Gretchen had always thought those girls who fainted in Alina’s books were plain silly. It felt odd to want to faint and be jealous of those girls who knew the exact moment when to faint and make it count. Fainting had to be better than what she was doing, which amounted to a whole lot of nothing.
“Did you hear me?” Tante Klegg said.
Gretchen blinked. She could not think of an answer because she had so many questions of her own. Of course, she had heard Tante Klegg. But she had not understood.
“What do you mean?” Karl said. He put his hand on Gretchen’s shoulder.
Gretchen did not move. She could not. She had forgotten how.
“I mean that Gretchen is my daughter,” Tante Klegg said.
A sharp pain jabbed behind Gretchen’s temple, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind raced, trying to remember how they got to this point. She did not realize asking about an unknown uncle would destroy her family.
“We discovered my condition when we arrived in this country.” Tante Klegg spoke to Karl since Gretchen would not look at her. “We could not be outcasts in our new—” She paused, struggling to master a myriad of emotions. “A foreign mother, unwed, is only meant for the poor house if she has no family to speak for her. When we settled in Grove City… Well. We never corrected assumptions. Gretchen looked like Adelaide.”
Gretchen pressed her palm against her forehead. She did not understand how they could be so matter-of-fact. Tante Klegg made it sound like they were talking about weeding the garden. Gretchen felt as if her world was a pile of loose dirt at the edge of a stream, breaking in chunks to float with a mind of its own. Everything was falling apart…
Except for the things that clicked together. Gretchen did not get along with Tante Klegg. But Gretchen could read Tante Klegg’s moods, because she recognized them in herself, unlike Adelaide Miller, who was a complete mystery.
No matter what Gretchen did or said, she could never win the affection of the woman who she thought was her mother. At least when Gretchen was clever, Tante Klegg would express resentful pride.
Gretchen’s heart shattered. What Gretchen had interpreted as resentment was more likely sorrow. Tante Klegg could not, should not, get too close to a daughter who was not supposed to be hers. This was why her aunt and mother had warned her to not ask questions she did not want the answers to.
Her mother—well, Tante Miller if this was true—had never referred to Werner as Gretchen’s brother. Never of her own accord, that is. That had always bothered Gretchen.
Of course, if Gretchen was Tante Klegg’s daughter, then she would be Werner’s cousin, not his sister. And Gretchen’s father was not her father after all. He had always made a point of treating her like a beloved, trusted daughter, because he was—is—a good man.
Gretchen was not sure she could say the same of her aunt and mother. Were they good people for spending all these years lying to her to save their reputations in a small town?
“You married off your sister so she could be your child’s respectable parent?” Karl sounded outraged.
Gretchen was grateful that Karl’s thoughts mirrored her own.
Tante Klegg exchanged a glance with her sister. Gretchen felt as if they measured each other against years of wary truces.
“Adelaide’s marriage to Gregory was well-timed, but not my doing,” Tante Klegg said. “She was pretty and pleasant.”
Gretchen glanced at Adelaide Miller, thinking how few were the times she had been pleasant over the years.
“We knew I would not get a husband unless he needed a hand at his farm. And I did not want to be someone’s brood-hen or farmhand after losing my Alric. But Adelaide,” Tante Klegg continued, “she charmed the American—”
Gretchen winced, now knowing “the American” was her beloved, adoptive father, Gregory.
“—and he convinced himself he loved her dreams of beautiful things. Gregory was a good man, we could see that, but he was stupid to be traveling in our land during times of unrest. Of course, we saw our way out. Adelaide made Gregory promise to bring me with her.” Tante Klegg glared at her sister, who glared in return. “I now know I should have remained in Größe Deutsch rather than suffering your foolishness all these years.”
Adelaide Miller gasped. “My foolishness!”
Gretchen felt hot and cold. She both sweated and had chills running down her back. She felt stupid, and betrayed, and simple. And angry. Her head ached from all the blood pulsing through it. Gretchen was sure she was going to explode.
“All this talking and arguing and y’all never say nothing,” Karl said in wonder. “You bicker and fight worse than the Rebs and Yanks and over what? A mistake from years and years ago?”
Gretchen cleared her throat. She was starting to question everything, including whether Werner was actually her older brother. “How old am I?”
“You were born in 1848,” Tante Klegg replied without hesitation.
“Mein Gott,” Gretchen swore. Tante Klegg’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m the same age as Werner?”
“You are older by six months,” Tante Klegg explained. “Werner was always bigger than you. It was easy to say he was your older brother.”
Gretchen looked at the ceiling, determined not to let tears of frustration burst from her. This meant she was seventeen, not fifteen, and of age. No wonder Adelaide was eager to marry her off. She spun, skirts whipping around her ankles. “He knew, didn’t he? Werner knew I was older than him,” she shouted. “And that was why he was always so mean to me, to keep me in my place so I would never think about it.”
“He could not have known,” Tante Klegg protested. “We all promised each other.”
A tiny noise escaped Adelaide Miller.