Deprived of our pastor, it was up to my father to baptise my baby sister. Samuel Radtke had baptised his youngest child, Elizabeth, but word had reached the local authorities and he had been imprisoned for insubordination. We could not afford for Papa to be jailed again, but my father pointed out that the price of delaying Hermine’s baptism was a far greater one to pay, and so one warm night my bawling little sister was ceremoniously sprinkled with well water at our kitchen table.
One week later the elders gathered at our house to discuss the matter of Christian and Rosina’s wedding, and it was agreed that, out of duty and necessity, my father, again, must perform it in Flügel’s absence.
‘It matters not that we have no church,’ I overheard Christian say. I was in the kitchen, frying bacon for their supper. ‘“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” My marriage shall be recognised by the Lord, if not the King.’
There was a murmur of agreement from the table.
‘Will we have it in your home?’ Samuel Radtke asked him.
‘I think so. In the morning. Will you ask your wives to prepare a wedding breakfast?’
The morning of the wedding I arrived with my parents at the Pasches’ early, buttoned and bonneted, my feet blistering in a pair of Elder Fr?hlich’s leather shoes intended originally for my mother. As my father sat with Elder Pasche and discussed whether they ought to risk singing hymns, Mama ushered me through to the barn which, scraped of manure, was to accommodate both the service and wedding breakfast. Magdalena Radtke and Beate Fr?hlich were already there, decorating the place with garlands of early wildflowers and branches of spruce.
‘Hello, Johanne.’ Magdalena nodded to Mama, her hands full of corn poppies. ‘We could use your help.’
Mama passed Hermine to me. ‘Take her outside will you, Hanne?’
I did as I was told, bouncing my sister against my shoulder, pacing up and down the Pasches’ orchard, which was filled with new, green leaves whispering amongst themselves. Underneath the soft sound of the trees, I could hear Christian Pasche’s raised voice travel from the cottage’s open back door and, a few moments later, saw Hans march out, cheeks red, new-cut hair still damp. He looked as though he were about to hit someone and, not wanting him to see me, I tried to hide behind a peach tree. In my haste, however, I jostled Hermine’s head against a twig and she began to cry.
I lifted my hand sheepishly as Hans saw me standing there. He was dressed in his best shirt, but it was unbuttoned at the throat and there was a wild look in his eye.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked him.
Hans hesitated, then walked up to me. ‘Is Matthias here?’ he asked. I could feel the anger pouring off him.
‘No,’ I said, lifting Hermine and nuzzling her with my chin. ‘No, he’s finishing the animals and then he’ll come for the ceremony.’
‘Right.’ Hans glanced back at the house. ‘Did you hear any of that?’
‘I heard your father shouting,’ I offered. ‘But not what he was saying.’
‘He’s a hypocrite.’ Hans crossed his arms over his chest. It unnerved me to see him this way. ‘“If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar; for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?”’
‘Chapter four of 1 John,’ I replied.
‘Verse twenty.’ Hans ran a hand around his neck. ‘My father hates me, you know.’
Hermine wailed in my ear. I bounced her harder, giving Hans a look of sympathy. ‘My mother doesn’t like me much either.’
‘See here,’ Hans said and, face livid, hands working furiously, he unbuttoned his shirt and showed me a bruise across his ribs.
My mouth fell open. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Oh, I don’t think . . .’
Hans buttoned his shirt again, cheeks red.
‘Hanne?’
I looked past Hans and saw Thea peeling off from the steady stream of people now arriving in the lane beyond the cottage. She lifted her hands in greeting then, checking over her shoulder, slipped down the side of the house and ran towards us. Hans stepped aside as she approached and threw her arms around me, face shining.
‘Oh, I haven’t seen you for weeks!’
I glanced at Hans over Thea’s shoulder. He was standing there, staring at the ground, shirt buttoned to the neck, hands jammed into his pockets.
Thea untangled herself from me and faced him. ‘Good morning, Hans,’ she said.