The Bavarian Jeweler (Lockets and Lace Book 0) Read online

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  The Bavarian Jeweler

  LOCKETS & LACE

  BOOK 0.5 - PREQUEL

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  BY ZINA ABBOTT,

  EDITED BY LINDA CARROLL-BRADD

  Copyright © 2017 Robyn Echols writing as Zina Abbott

  All rights reserved.

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  DEDICATION

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  This book is dedicated to

  The hard-working authors of the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog who provide the world with sweet/clean historical romances about North Americans between 1820 and 1929.

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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  This book is part of a multi-author series sponsored by the authors who write for the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog. My appreciation and thanks go to those other authors who helped develop the Lockets & Lace series of books.

  A special thank you goes to

  Linda Carroll-Bradd of Lustre Editing for copy editing this manuscript,

  and to

  Carpe Librum for the book cover and series logo.

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  DISCLAIMER

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  All the characters described in this story are fictional. They are not based on any real persons, past or present. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and unintended.

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  LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND – JANUARY 1850

  CHAPTER 1

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  Wilhelm stood at the railing of the ship Eleanor Marie as it prepared to cast off from the Liverpool dock on its way to New Orleans in America. He could have found a ship departing sooner if he had been willing to arrive in New York. However, following his father’s advice, he chose to wait for a ship headed for the port that joined the ocean with the Mississippi River. First, since it was less than fifty years since Louisiana was a French territory, many of the city’s residents spoke French, a language he knew almost as fluently as his native German. Second, unlike New York and Boston with their strong English Protestant populations, New Orleans citizens were predominantly Catholic.

  From New Orleans, Wilhelm was uncertain where he would go. At the time his father told him he must travel to America, he reminded him he did not speak English, the language of the country.

  He recalled his father’s advice. “I have been assured there are many German-speaking people in the northern part of America. There is state called Pennsylvania as well as some others around their great lakes. Many Germans have left the war-torn German states for new homes in America. Find out where they are and settle among them.”

  Wilhelm watched as one last rag-tag group of passengers struggled up the gangplank hauling their belongings contained mostly in cotton sacks with only a few small, battered chests carried by some of the men. He noted the expressions on many of their faces. Sunken cheeks and haunted eyes hinted at exhaustion or malnutrition. Many appeared as though they already endured their long voyage rather than were just now preparing to set sail.

  Two exceptions were a pair of boys with reddish hair that, Wilhelm might be six and ten years in age. In spite of the warning from the woman Wilhelm assumed was their mother, they bounded around their family, encouraging a peal of laughter from the young woman who appeared to be in her late teens. Wilhelm focused on her face framed by a white muslin mop cap grayed with age and the ever-present smoke that permeated the city air. The older boy snatched the cap off the girl’s head and waved it like a captured flag while its owner slid the sacks slung on her shoulders onto the deck, leaving her free to grab for it.

  Wilhelm turned his attention away from the shenanigans of the two boys who played keep-away with the cap while their parents scowled and surrounding older adults looked on with either disgust or disinterest. Instead, he focused on the curly brown hair highlighted with red by the sun’s rays as that heavenly body momentarily escaped its cloudy shroud. The majority of her locks remained partially caught in a loose bun while wavy wisps floated in the breeze around her face. Although she was garbed in a dull, threadbare gown of the impoverished, Wilhelm’s heart began to pound as he grew enraptured with the beauty of her face and hair. Without realizing it, he scowled when his peripheral vision alerted him other men in the crowd also found the young woman to be as attractive.

  Wilhelm felt a pang of disappointment when, after a few sharp words from their father who possessed the same brown hair as his daughter, the boys assumed a dejected demeanor and meekly handed the cap back to the young woman. She, her expression now somber, put the mop cap back on her head and tucked in all her stray locks.

  Wilhelm clenched his teeth with irritation as a voice belonging to a man standing immediately behind him made a statement he recognized as being in the English language. “Devil take the Irish; no one else wants them. Of all the rotten luck to have them on board with us.”

  Wilhelm turned to the man behind him who had spoken softly in his ear. The only word Wilhelm caught was “Irish.” However, he deduced from the man’s tone that he did not look favorably upon the latest group to board the ship.

  Wilhelm responded in German. “I have no English. Do you speak German or French?”

  The man Wilhelm guessed to be only a few years older than he was offered him a smile as he responded in German with a British accent. “I speak both. I assume since you spoke first in German, that is the language you prefer.”

  “Ya. Yes, I do. Wilhelm Mueller.” He held out his hand, which the young Englishman shook. “What is it you said about the Irish?”

  “I said ’tis unfortunate we must travel on the same ship with them. I’m Edward Greenwell, from over Manchester way, and ’tis my guess it’s your trunk chained to the other berth in my cabin. They warned me they put me with a German who spoke no English. I was told to look out for you.”

  Wilhelm felt no need to enlighten his newly-met cabin-mate that he had learned the jeweler’s craft at his father’s knee and in a hidden compartment at the bottom of his small trunk chained to the berth there was sufficient gold wire and rounds to get him started once he found a permanent location for a shop in America, and that was the reason it was secured to his berth.

  Wilhelm inhaled and stiffened his spine. “Thank you, but I don’t need to be looked out for.”

  Edward laughed good-naturedly. “All they meant was to help you with the language, and all that. I have no desire to serve as a nursemaid. However, I will warn you to stay away from the Irish.”

  Wilhelm studied the man with his tall, slender build, narrow face, brunet hair and dark eyes offset by his pale skin. “What do you have against the Irish?”

  Edward snorted out a rude noise. “They’re fractious, rebellious, and like the Scots, for centuries have been a thorn in the sides of the English. They refuse to be ruled by their rightful king. To top it off, they’re Catholic. Poor rabble, that bunch. Been nothing but a blight upon Liverpool and Manchester, ever since their potato crops have failed year after year, and they’ve swarmed over here looking for work.”

  Wilhelm eyed the passenger with whom he would share his less-than-luxurious cabin for quite some time and decided then was not the time to admit he was also Catholic. “Perhaps you should be happy they are going to America.”

  “I am that. Been plenty gone over on the coffin ships
straight out of Dublin. Too bad they all didn’t choose that path, but England is closer, you see. Many of those that come here end up in the poor house because they can’t find work or can’t keep a job. The nobs with money are more than happy to pay their fares to America to be rid of the lot. I’ve employed some in the mills, and they don’t know how to behave around their betters—too argumentative, and all that. Serves the Americans right, having them land on their shores after that lot rebelled against their mother country.”

  Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. He began to suspect it might be a long two months sharing a cabin with this man. “If you don’t care for the Americans, why do you go there?”

  “In one word—trade. The American blighters are our biggest source of cotton for the mills I manage in Manchester. ’Tis why I’m sailing into New Orleans. ’Tis one of the biggest ports close to the southern states where they grow the fluff.” Edward paused, and eyed Wilhelm with curiosity. “What takes you to a land where you don’t speak the language?”

  “Business. I speak French, the language of many in New Orleans.”

  “Buying trip, eh? What business are you in?”

  “Nein. No. No buying trip. I’m a watchmaker. I’ve come to set up a new branch of the family business.” Inwardly, Wilhelm winced at the truth he had stretched regarding his reason for relocating to America.

  Wilhelm bit back the recurring surge of resentment that during the past two months occasionally resurfaced. His mind went back to that night in Pforzheim in Baden-Württemberg, the German state just west of his native Bavaria, when his father had unexpectedly shown up at his room and started the chain of events that twisted into turmoil Wilhelm’s carefully thought-out plans for his life.

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  PFORZHEIM, BADEN-WÜRTTEMBERG – NOVEMBER 1849

  CHAPTER 2

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  Wilhelm Mueller scooted his chair a few inches closer to the small stove just before he heard the knock at the door. He rose slowly, wondering, who could be calling on him at this time of night? It had been dark for hours, mostly due to the rain that had plagued Pforzheim all day. It was a wonder that Wilhelm had not yet found his bed. Why was company calling so late?

  Surely, it was not something more sinister. He had done nothing to attract the attention of the local police or the military. He was from Bayern—Bavaria—not Baden-Württemberg.

  The knock sounded again, this time more insistent. Heaving a deep breath, Wilhelm forced his feet to the door and opened the door. He sucked in his breath at the sight before him. Standing close to the doorway in an effort to escape most of the rain pouring down on his head and shoulders stood his father, Heinrich Mueller. Wordlessly, Wilhelm stepped aside to allow him to enter.

  Wilhelm closed the door and turned to watch his father remove his overcoat and shake off as much water as he could next to entry. Wilhelm turned the one chair in the room so the back was placed closest to the stove before he took the soaked garment and draped it over the ladder back. His father’s fedora he hooked on one corner of the chair. Only then did he turn to study the man before him. Even taking into account his father’s fatigue after the long trip, he appeared older than Wilhelm remembered. The stress lines about his father’s eyes seemed more pronounced.

  In the dim light of his room, he saw his father as a mirror image of what he himself would look like in twenty-five years. They each possessed the same dark brown hair and wide-set brown eyes, as well as the same high, broad forehead and square jowls. The gray in his father’s temples and the salt and pepper on the top of his thick head of hair had increased since the last time Wilhelm saw him. At five feet eight inches, Wilhelm’s stocky build stood a mere inch over the erect stance of his father. Only this night, his father did not stand erect. Instead, Heinrich Mueller stooped, as if bearing a great weight on his shoulders.

  Heinrich offered a tentative smile. “Hello, Wilhelm. You appear well. All is good, yes?”

  Wilhelm nodded in the affirmative, although he wondered if all was good with him. The past two weeks had been a time of worry. His current journeyman stint was over, and he needed to move to his next journeyman’s assignment, one he hoped, with his father’s assistance, to arrange closer to home. Yet after the letter he received back in early summer ordering him to not write home under any circumstances, but to wait until his father arrived in the fall, he had begun to wonder if there was trouble that would derail him from his goal of becoming a master watchmaker.

  “I’m fine, Father, although confused why you are here in person. Please understand, I am happy to see you, but I expected a letter.” Wilhelm looked around until he spotted the stool he used to work on watches at his own table. He moved it close to the stove. “Sit, Father. Warm yourself. If you like, I can make you something hot to drink.”

  Heinrich shook his head as he wearily sank onto the stool. “I came from a late supper. I don’t need anything to drink. Wilhelm, I dared not write. It was not safe for you. Do you have your Gesellenbrief, your journeyman letter?”

  Confused, Wilhelm wrinkled his forehead. “Of course, I guard it as my most valued possession. I also finished my latest journeyman assignment last Saturday, although the master has let me stay on until the end of this week since he knows I do not have my next position yet. However, he has a new apprentice coming in Monday. What I do not have is a place to go. Did you find something closer to home—maybe Augsburg or Munich?”

  Heinrich once again shook his head. “You do not need another shop to work for. I will write out your final certification to declare you a master watchmaker and jeweler. I am proud the reports I have received assure me you excel at your craft. In addition, I know you are gifted in gold jewelry-making and setting stones. I have no qualms verifying you are accomplished.”

  Wilhelm felt his heart rate accelerate with his growing frustration. “Father, you know you cannot do that. The guilds will not allow me to produce my master’s piece under your direction. If they find us out, then all I have worked for will be for nothing. Besides, I did not apprentice as a jeweler or goldsmith.”

  “Those in the guild will not know. You will not need more than what I will give you where you are going. The guilds do not dominate the craft trades in America like they do here. In fact, it is your work alone that will prove your skill as a master watchmaker and jeweler.”

  Stunned, Wilhelm stared at his father while he searched for words. “America? What are you talking about? My place is in your shop. It is promised to me—my brother, Heinrich, as the master goldsmith and jeweler and me, your second son, as the master watchmaker.”

  Heinrich closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. “No. The situation has changed. It cannot be. Sit on the bed, Wilhelm, my son, and I will explain.”

  Wilhelm obeyed his father. As he slowly lowered himself onto his thin straw-stuffed tick mattress, his eyes remained glued to his father’s face. A part of him sensed that his world as he knew it was about to fall apart.

  “Wilhelm, you cannot come home to the shop. It is not just the guilds, which cause sufficient trouble for a man trying to run a successful business.” Heinrich waved his hand in front of him in a gesture of frustration. “It is the army. They have come looking for you more than once. That is why I insisted you must not write home again, no matter the reason. I have told them you finished your last apprenticeship and have moved on to your journeymen positions, but you have not shared with me where. They want you, Wilhelm.”

  “The army. Why me?”

  “It is this Frankfurt Assembly business and the disagreements between Prussia and Austria over whose king should rule a unified Germany. With us being a Catholic nation, Bavaria sides with the Austrians and will never agree to a Lutheran Prussian king to control us, one who would try to rid us of our religion. Bavaria will resist with all the might we can muster. Once our king, Maxmilian II, rejected the Frankfurt Assembly, it meant they started seeking as many men for the military as they can en
list.”

  Although Wilhelm knew somewhat of the unrest over the Frankfurt Assembly, surely the Bavarian army would not seek to enlist him. He possessed a trade.

  Heinrich leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. “They already have Horst and Johann.”

  “Horst and Johann? They are boys.”

  “You have lost track of your brothers’ ages. Horst is twenty and Johann just turned eighteen, easily old enough for the army. Of course, Johann considers it an adventure and looks forward to using weapons to kill some Prussians. Horst has more sense. He realizes he must stay vigilant to avoid death or injury in battle until he can return to civilian life. But, my two young sons are not enough for them, Wilhelm. They want you, too. I have been threatened with imprisonment if I do not report to them as soon as I know where you are or tell them of your arrival home.”

  Wilhelm slowly rose to his feet and leaned towards his father, his words were barely a whisper. “Do they not know I am almost a master watchmaker? Who will repair all their watches and clocks if they send all the watchmakers out to fight?”

  Heinrich answered with a sardonic laugh. “I said the same. They pointed to Josef Schwartz in my shop and said, ‘there is our watchmaker. We do not need two. But we need many soldiers.’”

  Josef Schwartz? Confused over why the officials would mistake the journeyman who would soon leave his father’s shop as a permanent watchmaker, Wilhelm opened his mouth to protest. His father continued speaking, not allowing him to interrupt.

  “You will be a success, no matter where you go. And, my stubborn son, I know you. I am also aware of how oppressive the guilds can be in the name of preserving our crafts. And then there is your brother, Heinrich. It is his shop, but you do not do well at being second in command. You would have constantly chafed at following your brother’s decisions, and you would have chafed at the intrusion and demands of the guild.”