home of Herr Ernst Seitz.”

  “Ja,” Diedrich and his father said in unison. As Father made the introductions, relief spilled through Diedrich, followed quickly by remorse for having mentally maligned their benefactor. Though he still planned to avoid marrying the man’s daughter—or anyone else for that matter—he was glad to have no evidence that Herr Seitz had been dishonest with them.

  Herr Driehaus cocked his head southward. “The Seitz farm is but two miles from here. Rest and enjoy some coffee and Maria’s good bread and jelly while I hitch my team to the wagon. Then I will take you there.”

  Diedrich and his father uttered words of thanks. What a joy to converse again in their native tongue with someone besides each other—something they’d done little of since leaving the German community in Cincinnati.

  Fifteen minutes later the coach departed the Driehaus home with the other passengers, leaving Diedrich and his father behind. Refreshed by steaming cups of coffee and light bread slathered with butter and grape jelly, Diedrich hoisted their little trunk into the back of Gerhart Driehaus’s two-seater wagon. Father sat in front with Herr Driehaus while Diedrich took the backseat.

  Soon they left the main thoroughfare and headed south down a hilly road. In places, the mud was so thick and the ruts so deep and filled with water that Diedrich feared the wagon would become bogged down. But the four sturdy Percherons plodded along, keeping them moving.

  As they bounced along, splashing in and out of ruts, Herr Driehaus pointed out neighboring farms, and he and Father talked about crops and weather. The sun had come out again, causing the raindrops on tender new foliage to sparkle like diamonds. The clean scent of the rain-washed air held a tinge of perfume from various flowering bushes and trees. Suddenly the notion of living in this place didn’t seem so bad to Diedrich, at least through the spring and summer. But if he didn’t want to live here for the rest of his life, he would have to be as quick and agile as the little rust-breasted bird that just flew from a purple-blossomed tree along the roadway, showering Diedrich with raindrops.

  “We have come to the home of Herr Seitz.” With the announcement, Herr Driehaus turned the team down a narrow lane as muddy as the road they’d left. At the end of it stood a neat, two-story house with a barn and several other outbuildings surrounding it. Though just as large, this house, unlike the Driehaus home, was constructed of thick hewn logs, weathered to a silvery gray. A large weeping willow tree stood in the front yard. Bent branches sporting new pale green leaves swayed in the breeze, caressing the lush grass beneath.

  Despite the serene beauty of the scene before him, a knot of trepidation tightened in Diedrich’s gut. In a few moments, he would come face-to-face with the girl who expected to soon become his wife.

  The lane wound between the house and the barn, and Herr Driehaus finally brought the wagon to a stop at the side of the house. They climbed to the ground, but as they stepped toward the house, a shrill scream from somewhere behind them shattered the tranquil silence.

  They all turned at the sound. When Diedrich located the source of the noise, his eyes popped. A mud-covered figure emerged from the thick mire of the fenced-in barn lot. Only her mud-encased skirts identified her as female. She took a labored step forward, and her foot made a sucking sound as she pulled it out of the mud. But when she tried to take another step, she fell onto her knees again, back into the thick pool of muck. Emitting another strangled scream, she glanced over her shoulder. It was then that Diedrich noticed a large, dark bull not ten feet behind her. With his snout to the ground, the animal made huffing noises as he pawed the mire, sending showers of mud flying. The bull obviously didn’t like anyone invading his domain.

  Terror for the hapless female gripped Diedrich. In another moment, the great animal would be on her, butting and tramping her into the mud. Casting aside his coat and hat, he raced headlong toward the barn lot.

  Chapter 3

  H –help!” Regina struggled to pull her foot from the thick, black mud. But the harder she tried, the deeper she sank. Her heart pounding in her ears, she glanced over her shoulder at Papa’s bull, Stark. The huge dark beast had trotted to within feet of her. With his head lowered, he snorted and pawed at the sodden ground. His big eyes, dark and malicious, fixed her with an unwavering glare. What would it feel like when his head struck her like a giant boulder? Would she feel the pain when his horns pierced her body and his sharp hooves slashed at her flesh? Or would the first butt of his mighty head have already sent her to heaven where the scriptures told her there was no pain?

  Determined not to learn the answers to the questions flashing in her mind, she managed to pull enough air into her fear-paralyzed lungs to let out another scream. Where was Eli? Couldn’t he hear her? As perturbed as she had been that he’d surprised her in the barn after she had explicitly told him to stay away, the knowledge of his nearness helped to quell her growing panic. Surely he would hear her calls and come to her rescue.

  The ground shook as Stark trotted closer. It almost seemed a game to the bull, like a cat that had cornered a mouse.

  Finding strength she didn’t know she had, Regina pulled one foot from the black ooze, but the other foot refused to budge, and she fell face forward again in the muck. Pushing herself up with her palms, she came up spitting unspeakable filth. If Eli had already left, maybe she could get Papa’s attention. Mustering all her lung power, she let out another strangled scream.

  Suddenly, she looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered figure racing toward her. Clean shaven and lithe, the man was definitely not Papa … or Eli. Instead, she got the impression of gentle gray eyes that reminded her of soft, warm flannel, filled with concern. Straight brown hair fell across his broad forehead and his strong jaw was set in a look of determination.

  Relief spilled through Regina as the stranger scooped her up in his arms. Murmuring reassurances, he ran with her toward the barn lot’s open gate. The next several seconds passed in a series of sensory flashes. The clean scent of shaving soap filled her nose as she rested her face against his hard
chest. Against her ear, she heard the deep, quick thumping of his heart like the muffled beats of a distant drum. The sound of his voice, rich and deep, uttered words of assurance as he strode toward the house, cradling her securely in his strong arms.

  At the back door, he set her gently on her feet before Mama, whose face registered an ever-changing mixture of shock, fear, horror, and dismay. Gingerly grasping Regina’s mud-drenched shoulders, Mama uttered unintelligible laments in tones that reflected the varied emotions flitting across her face.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Regina managed to catch a parting glimpse of her rescuer before Mama whisked her into the house. Now covered in the mud she had deposited on him, he stood stock still, his kind gray eyes regarding her with wonder and concern.

  A half hour later, Regina slid down in the copper tub and groaned. The clean, hot water into which Mama had shaved pieces of lye soap was now tepid and brown from mud and other unpleasant things on which Regina didn’t care to speculate. If not for the grimy contents of the bathwater, she might be tempted to slip beneath the surface and not come up.