No Black Flags in Heaven

By Jan Holte

Still mourning for her father who died in the war, Katie pits herself against her abusive stepfather to protect her depressed mother and her baby brother. Catastrophe follows catastrophe when influenza hits the community and Katie’s sister is infected. When their stepfather plans to sell their farm, leaving them homeless, and penniless, it is up to Katie to save her family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781619278455

Book preview

countries.

CHAPTER 1

Katie ducked, but not in time. The slap caught her on the cheek and knocked her off the tall stump where she had been sitting.

There's more where that comes from, said Helmut Heidelman. Don’t just sit there wasting time reading. There’s work to be done so get up and help your ma. He mounted Katie’s horse and headed toward the barn. Katie swallowed the hurt and stood up watching her stepfather until he disappeared into the barn. She sighed--if only he would disappear permanently.

Using a blade of grass, Katie marked her place in Around the World in 80 Days and headed toward the house. She kicked a late dandelion sending a spray of seeds into the shaggy yard. If Papa were here, everything would be different. She kicked another weed. But Papa wasn’t here—would never be here.

She ran to the flowerbed overrun with weeds, found a clump of asters and stomped them to the ground until they were nothing but pulp.

Eyes burning, Katie looked at their house. The white clapboards shimmered in the late afternoon sun, in stark contrast to the bare trees around her. Yet, the old house looked sad with its dirty windows, sagging curtains, and no flowery plants to brighten the windowsills.

She used to sit by the window, enjoying the geraniums Mama planted in the window boxes every spring, reading poetry and dreaming of the future. Papa said poetry was music of the soul and inventions and solutions came from daydreaming. But Hell Mutt took over the chair by the window box, sitting there smoking his cigars. He’d open the window and dump the ashes from his cigar into the window box, changing the atmosphere from fragrant flowers to stinky dead smoke.

Katie blinked back her tears and tucked in the wisps of curly red hair that had pulled loose from her braid. With her chin up, she opened the door and stepped inside.

The kitchen wash sink was near the door. Under part of the kitchen, a large cistern collected water, which ran off the roof whenever it rained. A hand pump connected the cistern to the sink. When Katie lifted the handle of the pump and pushed down, water gushed into the basin. She splashed cold water on her face and pinched her cheeks to hide her tears and to keep the slap a secret. As she emptied the basin into the pail beneath the sink, she looked around.

She needn’t have worried about her secret; the kitchen was cold and empty. She looked into the front room. Mama sat in the rocker nursing the baby. Three-month-old Ben was still bald and wrinkly and not the roly-poly baby Katie had expected. Mama said he’d grow. Katie supposed so.

Mama cuddled Ben closely as he nursed, yet her glazed eyes seemed to stare at nothing.

What’s for supper, Mama? Katie asked. Mama didn't stir. Katie called again, only louder, still receiving no answer. An egg sized lump of fear stuck in Katie’s throat. What was wrong with Mama? She could hear as well as anyone so why didn’t she answer?

Katie supposed she’d have to make supper by herself. She stoked the kitchen fire and wondered what to make. Well, there were always potatoes. The War Department wanted people to use more potatoes anyway. She imagined all the people in the world as they ate potatoes so that the soldiers on the battlefield could have enough other food. Katie banged the heavy skillet on the stove, plopped some lard into the bottom and cut potatoes and smoked ham into it. Hot drops of grease splattered onto the floor and stove. "Uff da! What a mess!" Katie wiped the stove with her apron edge leaving a dirty smudge on her apron.

There’s no bread, Mama. Katie called again, but Mama didn’t answer. Katie decided to make biscuits. Surely, she could figure out how to do that. She found the recipe on a peg by the flour bin. Her sister, Amelia, whom everyone called Mellie, must have put it there because Mama knew her recipes by heart. Only now, Mama seldom baked. On bad days, she didn’t do much of anything. It was almost as if her spirit had died with Papa.

Katie whipped the milk and flour together, ignoring the flour that drifted to the table and floor. As she mixed the dough, she thought of her stepfather. He wasn’t very big—not much taller than Mama. But what he lacked in size, he made up for in meanness. He shouldn’t have slapped her. She had simply been sitting on the big tree stump reading. She couldn’t help it if she had lost track of time. A hint of guilt flicked through her brain. She had noticed it was late in the day and near suppertime, but she had chosen to ignore those signs and think again of traveling the world over. Who wanted to stay on this depressing farm forever?

Katie shoved the pan of biscuits into the oven just as her sister Mellie came in from chores.

Herr Heidelman will be in here in a minute, Mellie called as she peeled off her barn overalls and smoothed out her dress that had been tucked inside the overalls.

Katie looked at Mellie’s flushed face. Had their stepfather slapped her, too? Probably not. Mellie tiptoed around their stepfather to avoid possible conflicts but Katie didn’t tiptoe around anyone.

Neither Katie nor her sister could think of Helmut Heidelman as a father and they refused to call him Pa. When he wasn’t around, and she was mad at him, Katie referred to him as Helmut. To his face, he was Herr Heidelman. It wasn’t worth a bruise to be disrespectful.

Mellie scrubbed her hands and came to the table. Tall and slender like their mother, she carried herself with the gracefulness and confidence that Katie lacked.

You forgot to put on the spoons, Katie, Mellie said. I'll do it. She wrinkled her nose as she walked past the stove.

I saw that, Katie said.

I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to. Oh, I wish you could stay out in the barn, Mellie said.

Ja sure, Katie answered. If Hell Mutt would let me do chores we’d both be happier.

So would the cows. Mellie laughed. I’ll never get used to being that close to a cow. And Herr Heidelman couldn’t follow me everywhere. He makes me so nervous...

Helmut Heidelman trounced in, slamming the door, interrupting Mellie and causing Ben to wake up screaming in the front room.

Can’t she ever keep that baby quiet? He screams all day and all night.

The door scared him. Katie answered.

He should get used to noises. No son of mine is going to be a sissy, afraid of the simplest noise. He removed his overalls and tossed them over a hook by the washstand. Next, he brushed the cuffs on the everyday pants he wore under his overalls. Bits of straw and dirt fell on the floor. Herr Heidelman rolled up his sleeves and lathered soap half way to the elbows, dribbling soapy water on the floor, which mixed with the dirt and made a muddy mess.

Ben had settled down and was asleep in his cradle. Katie quietly opened the bedroom door a crack and found Mama in bed, curled around her pillow, either fast asleep or pretending to be, Katie wasn’t sure which. She sighed and returned to the kitchen.

We didn't ask the blessing yet, Katie said as her stepfather piled food on his plate.

It would take more than a blessing to make this fit to eat, he said. A quick shake from Mellie’s head warned Katie not to react. Instead, they bowed their heads and waited.

Finally, Herr Heidelman prayed. Bless this food Lord, and teach Katie how to cook. Amen.

The amen was choked off as smoke poured from the oven. "Uff da the biscuits are burned," Katie cried as she ran to pull a pan from the oven.

"Uff da, uff da, complained her stepfather as he vigorously scraped the black bottom off a biscuit and sent a shower of burnt crumbs across the table and on to the floor. Why don’t you drop those silly expressions and speak English?"

Katie sat down and took a biscuit. "Papa used uff da if he made a mistake. Or if he had to do something unpleasant. Mama uses it too. And so do I. Besides, you use German words. We have to call you Herr Heidelman when a simple Mr. would do." Katie had slowly risen as she spoke until she was only a few inches from her stepfather’s face.

Katie, sit down! Mellie tugged her sleeve. Don’t make matters worse.

Katie sat. She stuffed the burned muffin in her mouth so she couldn’t talk. She’d done it again; she’d spoken out when it wasn’t needed and gotten mad over little things. Would she ever learn?

Tension vibrated through the silent room. After a few minutes, Herr Heidelman spoke. What’s the matter with you girls? Don’t you have anything to talk about? He glowered first at Katie, then at Mellie.

Katie’s stomach did a flip-flop. If she talked, her stepfather usually told her to be quiet. Now when she was quiet, he expected her to talk. How could she ever know what to do?

Mellie melted under her stepfather’s stare and broke the silence. Sadie Solsrud says two more people died from that flu yesterday.

Here in New Oslo? Katie gasped. I never though the flu would come out this far.

Sadie got a letter from a cousin in Minneapolis and thousands of people are sick all over the country, Mellie said.

They exaggerate the danger, Herr Heidelman said. People catch the flu all the time. They're sick a few days, then, they get better. Those that don't are the puny, weak ones. Or the short, freckled Norwegians.

You mean traitor Germans, Katie whispered.

I may be German, but I’m no traitor, snarled Helmut Heidelman. He reached under the table and pinched Katie’s arm.

Stop it! pleaded Mellie. It doesn't make any difference where our families came from. We’re Americans now.

"Jawohl, agreed Helmut. You tell that to Mr. Lund. He pounded his fist as if to drive each word into the table. He won’t loan us a cent just because our ancestors came from Germany. If he had his way, he'd lock us all up."

Katie knew that was wrong. She had called her stepfather a traitor in anger, yet she knew that even if he were mean and cranky, he would never hurt his country. Why, she had seen him stand and salute the flag and say the pledge of allegiance as proud as anyone last Fourth of July!

CHAPTER 2

Herr Heidelman’s chair screeched against the wood floor as he pushed it away from the table. Mellie, you’d better help Katie do the dishes. It'll take a lot of elbow grease to get the biscuit pan clean. Those things probably burned right though the bottom. You'll be lucky if there aren't holes in it. He grabbed his overalls and rammed his hat on his head as he left the house, slamming the door behind him.

Oh—He makes me so mad! Katie said, shaking her fists in the air.

He says those things just to egg you on; don’t stoop to his level. Besides, this way I don’t have to milk the cows and you get help with dishes, Mellie said.

Still angry over her stepfather’s words, Katie pushed the dirty dishes over to one side of the table. She couldn’t change her short height or freckles and she was proud to be a Norwegian American. At least her Norwegian relatives across the ocean weren’t at war against the United States!

She grabbed the dishpans off their pegs on the pantry wall. "Uff da, she said in frustration. I forgot to heat the rinse water."

You should have put the pot of well water on the stove before we sat down to eat, Mellie complained as she pushed more wood into the stove. Reservoir water is clean enough to wash. By the time the dishes are clean the rinse water will be boiling.

How come you’re so bossy to me but such a sissy-foot to everyone else? Katie wanted to know.

Because you won’t hit me, Mellie said softly.

That’s because my aim is so poor. Katie snapped her finger in the water and splattered her sister.

She slid the plates into the dishpan with a plop. The warm sudsy water that oozed over the plates and up past her wrists felt good and her anger slowly drained away. It almost felt right to do dishes with her sister again—almost like the good old days—days before Herr Heidelman.

Mellie wiped the table and the stovetop, and swept the floor. Finally, she poured the scalding water into the rinse dishpan.

Katie swished her dishrag to form little eddies in the wash water.

Stop playing, Mellie said. The rinse water’s hot.

Katie washed a plate and slid it into the rinse water. You hear the news in school every day; do people really think German Americans like Hell Mutt are traitors?

Most people don’t. But some people are afraid of anyone who looks or sounds German. In town they’re even afraid of Mrs. Schmidt.

Katie laughed. Mrs. Schmidt is meek as a mushroom and she wouldn’t hurt anyone.

People move to the other side of the street when she’s around, Mellie answered. She had to register as an enemy agent when the war started because she isn’t a U.S. citizen yet.

That’s not right. Her husband is in the Army fighting Germans right now.

"But they are still suspicious of her. She asked for a handyman the other day, but no one will