The Bavarian Jeweler Read online

  His teeth clenched, Wilhelm leaned back and stared at his father. He dared not say a word to contradict him. What his father said was true.

  The senior Heinrich softened his voice as he continued. “I have talked to those who have lived for years in America. They assure me it is not the same there. In America, you will not have the safety net of a guild, but neither will you be under their domination. You can build your business how you see fit. You are my one son I do not fear turning loose in the world to make your way on your own.”

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  ATLANTIC OCEAN – WINTER 1850

  CHAPTER 3

  ~o0o~

  Edward’s query interrupted Wilhelm’s musings and brought him back to the present.

  “A watchmaker? I say, do you know how to repair them, too? I put out good coin for my pocket watch, but it keeps losing time.”

  “Perhaps, depending on the maker. I have some parts with me.” A separate, larger trunk Wilhelm had not chained to his berth held not only his clothes, but his watchmaking tools and parts, most of which were not made of precious metals. “Once we are at sea, I will look at it. It must be a calm, sunny day. I need the natural light, plus my worktable must stay as steady as possible.”

  “Capital! I’ve been meaning to locate a watchmaker but soon realized ’tis miserably difficult to find the time. ’Tis the mills keeping me busy, you see.”

  “In return, you teach me English, ya?”

  Edward threw his head back as he belted out a loud belly-laugh that drew the attention of those surrounding the pair. “I intended to all along. I’ve better things to do than serve as your interpreter the entire trip.”

  “Danke. Thank you. A good trade.”

  Wilhelm looked back in the direction of the family he had been watching earlier only to witness the mother lower a bulging sack down through the open hatch of a set of stairs that he suspected led to the lower level. None of the rest of the family was in sight, leaving him to guess they had already gone down into steerage where they would spend the majority of their time on the voyage. The woman soon began her descent while the next person in line crowded her.

  Wilhelm knew steerage was just over the cargo hold, which was over the bilge. It was a different set of stairs than those he had taken to reach his second-class cabin on the level just below the top deck.

  Edward realized what had captured Wilhelm’s attention and also looked in that direction. “Miserable way to cross the ocean, steerage is. Crowded four or five to a berth, sleeping next to the stinking, lice-ridden bodies of strangers in a room where the air grows quickly foul. Two meals a day, is all. They get their food allotment up front, fight for time at the fires to cook it, and then hope it doesn’t run out before the ship makes landfall. It gets to be every man for himself. Like animals, they are. The nob I work for was too tight to pay for a private cabin, but at least he put up the coin for semi-private rather than condemning me to that rat-infested pit.”

  When booking his passage, Wilhelm had been asked if he wished to share one of the few semi-private cabins the size of a small bedroom or if he wanted to save half the fare with a place in steerage. He had also been warned about conditions in the bargain deck. He had opted to pay the higher rate.

  “At least they only are allowed a few hours a day on top. Rest of the time, we can be out on the deck free of the vermin.”

  Wilhelm bit back the sharp words that rested on the tip of his tongue. Edward’s attitude of superiority had begun to wear on him. The contention between the different groups of English-speaking people seemed as great as the dissension among the German-speaking people he was leaving behind. He wondered if it would be better or worse in America, a large and vast land that was absorbing the opportunists and cast-asides of many of the nations of Europe.

  The Irish family that had caught his attention might be no better than the German peasants tied to the land back home. However, the pretty girl with the curling brown hair and delightful laughter had definitely caught his attention. He pushed down his pang of regret at the thought she would spend the majority of the long voyage deep in the bowels of the ship.

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  ATLANTIC OCEAN – WINTER 1850

  CHAPTER 4

  ~o0o~

  It had taken several days after the Eleanor Marie set sail before the heaving seasickness Wilhelm experienced ended. He once again felt human, although disappointed he did not escape a bout of the same malady he had endured when he crossed from Antwerp to Liverpool. He thought the earlier voyage would have inured him to the illness, but it hadn’t. Feeling once more like he would live to see his future, he climbed to the top deck to enjoy the sun, and gaze at the skies that were blue in spite of the chill winter breeze.

  Wilhelm had not wandered far before he spied the Irish family that caught his attention the day he boarded the ship. The mother and daughter sat side-by-side, each doing handwork with a thin thread and what looked like a small bone or wooden stick. The design the mother worked on appeared to be a long misshapen squiggle. He guessed the daughter crafted a floral design out of her thread. The father sat apart a small distance and smoked a pipe. The two young boys sat at the feet of the trio, taking turns pointing out things to each other and the rest of the family, as if playing a guessing game of some sort. The older boy prodded the other with his finger, prompting the younger brother to leap to his feet and bound away. The older brother chased after him, their peals of laughter floating across the ship to where Wilhelm stood. Quickly, the father barked an order Wilhelm could not understand, and the two disappointed youngsters settled once again at their parents’ feet.

  His curiosity engaged, in addition to the interest he already possessed for the young woman with the pretty face and hair now hidden under her mop cap, Wilhelm began to stroll in their direction. He stopped occasionally to study the rigging, the sails filled with the wind promising to take the ship with its passengers quickly across the Atlantic, and the people around him. He was far from the only one to come to the open deck to escape the dark and closed-in sleeping and eating spaces inside. Soon, he was within hearing distance of the family. He realized the mother had a small pillow on her lap on which she had sewn squiggles also made of worked thread. He could see the beginnings of a pattern which, if stitched together, would be a doily like the prized needlework that graced his mother’s dressing table. He realized each of the sticks had a small hook on the end which the women used to loop the thread together.

  “You can’t keep your eyes off the Irish chit, can you?”

  Wilhelm stiffened at Edward’s quiet words spoken next to his ear.

  “I can see where she’d be a pleasant distraction to help pass the time until we reach New Orleans. If you want her, you’ll have to find a private place, perhaps under a lifeboat, and make arrangements for her to meet you topside after dark. ’Twill be no easy task, not with her papa keeping an eye on her like he does.”

  Wilhelm’s temper began to build. He understood Edward did not refer to a courtship but to a dalliance. As much as he found the young Irishwoman attractive, that was not what he was after. Even though they spoke German, Wilhelm moved away so it would not appear obvious to the family he and Edward talked about them, particularly about the daughter.

  “I was not thinking about an affair with her. I was curious about what they were doing.”

  Edward harrumphed in derision. “Sure, you are. They are making lace. The Catholic convents and some of the better-off aristocratic women in Ireland have been teaching the poor Irish women to make it to help support their families, and all that. Irish lace costs a pretty penny, but the money they earn doesn’t seem to make much difference for them. My guess is most of it goes to the men and their pubs.” Edward looked at Wilhelm, his eyes beginning to dance with amusement. “But ’tisn’t the lace that catches your eye, I’ll wager. ’Tis the young woman you’d like beneath y
ou. Surely, you’ve had your share of women back in—where is it you are from?”

  “Bavaria. I was too busy learning my craft to spend time with women. When I am ready to start my trade is soon enough to think about a wife.”

  Edward shook his head in disbelief. “I understand the German language, but I can’t say I understand you or your people. A wife? You don’t have to marry the likes of her, although I must admit she’d make a nice diversion for this otherwise monotonous trip. If you don’t want her, perhaps I’ll try to get a tumble or two out of her.”

  Annoyed at the man’s cavalier attitude, Wilhelm eyed him, calculating the best way to keep Edward away from her. “What about your aversion to lice-ridden, unwashed bodies and all things Irish?”

  “There is that.” Edward raised an eyebrow with an air of suspicion. “And you don’t?”

  Wilhelm shrugged. “I’ll chance it. I have learned my craft, and I saw her first. You will help me learn the words I wish to say, ya?”

  Edward threw his head back with a laugh. “You are a constant source of amusement, Wilhelm. I will help you, for the entertainment value, if nothing else. What do you wish to say to her?”

  Wilhelm glanced towards the family. The father stared hard at Wilhelm and Edward, a suspicious expression on his face. Wilhelm sensed it was not a good time to approach the family. It would never be a good time as long as Edward was around.

  Wilhelm turned back to Edward and pointed to an empty spot away from where the Irish family sat among the crates and sea tack. “Not today. We will walk over there and visit that part of the ship. After you teach me some of the words I need, I will talk with them.”

  Wilhelm’s English lessons began in earnest later that day. The ‘th” sound gave him trouble. It did not exist in the German language. And, like in German, he found he wanted to use the “v” sound for his double-u sounds, and the “f” sound for words where he would usually use “vee” sounds.

  “No, it is not Vilhelm. It is Will-helm. You say the first letter as wah-wah-wah. If you’re smart, you’ll learn to go by Will whilst in America. They’ll remember your name easier.”

  Wilhelm did his best to pronounce the English words in the way Edward coached him, realizing by doing so he would be better understood. However, he tenaciously stuck with the proper German pronunciation of his name.

  In the common dining saloon used by the second-class passengers, Wilhelm could tell from the way Edward played to his English-speaking audience, and by their responses rife with chuckles and furtive glances in Wilhelm’s direction, that his cabin-mate regaled them with his efforts to learn the language. He suspected he also informed them Wilhelm wanted to talk to a pretty girl. Wilhelm clamped his molars tight and refused to react.

  As if to remind the ship’s passengers it was winter in the northern hemisphere, several storms blew in, one right after the other, keeping passengers inside. The few times Wilhelm ventured a peek topside, he witnessed seamen with ropes tied to their waists and attached to masts or other sturdy parts of the ship as they struggled to fulfill their duties in spite of the winds blowing and the waves washing across the deck. The time he was caught sticking his head out, the sailor yelled at him. Although Wilhelm had not understood the words, he knew the man ordered him back inside. Hollered instructions to keep the cold wind and wet out came from some of the others in the common dining area outside the rows of cabins. Wilhelm resigned himself to either reading, or, when Edward felt inclined, learning more English.

  As the days passed and his lessons progressed, he realized he began to understand the English being spoken around him, even though he still could not speak with spontaneity. He and Edward worked on polite phrases, names of items, and the differences in grammar between German and English. Soon, Wilhelm felt prepared to have Edward teach him the questions he wished to ask the Irish family, particularly the daughter, whom he watched from a distance when weather permitted passengers to enjoy the sun on the deck.

  The day arrived when the winds died down, the sun returned, and Wilhelm felt prepared to approach the family—as prepared as he could be, considering his attack of nervousness each time he considered speaking to the daughter. At the dinner meal, he asked Edward if he planned to go on deck afterwards.

  “’Tis certain the Irish will be out. I think I’ll play a few hands of cards whilst I pass the time, and maybe go up later. Join us?”

  Wilhelm shook his head. From the time he first boarded, he adamantly refused invitations to gamble. He stayed mindful he needed everything he brought with him to make a new start in his new homeland. “I’ll enjoy the sun while it is still warm.”

  “Repeat it in English, Will.”

  Wilhelm stumbled through it, knowing he massacred the English grammar even if he spoke most of the words. “The sun I enjoy while warm it is.” To cover his embarrassment, he reached for the two hard rolls remaining in a basket in the center of the table and tucked them into his jacket pocket. He stood and walked to the other end of the table and pointed to the remaining roll in the basket there. “The roll—you need?”

  A man Wilhelm knew was an American student returning home after studying in France grabbed for the roll and began to toss it in the air just out of Wilhelm’s reach. “What you want the bun for, Deutschman?” Wilhelm leaned forward and snatched the roll as it reached its zenith on one of the tosses. He answered in French. “You do not need it. Do not play with food.”

  Wilhelm turned his back on those remaining in the common room, ignoring the jibes and laughter directed his way. A plan in mind, he refused to be deterred.

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  ATLANTIC OCEAN – WINTER 1850

  CHAPTER 5

  ~o0o~

  Wilhelm sucked in a gulp of fresh air as he stepped out on the open deck. Looking around, he quickly spotted the Irish family in their usual spot. With purpose, he strode towards them until he stood before the father. Both boys stopped their play as he approached, and both women glanced his way before returning to their needlework. He noticed a becoming blush blossom on the face of the young woman. She caught his eye the first day he boarded the ship, but he wondered if she ever noticed him.

  ~o0o~

  Bridget Ryan’s body hummed with awareness as soon as she glimpsed the sober-faced young man with his dark hair and eyes. She remembered him watching them that day in Liverpool when her brothers, in their excitement over finally boarding the ship that would take them to America, had snatched the mop cap from her head and launched into a spontaneous game of keep-away. She started to join in their fun until their father sharply reminded them all she needed to keep the cap on.

  It was not uncommon for a single young woman, such as she was, to keep her head uncovered. However, she knew her hair, with its curls and reddish highlights, did attract attention. When it came to men, young or old, it too often attracted the wrong kind of interest. Although in the past several years she heard more than one hopeful swain declare she was beautiful, she wasn’t sure if it was her face that was pretty, or if people noticed her hair and dark blue eyes.

  Her parents had already discussed with her the importance of keeping her hair covered and staying next to them while on the voyage. With them living in such close quarters and surrounded by all types of people, some of them up to no good, her parents warned her she and her brothers could never go off on their own or let their guard down. The family was assigned to all sleep in one of the bunks that was no bigger than the bed her parents shared by themselves back in Ireland. Her ma insisted she sleep in the middle flanked by her two brothers, while the parents, as if creating a protective barrier for their offspring, slept on each edge.

  Although they directed their words of warning to all three—her and her brothers—she sensed much of the concern was for keeping her safe from those men who did not have honorable intentions. Her father, especially, warned her he understood how men think. He could tell by looking at a man’s face when his in
tentions were disrespectful. Just like some of the men back in Manchester had tried to get her off by herself, there were a few of the young men among the steerage passengers who already flirted outrageously with her to the point her da chased them off.

  However, the young man approaching them now seemed different. The last time she saw him, he was with the English toff with the fancy clothes and arrogant attitude. She wondered why the two were friends, for this man dressed in clothes that looked foreign, like he was from the continent. Where the Brit displayed an air of superiority, this one looked confident, and observant, but he did not strike her as someone who thought he was better than those around him.

  Her father commented more than once on the English dandy they saw twice with this man. None of his words had been complimentary. The toff reminded him of the insufferable managers, as well as the owner of the mill back in Manchester—men with aristocratic roots who were often second or third sons of second or third sons. They were usually men who would never inherit a title. Instead, they turned to trade rather than submit to a life in the military or ministry. By the time the family were able to purchase their tickets to America, her father had been fed up with such men.

  But the Brit was nowhere to be seen. The serious young foreign-looking man who constantly filled her thoughts stood within a few feet of her father. What did he want? She desperately wished he might stop and visit.

  Just the thought that the man might stay, and she would be able to hear him speak, caused a wave of heat to blossom below Bridget’s neckline. She felt the blush move up until she knew her entire face glowed pink with embarrassment. Hoping the man who now stood before her father would not notice, she focused on the rose she was crocheting.

  ~o0o~

  Wilhelm offered the father a curt bow. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Hello. My name is Wilhelm Mueller. Please, may I a few minutes with your family sit?”