By They said they would put him on the list but gave no hope for immediate relief. He plodded between the two houses, staggered almost with loss of sleep. Myrtie’s love for him took on a queer expression for a mother. Apparently it consisted for the most part in wanting him to be talented and courteous and to show off before her friends. Amalia could not put her finger on the queer quality of it, excepting that whatever he was doing openly and however he was appearing seemed to be of more importance to her than that which lay behind these external qualities.
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When she was baking she often forgot and let a pan of Kuchen get browner because he liked it so, and very often, unthinking, she set the table for two. When Neal was six, Myrtie was made secretary of a lodge in Westville so she bought a man-sized desk for her clerical work and turned Joe’s and her bedroom into a semi-office. The desk just fitted into the corner where sweeney’s pool service Joe’s share of the twin beds stood so she retained only her own and put Joe and Neal upstairs. As Myrtie said, it was a very satisfactory arrangement for sometimes she liked to work late at her desk and then sleep late in the morning. There was a panic in 1893 and Matthias and his fellow officers figuratively bailed water night and day to keep the bank afloat.
The child, Emil, throve and grew, and sitting in the rocker by the cabin’s window with him in her arms, Amalia knew happiness and peace. She told herself that she would never again think of the love for Matthias she had once known, making a sort of childish bargain with God that if He would watch over her baby and protect it she would promise Him this. All the time Herman was gone they alternated their eerie calls,–the wind and the wolves,–until Amalia’s own voice drowned them both. And when she heard the howl of the coyotes again, the cries of the new-born child mingled with them, and Herman and old Augusta had come. News of Indian trouble kept percolating into the settlement.
Twenty-seven he was now,–his partner, James Collins, was twenty-five. Fall came on and the land was mellow with the haze of Indian summer. Amalia cared for little Emil, washed and ironed, baked her frisches Kornbrot and her Kaffeekuchen, cleaned and scrubbed, took care of the meat from the hog that Herman butchered, made Metwurst and smoked the Schinkenand rendered her lard.
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