The ship rocked back and
forth, twenty-two year old Clemenz Frederick and his seventeen year old cousin,
Christian Frederick, had long gotten used to the choppy bumps caused by the
Atlantic Ocean. Their extensive journey to the United States of America was
soon coming to an end, signaled by one of the crew members, “Wake up schwein!” the man yelled in a loud,
husky voice. Clemenz and Christian were roughly shaken awake from their bunk
hammocks down below the ship.
“Schwein?” Christian yelled angrily. Clemenz hushed him quietly,
warding off any problems a fight might bring.
“We must be here,”
Clemenz said, putting on his patchwork pea jacket.
“Schließlich,” Christian said, exasperated. Clemenz couldn’t blame
him for being frustrated, they’d been cooped up in the bottom of a ship far too
long for comfort, “Tell me again what the plan is,” Christian said to Clemenz.
“We’re going to
California, where we’ll buy a plot of land, mine for gold, then, we’ll be rich
enough to do whatever we want.”
The chill of the March
night swept over the German immigrants. They carried their light sacks
containing what little possessions they had over the narrow wooden plank used
as a bridge from the ship to the docks. Clemenz and Christian stretched their
wobbly legs, adjusting to the still land. They saw a little sign that
announced, ‘Welcome to New York’. Clemenz couldn’t repress the smile tugging at
his lips. He and Christian were half way through their journey. To California,
they would hitchhike with hopes of catching rides with friendly folks.
“Are you the land master?”
Clemenz’ asked politely to a man he was directed to after arriving at their
destination. The tall, burly man turned to examine thin Clemenz.
“John,” he said,
extending his hand.
Clemenz introduced
himself and his cousin and expressed his wishes to purchase a plot of land in
the mining region. Clemenz then presented his currency. The large man laughed
roughly, “This ain’t enough scraps to buy any land around here.”
“What do you mean?”
Christian asked incredulously.
“This ain’t no German
land, boy. This is the States, nothin’ here comes cheap.”
Clemenz’ stomach dropped,
if they couldn’t buy land, then how would they succeed with their goal?
“I got some jobs for
hire,” John said, scratching his unshaved face, “You interested?”
Clemenz didn’t know what
else to do, so he and Christian signed on as his helping hands. Clemenz figured
that if they earned enough money, then they could buy their own land to mine.
It was grueling work, but
John kept them fed, which was better than what situation their neighboring
miners were under. Clemenz took to hiking away from the ripped dirt, to forest
edged fields at the end of the work days. Christian scolded him often, but a
discovery made Clemenz return to the fields daily. It was a woman. Her name was
Broken Wing—this was her name translated from the Apache language into English—because
she had an intense desire to leave her Apache life behind. The elders of her
tribe thought it was unnatural that Wing had such curiosity for the American
life. In their view, she was broken.
A broken wing unable to fly. As a
result, Broken Wing was not allowed to be equals with the other Apache people,
she was forced to live her life in solitude, separate from her tribe until she
renounced her curiosity.
When Clemenz first
encountered her, she was doing just as he was doing. Hiking away from where she
was oppressed. They had stood frozen, staring at each other. He had been warned
of traps and scalping’s, she had been warned of ferocious, violent white men.
Their two kinds were not friends.
“You English?” the woman
bravely spoke first.
“N-no,” Clemenz
stuttered, his face pale, “I am German.”
“You talk English,” she
observed.
“Yes,” he said, “I
learned fluent English before coming to America with a boy.”
Their first meeting did
not last long, but it was not the last time they spoke. “Who boy?” she asked in
her broken English.
“Christian,” Clemenz said,
no longer tense when he was around her, “He’s my cousin. His mother didn’t have
the funds to support him, so when she knew I would be immigrating, my dear old
aunt begged me to take him with me.” Clemenz’ German accent became thicker as
he thought of the country he left behind.
“You sad?”
Clemenz didn’t want to
admit it, “I suppose.”
“Come,” the Native
American woman said, grabbing Clemenz’ hand, “I show you something.”
Broken
Wing led him through a thicket of trees and vines to a field of sunflowers. One
grassy strip ran down the middle. “It’s beautiful,” said Clemenz, “As you are,”
he picked one of the flowers and gave it to her. Their faces were flushed, they
went home with pleasant thoughts.
Six months had passed
before Clemenz came clean to Christian about his relationship with the Apache
woman, “What do you mean you met an Apache woman? There aren’t any Apache’s
around here.”
“No,” said Clemenz, “she
was rejected from her tribe for being too interested in white people.”
“This is ridiculous,”
Christian fumed, “Why must I be the voice of reason? You can’t be friends with
an Apache woman.”
“I’m not just friends
with her.”
“What?”
“I’m going to marry her,
Christian.”
“Oh mien Gott. Oh mien Gott Clemenz. Nein! You can’t!”
“Yes,” Clemenz said
quietly, and then left.
Christian would not speak
to Clemenz after that. He did not even attend his private wedding in the
Sunflower field. Broken Wing changed her name back to Wing, she gained an
independency that was unbroken. She and Clemenz removed themselves from the
gold mines and raised cattle. They had to be discreet with their life, or else
the Fredericks would lose customers. Their children had to learn to keep their
heritage a secret. Clemenz tried to regain contact with Christian, but he would
not reply to the letters or money sent to him. Clemenz and Wing grew old in the
country of California.
~
Based on rumors of a true story in my ancestry, I wrote this short story for my American Literature class.
