Chapter Thirty-seven Mattie

THIRTY-SEVEN : MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

DECEMBER 1969

Mama never woke up again.

She slipped from this world early Christmas morning while Dad and I held her hands. I didn't get a chance to tell her how much I loved her or how grateful I was that she loved me. Dr.Monahan and Pastor Arnold arrived, bringing calmness and comfort with them. A kindly man from the funeral home took Mama's body away, leaving us bereft of her physical presence forever.

By noon, we'd sent everyone away to celebrate the holiday with their families. The funeral was planned for Sunday afternoon.

Dad, Nash, and I sat in the living room amid the Christmas decorations Mama had insisted I put up. They stood as a stark reminder that the life and breath of our family was gone.

"I know you have questions," Dad said after long minutes passed.

I stared at him. "Questions?" Anger overtook my grief. "Yes, I have questions. Before Mama went to the hospital, she told me someone named Gunther Schneider is my father." My gaze bored into him. "Are you Gunther Schneider?"

The name echoed in the silent house.

"Yes." He rubbed his face with both hands before looking at me. "I never wanted you or your brother to know my real name."

"Why not?" I shook my head, baffled. "I read the letters you wrote to Mama during the war. You were a prisoner. Is that why you didn't want us to know?"

His shoulders fell. "I asked her not to give you the letters."

"She said I should know who I was, where I came from, but they only confused me." My voice wavered. "All this time I thought—" I gulped air. "I thought some other man, some stranger, was my father."

I burst into sobs.

Dad rose and came to me. He knelt on the floor and took my hands in his. "No, Mattie," he said, tears running down his face. "I am your father. Me. Gunther Schneider. After the war, I was ashamed of being German. Ashamed of what my countrymen, my own brother, had done. When I was finally released from the internment camp in North Dakota, I was afraid they would change their minds and lock me up again. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let them take me away from Ava. From you and Mark."

He was sobbing now too.

When he was able to speak, he continued. "I changed my name after your mother and I married. Kurt is my middle name. Schneider can mean tailor in German, so I became Kurt Taylor. Ava said I should not be ashamed of my German heritage, but I am. I refused to pass that shame on to my children. It is a burden I would carry alone."

All I could do was stare at him, trying to process everything he'd shared.

He was German, and he'd been consumed by fear after the war. Whether those fears were rational or not, his choices from that point on were not made from selfishness but for love. Love for Mama. Love for Mark.

Love for me.

The anger and betrayal I'd felt after Mama's revelation evaporated with his astonishing confession. "You wanted to protect us."

Nash stood so Dad could sit on the sofa next to me. While he gripped my hand, he told us about his arrest in New York City, his time at Camp Forrest, and how he and Mama met.

"You were going to be a doctor?" I said, dumbfounded.

"My grandfather in Germany was a doctor, and my Mutter wanted me to become one too. She sent me to America when I was eighteen years old."

I gasped, as though someone clicked on the proverbial light bulb in my brain. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces fit.

Without explaining my actions, I ran upstairs. When I returned, I handed the old book from the shoebox to him. "Your mother gave this Bible to you. A German Bible."

A sheen of wetness filled his eyes as he reached for it. He smoothed the cover, tenderly, almost reverently. "I have not held this in many years. I wanted to dispose of it, but Ava insisted on keeping it. Mutter gave it to me before I left for America. She was a God-fearing woman."

"What does the inscription say?"

He turned to the first page. " Für meinen Sohn, Ehre Gott immer. Ich liebe dich, Mutter. For my son. Honor God always. I love you, Mother."

It felt surreal to hear my father speak German, reading something his mother—my grandmother—wrote years ago when he was a boy in Germany. "Is she still alive?"

Dad shook his head slowly. "I do not know. After the war, I wrote to many people, seeking information. A neighbor told me that my brother had moved Mutter to Berlin in 1944. So many people were lost in the bombings. I gave my address to some trusted friends in case she returned to our hometown, but I never heard from any of them."

My heart grieved for the grandmother I never knew. "And your brother? Did he survive the war?"

Shame registered in Dad's eyes. "He survived, but he was arrested by the Allies. Rolf was tried for war crimes and executed in 1947."

I told him about the photograph in the back. Tears filled his eyes when he saw it. "This was taken many years before I left for America. Mutter sold the car so I could buy passage on a ship."

He went on to tell us about his time at Fort Lincoln, about Dr.Sonnenberg, and how he gave up on life after his friend was killed.

"The only thing that kept me alive was my love for Ava."

His quiet words crushed me. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry for blaming you for everything. I didn't know. I didn't know you."

We hugged for the first time in years. I couldn't imagine how I'd gone all this time without my father's strong arms around me. I clung to him and wept.

When we parted, he finished the tale, explaining that once he and Mama married, he found refuge on the farm. He avoided going to town, afraid someone would suspect the truth about his German heritage. He'd worked hard to correct his accent, but some words simply wouldn't come out right, no matter how hard he tried. He apologized for not attending school events and church with us, and for leaving most of the parenting to Mama.

"I wasn't the father you and Mark deserved." Regret filled his voice. "But I want you to know I've always been proud to be your dad."

"I wasn't the daughter you and Mama deserved," I said, sniffling.

He reached to touch my cheek. "I love you, Mattie."

"I love you too, Dad."

We turned in early, exhausted from the emotional day. When I entered my room, the shoebox on the desktop drew me.

I had yet to read the last letter from Gunther.

I carefully unfolded it. With amazement, I read the words of love my father wrote to my mother many years ago.

My Dearest Ava...