Adversity - Keeping the Faith: The Faith Chronicles, #2

By Sidney St. James

ADVERSITY – KEEPING THE FAITH

BOOK 2

FAITH CHRONICLES

TEXAS HISTORY

 

In the sacred verses of Galatians 2:20, the words resonate: "I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the FAITH of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Such profound sentiments stir the depths of the soul, igniting a journey in Texas history that spans generations and continents, a trip like that of the Struss Family descendants.

Amidst the rugged landscape of Texas, between 1836 and 1846, a wave of immigrants from Germany swept across the land, forever shaping the state's destiny. Among these pioneers were the Struss Family descendants, individuals who carried dreams and determination and whose impact reverberated through politics, economics, and the very fabric of Texan society. A period of profound change was set in motion, leaving an indelible mark by the mid-1850s.

Though the tale you're about to embark on is woven with threads of historical fiction, its foundation rests on the bedrock of truth. One could argue that it ventures into creative nonfiction, for it springs from the essence of real lives, struggles, and triumphs. Through the lens of this narrative, you'll witness the journey of an ordinary German family confronted with the agonizing decision to sever the ties that bound them to the River Hunte near Rastede and Oldenburg, Germany.

Their voyage is one fraught with trials and tribulations. Unfavorable winds challenge their resolve as they brave the tempestuous North Sea. Storms rage, claiming lives aboard the vessel that carries their hopes. Yellow fever and other insidious illnesses threaten their existence, while the specter of Indian attacks cast shadows of fear and uncertainty.

How curious that our relationship with history evolves as we transition from childhood to adulthood. Once endured with impatience, the classroom's stale chronicles become the source of fascination and enlightenment in later years. The tapestry of history reveals its intricate threads of human lives, passions, trials, and triumphs. It unfolds as a panorama of joys and sorrows, victories and failures, as complex and compelling as the human experience itself.

And so, the pages of this novel unfold to reveal a saga of people—real people—etched with flesh and bone, colored with emotions, strengths, weaknesses, and above all, an unshakeable faith in Jesus Christ. For history is not mere dates, names, and places; it's the pulsating heartbeat of humanity, a journey marked by power, its exercise, and its void. Here, in the realm of creative fiction and creative nonfiction, we find a genre that breathes new life into the study of history.

Sidney St. James, a dedicated professional genealogist, invites you on a voyage through time, bridging over thirty years of family research and numerous history books. With skillful prose, he delves into the lives of real people, capturing their essence, challenges, and unwavering faith. This is a journey into the heart of ADVERSITY – Keeping the Faith, where Texas history and humanity intertwine, illuminating the past with a vibrant, resonant light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BeeBop Publishing Group
• Release date: Sep 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393006473

Sidney St. James

Sidney St. James is an extraordinary author who has made his mark in the world of science fiction suspense. With a creative mind that knows no bounds, St. James weaves captivating tales that transport readers to thrilling and otherworldly realms. His unique ability to blend the elements of science fiction with heart-pounding suspense has garnered him a dedicated following of readers eager to embark on their next exhilarating adventure. Born with an insatiable curiosity and a love for all things speculative, St. James found his calling in the realm of science fiction. From a young age, he was drawn to the limitless possibilities and unexplored frontiers of the genre. Influenced by literary greats and inspired by the wonders of the cosmos, St. James embarked on a writing journey that would push the boundaries of imagination and captivate readers with their visionary tales. St. James' science fiction novels are a testament to their boundless creativity and meticulous attention to detail. With each page, readers are transported to intricate and fully realized worlds, where technological advancements, extraterrestrial encounters, and moral dilemmas abound. His skillful storytelling keeps readers on the edge of their seats, as they navigate through a maze of suspense, intrigue, and thought-provoking concepts. In addition to his literary accomplishments, St. James is an avid pickleball player. This dynamic sport, which combines elements of tennis, badminton, and table tennis, serves as a source of balance and inspiration for St. James. The strategic gameplay and the camaraderie of the pickleball community provide a welcome respite from the boundless realms of science fiction that occupies his mind. As St. James continues to push the boundaries of the science fiction suspense genre, his unique blend of imagination, suspense, and pickleball prowess sets him apart as a true force to be reckoned with. With each new novel, readers eagerly anticipate the next thrilling journey that St. James will take them on, whether it's unraveling the mysteries of distant galaxies or engaging in a high-stakes match on the pickleball court. Sidney St. James is a true visionary and an author whose stories and pickleball skills will leave readers and opponents alike in awe.

Book preview

This is a historical fiction novel based on over forty years of genealogical research. An effort was made to preserve actual events found in years of studying microfilm, and hundreds of trips to forgotten graveyards found their way to the pages in these writings.

There are parts of this book where, due to the narrative style of the author, may or may not be accurate. Character names are from names found in history and are not necessarily the actual character. Historical events from archived newspaper articles depict what happened in the early to mid-1800s portraying scenes built from these events whenever possible.

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, come from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible in the public domain.

All lyrics throughout this novel are from songs written before 1923 and are in the public domain and not subject to copyright protection.

Copyright © 2023 by Sidney St. James

This novel is the 2nd Edition of Adversity – Keeping the Faith with added events, corrections, and other enhancing features.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the BeeBop Publishing Group and Sidney St. James, except where permitted by law.

BeeBop Publishing Group® is a registered trademark of A. J. Struss Company, LLC and the colophon is a trademark of the BeeBop Publishing Group.

The jacket format and design of this book are protected trade dresses and trademarks of BeeBop Publishing Group and Sidney St. James

Manufactured in the United States of America

Published Simultaneously in Canada,

Europe, Asia, and Australia

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DEDICATION

To the guiding light of my life, my mother, whose unwavering love and boundless strength have been my inspiration and shelter through every storm. Your wisdom, kindness, and endless support have shaped me into who I am today. In your embrace, I found the courage to chase my dreams, and in your words, I discovered the power of resilience. This work is a tribute to the countless sacrifices you've made and the endless love you've given. Thank you for being my rock, my confidante, and my eternal source of love. This book is dedicated to you, Mom, with all my heart.

PROLOGUE

In the year 1970, a time when I was fully absorbed in the pursuit of education at Texas A&M University, a significant part of my life played out within the hallowed halls of knowledge, my days spent laboring at the Reserve Reading Room of the campus library. What I failed to recognize initially was that this seemingly ordinary workplace was situated just beside one of the State’s most expansive microfilm repositories. Little did I know that within its dimly lit chambers, my journey into the depths of family history would commence.

Fresh from a visit to my grandmother’s quaint abode in Eagle Lake, the echoes of our discussions lingered in my mind. Our topic of conversation revolved around the elusive ancestry of my great grandfather, obscured by the silence that typically shrouded such matters in German households. My father's solitary remark was that he was an illegitimate child—enough to spark my determination. Armed with this fragment of information, I resolved to uncover the identity of his parents, with the intent of dispelling the shadow of illegitimacy that had hung over his memory.

And so it began, my unrelenting obsession with genealogy and the beginnings of my career as a professional genealogist. All of this, set against the backdrop of the Texas A&M University library, a place where every seeker of ancestral truths inevitably faces the impenetrable brick wall that halts their research. In those days, the landscape of information was not yet graced by the marvels of the Internet; we relied on tangible records and the ceaseless quest for hidden truths.

My curiosity, a persistent companion, drove me to confront the challenge head-on. My ancestral quest took me back through time to the mid-1800s in Germany, a journey that stretched across oceans and centuries. But as I navigated this intricate web of history, a stark reality emerged—I was confronted with an uncharted expanse. With my German lineage as the focal point, tracing my steps back to those who walked before me was a task of immense proportions.

The daunting question remained: what steps should I take next? How does one breach the formidable barrier that obstructs their path? More than four decades have elapsed since that juncture, yet the essence of that pivotal moment remains ever relevant. And at the heart of it all was a simple truth: to progress, I needed to embrace the essence of my forebears' experiences.

Before delving into the grand tapestry of my family's history, I made a pilgrimage to Columbus, Texas, and embarked on a journey through the courthouse's hallowed archives. With diligence, I unearthed the records that divulged the identities of my great grandfather's parents. A treasure trove of information unfolded before me, leading me to the hinterlands of Frelsburg, Texas, where my great grandfather had once tread. There, amidst the dust of time, I stumbled upon his last will and testament—a testament to his existence and his indelible impact on my own journey.

It was in those moments that the roots of my profession as a genealogist and an author took hold. A novel, In the Eye of the Storm, later christened Adversity – Keeping the Faith, began to take shape within me. The first twenty pages were birthed from the rich tapestry of my great-great-great-grandfather's voyage from Oldenburg, Germany, to the vast expanses of Texas in 1845. However, life's intricate weavings often dictate their own pace, and my career and the responsibilities of raising my family took precedence.

More than four decades would elapse before the final pages of that novel would emerge, a testament to the perseverance of both my characters and my own journey. Over time, twenty-one additional novels followed, each tethered to my fascination with genealogy. Whether it be the intricate memoirs of Dilue Rose Harris in The Rose of Brays Bayou, the storied saga of Sam Bass in Aces and Eights, or the resilient spirit of Faith in Seventy Times Seven, my narratives are imbued with a fascination for the social history that enshrouds my subjects.

For me, genealogy transcends mere names and dates; it breathes life into the past, allowing me to connect with the struggles, triumphs, and sacrifices of those who paved the way. In every line of research, I endeavor to immerse myself in their world, to experience the echoes of their lives, and to honor the journey that brought me to this place.

CHAPTER ONE

At the Foot of a Freshly Covered Grave

Across the rolling hills of northern Colorado County in Texas lay an expansive canvas of white, a pure cocoon enveloping the undulating landscape. The undisturbed mist hung heavily, draping over every hill and hollow, embracing structures and trees alike. It shrouded distant objects in a veil of obscurity, its tendrils weaving through the contours of the terrain. The pristine curtain of mist unfurled its delicate dance around the Trinity Lutheran Church in Frelsburg, each gravestone it touched receiving a tender caress. It traced an ethereal path through the rows of markers, some adorned with verdant grass, each bearing names that resonated with generations – Brune, Frels, Malsch, Fehrenkamp, and Struss, among others, like echoes from the past.

Amid this otherworldly scene, a figure stood at the freshly laid grave. Mary Struss, her form draped in the chilling embrace of the mist, stood with an air of solemnity. Her gaze was fixed upon the enigmatic shape before her, her hands outstretched, the fog veiling them from her own sight. An enigmatic silhouette materialized from the dissipating haze, a riddle that slowly resolved into startling clarity. It was impossible, yet inescapable – it was herself.

A moment hung suspended, as if time itself held its breath. Mary's gaze lifted to the heavens, her figure becoming a solitary emblem in the midst of the mist. Her surroundings seemed to merge with the fog, casting her as a solitary soul in search of something she could not define. And then, amid the swirling haze, a faint darkness emerged, etching the outline of a cross within the ethereal canvas.

Amid the whispers of voices, distant as echoes from another realm, a room materialized without walls. Fragments of words drifted on the air, fragments that tugged at Mary's consciousness. What do they say? Why the tears? I don't understand. Is someone reaching out? Her outstretched hand passed through the air without resistance, like a specter traversing a void. A voice, both unfamiliar and hauntingly familiar, pierced the haze. Is she fading? Mother... Mother, open your eyes! The words seemed to hold a thread of recognition.

Within the fog-laden realm, Mary moved with an urgency born of desperation. Her steps faltered as she navigated the shrouded expanse. Who speaks? Wait! Johann... Yes, I remember now, Johann. Where is he? Johann, talk to me. Where are you? Her perspective shifted, and she hovered above her lifeless form, an ethereal observer. No, I'm not fading, Johann! She turned, her gaze sweeping the mist-shrouded landscape, a mixture of yearning and uncertainty driving her search.

She glanced back at her physical form, resting atop wooden crates. Amidst the maelstrom of confusion, she grasped her surreal state – suspended, detached, a mere specter. Lord, what is unfolding? Have I departed? And if so, where are the stairs to heaven? Guide me through this uncertainty, I beseech you. Fear grips me, but I do not want to be overcome. Mary fought to steady her racing heart, her emotions a tempest within.

Amid the turmoil of her thoughts, memories from childhood resurfaced. Is this the realm of the divine? She began to recite a prayer learned in her youth: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take... Faith collided with uncertainty, a battle waged within her as she sought solace in the familiar words.

As my lifeless form lies before me, the voices that once melded into a cacophony now sharpen into clarity. A murmur of voices fills my ears, growing in volume. Once more, I ask myself, 'What is this sensation?' Mary's eyes widened as the sounds intensified, each word a piercing note. She covered her ears, shutting out the clamor, her eyes squeezed shut to escape the onslaught. How much more could she endure?

And then, silence. The mist began to lift, as if curtains were drawn closed. Darkness enveloped her, an absence of light akin to a moonless night.

Suspended in this void, darkness becomes my companion. I hang from a rope, alone in the darkness and dampness. Drawn downward into a fathomless abyss, cold and wet. Where am I now? The confusion overwhelms. Each turn of the narrative unveiled new layers, each revelation leaving her grappling for understanding. Mary slumped, hands buried in her pockets, seeking refuge in her favorite book. But it had brought her only trouble, not answers. Her ears strained for sounds, any sounds, but they remained elusive. For the first time in this enigmatic journey, her façade crumbled, leaving her face raw and vulnerable. Her eyes darted, her movements grew frantic, a whirlwind of emotions spiraling within her. She stopped suddenly, her lips trembling, her eyes glistening with tears. Johann, Johann, I'm lost.

In the distance, faint beams of light pierced the darkness, each one shooting off in a different direction. What is that luminance? Could this be the awakening I yearn for? Ah, the warmth of the sun... finally. Sunlight breaks through the darkness of night. What was once a mere glimmer transformed into an undeniable radiance.

Unsure why, Mary surrendered to a growing sense of tranquility, convinced that this was not a dream. The silence pressed upon her, a mist-like weight. Her awareness deepened as she gazed into the brilliant light. Her physical form was no longer present. This can't be real. It must be the moment of awakening. My body is not before me. Why can't I see Johann? Yes, I remember... my children, my beloved children!

The once-unclear voices grew louder and more distinct. Mary is fading. Yellow Jack has taken her. Mother, I love you. The words faded away, accompanied by sobs. You've been my closest friend. Your absence will leave a void. God is with you.

An overwhelming sense of contentment enveloped Mary as she turned midair, drifting toward the luminous embrace of the light. Ah, the inviting light, warm and gentle. I am at peace. Fear no longer holds me captive. God is near. But where are the stairs? Mary paused, tilting her head, her ear attuned to the darkness behind her.

Within her memories, Mary had encountered the fall of night, the kind that transforms roads into gray-tinged photographs. But this experience was unique, a darkness that stole reason and replaced it with trepidation. Amidst it all, a melody emerged, an unfamiliar gospel tune that resonated with beauty. Music flowed effortlessly, like waves caressing the contours of a beach. The sound seemed to emanate from all directions.

The harmonious melody appeared to originate from behind her, piercing through the heart of the surrounding darkness. Ahead, the light beckoned, a soothing and irresistible invitation. The hymn continued, its words crystalline. Should I seek out angels? Something compels me to turn, to follow the source of this music.

Swing low, sweet chariot

Coming for to carry me home,

Swing low, sweet chariot,

Coming for to carry me home.

I looked over Jordan, and what did I see

Coming for to carry me home?

A band of angels coming after me,

Coming for to carry me home.

Amid the enchanting hymn, Mary found herself turning once more toward the radiant light, half-expecting cherubs to descend, their wings glistening as they swept her away to her heavenly abode. In this moment, she no longer resisted His presence; she was ready to embrace God's invitation. She moved with purpose, a sense of purpose she had long yearned for, a purpose that was now undeniable. She was certain that heaven resided within that luminous glow, and the vague images within that brilliance surely were the steps leading upwards, a staircase paved with light that ascended to the very heart of the divine realm.

The details of her passing were a hazy memory, but she knew she had crossed over to another realm. Her form, perfectly healthy and unblemished, stood as a testament to her newfound state. She scanned her surroundings, her gaze landing upon a choir that seemed to waver in and out of focus, much like the one she had sung with in her church during her girlhood.

As her gaze roved, there was no trace of anger within her, but a subtle exasperation tinged her tone as she spoke aloud, I sense God as acutely as the love I hold for Johann and our children. Who's to say that such feelings aren't real? If these emotions aren't real, then what is? If we cannot trust the authenticity of our senses, then the very concept of reality crumbles. God is love! His presence is as palpable as the very ground beneath my feet.

Drawing nearer to the choir, she was about to gain a better view when a captivating aroma wafted through the air, halting her in her tracks. The scent of Bethmannchen, fresh Christmas cookies, filled her senses, a fragrance that triggered memories of her mother's holiday baking. Abruptly, she turned, and in the midst of the mist, her mother appeared. Not as the aged figure she had been at the end, but vibrant and full of life. Mary reached out, her fingers brushing against the warmth of her mother's outstretched arm.

Into her mother's embrace she was drawn, a hug followed by gentle kisses upon her face. It was a scene straight from her deepest desires – baking Bethmannchen with her mother. It might not align with everyone's vision of heaven, but for Mary, in this moment, it was a vision of pure bliss, her heaven, unique to her place and time.

But then, something shifted. Mary's eyes were open, though she couldn't recall why. What is this? Unseen hands clutching at my gown, pulling me back, back towards the music. Release me! Stop! Why do this? Confusion knotted her thoughts once again. A surge of pure panic constricted her chest, her muscles seemingly fighting against the very act of breathing, as though her body were recoiling from life itself.

At last, a shallow breath came, each inhalation an effort against suddenly heavy ribs. Her mind was awash with static, thoughts incoherent and disjointed. Is this my eulogy playing? Do I move toward the light? Should I struggle? If so, what against... the light... the darkness? Should I yield to the force pulling me from the brilliance? Can there be compromise between the light and these invisible arms urging me back into its embrace? Never before had a decision been this arduous. Mary wrestled to regain control over her whirling emotions.

Yet, let us pause and rewind, for this story truly begins one year prior.

Mary Wilhelmina Struss, a woman of delicate grace, stood at around five feet four inches in stature. Her olive complexion defied her age, many friends attesting that she looked far younger. Despite her slight limp, a reminder of her fall from Lucky, her favorite horse, at the tender age of thirteen, her recent forty-fifth birthday seemed to have cast a spell upon her. She was as radiant as a woman in her mid-twenties.

Soft tendrils of honey-hued hair caressed her cheeks and neck, a pale halo that framed her captivating blue eyes. She was a woman of few words, reserving speech for what truly mattered, and then her words were like finely tuned instruments. Seldom did her voice rise in volume, but the tone she adopted spoke volumes of her earnestness.

Their home, while not grand like the residences of the local elite, was perfectly suited for the Struss family. Mary managed the daily affairs of the household, her robust health a testament to her care. A loving husband, Johann, and their two delightful boys, John Jr. and Carl, completed their little family unit.

The Struss residence stood just a few hundred feet from Rastede's bustling business district. Mary and Johann shared a room, while their sons inhabited the other. The third room served as a communal space for dining and relaxation. A massive slab of black walnut, lovingly carved by Johann, occupied a corner of this room. The table's intricate design depicted coon dogs and hunting scenes, each detail a testament to Johann's craftsmanship.

Against one wall stood a meticulously carved bookcase, adorned with leaves, berries, and birds, an ode to nature's beauty. Johann, a self-reliant farmer, toiled the same fields as his father and grandfather. He was a sturdy figure, with a frame free of excess fat, standing at an impressive six feet two inches. Scars, souvenirs from a dangerous encounter with a wildcat in his youth, crisscrossed his chest – a testament to his resilience and strength.

Mary and Johann's two sons, Johnnie and Charles, lent their youthful energies to the family's endeavors. Johnnie assisted in the fields, while Charles supported his mother with household chores and other tasks suited to his age. Their tobacco crop, tended by Johann and Johnnie, flourished along the banks of the river. Johann's masterful craftsmanship extended beyond the fields – he was a skilled woodworker, and his artistry was displayed in the ornate carvings of their dining table, adorned with scenes of hunting and camaraderie.

The warm glow of the fireplace illuminated their evenings, casting long shadows across the deerskin rug. The flames danced and flickered, crackling as they consumed the dry wood. Johann moved toward the fire, holding his hands out to absorb its gentle warmth.

Johann, stepping in from the cold, allowed a gust of wind to force the door wide open. Mary's efforts to kindle a comforting fire were thwarted as the breeze extinguished her carefully constructed warmth. Johann, close the door! Nag, nag, nag... rough day, sweetheart? he quipped, wrinkling his nose in a playful manner.

Mary's expression softened, a curl of her hair falling lazily over her forehead. No, dear, just wanting to keep the house warm for the children and ourselves. You look troubled. Is something amiss? The fireplace was their miniature sun, casting elongated shadows over the deerskin rug. Flames danced and swayed, creating a mesmerizing spectacle of light and shadow. Despite the drafty door, it was a relief to feel the warmth emanating from the hearth, even if it came from just one direction. Johann walked over and extended his hands toward the fire, as if trying to capture every last trace of its comforting embrace.

Mary's response to Johann was swift and impassioned, her words flowing forth with a mix of frustration and exasperation. Carl was helping me prepare the chickens for supper. After beheading one of them, blood sprayed everywhere as that foolish hen darted inside, leaving a mess in its wake. Look at this! These draperies took me weeks to knit, and now they're stained with blood... ruined! Smoke filled the house because the flume on the cookstove got clogged. It's been a disaster of a day, and I do not...

Johann, quick to grasp her point, raised his hand to interrupt her. Okay, okay, Mary, I understand. It's been a rough day, hasn't it? Where have you been? I expected you back much sooner!

Johann moved closer, enfolding Mary in a warm, sturdy embrace. His touch had an electrifying effect, making his higher cognitive functions give way to the primal surge of endorphins. In the throes of this chemical intoxication, he held her as if the world had melted away, leaving only the two of them in the warmth of their shared love. He chuckled as he covered his mouth, his laughter giving way to a hearty belch. Had some trouble with the wagon when we were loading up the tobacco leaves. Trouble with the wagon, or trouble at Kleberg's, where you were drinking beer? Mary retorted with a knowing look. Ah, well, kind of both, I suppose. He shot a mischievous glance at their son, John Jr., who was observing the exchange. I've told you, I don't want John going to those places, and yet you took him, didn't you? Didn't you? Mary's anger was palpable, her teeth clenched in frustration. Mary, I've said this before. John is almost thirteen; he can handle himself in a field and contribute like a grown man. He deserves some privileges, some rewards. He's growing up, and you need to accept that. Anyway, why the sudden sharpness tonight? What's bothering you? Johann swiftly shifted the conversation to avoid being further reprimanded.

Facing the wood-burning stove, Mary stirred the pot of chicken and dumplings, her gaze fixed on the simmering concoction. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stirred, the act becoming a kind of release for her pent-up emotions.

Approaching her from behind, Johann gently took the spoon from her hand and turned her around, pulling her close. Mary nestled her head against his chest, seeking solace in his embrace. His heartbeat, steady and reassuring, echoed in her ear as she savored these moments that often felt too fleeting.

Mary, we need to sit down and talk about what's bothering you. This isn't like you, and you know we always find a way to talk through our problems. Johann's voice was tender, an unspoken promise of support and understanding.

Lifting her head slowly, Mary's tear-streaked face met Johann's gaze. He tenderly wiped away the tears that escaped her eyes. You don't want to hear it. It will only make you angry again. Alright, I promise I'll listen without getting mad. Tell me, what's eating at you? So much is changing around us, Johann. Our older children have moved far away, and they hardly visit anymore. In town, everyone's talking about these newfangled machines that are taking over. Many of our friends are struggling to find work. These advanced contraptions are making it hard for people to make a decent living. Take that tobacco shredder you've started using – you remember the one? It shredded the leaves before we took them to market? Johann shifted uneasily, his foot tapping on the floor as he chewed on his lower lip. Of course, it saved us from hiring a crew for two weeks. But how does that make you so sad? I'm not quite following. You're missing the point. When you used to get the Brune boys and the Frels family to help in the fields, you paid them a fair wage. They spent that money on flour and essentials for their families. But now? Now they can't find work. "But we've been saving up money in case we need it later. Our savings come from my investment in that tobacco shredder, from not having to pay for