1
NOVEMBER1867
INDEPENDENCE, INDIANA
“It seems all I ever do is attend funerals,” Marybeth Kruger murmured as the cemetery caretakers began shoveling dirt over her father’s casket.
Just days ago, all had been well. She and Papa had been talking about the coming of Christmas. Papa had agreed to freight a load of grain to Evansville from a farm thirty miles out. A snowstorm blew in and made the conditions worse than anyone had seen in years. The sheriff told Marybeth that Klaus Kruger was nearly to his destination just beyond Pigeon Creek when tragedy struck. The horses got spooked by the wind and snow, and the wagon ended up upside down at the end of the bridge. The doctor said Papa had broken his neck and died instantly. Marybeth supposed that was better than lingering in pain and suffering. But best would have been if he hadn’t had the accident at all. Her little sister, Carrie, wasn’t even two years old, and at the age of twenty with no husband or living relatives, Marybeth had no means to support her. What were either of them to do?
She felt someone touch her shoulder and turned. It was Edward Vogel. Her dearest friend in all the world. She saw the dampness in his eyes. He and her father had been close. She and Edward’s wife, Janey, had been lifelong friends, but Janey’s was another tragic death that weighed heavy on Marybeth.
“You ready to go home?” Edward asked her.
“I feel like I have no home.” She looked across the cemetery. “I keep thinking of all the dead. There are so many. Our lives have been short moments of joy encompassed by sorrow and death.”
He looked toward where Janey and his son were buried, and Marybeth couldn’t help but follow his gaze. He’d married Janey after returning from the war. And then Janey had delivered a stillborn son and died herself shortly after. Marybeth had been devastated by Janey’s death. They had been so very close.
They were surrounded by the graves of their departed loved ones. Marybeth’s mother had died seven years earlier. Marybeth’s stepmother, Sarah, had died after giving life to Carrie. Now her father was gone as well. For Edward, there was Janey and his son, his mother, and two brothers who’d died in the war.
“Marybeth, I was hoping to have a word with you.”
She turned to find their pastor. She gave a nod. “Thank you for such a nice service, Pastor Orton.”
“Your father was a good man and trusted friend, Marybeth. We were blessed to have him as an elder.”
“Yes. He loved our church.” She didn’t know what else to say. A neighbor had offered to have Carrie over to play with her children while Marybeth attended the funeral, but she still needed to get home.
“I know this is a delicate matter and perhaps a poor time to bring up such a subject, but have you considered what you will do about your sister?”
Marybeth frowned. “What do you mean?”
The pastor’s expression was one of compassion. “Well, you and she are alone now, and you have no means of supporting her, much less yourself.”
“I’m sure there must be a better time to talk about all this,” Edward piped up. “The grave isn’t even covered.”
“Yes, I know. I feel terrible for it, but on the other hand, I cannot allow for a babe to go hungry,” the pastor replied.
Marybeth looked at the older man. He had been pastoring at the little Methodist church for as long as she had memory. He had presided over her mother’s funeral and her stepmother’s.
“Carrie isn’t going hungry,” Marybeth said in a barely audible voice. “The house is full of food. People haven’t stopped bringing food since the accident.”
“But that will only last a few days. In time she may well starve,” the man said. “That is why I’m suggesting you give her up. Let her be raised by a family who can provide for her. I’ve been speaking with Thomas and Martha Wandless. They’re quite well-off, as you know, and would be happy to take Carrie as their own.”
“But she’s not their own. She’s mine. I’ve raised her from birth and done a good job, if I do say so myself.” Marybeth’s ire grew. People always seemed to think they knew what was best for other folks, but Pastor Orton was the worst of all for trying to arrange people’s lives.
“Now, Marybeth, no one is trying to suggest you haven’t taken good care of your sister, and while your father was alive and providing for the both of you, no one would have suggested things go on any other way.”
“I should say not. Papa would have torn into the man who suggested he divide his family.” She fixed the pastor with a glare. “He would have despised the interference or suggestion that he couldn’t take care of his own.”
“And would have well been within his rights. But, child, you have no husband and no other relative to provide a living for you and your sister. Winter is upon us, and you’ll need money for heating and food. Where will you come by it?”
“I’ll help her.” Edward’s voice was reassuring. “I’m sure others will as well.”
“For a time,” the pastor said, nodding, “as good Christian folks should do, but it won’t be possible to continue forever.”
“I’m sure it won’t need to continue forever,” Edward replied.
“Edward!” They all glanced up at his name being called. It was his sister, Inga Weber. She waved and called out again. “Edward, could I speak to you for a minute?”
