Michelle Hoover - Bottomland

“Answer your mother.”

The children stayed silent. Nan kneaded her hands.

“Lee knows,” said Agnes. “He was there.”

Lee sat next to his brother. He pressed his fork into his potatoes. “We were in the old barn on Southwood.”

“The Asters’ place?”

“Used to be Asters’. It’s empty now.” Lee took another bite. “Some of us go there once in a while.”

“Ray started it,” said Agnes.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there,” said Ray.

“Even so,” complained Margrit.

“Patricia was there too,” said Agnes. “Ray was trying to get her attention.”

“I don’t need her attention.”

“But you like it.”

“Who’s Patricia?” asked Margrit.

“She’s sweet on Ray,” said Agnes. “So he started a fight.”

“It was Tom Elliot who did it. And Lee just stood there like a duck.”

Lee chewed. “Didn’t seem you needed any help.” He took another serving of beans and filled his cheeks.

“He hasn’t a spine on him.”

“Ray Martin,” said Margrit, “that’s your brother.”

“It’s Tom I mean. He’s already lost a cousin over there. Signed up early with the Brits. The Germans ought to be put behind bars, that’s what he said. Said his father says the same.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “You can’t outlaw a person.”

Ray shook his head. “You should have seen them all agreeing. And Tom, he kept talking.”

“So Ray hit him,” said Agnes.

“He hit me back. But I got him worse.”

“You don’t hit a boy all the same,” scolded Margrit.

“They’ll take our land,” said Ray. “That’s what he said. They’ll take the farm, and set it back the way it was, rivers or not. Any German-born loses the right to property.”

“You see?” said Agnes. “It isn’t just Harriet Clark.”

Lee joined in. “At school, they made me and Hank Weber kiss the flag.”

I struck my plate. “ Aber was, den! You have gone to school with these children. You have known each other since you were born. And we have had this land years longer than the Elliots or the Clarks. There are laws.”

My voice echoed. Lee slashed at his meat. Nan opened her mouth wishing to speak, but considered the better of it. I gnawed at the gristle between my teeth. Such a sour scrap I thought I might never be finished. The door from the kitchen gaped. Myrle and Esther rushed in. They held an enormous cake between them. Myrle stepped forward, her face bright, but Esther pulled up short, eyeing us. Myrle lost her grip. Catching it, Esther threw the cake onto the table. Scrawled in frosting by a fingertip: nan’s getting hitched!

“Nan, is it true?” asked Margrit.

Nan tried to smile. “Yes, Mother, just this afternoon. I told them, but they wanted. ” Her hand wavered at her mouth. “Then all this trouble. I said they shouldn’t bother, but they went ahead.” Nan reached out to take both the girls by the shoulders. The ring that hung on her finger was a narrow thread. The cake appeared caved in, a chocolate cream on the surface to mask the ruin.

“All this waste,” I said. “Our good flour, our sugar and eggs. You thought of that, Esther, of not wasting?”

“Julius,” scolded Margrit.

Esther bit her lip. “We didn’t waste anything.”

“You best be sure.”

“But Myrle made it too. We both of us did.”

Myrle nodded. Her hands were blanched with flour. Margrit held out her arms to her. “Julius, leave Esther alone.”

Nan took up a knife, sinking it into the cake. The knife trembled.

“Why, Nan.” Margrit stood to take the knife herself and cut where Nan left off. “Carl’s a good man. We’re happy for you, aren’t we? Come on, everyone. This is a good thing. We have a cake.”

Nan rested back in her chair. “That’s just it, Mother. If there’s a war, Carl will have to go.”

“They’ll be a draft soon,” said Ray. “Wilson is just waiting.”

I rubbed at my forehead. “Nothing will come of it. There are laws. Not even Wilson can take away a man’s land on a whim.”

“That cousin of the Elliots had the right idea,” said Ray. “Join the Brits.”

Lee had stopped his eating. Next to him, Ray brandished his fork.

“Wilson,” said Margrit. “I don’t want to hear about him. You eat now. We have a cake for Nan. We have something to celebrate.”

The next morning, a sliver of cake waited before our bedroom door. After dinner, I had taken myself to bed. I could not bother to eat a shred more of meat or anything else. The cake lay on its side on a plate, a note beneath it. For Father . With my finger, I tasted the cream. It was salt.

“Oh,” Margrit let out. “They saved you a slice.” She rested her hands on my shoulders. “It was Esther’s idea, baking that cake. She wanted something for Nan.”

“It isn’t much.”

“Jon Julius, if you never give that child a chance.” Margrit moved to straighten the sheets. She seemed to spend longer to dress, wrapping her belt about her waist and pulling it tight. “They’ll never forgive us.”

“It’s thousands of miles away,” I said.

“It’s the Germans. I’m only glad the children know so little Deutsch .”

“Ray and Nan,” I said. “They know what they should.”

“I wish it were less. The Smiths, they changed their name when they first crossed over.”

“Who are the Smiths?”

Margrit remained quiet. She eyed the plate in my hands. There was the shortening we had from Mrs. Conners, the salt and flour. No trade. We had purchased them with dollars no less.

“Lee and Ray won’t go, Julius. They can’t.”

“Wilson has made nothing yet. Lee is too young by a year. If there is a war, it will be over then.”

“What about Ray?”

“Ray.” I sighed. “He has hornets in his stomach.”

“Maybe that Patricia will settle him.”

“First time I heard of Patricia.”

Margrit sat heavily. “Poor Nan. What a day for an engagement. I so hope her Carl stays.”

“I don’t think Nan will have a say in it.”

“And what was Elliot going on about?”

“The man keeps to himself, same as me.”

“You keep to yourself too much.” She looked at me then. “I don’t like this business with the river. Could be the cause of it.”

“Elliot will like it fine when he sees what land I save him.”

“Have a visit with him. You can talk about the boys.”

Outside the door, the children rose from their beds. The girls tumbled down the stairs in a rush and their chairs scraped the kitchen floor. Margrit touched her stomach and lifted her chin. “Breakfast.”

My wife stood and wavered. I reached out my hand, but she set herself right. I watched her go. Her footsteps were quiet in the narrow hall. We had no need of others, surely. Yet had I kept her too much at my side? This house and the comfort in it, it was her own making. Her words to the children were always kind. For myself, I was helpless to extend more than shouts. “They’ll take the land,” Ray had said with his bruised face. “If there’s a war,” said Nan. Of the evening before, only the wreckage of the cake remained. War was coming. Though far overseas, I feared it was gaining on us. If it crossed that ocean, how easily it might bring us to ruin.

Wilson announced the draft at the beginnings of June. A million more men he wanted. A million he would gain. Mrs. Conners sewed a flag to raise in the center of town. Mothers scurried to fatten their sons before the arrival of notices. Ray spent his hours combing the winter crops for pests. The fences along our westernmost acres he insisted on mending, though they needed none. One noon dinner he wandered in late in his boots and cap. At the table, only Margrit and I remained.