Chapter II

It seemed a lifetime to Hilda before they finally sat down to supper,
although in reality it was but five o’clock. The mistress had spoken
well when she had said there was much to be done. The girl, already
weary with her journey and the excitement, was in no fit condition to
plunge into the vortex of new duties which met her like a foe she had to
face. Her back ached and her head throbbed as she bent her slender
shoulders under the weight of big buckets of water and armfuls of wood
which she was required to carry. Fresh from the classroom, having led a
sheltered, guarded life hitherto, she staggered under duties that might
have seemed easy to one accustomed to them. She grew white around the
mouth and black under the eyes as she toiled on uncomplainingly, but she
would not flinch. She had seen the look of disapproval that both Mr. and
Mrs. Schwarz had swept over her when she arrived. She had a fine spirit
in her, and did not wish to be rejected on account of physical
disability. She knew that if she were rested and accustomed, she could
match her strength plus her strong will against any girl, and she meant
to prove it so. Hers was to be no moping, half-way service, disagreeable
as her situation seemed to her at present.

Her view of the future was by no means brightened by the advent of the
son of the house and the three hired men who presently obeyed the
summons to supper, performing their noisy ablutions on the back porch.
They were big blond men with pink complexions, whose appearance the
grime of sweat and toil did not enhance. Sylvester Schwarz was lank and
flabby, with a selfish mouth and a pimply face, which the sun had turned
to brick color. He had small, cruel blue eyes. When Hilda made the
acquaintance of the animals about the place, she found it impossible not
to think of Sylvester when she glanced into the abode of the swine. It
may have been the way he cast his greedy little eyes upon her when he
entered the kitchen. From the first he seemed to claim her for his prey,
and from the first she had the most revolting dislike toward him.
Perhaps he sensed that at the start, for the light of battle and the
assurance of final victory followed hard in his face upon his first
greedy glance.

The other three men were older, with stolid faces much like the master,
and all had a cunning look in their eyes. She liked none of them. One,
whom they called Fritz, wore a large yellow curling moustache, and his
red wet lips bulged beefily between its parting. He smiled when he saw
Hilda, and gave her an apprizing glance that brought the blood angrily
into her cheeks. His eyes were larger and bolder than the rest, and he
used them much on Hilda as she came and went from stove to table serving
pork, cabbage, coffee and Limburger cheese.

She had been fiercely hungry when supper was first put upon the table,
but by the time that she had finished serving the men and was free to
eat what food they had left she was too dizzy and faint to care for it.
The thought of the food sickened her. She did her best with a mouthful
or two of bread and a swallow of coffee, but her head was aching badly
before she was through with her tasks.

The men sat on the back porch, smoking, talking in loud tones, telling
vile stories and laughing among themselves. Almost entirely they spoke
in German. She heard one of them ask Mrs. Schwarz about her, where she
came from and if she understood German, and Mrs Schwarz told them no,
she was American. The one they called Fritz laughed and said that was
better, they would not have to be so careful; and she wondered idly what
he meant, for it had not seemed to her they were careful in their speech
either in German or English. She resolved that for the present she would
not let them know that she had not only been the finest German scholar
in her class in high school, but had also always kept up the practice of
conversing with her father in his native tongue. It would at least give
her the advantage of being left out of the conversation most of the
time, and this seemed to her most desirable, in fact, the only possible
way to live among them. She could not imagine herself ever having any
more to do with any of them than was absolutely necessary.

She was wringing out her dishcloth and hanging it up to dry as she made
these resolutions, and she did not see that Sylvester Schwarz had arisen
from his seat on the back steps and lounged silently into the kitchen.
Not until he was close behind her did she realize that anyone was there,
and then too late. He caught her in his arms and gave her a resounding
smack on her cheek.

Hilda screamed with horror, and, snatching the big wet dishcloth,
whipped it smartly across his face, struggling wildly all the while,
until, blinded by the dishcloth he let her go. She darted away from him
and ran plump into his mother, who had rushed downstairs to see what was
the matter. Hilda flung her arms around the astonished woman’s neck and
burst into tears.

“Ach! Vat haf you pin doing, Sylvester?” complained his mother, quite
upset by Hilda’s appeal, and standing helpless with the girl’s arms
around her unsympathetic neck. “Can’t you zee she iss strange? Go vay
and leef her be!”

Sylvester stood sheepishly in the middle of the floor, and Hilda caught
a glimpse of the other men outside laughing at him as she raised her
head from the ample, unresponsive bosom and began to realize that it was
no refuge for her. She must hold her own alone against all odds in this
house.

“Ach! She ain’t so fine and fancy as you think, Mom!” retorted Sylvester
sneeringly. “You ought to seen her flirtin’ with the train hands when
she first come, and him a tootin’ the whistle at her for the whole
country to hear. She ain’t so pertickiler as she tries to make out!”

Hilda flashed a look of horror and contempt at the young man and
straightened up like a young rush as she turned to the woman.

“I was not flirting, Mrs. Schwarz. That engineer saved me from being run
over and killed down at the junction where I changed cars. He was very
kind and put me on the train and told me he would whistle when he passed
this farm, and if I had found the place all right I could wave something
out of the window to let him know. I am not that kind of a girl, Mrs.
Schwarz!”

“Ach! Well! What’s the difference! You better get to your ped. You haf
to get up at half-past four. There is much to be done tomorrow!”

Blinded with tears Hilda stumbled up the stairs, dimly aware that the
oldest of the three laborers, the one they called Heinrich, with gray
streaks in his stubbly hair, was standing outside the door glaring
angrily in at Sylvester Schwarz. She heard his contemptuous guttural
hurled like a command:

“Pig! Come out o’ that!” and she realized that she was being gruffly
championed, but was too distraught for even a grateful glance in his
direction. It was horrible to have to be championed by one so utterly
repulsive.

She locked her door and dropped upon her hard little bed, terrified,
despairing, exhausted. The future seemed a blackness of horror. She was
too sick at heart to think if she might get away from it all. Yet how
could she stay for even a night? To live in that house with all those
dreadful men! To be scolded, driven, by that hard, unfeeling woman, and
sworn at by the stolid husband! It seemed impossible to endure. Yet
where could she go and what could she do but stay? Even supposing she
succeeded in getting away without anyone noticing, she had but a dollar
and ten cents in the world, and that would not carry her back to her
mother. Poor mother! How frightened she would be if she knew in what a
position her young daughter had been placed! Mother thought she was to
have a nice, pleasant home with friends of Uncle Otto, good Christian
people who would treat her “like a daughter.” “Good, kind Germans,” that
was what Uncle Otto had said when he got her the place. She shuddered at
the thought of what it would mean to be a daughter in this house. The
sting of Sylvester Schwarz’s kiss was still on her cheek. She rubbed
wildly at it again, and slipping from her bed, groped her way through
the dark to her window. She must get away. Could she, dared she, get out
of that window and steal away in the night?

She looked out in the darkness. The sky overhead was luminously kind,
but far away. There was starlight and a young moon, serene but distant,
unheeding of her distress. The tears rained down upon her hands, which
were clasped desperately on the window sill as she knelt, her breast
heaving with silent sobs she dared not make audible lest they should be
heard downstairs. She put her head down on the window sill and prayed a
pitiful little prayer. Heaven seemed so far away tonight. Did God care
about her? She looked out again.

It seemed a long way to the ground in the darkness and very black below.
She could not remember how it had appeared when she had looked out in
the afternoon. She had been all taken up with watching the engineer’s
cap then and realizing that he had actually kept his word and whistled
to her. How long ago that seemed, and how different he had been from
these dreadful men among whom she had come to live. Kind, gentle,
strong, courteous, gallant! She could feel his arms lifting her now, and
holding her against the bars of the fence as the trains flew by on
either side! Oh, that she were back at that spot in her life and could
turn and flee from this new life, anywhere, so it was not here! Better
even if her life had ended quickly, sharply under those fierce wheels!

She reached out her hands wistfully to the black line of the railroad
grade. If his train would only pass again and she could signal her
distress! But it was night! He could not see a signal if he came. Red he
had said for danger. Had she anything red? Yes, a little red scarf she
had caught up and stuffed in her suitcase just before leaving home,
because it reminded her of her school days and all she was leaving
behind. She turned and groped in her suitcase in the darkness till she
felt the woolly softness of the scarf and hugged it to her breast,
kissing and crying over it. How many times her mother had tied it around
her throat on a cold day, and how she had hated to wear it sometimes as
she grew older and did not want to be bundled up. But now it was
precious. It reminded her of her mother, and of the little brother who
had often worn it also.

Sobbing softly she stumbled back to her bed again, the old red scarf in
her arms, and pulling the stubby quilt up over her, sobbed herself to
sleep. Somehow it seemed too awful a place to think of undressing and
going to bed regularly, but she was so utterly weary with her hard
exciting day that she could stand up no longer.

Some time in the night she awoke from an ugly dream in which she was
being pursued over plowed ground by Sylvester Schwarz, who was
determined to get her old red scarf away from her, and her own cries for
help were stifled in her throat as she struggled on over the furrows.
Off in the distance she heard a dim rumble of a freight train, like a
kindly voice to still her fright. It soothed and comforted her, so that
she fell asleep again.

The raucous voice of Mrs. Schwarz sounded in her ear while it was yet
dark, and a vigorous shaking of her locked door brought her to her feet
frightened and half stupefied with sleep.

There was no place for her to wash in her room; nothing but the tin
basin on the bench by the pump below, and the roller towel on the
kitchen door, which she was expected to use in common with the men who
were spluttering through their ablutions now. Hilda determined to omit
much of her toilet until she could beg for better accommodations for
washing. If worse came to worst there was an old towel in her suitcase,
and she could certainly find something in which to carry up water—that
is, if she stayed here. The horror of the morning made her sure she
would find some way of escape before another night if possible.

The men were cross and all swearing at each other in German. Something
had happened in the night, or else it had not happened. Hilda could not
quite make out from their chance remarks that floated out to the kitchen
where she was frying sausage and potatoes. She was not interested and
paid little heed.

Sylvester Schwarz did not come down to breakfast with the men. He slept
late, and when he came his mother waited upon him and hovered over him
till his father came in from the barn, his little pig eyes snapping
angrily, and began swearing at Sylvester like a raging bull. It seemed
that the young man had been trusted with some weighty errand to a
neighboring village the evening before and had neglected or forgotten it
until too late. His father raged as if it were a matter of life and
death. Sylvester sat stolidly, sullenly, and ate many hot cakes that his
indulgent mother baked and brought to him incessantly, with silent tears
running down her fat countenance. She spoke no word of protest to her
angry spouse, but doggedly fed the pampered culprit till old Schwarz
turned on her a storm of words that made the young girl in the kitchen
cringe and heartily wish she did not understand German. During the
tirade she managed to secure a basin of clean water and escape to her
room till the storm was over and Sylvester gone sullenly off with a hoe
over his shoulder. It appeared that Sylvester’s mission had been one
which called for mental attainments, for Hilda heard his father hurl
this final sentence after him as he sauntered toward the barn:

“What for did I gif you all this expensive education yet if it was not
to look after this end of the pizness? You will bring us all to zhame if
you keep on. You might as well know nothing, you pig of a boy!”

Hilda worked silently, almost frenziedly, as the sun rose higher and the
morning went on. Mrs. Schwarz moved stolidly through her domain, giving
sharp commands, finding incessant fault, and growing more and more
unreasonable. Just as the dinner was ready to dish up, and the men were
answering the call, Hilda wiped her hands, drew down her sleeves, and
turned on her fat persecutor:

“I better tell you, Mrs. Schwarz, I don’t think I will stay. I’m not the
kind of a girl you need here. I’ve never had experience in heavy work,
and I can see I don’t suit you. I know that I can do better work in some
other line, and it’s best for me to stop right now before you’ve taken a
lot of trouble to teach me your ways.”

Mrs. Schwarz went stolidly on dishing up the potatoes as though she had
not heard. When the last potato was steaming on the piled-up dish she
remarked monotonously:

“H’m! What can you do? Otto Lessing send you here. You got to stay! What
else can you do?”

“Why, I thought if you could lend me the money to go back to Chicago my
teacher would find me a place where I could earn enough to pay you back.
I could learn stenography nights while I am working and very soon get a
good position.”

“Ach! I have no money! And if I had, Otto Lessing send you here, and
here you stay! Unless Otto Lessing say you can go, you stay! I know you
are no good to me, but what can I do? You and I are women. We must do
what we are told.”

Hilda stood struggling between anger and amazement, trying to think what
to say. At last she answered haughtily:

“Very well, then, I will write to my Uncle Otto and tell him. If you
will excuse me now, I will go up and write the letter at once. Or
perhaps it would be best to send a telegram and my uncle can send me
some money.”

“You have no time to write letters and there is no way to send telegrams
here. You get down off your high horse and carry in the potatoes! Your
Uncle Otto send you here, and your time pelongs to me now. You are
mighty poor help, but such as it is it pelongs to me. Take that platter
in and shut up!”

This was the only result of her well-planned decision. Hilda saw she had
little chance unless she made a determined stand and ran away. She
looked out the back door and saw the line of rough, burly men, headed by
Schwarz, coming up the path to dinner, and knew this was no time to run,
so with whitening lips and trembling hands, she accepted the platter of
hot stew and carried it meekly to the table, in a panic lest she would
not get back to the protection of the kitchen before Sylvester arrived.
She saw that for the present, at least, she must be obedient and
unobtrusive, for how indeed could she run away and get anywhere without
money? And it was plain there was no further use in asking Mrs. Schwarz.

All that afternoon she worked silently, doggedly, her heart raging, her
mind in a turmoil. When the two o’clock freight passed and the whistle
screamed its signal, her heart leaped gratefully and tears sprang to her
smarting eyes, but fortunately she was scrubbing the floor with her back
to Mrs. Schwarz and bore her scrutiny without a tremor. She was glad
when she went up to her room to wash that she had left her towel in the
window to dry. It was not large nor noticeable, but it was there; a
white, silent recognition of the young man’s kindness. He had said she
was to let him know by this signal that she was all right! Oh, if he
knew how far from right she was! If only she had thought to put the old
red scarf beside the towel in the window! But, then, what could he do?
He had his train to run, and when he was through with his day’s work he
would be far enough from her! And she was only a little stranger girl to
whom he had been kind.

Nevertheless, the sound of the kindly whistle had heartened her, and she
took new courage from the passing presence of her friend. After all, who
was she that her way should be made smooth through life? Should she not
encounter some hard places and overcome them? For the time being her lot
seemed to be cast inevitably in this most unkindly spot. It was
intolerable. It was inconceivable that it should be right for her to
remain in such a situation long. There would be some way out of it
surely. But for the moment, the day at least, until a way opened, she
must be brave. She must be worthy of having had her life saved in such a
remarkable way. Surely the good God had saved her for some little
purpose. It might be only that it was going to be good for her to pass
through this unpleasant experience. Whatever it was, she would hold
herself to win out if courage and faithfulness could do it. Perhaps the
way to get away was to work hard and win the favor of these strange,
disagreeable people. If they were human they must have a kinder side to
them somewhere if she could only find it. Except, perhaps, that loutish
son! Oh, how could she abide another day under the same roof with him?
But even he might perhaps be avoided. She would do her best.

So she tried to cheer herself and scrubbed with a right good will till
her young back ached and her arms, all unaccustomed to such violent
exercise, began to tremble. Still, white with weariness and faint for
lack of food, because she had been too excited to eat, she slaved on
through the afternoon work; over the hot stove, cooking the supper which
she was too fatigued again to eat; thankful only that she was allowed to
remain in the kitchen and cook rather than to serve at the table with
those awful men. She came at last to the time when, the dishes done, she
might hang up her dish towels and creep up the stairs to her room. One
horror she had been spared tonight. Sylvester had taken himself off
after supper, and she had not been bothered by his attentions. Heinrich,
of the gray stubbly hair, had established himself ominously in the
kitchen doorway and barred all approaches of any of the men. She
disliked him with all her heart, but she could not but be grateful to
him whatever his motive might be.

She had asked for a candle and was given a small bit grudgingly. With
this flickering uncertain light, she tried to write to her mother and
uncle, but before she had half finished her mother’s letter the candle
flickered down to the socket and went out, and her aching back and arms
cried out for rest. Sleep was heavy on her eyelids, too, and she knew
she had not written what she meant. Besides, it was hard, now she was at
it, to tell her mother what kind of a place she was in. Supposing there
was no way out. Supposing she must stay here awhile. There was no need
to make her mother anxious. She had enough trouble already. No, she must
write to her uncle.

She groped to her window sill and with only the starlight to guide her,
she scrawled a few lines to her uncle, slipped them in an envelope,
sealed, addressed and stamped it, and laid it ready for mailing in the
morning. Then she went to her bed.

Sleep was her master now, and she had no chance for the heavy problems
she had meant to think out on her pillow. She sank at once into a deep,
exhausted slumber that seemed to end almost at once with the sharp voice
of her mistress in her ear and the merciless grip of duty on her tired
young shoulder. She woke with the consciousness of the inevitable that
had her in its power. She had heard of Prussianism, but she did not know
that she was beginning to experience it.

When she went down in the morning she took her letters and asked Mrs.
Schwarz how she should mail them. She was told to lay them on the table
and “he” would see to them. Hilda had a feeling that they had fallen
into an abyss, as from the distance of the kitchen she saw her letters
swept up in the elder Schwarz’s big gnarled fist. Instinctively, she
felt they might never reach their destination. Surely not until they had
passed the censorship of this household tyrant. She spent the day trying
to devise a means by which she might mail her own letters, or at least
send a telegram. She was beginning to feel virtually a prisoner on this
farm.

Yet there was little time to think. She was driven from one duty to
another, and the sudden violent plunge into unwonted labor had made her
so stiff and sore in every joint that she could scarcely move without
pain.

Three age-long days and three more nights, all too short for resting,
passed, with only the sound of the friendly freight whistle to mark the
daylight, and the rumble of the midnight freight through her dreams for
comfort. The fourth night she cried herself to sleep once more, because
the expected letter from Uncle Otto had failed to appear. The day had
been so tortuous with its drudgery, so bleak in its monotony, the future
seemed so impossible, so interminable, like eternity in hell. Then,
suddenly, some time after midnight, she awoke with a strange insistent
whirring approaching in the air through the night. It seemed to be
coming on straight through the house, like some terrible destroying
animal that nothing could stay, and the sound of it was like no sound
that she had ever heard before. Nearer and nearer it drew, and she
sprang from her bed softly and crept to her window. She could hear
stealthy, sudden noises in the house, as if some other sleeper had also
been aroused by the sound.

The moon was larger now, and very low. The stars were clear and there
was a soft radiance over everything that made the plowed fields look
like some hallowed spot. Up in the sky, not far away, from where the
monster noise was coming, she saw a dark cloud-like bird of enormous
proportions curve and settle and disappear somewhere in the shadows of
the meadow behind the barn and the noise died away slowly into the
night. Hilda rubbed her eyes and wondered if she had been dreaming.

Then out from the back of the house there passed like a wraith the form
of a man and kept moving on, a shadowy speck, down the path through the
cabbage patch, past the lettuce and turnips, past the barn, between the
rows of tomato plants, on into the meadow. After he had disappeared,
Hilda wondered if she had really seen him at all, and, shivering, crept
back to bed and lay, alert, listening, with every muscle tense and every
sense keen. Sometimes she thought she heard distant voices. She did not
know what she thought. Her heart was beating somewhere up in her throat,
and her head was aching in great hot and cold waves. It seemed as though
she must keep calm and take deep breaths, or she would go out in the
tenseness of the moment.