“They’ll all learn in time,” I told her. “I’m Sofie, and this is Claudia.”
“Hello,” Claudia said awkwardly. The woman beamed at us.
“I’m Avril Walters.”
Claudia excused herself, wandering just a few steps to join a little cluster of German women. One by one, their eyes all flicked to me, then quickly away.
“Which one is your husband?” Avril asked. I pointed to Jürgen, and her eyes widened. “Jürgen Rhodes is your husband? Well, isn’t that something? My husband says he’s a genius.”
“Which is yours?” I asked. She pointed to two men who were standing side by side at the table. I recognized one as Calvin Miller, so knew her husband must have been the man beside him.
I glanced back to the German women and saw Claudia was whispering with one of them, her brows drawn. She shook her head fiercely, then looked back at me, but now when our eyes met, she looked away. My heart sank. The German men had been brought to America as prisoners, and even those who knew Jürgen’s history had no choice but to work with him, especially in the beginning. It was different for the wives. We had arrived as free women and could socialize, or refuse to socialize, as we saw fit.
“I’m just so excited to meet you,” Avril gushed, startling me with the volume of her voice and her enthusiasm. “I’ve never even met someone from Germany before. How did you learn to speak English so well?”
“I had British nannies when I was young, and sometimes we traveled with my parents,” I said absentmindedly, watching Claudia studiously avoid my gaze.
“You know what, Sofie?” Avril said, flashing me that warm smile. “We should have coffee next week.”
8
Lizzie
Dallam County, Texas
1933
Dad didn’t come out of his room that night, and Mother retired to join him just as soon as she finished her meal.
I decided that Henry wouldn’t mind me raiding his stash of gin, so I let myself into his bedroom and retrieved the bottle from under his bed. When I heard the sound of the Model T returning, I met him on the porch.
“Hey, sis,” he greeted me. He took the bottle of gin out of my hand, opening it and downing a few generous gulps without preamble. He never did seem to notice the burn the way I did.
When he finished, he motioned toward our usual spot. We liked to sit a little ways from the house—just far enough from Mother and Dad’s bedroom that we could drink gin and stay up as late as we wanted. Once upon a time, our spot was covered in grass.
We perched ourselves on the low wooden chairs Henry made us one quiet winter. Just a slip of the moon was visible, which meant I could see more stars. I looked hopefully toward the barest wisp of cloud on the horizon and said a quick prayer that it might build to something. Beside me, Henry was drinking much more than he usually would.
“You went to see Betsy?”
“Nope,” he said abruptly. “Went to see Judge Nagle. I asked him if he’d lend us some money.” I felt a sharp pang at the thought of Henry begging his girl’s father to bail us out. “What choice do we have?” he argued. “We don’t know anyone else rich enough to help us, and we have to do something. Besides, he’s bought up half of Main Street in the last ten years. The man has more money than God. He may as well share some.”
“How would we even pay him back?” I said uncertainly.
“The same way we were going to pay the bank back—we sow a crop,” Henry said, shrugging.
“The bank would take the farm if we defaulted, right?” My brother nodded, and I said impatiently, “Well, Judge Nagle would do even worse! Do you really think he’d let you see Betsy if you let him down with a loan? Let alone marry her?”
“He was never going to let me marry Betsy, Lizzie,” Henry said softly, heartache beneath the words. “He told me as much tonight. Said he likes me and that’s why he’s let me hang around, but he really should have put a stop to things a while back.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, stricken.
“The judge was never going to let his daughter marry a man who can’t even afford a telephone to call her.”
“So if you break up with Betsy, he’ll give you the money?” I said hesitantly. “That sounds like he’s bribing or blackmailing you.”
“It wasn’t like that at all—we just had an honest and, frankly, overdue conversation and came to an agreement. And he’s not giving me the money—he’s lending it to me. We’ll be able to repay it next year when the harvest comes in.”