Beneath the Apple Leaves(85)
She laughed and squeezed Andrew heartily, thumped him on the chest while he tried not to let the wind get knocked out of his lungs. “Psssh! You’re a strong one, eh?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, and coughed, cringed in case she squeezed, kissed, thumped or broke him in half.
Pieter put down his supplies. “Ma, don’t let Fritz put the shoes on the horses anymore. Idiot put them on backwards.”
“Hush wiv those words, Pieter!” she scolded. “He’s a good boy.”
“Good boy or not, still put the shoes on backwards. Thick as peat, that kid.”
“All right.” She waved him off like a horsefly. “Orf wiv you now. Git!” She pushed the boys away with a whack to their backs. “Got to get back to vork. Grass growin’ in my vatermelons.”
Andrew and Pieter crossed the even path to the lane, the far fields crowded with pen after pen of rolling pigs. Andrew reached behind a whiskey barrel planter and handed the box to Pieter.
“What’s this?” he asked as he lifted the lid.
“It’s for Anna.” He stopped and peered back at the bent figure of Mrs. Mueller. “It’s from Lily.”
Pieter shoved the box at him. “I don’t want it.”
Andrew pushed it back. “It’s for Anna. Not for you.”
“We don’t need anything from the Mortons,” he spit. “Take it back or I throw it to the pigs.”
“Listen, Pieter,” Andrew defended Lily, “I don’t know what your beef is with the Mortons, but Lily hasn’t harmed anyone. Bought this for Anna with her own money. And remember Mary Paulsen? How you thought Lily had taken all her goods from auction? Well, she bought them all and shipped them to her.”
“That what she told you?” he asked sarcastically.
Andrew stepped toward his friend and warned, “That’s enough.”
Pieter closed his eyes and sighed, dropped his head low, sat down on the grass. “I know it ain’t her fault. I know it,” he conceded. “I’m just so damn mad, don’t even know who to be mad at anymore.”
His jaw hardened and he stared at the perfect farmhouse cradled on the sea of grass, surrounded by pink and red roses climbing over the stone foundation. “I’m so tired of being cursed. So sick of being a target with this damn war.”
Pieter picked up a rock and dug the point into the soft earth. “Got no credit in town. Can’t even show up at the market with our name on our wagon. Then they go—” His voice broke then and he shook his head savagely. “They go beatin’ my poor dumb brother and hurt Anna.” He squeezed the rock, hard enough to draw blood. Andrew leaned against the fence, his stomach tightening with the same memories.
“This war making people itch like they got fleas,” Pieter said. “Looking for someone to blame for all that itching.” His voice dropped confidentially. “Pa’s been sending money back to Nuremberg. Cousins are fighting on the front lines for the Kaiser. Breaks Pa’s heart knowing his brothers and sisters sending their children to war. Scrambling for food. But famine or no, I don’t think he should do it and I told him so.” Pieter looked aged, older than his years. “Somebody find out and there’ll be hell to pay for sure. They’ll say it’s treason. Make what they did to Fritz look like child’s play. But Pa won’t hear talk against it.” Pieter tilted his head. “Know my sister’s married to a Mennonite?”
Andrew shook his head.
“Says if he gets drafted he’ll refuse. Says it’s God’s commandment not to kill. Know what they’re doing to Mennonites who won’t serve?” He paused. “They’re beating the crap out of them, that’s what. Torturing them just for not fighting, sending them off to Leavenworth.” Pieter pounded the rock into the ground. “So help me, that’ll kill my sister. Somebody hurt him like that. It’ll kill her.”
Pieter glanced at the box from Lily. “I know Lily ain’t got nothing to do with this, but Frank Morton’s stirring the pot. He’s holding meetings in town, all tied up with the American Protective League. A bunch of hotheads with cheap badges that say they got a right to keep an eye on Germans, keep them in line.” A look of real terror entered Pieter’s face. “They find out about Pa sending money, they’ll tar and feather him. Might throw your uncle in for the fun of it.”
Andrew sat on the heels of his boots. “We’re not going to let that happen, Pieter.” His voice was steady, resolved. “You know that.”
“That’s right.” Pieter met the look. “Because I’m enlisting.” He stood, tossed the rock into the space between the trees. “Only way I can protect my family is if I’m serving.”
CHAPTER 41
Andrew and Wilhelm checked the lines of thick hay, assessed their readiness for harvest and baling. Wilhelm paused, peered over the ridge. “Looks like we got visitors.” Two men, a policeman and a civilian, huffed up the hill.
“Officer,” Wilhelm greeted him.
“Mr. Kiser?” the policeman asked.
“That’s right.”
“This your son?” He motioned at Andrew.
“My nephew.” Wilhelm’s tone deepened with the questioning and he folded his arms, opened his legs slightly in a stance that said, What the hell you doing on my property?