Stein House (A German Family Saga Book 2)

Book summary

In 19th-century Texas, German widow Helga Heinrich builds a new life managing Stein House in Indianola, where her family faces the turmoil of slavery, the Civil War, and Reconstruction. As boarders bring drama and hardship, Helga’s resilience is tested through love, loss, and survival in a town struck by fever, war, and hurricanes.

Excerpt from Stein House (A German Family Saga Book 2)

1853

Helga gripped the ship railing, straining to see the slowly materializing shore, lulled by the sweet sounds of Paul’s harmonica as he roamed among the passengers. His music had become part of the voyage, always in the background, adding energy when the hours dragged, lifting spirits during the after-supper sing-alongs. Now, the passengers leaned over the ship rail, chattering excitedly, as unaware of Paul’s music as they were of the gentle breeze blowing against their faces. Heaving its way through the waves, the ship seemed as eager as everyone on board to reach Indianola, the tiny speckof buildings stretching across the flat Texas landscape.

Then, like a storm wave rising black and angry out of the sea, the memory washed over Helga, forcing her back to the horror that had begun their trip: Max leaped wildly over the ship rail to the dock. The crowd on board roared its delight, enjoying another of his hilarious antics. He whirled to face his audience on deck, tilted the rounded brim of his hat over one eye, spread his feet apart like the maestro of a grand orchestra, and played a few bars of “Die Huehle” on his harmonica while the passengers clapped or rapped the rhythm on the ship rail. Then his long, graceful legs sprang gleefully into the air, and he clicked his heels together in a final salute and raced into the inn. The children’s hysterical laughter stopped the instant Max disappeared. A cold wind of fear blew over them. Helga caught her breath and pulled the children tight against her, apprehension forcing bile into her mouth.

Gretchen whispered, “No, Papa…” as she clutched little Anna and buried her face in the two-year-old’s shoulder. Paul trembled like a leaf, and Hermie stood as rigid as a poker, his face still flushed from howling at his papa’s performance. The sailors ignored it all, kept to their steady pace, never looking up from their work of hauling in the gangplank. The ropes slid like gigantic reptiles onto the deck, the sails billowed, and the vessel heaved as it inched ever so slowly from the dock.

Max reappeared in the doorway of the inn, and the crowd on deck shouted in delight as he stopped, bowed to his audience, and took a huge gulp from the open bottle.

Gretchen shuddered against Helga’s shoulder, and Hermie’s fist pounded the rail as he muttered between clenched teeth, “Come on, Papa.”

“It’s all right. The captain will wait.” Paul breathed into his cupped hands.

The ship began its laboring surge as the black, swirling water of the Weser River churned up waves that grew from undulating ripples to frothy caps. Still Max whirled and danced and tipped his bottle as he headed almost casually toward the departing ship. The laughter died, and in a body the crowd began coaxing him to jump, to make one mad leap, to entertain them one more time.

Helga pulled the children tighter against her, holding them, willing them not to watch.

And then Max jumped, tossing the empty bottle into the water as his body floated, suspended, arms extended, fingers spread, wildly grasping for the slowly arching rail. His face suddenly twisted to disbelieving shock as his fingers missed their grip, and he dropped like a slender arrow straight down into the roiling, icy water without causing the slightest splash.

***

“Mama, are you sick?” Helga felt Gretchen’s arm slip around her waist, forcing her back to the present.

Catching her breath, Helga shook her head and cuffed the sweat off her upper lip. “Just excited. Tante Amelia is probably jumping up and down watching our ship head toward port.”

“Paul makes me think of Papa when he plays that harmonica with such joy.” Gretchen’s lip trembled. “Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t.”

“When he plays, I can see your papa—even at ten, he’s so tall and thin.” Helga did not add that she worried, as she watched Paul on shipboard, that he might be as much of an entertainer and as eager to please the crowd as Max.

As they had waited for their small transfer ship to be loaded with the sea trunks and equipment and foodstuffs they had been advised to pack for Texas, Helga had watched in amazement as Max became acquainted with all the passengers. He quickly discovered if they were merchants, or farmers, or professionally trained. The men delighted in his wild tales, such as the one about stacking his manure pile on top of old farm implements to form such a mountain of manure that his neighbors thought he owned a huge herd of milk cows.

Max managed the introductions by strolling about the dock playing his violin or his harmonica. The first night after supper, crowds gathered as his rich bass led them in familiar folksongs. By the second night, people of all ages accompanied him in four-part harmony. It passed the time, and it seemed to cheer those in grief over leaving the fatherland.

At night, when Helga tried getting the children to sleep, Max kept all four of them in gales of laughter with his whispered tales of the other passengers: Frau Brugh’s gas explosions every time she bent over, Herr Schmidt’s big toe peeking from his shoe, and Frau Mueller bringing enough bedding for every person on the ship.

Growing up, Helga had listened to her papa’s favorite sermons about Job and character and the test of a believer when faced with adversity. It all seemed so simple: like Job, girded with trust and faith, a person could weather any test, any storm God sent his way.

Then their lives changed abruptly. Helga stood paralyzed at the railing, staring at the place that had swallowed Max, her mind telling her to comfort the children, to ease the terror gripping them, but she could not move.

Hermie raised his head, staring at her in disbelief. “He’s drowned.

Papa’s drowned in the Weser.”

“Won’t they get him out? Won’t they help him?” Gretchen pleaded.

The passengers moved close, some of the women enfolding them in the circle of their arms, whispering gentle consolations:

“He was so happy.”

“He was such a good man. “Everyone loved him.”

“He kept our spirits up as we waited all these long days.”

If there had been some place to go on the tiny transfer ship, somewhere off the crowded deck, she would have pulled the children away. There was nothing to do but stand in ice-cold silence, nodding as well-intended strangers offered what comfort they could muster.

Gretchen cried softly, stroking Anna’s blonde curls and straining to see through the crowd as though watching for her papa. Hermie stood as white and cold as a piece of marble, and Paul wailed, his face pressed against Helga’s breasts.

Herr Weilbacher pushed through the crowd and gently laid his hand on Helga’s shoulder. “Frau Heinrich, the captain says if they find his body in time, they’ll cart it the few miles downriver to Brake where we’re transferring to the Margarethe. We’ll carry him out to sea for a proper burial.”

“Bury Papa in the ocean?” Gretchen’s face twisted in pain.

Helga sucked in the cold spring air. She could not break down. She could not let the children see the desperation settling over her like an icy quilt. “Remember how Papa loved the water? How he jumped from way up on the bank of the river? I think he’d love being buried at sea like a sailor.” She reached for Gretchen and Anna, circling them in her arms, pulling them to the ship railing where Hermie held onto Paul, who gazed into the water softly calling, “Papa.” The cluster of women moved with them, silent at last. The wind picked up, propelling the ship swiftly toward the village of Brake, where they planned to wait while the crew loaded all they owned onto the giant sailing ship bound for Texas without Max.

Someone handed Helga a cup of hot tea. “Captain said for you to decide if you want to continue or have your belongings unloaded at Brake.”

Helga held the hot cup between her fingers, surprised at how cold they had become. “My sister at Indianola expects us. We must continue.” She did not add that Amelia and Dr. Stein were expecting Max to run their mercan- tile store. She could only hope that they would still want her to operate their new boarding house.

Arriving in Brake as darkness settled, they found an additional hundred people at the inn that were scheduled to join them on the ship. At last, and despite the overcrowding, the innkeeper allowed Helga and the children the privacy of a tiny attic room. They spread their blankets in silence and stretched out across the sagging bed in complete exhaustion.

Soon Helga heard their steady breathing, all except fourteen-year-old Hermie, who lay on the far side of the line of bodies in the position that should have been Max’s, way too young to move into his papa’s place.

What was she going to do without Max to lift her spirits when they faced the new and strange land of Texas, without Max to warm her on the cold nights? Tears, held back since Max disappeared in the dark waters of the Weser, poured unchecked in the darkness.

Morning dawned cold and clear. Helga went downstairs before the children woke. Outside the door of the inn, a peasant farmer standing solemnly beside his cart nodded toward the body wrapped in a heavy shawl. “I walked the whole way with him, Frau.”

“My thanks to you, sir. What pay do you require for so much effort?” “I’d thank you for his boots. I’m in need, and they look to be about myfit.” The skinny little man, who had no teeth, opened a coat Helga recognized as Max’s. It was still damp and so large it hung off both his shoulders like pointed wings. She recognized Max’s fine leather boots by the brass hooks shining through the clods of mud.

“Of course.” She wanted to tell him Hermie needed those boots and the coat far more than Max had needed them, but it seemed the least she could pay for his effort in such cold weather.

“When I slipped off the boots, out tumbled this old silver Thaler. It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. Your man saved it in the top lining of his boot.”

The sight of the one-pound coin emblazoned with the worn image of the Wild Man of the Harz Mountains, so large it covered both the man’s palms, caused such a jolt of surprise Helga felt faint.

“Are you all right?”

Helga nodded and took a deep breath as she accepted the heavy silver piece. “Thank you for your honesty. It’s such a blessing to have it returned. It was passed to my old grossvater, who gave it to my papa when he was a boy.” She did not say that Max had insisted they pack it in their sea chest, that he had always claimed it held more value than her papa knew and that it would be their assurance against catastrophe. If Max found that running her brother-in-law’s mercantile store didn’t work out, they had the old silver Thaler to get them started with their own land.

She hadn’t planned to look at Max, to see how he suffered before he gave up and let the water freeze his lungs, but the realization he had secretly taken the Thaler and risked losing it, that he had gambled with their future, and that his drunken antics had left them alone, forced a trembling surge of fury through her body. In one quick motion she yanked the shawl back and gazed at his swollen, discolored face. His cavalier grin, his flippant air of confidence, was gone. His mouth gaped open in one last desperate scream before he sucked his last breath.