Nothing Left Behind

By Sandra Horton

Throughout life, Sara had heard very little about her grandparents' journey to America--only the few scattered stories her mother told. Those great unknowns had always made Sara hesitant to discuss her roots. As she grows older, even her truest relationships become more unstable and seem to unravel. Looking for answers, she begins a quest to discover her lineage and her purpose. As a lover of history, and with God guiding her, she asks the question: How did my family history shape who I am and how has it helped me survive?
With characters drawn with a fine-tip brush, each compelling and unique, Nothing Left Behind discloses that not everyone gets a happy ending, for time and chance happen to them all, Solomon wrote over two thousand years ago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Jun 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781666701227

Sandra Horton

Sandra Horton graduated high school in Eugene, Oregon, and joined the US Air Force, where she met and married her husband. They settled in Tucson, Arizona, where she worked as a legal secretary before managing a health food store. Now retired, she enjoys time with her children and grandchildren and pursuing writing, music, and art. Her first book, A Heart to Love, was set in her beloved Northwest. This is her second book.

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OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

A Heart to Love

Nothing Left Behind

SANDRA HORTON

Nothing Left Behind

Copyright © 2021 Sandra Horton. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

Resource Publications

An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

Eugene, OR 97401

www.wipfandstock.com

paperback isbn: 978-1-6667-0120-3

hardcover isbn: 978-1-6667-0121-0

ebook isbn: 978-1-6667-0122-7

The Holy Bible, New International Version, NIV copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

THE HOLY BIBLE, (KJV) Scriptures marked as KJV are taken from the KING JAMES VERSION (KJV): KING JAMES VERSION, public domain.

Nothing Left Behind is a true story. When the author began her search, she had no timeline for her grandparents’ journey from Russia to America. By viewing the dates of babies born and their locations, she was able to piece together their path. Events that occurred before her birth came from family members, family photographs, and the historical record. Names have been changed to protect privacy and in some places the time line has been compressed.

06/08/21

To my brother

forever in my heart

We are born at a given moment, in a given place and, like vintage years of wine, we have the qualities of the year and of the season in which we were born.

Carl Gustav Jung

Table of Contents

Title Page

1889–1945: THE OLD WAYS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

1946–1971: COMING OF AGE

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

1972–2019: A CERTAIN WISDOM

49

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

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64

65

66

67

68

69

1889–1945

THE OLD WAYS

For everything God created is good.

I Tim 4:4

Heinrich and Anna, 1907

1

We all own a share of history.

The rose petals lifted like pale mauve butterflies in the breeze as Anna studied the distant clouds that cast long shadows across the meadow. The harsh winter was over and life had returned to the Russian steppes and the villages nestled along its river. The sound of summer echoed in the pelican’s shrill as it flew across fields of barley, oats, and flax. Beyond were acres of sunflowers, and beyond that the hill of roses that gave the village its name: Rosenberg, hill of roses.

As rain clouds began to swirl, Anna felt the sudden coolness and called to her sister Maria who met her gaze with a smile. Clasping their shawls about them; they gathered their baskets of herbs and descended the rocky path home. Inseparable like the two rivers that sustained their village, the Volga and the Ilovlya, Anna and Maria shared both birthday and bed.

When they were halfway down, the sky opened and they were drenched as they darted to the village square seeking shelter in the church. Standing beneath its arches, Anna glanced up at the bell tower. Soon it would toll vespers and the faithful would come for evening prayers.

It was then she spotted Henri driving his team of horses down the street. Solid and muscular like her papa with his wide shoulders and pale blue eyes, that spring he had made clear his intention of courting her. She remained unsure about him, for he lacked Papa’s gentleness.

Henri’s father had died when he was fifteen, leaving him in charge of mother, brother and eight sisters, and perhaps the tragedy had made him harsh, forcing him to grow up quickly. Now at twenty-two he seemed sure of what he wanted and every Sunday he persisted in giving Anna rides to church. Along the way he spoke of his mail run on the old post road to Saratov; and the taxi service he provided for wealthy Russians.

They always want to go in the worst storms, he complained to her. And they sleep on pallets on the floor, while we sleep in beds! Anna blushed at his revelation for such matters were not discussed among unwed couples.

Other times he talked about the beautiful park in Saratov. It’s just after I pass the village Grimm where my father was from, he explained, wanting her to know that his family, like hers, had migrated from the northern Oberdorf colonies. From Schaffhausen to Kamyschin, these settlements now lived in peace, Lutheran, Catholic, and Mennonite together.

Their ancestors had come from Germany in the 1700s to settle this wild land at the invitation of Catherine the Great, and with the promise of land denied the common Russian serf, thousands had come, also seeking cultural and religious freedom, denied them in Germany. The early settlers had survived the nightly Kirghiz raids by turning up their plowshares around the perimeters of their villages.

With blades in the air, attacking riders fell on them to alert the sleeping villagers. Gradually they had carved out a peaceful existence. A thousand villages now lined the Volga to thrive under self rule.

After supper, Maria watched Anna comb and re-pin her hair before gathering her shawl. It was Mittwoch but only Anna would attend midweek prayer services.

The priest comes every month, Sister, why the Baptist meetings, Maria questioned, as though Anna’s presence would tempt fate or shift the balance of the world. But Anna had persisted in going, despite her twin’s resistance, for something drew her and Papa had not forbidden it.

The meeting room was packed that evening as people crowded in to hear the pastor expound on the passion of Christ. As Anna pulled her shawl over her hair and knelt with the others, she felt a stirring within. Standing to sing, On the way to Calvary he died for me, she received the gift of God’s Son.

If you mean it, make it public, the young speaker said and she stepped out to make her way to the front, the God she had so long pondered now personal.

Go and share your good news, the speaker encouraged. Walking home in the moonlight Anna felt washed, clean, her name written in the Book of Life. She savored this new feeling, God was good! Surely her family would hear and believe; slipping into bed next to Maria, she snuggled to her warmth and promptly fell asleep.

The next morning, Anna overslept and with no time for morning prayers she felt unbalanced, as though she had lost her moorings. Had last night been a dream? Yet there on the stool lay her prayer card with her name and yesterday’s date. She picked it up and held it to her heart.

Lord, go with me. I’m new at this.

Anna, you must come now, Papa commanded from the kitchen.

Yes, Papa, she hurried to the table where everyone waited.

Papa raised his brow, You were out late?

The meeting went long.

And this is because?

Many of us went forward . . .

And you were one of them?

Yes, Papa, God revealed my need for a Savior.

Maria erupted in laughter, but Papa halted her with a look.

You are free to follow your heart, Anna, but the family is fine the way it is—leave it alone, he instructed, buttering a chunk of bread.

2

May he give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed.

Psalm 20:4

The following week in air heavy with the scent of cherry blossoms, Anna and Maria walked with the other girls along the path to the lake gardens. It was time to plant the melons, cucumbers, and potatoes in the rich silt left by receding waters. As they rounded a grove of willows, Anna caught her breath and reached for Maria.

What is it? Maria stopped.

Look, Anna whispered and they gazed at the flamingo posed ahead, its silhouette reflecting in the water’s ripples.

He must be lost, Anna explained. They don’t usually get this far from the Volga.

The Volga isn’t that far, Sister, Maria responded. After all, Papa has gone to chop the last of the ice today. Perhaps they passed each other, she teased.

Anna laughed at her suggestion and they cautiously moved around the stately fowl to their plot of land. Later when the gullies dried they would plant cabbage and tobacco, but for now they worked quickly for last night the main street had flooded to fill every cellar. Now they would all need cleaning. The wells had also filled, sparing them the task of driving the livestock to the river that day.

Summer passed and the rains began as harvest finished. With the last crop picked, Anna and Maria worked quickly topping sugar beets. The wind shifted from time to time sending rain in the barn’s open door as Papa kept watch on the dreadful sky. A storm this early meant a hard winter, and he chopped faster, flipping beets in the cart as his muscles rippled beneath a sweat-soaked shirt. His sons struggled to move each load to the cellar.

Daylight faded and they worked on by kerosene lantern until Papa sent them in and hurried to stable the livestock. Ice pellets sliced his face as he gathered a few eggs before closing and barring the door, the cold grabbing his breath. After supper, they retired to warm beds and listened to trees snapping in the night.

The next morning they stumbled to the table as Mama cooked breakfast and Papa hummed a tune.

Gotthold, come, Mama urged him.

You did a lot of work yesterday, he praised his sleepy children. How fortunate I am to have such a family.

You worked hard, too, Papa, Maria said.

Ja, he chuckled.

Papa, Anna said, is it true you are the strongest man in the village?

It is true, Annitchka, he agreed and grabbing a twin in each arm he began to dance about as the others clapped. A loud knock interrupted and he released his daughters to greet Jacob Siegler.

Herr Wittmann, can you come, the youth pleaded. A tree has fallen on our cellar and we can’t move it!

And what will you give for such a feat? Papa teased.

Mama has promised her finest horse!

When Papa shifted the tree off the cellar, Frau Siegler burst into tears.

Do not promise what you cannot give, he scolded. I won’t take your horse this time.

Sonntag arrived with a snowstorm; the drifts piled high as the temperatures dipped into single digits. Anna looked out with sinking heart, church not possible this morning.

You can’t be serious to go, Anna, Maria scolded.

God will provide, Sister, if He means me to be there.

Suddenly a clatter outside and Henri appeared as Papa opened the door. Breathless and stamping snow from his boots, I’ve come to take Anna, he explained.

Throwing Maria a meaningful look, Anna grabbed her coat and mittens and settled in the sleigh as Henri tucked a fur robe around her. Soon they were flying across the fields and color rose in her cheeks as a laugh escaped her.

Come inside, she invited at the church.

I’ll be back, he promised, putting whip to horse.

Other Believers greeted her; the young men surveying her. Would she find a husband in this group, one who shared her faith?

During the service she prayed for her family, her village, but mostly for the man she would marry. God, show me the way. Her seventeenth birthday would come in January and after that she was expected to marry.

Outside, Henri waited for her. He smiled as she climbed in the sleigh and helped her with the robe. Clicking to the horse, he took the road away from the village and passed several windmills.

It’s cold for an afternoon ride, she said.

I have soup, he offered passing her a crock.

She felt the heat through her mittens as steam warmed her face. Soon Henri was pulling up to a small hut and helping her down. Curious, she watched as he opened the door. A welcome fire warmed the room and proudly he showed her around the humble dwelling.

My future home, he explained. I want to it to be with you.

She drew back.

It was customary for new farms to be allotted to single men after harvest when they planned to wed. She didn’t know he had put in such a request.

I—I don’t know, she began.

Why not, haven’t I been good to you?

She was silent before the solid, glowering man and his temper flared.

What is it?

I’m not sure, Henri.

Then let me make it clear. No other man will have you! I will pull you across a board fence and ruin you first; you will never bear another’s children!

She had no doubt he would do as he said.

So what is your answer?

With her future decided, tears glittered as she took a deep breath and turned to face him.

So be it.

Then have soup with me and I will take that as your promise, he offered. She was silent during the meal and on the ride home she pondered how to tell her parents for she had made no secret of her doubts about Henri.

3

He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord.

Prov 18:22

The winter flew by with the extra sewing of linens and quilts in preparation for her future home. When the day of her wedding arrived, it promised to be hot as the scent of roses filled the air.

Anna glimpsed Henri in the grove of trees with their other guests. He was waiting for her, for their wedding night. She drew a deep breath as she gripped Papa’s arm and walked behind Maria who was scattering flowers on the path before them. Her parents had accepted her explanation that Henri was a good man and a hard worker, important traits in a husband.

She felt numb as they stood before the minister repeating their vows. With their names entered in the church registry, the marriage was official. At her parents’ home she barely tasted the wedding feast as she caught Henri’s mother staring at her. Silently she vowed to be a good wife.

While Henri made the rounds downing hearty quantities of beer, Mama helped her change. Too soon Henri was scooping her up and placing her on his wagon festooned with flowers. The men cheered while the women hid grins behind their hands.

At the hut, Henri helped her from the wagon and instructed her to get ready.

Do you want supper?

I do not, he retorted.

Her face flushed for it was still light and she was embarrassed at the thought of being alone with him. He waited outside while she slipped into her gown and took time to brush her hair one hundred strokes. Cautiously she opened the door and eagerly he led her to the bed. He was not rough with her; too quick perhaps, and Anna was relieved when it was over, the dreaded day done.

When he began to snore she rose and pumped water in a bucket. Dampening a cloth, she winced as the sensitive tissue screamed at her touch. Surely nothing could be worse than this.

He woke during the night and she gritted her teeth.

Endure, Mama had said. You’ll get used to it and after the first baby, it will seem like nothing.

That spring Henri and his brother Wilhelm worked both farms. As they plowed they collected the required sixteen gopher tails per field or be fined. Gophers were serious business, eating their root crop, potatoes, leaving them nothing at harvest.

Anna was no stranger to work and walked the rows beside the men to plant seed, the rules of survival simple: if you didn’t work, you didn’t eat. Although America’s Golden Age was beginning to advance with the reaping machine and steel plow, farming in Russia continued in the old way.

While the men labored in the fields with single-minded purpose, Anna kept house, replenishing the floors each week with fresh sand. On Saturdays she and the other women washed their windows and walls and swept the street in front of their houses.

With the gift of a cow from her parents and a new calf in the barn, each morning Anna rose to do the milking before she heated dung blocks to bake their bread. Midmorning she turned the flock of goats into the yard to graze before she went to the river with the laundry, stopping to weed the lake garden before she returned home.

One day after she had hung the wash outside, she neglected to stake the goats away from their clothes and when she returned, she discovered they had chewed her undergarments. Blowing a wisp of hair from her forehead, she shrugged as she surveyed the damage. Now there was more mending to do but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. She could hear Maria laugh when she helped her.

Each evening Henri returned to a house redolent with the smell of fresh herbs simmering in a stew. He smiled with contentment as he removed his boots to sit at table with her.

We will be fine, he told her, a plentiful harvest, the animals healthy, and you by my side.

It was early autumn when Anna woke feeling nauseous to recognize the signs of new life. That morning, sipping licorice root tea, she savored the thought of becoming a mother and decided to keep the news to herself a while longer.

Walking back from the river that day the leaves on the trees glowed against the overcast sky, the colors impossible to describe, orange and red mingled with yellow. She breathed deeply of the fresh air and felt pulled into their depths for all was right with her world.

A few weeks later, Henri noticed as he stroked her nicely rounded abdomen.

You are with child?

Ja.

Gut, gut; a son will be gut.

Gott willing, she responded, but he was asleep.

That winter Anna stretched out their meals with vegetables and preserves from the cellar as she sewed baby clothes.

Spring came and swollen beyond comfort, having felt twinges all morning, Anna struggled up the bluff behind Maria, hoping the walk would move things along, wondering how long, how hard the birth would be for Mama said first babies took longer.

By evening birth pains were coming in waves and soon she was pushing as the midwife placed hot cloths between her legs to relax the area. Still it felt as though she would split when the baby’s head pushed out in a rush of blood and water. Exhausted and with babe to breast, she watched Henri tiptoe in. He smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

Well done, the midwife whispered placing the baby on a quilt beside her. In the yard outside, Henri greeted neighbors and family.

Little Henry has arrived, he announced and they cheered.

Harvest passed and winter came with its great harsh cold as Anna fussed over her son. At nine months, she worried about keeping him safe and warm.

One night she woke, the cold wrapping her neck and shoulders like a shawl, the warming brick long since having given up its heat. Henri beside her was as cold as she and she snuggled deeper into the quilts; then realized her breasts were leaking milk. She sat with a start! The baby had slept through, the candle low and sputtering in its fat.

Jumping from bed, not bothering to light the lamp, she ran to the cradle and jiggled a tiny foot. No response. She lifted the baby and erupted with a great cry of disbelief.

Gott, why?

Henri came then and took the baby, his face gridded in pain as he clasped the lifeless form to his chest.

4

Sow your seed in the morning, and at evening let not your hands be idle, for you do not know which will succeed, whether this or that, or whether both will do equally well.

Eccl 11:6

Months passed and Anna did not become pregnant though Henri was vigilant to try. It was as though her body had shut down for fear of feeling such loss again. In the long winter of sunless days, the light of her life gone, she longed for the carefree days of her childhood and numb with grief she prayed, God, I don’t understand.

Henri cared for the animals, feeding and breaking the ice on the pond as Maria helped her sister with the laundry, soaping their garments before they hauled them to the frozen river to rinse in the ice holes. Unaware that the electric washing machine had made its debut in America, they hung their clothes on lines stretched between trees, to return later for the frozen garments.

At the end of each day Anna sat before the fire with apron over head encased in grief, an equally silent husband beside her.

That spring Anna walked to the cemetery behind the village. Here the slope was a little gentler and wild roses climbed the cross that Henri had placed on their son’s grave. Kneeling to brush away the leaves, she read the inscription:

Henry, infant son of Henrich and Anna

May

1907

—February

1908

Breathing deeply of the sweet air, she knew the Lord had gone with her through the great sorrow. Her baby in heaven and she still here, it was time to try again.

Soon she was breaking the news to Henri.

Gott has given us another.

He regarded her cautiously. That is gut, he responded.

Evenings by the fire Anna mended clothing while Henri and Wilhelm discussed politics. Tsar Nicholas II had married a German princess who was a granddaughter of the late Queen Victoria of Britain. The young tsar had ascended the throne when Henri was ten, and until now had ignored these German settlements. With only one Russian shop on the main street, the villagers had paid scant attention to the Russians. The year before, the capital of St. Petersburg had been renamed to Petrograd as anti-German sentiment began to surface; but to Anna, the capital seemed a million miles away.

Henri caught her attention when he began describing the recent serf uprising in Petrograd as starving women and children joined the men to march in protest to the Winter Palace to be slaughtered by palace guards. Now Anna wondered if they were safe, but she never suspected that one day she would be immersed in an English-speaking world.

The next morning Henri surprised her with his news. We go to Omsk and take my mother with us. Wilhelm will manage here.

Horrified at the thought of leaving her village, her parents; the child she had buried, to live in Siberia, she swallowed back tears and began making preparations. It was a long journey by boat and wagon; while in America Henry Ford’s automobile had begun to make its appearance.

A tent was the best they could manage for shelter as Henri began to plow and plant while Anna ignored her morning sickness and worked beside him. There was no time to look back for every farmer knew that if you did, you made crooked rows and wasted seed.

Their harvest was good and a daughter was born that