People of the Dream

By Michael Macijeski

“Sweeping”—William S. Connery, author of Civil War Northern Virginia 1861 and Mosby’s Raids in Civil War Northern Virginia

“An American story . . . Authentic, genuine, and relatable”—Jim Howell, business consultant, McLean, Virginia

How would you react to history’s trials? Could you overcome fear and doubt and rise to the challenge? What did it feel like to the very real individuals who faced moments that make us gasp?

Willi Edelmann, a Hessian prisoner of war—Adsila, a Cherokee woman on the Trail of Tears—Toby Morris, a runaway slave boy—Eleanor Roosevelt Simmons, a young woman called to help African-Americans—all face historic challenges as their lives unpredictably intertwine. Their families must grapple with both society’s bigotry and each generation’s special trials to fulfill the dream they share.

PEOPLE OF THE DREAM is historical fiction anchored in the real life events of American history. Its gripping blend of personal drama with humor and rich historical settings will appeal to readers who enjoy books like Kathryn Stockett’s The Help and Noah Gordon’s The Physician. Set in multiple locations across the country, People of the Dream sweeps readers along from colonial times through the present—all through the eyes of men, women, and children who lived these experiences first hand.

Visit Washington at Valley Forge—help build the West—fight to end slavery—protest for women’s right to vote—join a 1920s jam session—work as a “Rosie the Riveter”—grow up in the 1950s—and live so many more moments in history as you enjoy People of the Dream.

Author Michael V. Macijeski taught history for over twenty years. His journeys have taken him to four continents. He lives in Northfield, Vermont where he raised his children with his wife Patricia, has written for local media, and enjoys making music. This is his first novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Macijeski
• Release date: Jan 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005991586

Michael Macijeski

Mike Macijeski taught U.S. History and world history in public and private secondary schools for more than 20 years before retiring in 2019. He holds a Masters in Education from Norwich University. Mike has also performed extensively as a vocalist and guitarist, primarily in ensembles. His travels for singing and service work have taken him to Japan, South Korea, Russia, England, France, and Tanzania, as well as across the U.S. Mike remains active in his community, where over the years he has served as a Justice of the Peace, softball umpire, and town service officer.

Book preview

People of the Dream

a novel

Ten Generations.

A Handful of Families.

One Dream.

Michael V. Macijeski

Preface

This is a work of historical fiction. While the chief characters are invented, many of the situations they encounter actually took place. Quite a few of the people they meet along the way are real, as well as much of what those people did. Feel free to investigate them further for yourself. To find out more about the historical events in each chapter, go to my website at www.michaelvmacijeski.com where you will find links and other resources to explore. You can also suggest your own!

I hope this book will inspire both history lovers and those new to U.S. history. There is always more to learn. History is not just something in a book—it is always experienced first-hand, by people who do not know how it will turn out.

To help the reader keep track of relationships across the generations of people this book involves, the family trees of the major lineages whose story the book tells are included in an appendix at the end. Spoiler alert: looking at them in advance may ruin the surprise of how some relationships turn out.

Michael V. Macijeski

Copyright © June 2020

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to the friends who read early versions of this book and provided a range of feedback and helpful ideas. Credit for the time and place stamp that begins each chapter goes to Barbara Coulter of Ohio. Author Bill Connery offered many helpful editorial suggestions. My old friend Mickey Baumer, now of North Carolina, caught several factual disparities with his eye for detail, saving me from embarrassment. More than one person suggested the family trees I added in the appendix. Thanks to English teacher Angela Wynkoop-Berard, who offered good advice on the narration. Cara Sargent, Jim Howell, Frank Passaro, Alex Morales, Kelly Tausanovitch, and Arnold and Sue Sherman all provided wonderful feedback and encouragement as well. The book is better for all of their help.

Finally, thanks to the family members who read the first draft and were both helpful and supportive: my extremely well read brother Patrick, my wife Patricia, and my beloved mother Dorothy. Your support meant so much.

To the American spirit,

Wherever it may dwell.

Table of Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

Table of Contents

Chapter One--Holy Experiment

Chapter Two--Fight For the Future

Chapter Three--Two Journeys

Chapter Four--Freedom Road

Chapter Five--Marching On

Chapter Six--New Beginnings

Chapter Seven--Peace and Panic

Chapter Eight--A Pivotal Year

Chapter Nine--Over There

Chapter Ten--The More Things Change . . .

Chapter Eleven--When the Going Gets Tough

Chapter Twelve--Darkest Hour

Chapter Thirteen--Liberation

Chapter Fourteen--One Nation

Chapter Fifteen--Liberty and Justice For All

Chapter Sixteen--Two Hundred Years

Chapter Seventeen--City On a Hill

Chapter Eighteen--Will the Circle Be Unbroken?

Chapter Nineteen--New Enemies

Chapter Twenty--Connecting

Appendix: Family Trees

Chapter One--Holy Experiment

Fall 1754

Colonial Pennsylvania

The sun was beginning to set when Johann noticed Mr. Saltenmaier’s buggy coming towards him over the rise. His heart sank.

So, quick there, you! This corn better be in the barn before nightfall.

Yes sir, it will be.

Might be frost tonight. I don’t want to lose a single good ear of corn.

You heard him, boys. Let’s be lively now.

Cuffy, Joseph, and Zeke grunted their reluctant assent. The three enslaved men swung their scythes with a bit more gusto as Saltenmaier nodded in approval. Johann tossed the cut corn onto the wagon till their master turned to go.

Ach, a little less corn wouldn’t hurt his big old belly, Johann grumbled loud enough for the men to hear. They smiled in agreement. With Saltenmaier gone, the four weary men paused a moment to stretch their aching limbs.

As the November sun dropped below the Pennsylvania hills, the four filled their last wagonload and headed happily for the barn, eager to relax and put their feet up after another hard day’s work. Johann’s thoughts turned to Christmas and the coming new year. When the calendar turned to 1755, he would be a free man. Johann couldn’t wait to be master of his own farm and his own fate.

Maybe I take one of you with me next year if I can afford it, Johann mused aloud.

Oh please, please mister Johann, all three men pleaded. I’ll work hard for you.

I know, men, I know. But you know Saltenmaier will make me pay dearly for you.

I’ll pretend I’m hurt, mister Johann, Cuffy suggested. Then he drop the price. Cuffy grinned.

Johann smiled approvingly. We’ll see.

It had been nearly seven years since Johann Schultz left Mannheim to come to what the colony’s founder, William Penn, called his Holy Experiment. Saltenmeier had paid his passage in return for a term of indentured service on his farm outside Philadelphia. The work had been hard, but soon he would be able to work for himself. Not so the three Black men who made up his crew. Johann frowned as he thought about their prospects. Where did they find the hope to continue?

Together the men put up the corn and headed for dinner. Johann ate alone in his small cottage a short walk from the big house. By candlelight he read the Pennsylvania Gazette, both to practice his English and to stay abreast of the growing hostilities between England and France. That spring, a young Virginia militia officer, George Washington, and his native allies had attacked a French unit in the Ohio valley, which both sides were scouting. The death of the French commander at the hands of Washington’s group led to an escalation of tension between the two longtime rival nations, each of which was now vying for supremacy in both the New World and the old.

Johann’s sympathies lay with England, whose colonies were now home to thousands of German immigrants. Indeed, for the past forty years, the English crown had been worn by Germans. However, the French had vast holdings along America’s river valleys, like the St. Lawrence and the Mississippi, and were eager to expand. Many Indian tribes preferred the French to the English, seeing English farmers and their hunger for more territory as the greater threat to their tribal lands and way of life. The French typically traded with the tribes for furs, valuable back home, and were happy to acknowledge the natives’ traditions in return for friendly relations.

Now, however, the centuries-long rivalry between the two rising powers threatened to explode into full scale war. What would that mean here in Pennsylvania, Johann wondered?

Putting aside his gazette and snuffing out his candle, Johann smiled as his thoughts turned towards tomorrow. It would be market day: a trip into Philadelphia, always full of new sights and sounds, and for Johann, another chance to meet a pretty young Quaker girl from whom the Saltenmaiers bought their butter and cheese. Something about Marta, the way she looked at him, the sweet future together she made him imagine, told Johann she was the one. Her fresh face danced before his eyes as Johann settled beneath the quilted covers.

* * *

It was a cheery morning as Johann drove the wagon into Philadelphia, on his way to load up with a fresh supply of cheese and butter. Sitting at the reins, Johann didn’t mind the frequent lurches and bumps along the way as Liebchen the mare pulled them along the rutty road. With a wave of his three-cornered hat, the soon-to-be freeman called out a friendly greeting to those he passed on his way, savoring the reprieve from farm work this Saturday afforded him.

Johann always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of market day: people chatting and arguing, the smells and sounds of animals and farm produce, the incredible mix of people, from wealthy burghers in their silk stockings to working men like him, Indians, slaves . . .

As he stopped to get a few horseshoes fixed, Johann’s attention was drawn to a clamor arising from the nearby square. I tell you, it’s our only hope. If it comes to war, all the English colonies must unite. You know most of the Indians will support the French.

But the damned Dutch in New York are our competitors! someone answered. And nobody can work with those holier than thou Yankees in Massachusetts! another voice chimed in. Johann listened more intently as the smith hammered away at his horseshoes.

We don’t have to marry the damned Yankees, we just have to fight the Frenchies with them, the prophet of unity retorted. As his audience laughed, Benjamin Franklin resumed his exhortation. God knows, it won’t be easy. But this is about something bigger than just Pennsylvania or Massachusetts. It’s about defending our English liberties against those French toadies to his majesty King Louis. They may make nice with the Indians, but why do so many come here to England’s colonies instead of to theirs? I tell you, you can’t match British America for freedom!

Here, here! came the response. Franklin continued his arguments for unity to a growing crowd, many of whom, like Johann, were following the rising tensions between France and Britain with concern.

Horseshoes in hand, Johann pondered what Franklin had said as he climbed back onto the wagon and rode to the part of his day he looked forward to the most. Rounding a corner, he called out as a large stall with fresh butter and wheels of cheese came into view.

Morning, Marta!

With expression both shy and elated, Marta scurried out from behind her wares. Pulling her kerchief from her blond-brown hair, she beamed up at him. Morning, Johannes. What was it about this tall, handsome young suitor that made Marta feel so alive?

Down he leapt, his lean but strong six foot frame feeling jaunty in the morning air. An extra wheel of cheddar this week. The master’s having company, Johann requested as he tied up the wagon.

His cousins from Lancaster County again?

Yes. You know how those boys can eat.

Together they loaded the wagon with several pounds of butter and a half dozen wheels of cheese. Johann paid, then took Marta by both arms and gazed straight into her lovely face.

Remember, next week I come to talk to your father.

She smiled. Papa knows. He likes you.

He wouldn’t prefer a good Quaker boy?

Maybe. But you’re German, at least, and he knows what a hard worker you are.

He knows I’ll take good care of you. He’s right, you know.

I know. But it was more than that. Marta had already turned down more than one Quaker boy—there had been no spark. With Johann, somehow the future seemed boundless, full of promise.

She leaned in and kissed him. See you next week.

Marta’s father agreed to a spring wedding, and the preparations joyfully began. As a wedding present, he gave Johannes forty acres from his land in Bucks County, not far from the Delaware River near the old York Road. When the much anticipated day finally arrived, Johannes’ feet barely touched the ground, he was so enraptured. Marta looked gorgeous, bedecked in garlands of spring flowers. Friends and neighbors came from miles around for the occasion.

After a sweet, simple ceremony in the local church, the festivities moved outside. Feasting and fiddling got most of those present dancing happily in the rolling green valley between the hills. The celebration went far into the night and the following day.

All summer long, the newlyweds feathered their humble new nest, a fieldstone cottage Johann and Papa Schmidt had gotten busy with as soon as the spring thaw permitted. A few hundred yards from her parents’ home, it was perfect. Marta helped Johann get the crops in when the sewing and churning didn’t keep her too busy, and the gift of land allowed Johann to keep his promise and purchase Cuffy, whose lame left leg mysteriously improved after moving to New Hope, as the couple began calling their place.

Marta had managed to convince Johann to free Cuffy, believing as did most Quakers that slavery was abhorrent to God. Johann, having worked alongside slaves during his indenture, didn’t need much convincing. One evening after dinner, the couple invited Cuffy to join them over drinks.

A thoughtful looking young man not more than thirty, Cuffy sat across from his new owners. In a few months, Cuffy, Johann began, we’ll be bringing in our first harvest. I can’t wait. We must celebrate the blessing of a harvest that will be all our own.

Cuffy smiled faintly, knowing none of their new bounty would be his.

We would like you to share in our blessing, Marta said. Cuffy looked up. We think a good harvest will allow us to buy you your freedom.

Cuffy’s eyes slowly went big. My—my freedom?

Yes, Johann echoed. You’ve worked so hard for us. You deserve it.

Tears began flowing down Cuffy’s cheeks. Oh, Massa John, Miss Marta—thank you!

We’re hoping you’ll stay with us as a hired hand, Johann added. For as long as you like. But you’ll be a free man, Cuffy. You can decide.

Slowly Cuffy rose and headed for the door, stunned, walking like a man in shock. Thank you, thank you, he couldn’t stop saying.

Marta put her tear-stained face on Johann’s shoulder. That was the right thing to do, she said quietly.

I wonder if he’ll stay, Johann added.

* * *

Papa Schmidt looked long and sadly into his son-in-law’s eyes. He knew he had failed to convince Johannes.

Well, if you must, God bless you, then. We will look in on Marta till you come home.

Thank you, Papa.

The two men embraced, looking into each other’s eyes. Respect had grown into something stronger since the wedding.

He gave me his blessing, Johann told Marta as he closed the door to their cottage. I will leave in the morning.

Marta put aside her sewing and came over to him. I hope God gives you His blessing, she said. His kingdom is a kingdom of peace.

I know, but we live in this world. After Braddock’s defeat, there is nothing between us and the Indians on the frontier. Pennsylvania is raising troops. I cannot refuse.

That July, an overconfident General Edward Braddock, accompanied by Virginia militiaman George Washington, suffered a disastrous defeat in his effort to capture French Fort Duquesne in western Pennsylvania. The drubbing left all of the Pennsylvania frontier unprotected. Johann, despite the pacifist sentiments of his wife’s Quaker family, felt he must support British efforts to secure the frontier. As a boy back in Mannheim, Johann had become a good shot hunting birds with his father and brothers. He looked forward to doing his duty by his new home in America.

The muster in Philadelphia only heightened Johann’s excitement and determination to serve. Men of all sorts, many around his own age, had turned out. Johann signed up for the First Pennsylvania regiment of provincial troops. Scots-Irish, Englishmen, Swedes from New Jersey, plus a few Indians and free Blacks made up the unit, as well as a number of German-Americans like Johann. The whole colony, Johann thought. We cannot fail to defeat the French and their Indian allies.

Meanwhile, a Lenape war party was approaching its target. Among its eight warriors was an eighteen year old named Katoochquay. Now, he thought, he would take revenge for what settlers did to his family and his people.

Encouraged by Braddock’s defeat and the French, Katoochquay and his fellow warriors approached settlers along Penn’s Creek in central Pennsylvania. Scattered and far from help, they would be easy targets.

Katoochquay’s family had lived a good life in the Susquehanna Valley, but more and more white settlers had driven his people to ally with the more powerful Iroquois for protection. But the Iroquois had sold his people’s valley to the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and now settlers had begun pouring in. Katoochquay’s family had become refugees, at the mercy of other Indians. He had had enough. When the French offered bounties for settler scalps, he was one of the first to sign up.

Just as dawn’s first light was spreading from the east, the war party came upon an isolated farm. Storming through the door, they tomahawked the farmer as he scrambled for his gun. Katoochquay and the others took his screaming children captive.

As they left the cabin, a neighbor rode up. Katoochquay raised his rifle and fired, bringing the young man down. Quickly Katoochquay ran to where he had fallen and, with a single swift slash, scalped the stunned man. Smiling, Katoochquay fastened the scalp to his belt.

By midday, every man in the war party had at least one scalp. Those not killed or scalped were tortured and mutilated. A fitting revenge for warriors to exact on their enemies, Katoochquay thought proudly as they rode away with their captives.

Word of the massacre spread quickly. Papa Schmidt raced to check on Marta.

Oh, my girl, he sighed as he squeezed his daughter tight. "This is what we came here to escape. They are taking revenge for what happened to their people.

But revenge never ends . . ."

When word reached Johann and his regiment, the men were incensed. Cheers went up. Here’s to the man who takes the first scalp! Kill them all, every last one of them!

Now, men, shouted their colonel. We can’t just go killing any Indian we find. We have to find those who did it.

What’s the difference? one man shouted.

Plenty, Colonel Weiser answered. Do you want to be punished because your neighbor sinned? That made the men think a minute.

Listen, I’ve lived among the Mohawk. They are a good, brave, honorable people. This was done by Lenape, probably with help from the French. We have to know our friends from our enemies. I tell you, no matter what horrors they perpetrate on our people, that is their way—not ours. We are not out for revenge. If we want safety for our families, we’re not going to get it by murdering theirs.

So what do we do? hollered a soldier.

We build forts and protect our own. And we stop the French.

* * *

No man who loves liberty is my enemy, but gentlemen, we must act. We cannot stand idle while our women and children are slaughtered.

A black-clad Quaker elder rose to challenge Franklin. But this is not our way, Mr. Franklin. We came here to escape the never-ending wars of kings and their armies. We cannot now make an army of our own in Pennsylvania. Mutters of approval arose from his Quaker brothers.

Slowly, shakily, an elderly assemblyman named Hergenroder rose to his feet. My friends, war is already upon us. We did not wish it. But this assembly must protect the good people of Pennsylvania. I stand with Mr. Franklin. I do not want to see one more bloody body dragged to our doorstep. Call the question!

That morning, the Pennsylvania Assembly was greeted by the mutilated bodies of victims from the latest Indian raids. Angered by the lawmakers’ inaction in the face of the growing terror, people had literally laid the problem on the assembly’s doorstep, dragging their murdered neighbors to Philadelphia to confront the colonial legislature.

Over Quaker objections, Pennsylvania’s long, proud tradition of pacifism bent enough to allow Benjamin Franklin and Colonel Weiser to act. Johann and the rest of the provincial troops headed north from Philadelphia to build a series of forts between the Delaware and the Susquehanna, hoping to prevent further Lenape and French attacks.

Everywhere Franklin went along the frontier, he found terrified farmers and their families crowded into the nearest large town for protection. Johann and the rest of the troops trained the locals, instructing them how to set sentries and build forts. Many of Johann’s company spoke German, but quite a few were Scots-Irish, too, including his sergeant, James MacAdoo.

One or two good fights and these men will know what to do, MacAdoo spat as he and Johann finished another round of training. All these Quakers . . . Empty-headed dreamers. A man’s got to fight for what he wants in life.

Maybe so, but my wife’s a Quaker girl. They’re good people.

Yeah? Indian lovers, that’s what I think they are. These savages only understand one thing, and we’re going to give it to them.

Next morning, Johann awoke to a hubbub. The camp was abuzz with rumors—something about Fort Granville, only twenty miles from them. First they lured them out, then they attacked, he heard a man say.

The drums beat assembly. Colonel Weiser called them to attention. We just got word. Yesterday Fort Granville was attacked and destroyed by the enemy. There were no survivors. He let that sink in.

Men, we have built our last fort for a while. It’s time to go on the attack. Are you ready to take this war to the enemy? A cheer erupted from the troops. Tomorrow we march. Dismissed.

Over lunch, MacAdoo and Johann tried to figure out where they would attack. Och, I heard the Lenape have a war camp on the Delaware north of here, MacAdoo hazarded. I think we march north.

Maybe, Johann said, but I don’t think so. I’ve always heard they have a war village on the Allegheny. I think we’ll be marching west.

Johann was proved right next morning when the troops began several days march to the west. After making camp one evening, Colonel Weiser called the men together.

Men, tomorrow is our day. At dawn we attack the village of Kittanning. We have reason to think the two top Delaware war leaders, Shingas and Captain Jacobs, are both there. A victory tomorrow and we can put a stop to these raids on our farms and families. A supportive murmur ran through the troops.

I want Jacobs’ scalp, MacAdoo growled. Pennsylvania’s paying $150 for it. That bastard’s getting a taste of his own medicine tomorrow.

Before the sun rose the next morning, Weiser and the colonials surrounded the enemy camp. Thinking themselves too far west to be attacked, the Lenape were caught completely by surprise. Some fled, others were shot down or taken captive. MacAdoo noticed a man who looked like a chief pulling his family into their home.

There he is! That’s Jacobs! MacAdoo shouted. Come on, men! Don’t let him get away!

As the troops surrounded the hut, MacAdoo grabbed a log from the nearby fire and threw it onto the thatched roof. A breeze soon fanned it into flame. Horrible screams from those trapped inside tore at Johann’s heart.

Suddenly a powerful man leapt from a window. MacAdoo and several others were on him in a flash. After a brief melee, the sergeant strode towards Johann, grinning malevolently as a scalp dripped from his belt. Och, this one’s killed his last settler, Schultz.

MacAdoo ordered his men to leave the burning building and pursue the remaining Lenape, but Johann objected. Sir, you have Jacobs. Let me take the others captive. The sergeant nodded a reluctant approval.

Johann and several others kicked in the door of the doomed hut and saw a woman and children overcome by smoke huddled in a corner. With the burning home close to collapse around him, Johann dragged Jacobs’ family to safety.

One of Johann’s platoon eyed the unconscious victims hungrily, fingering his hunting knife. Johann confronted him. I don’t care how much they’re paying for scalps. We’re taking them whole. We’re not killing women and children.

Next day, as the regiment began its march home, Johann took stock of the captives whose lives he had saved from the flames. The mother was a woman of about 45, and four children ranging from a toddler to a girl in her mid-teens. They glowered sullenly at their captors.

The girl suddenly spoke up. Will you torture us? We are Lenape, we can stand torture. Surprised, Johann shook his head no. We will have to see when we reach Philadelphia. Maybe we can exchange you for some of our own captives.

Why did you let us live?

Johann thought as they marched. I joined this fight so my wife and family can be safe—not to kill someone else’s.

* * *

The efforts of Johann and the Pennsylvania militia eventually bore fruit. After a string of early French victories, new prime minister William Pitt revitalized the British war effort, focusing on victory in North America. With better generals and more men and supplies, one French stronghold after another fell, culminating in the capture of the cities of Quebec and Montreal. By 1760, France’s position in North America was hopeless.

Three years later, the Treaty of Paris ended the global conflict between Britain and France. The political landscape of colonial North America was transformed. France, the dominant power across much of the continent only a few years before, was now gone. Canada belonged completely to the British. Other French possessions like New Orleans had been transferred to Spain. It was a new world, and it was ruled by the British. The future in England’s American colonies looked bright.

In Pennsylvania, the harvest of 1768 was bountiful. It had been ten years since peace had returned to the colony. The Lenape had accepted a treaty after the French defeats in the war; many of them moved to Ohio. Stories of Indian raids began to fade into legends as more and more settlers filled the rich farm country.

Cuffy, free now, had worked for Johann and saved enough to buy his own ten acres at one edge of the property. The two men still helped each other at harvest time. It was on such a day, with the snap of autumn crisp around the edges of an otherwise warm fall day, that the two men were getting in some hay together.

So when do I get to meet her? asked Johann.

She be coming Saturday.

Well then, why don’t you bring her to our place for dinner? We’ll give her a proper welcome.

Cuffy smiled. Yes, sir!

The whole family was eager to meet Cuffy’s bride to be. They had heard the stories: how he had met a young woman on market day in Philadelphia last year. Asking about the jewelry and shawls she was selling, Cuffy had learned she was Lenape. Her family had died; she was trying to make her own way.

They had taken to visiting each time Cuffy went to market—not unlike Johann and Marta. Last month Cuffy had asked Julia—the English name she had taken—to marry him. Joyfully, she accepted.

Mama and Papa Schmidt were helping Marta prepare the table for the guests, as was their nine year old daughter Maria. A precocious, inquisitive girl, Maria peppered everyone with questions as they set the welcome feast.

Do you think she’ll like apple pie, Grandma?

She’d better. Everyone likes my apple pie, Grandma Helga said with a twinkle.

It’s so sad Julia has no family, Maria mused. Then her face lit up. Can she be part of ours?

If she wants to, her mother said. That might be hard for her after what she’s been through.

Young Maria took on a thoughtful look. We’ll make her welcome.

Popping and crackling, the delightful scent of a roaring fire lent its cheer to the scene as Cuffy ushered Julia into the Schmidts’ home that evening. Julia nodded as Cuffy introduced each member of the family. When it came to Maria, the girl looked in awe at the tall, bronze-skinned young woman. Julia took a seat next to Maria as their meal began.

Papa Schmidt led them in the blessing. Everyone joined hands. Heavenly Father, you have protected and blessed our family here in this new world. We thank you for this food, and for our guests tonight. Please share in our feast with us. Amen.

Amen, echoed everyone.

While they ate and chatted, Julia took note of Maria’s lovely curly hair. She touched it gently. Maria smiled. Does your hair curl like that all by itself? Julia asked.

Yes, Maria said proudly. But I wish it was long and straight like yours. Your hair is so beautiful. Julia smiled as Maria reached out and stroked her waist-length shiny brown tresses. Can I braid it?

How about after dinner, you can braid it here by the fire? The child’s eyes lit up with joy.

After Grandma’s apple pie, everyone pushed back their chairs. The men lit their pipes as the women cleared off. Julia took a chair near the fire and Maria delightedly began braiding her long, sable locks.

Papa waved his copy of the Pennsylvania Gazette. Mr. Franklin says all should be well now that Parliament has repealed the Stamp Act. But I don’t know—those Sons of Liberty . . . I can’t approve of tarring and feathering tax collectors.

Johann listened. "Yes, Papa. I’m all right