Appendix
Wolfgang’s Grandfather Facing Problems
Wolfgang knew the stories about his grandfather well. They had been passed down by word of mouth, and his father loved to tell them. Who knows whether they were embellished a little, but Wolfgang didn’t care- he remembered them in all their detail, and had passed them on to his children.
Wolfgang so wanted a sign from the adversity of his ancestors that would help him now. His troubled mind returned again to his own version of some serious problems that faced his grandfather, Hans Ohdoerfer
Grub, Germany, 1714 “Nice to see you up and about, Bernhard,” Hans, leaving the grocery store, said politely, “We haven’t crossed paths much lately.”
“Well, I am busy working on the history of my ancestors, but a man must eat,” Bernhard stated with the air of the scholar that he was, “I have learned that my ancestors- and I am certain your ancestors too- were Upper Palaeolithic, who left Africa around 60,000 years ago, and migrated over the centuries to where we are today.”
Hans was already staring glassy eyed at Bernhard, having trouble figuring out what he was saying. “Well,” Hans responded weakly, “I read the “begats” in the Gutenberg Bible at church once, and that was good enough for me. I guess I came from Abraham.”
Hans Ohdorfer did not talk with Bernhard Stuttgart very often. It was not that he didn’t like him, but mostly because he felt inferior and uncomfortable when Bernhard was around. Bernhard, a local teacher, was “learned,” as they say, and Hans was not.
Hans did not have the time nor the inclination to engage in far-fetched intellectual exercises and, after a few pleasantries, including cautiously responding to Bernhard’s question “How is your wife Marie?” the two parted ways.
Hans Ohdorfer had lived in Grub all of his life, as had his father, Stephan. His grandfather, Johannes, and his great grandfather, Heinrich, had lived just down the road a bit in Eselsdorf. You could see why Hans had no time for esoteric theories about his ancestors. He knew where the ones that counted had come from, and that was that. He also knew that they were a sturdy, dependable stock, known and trusted by the people who knew them. They took care of their business and kept their nose out of everyone else’s.
Hans, a small man, all of 5 ft 8 in and 155 pounds, balding, and looking older than his 45 years, headed for home, lugging the heavy bags of potatoes, flour, and sugar he had bought from the store.
He thought about the problem with Marie, and knew it was not an ordinary one. He had experienced trouble enough in his life, but he had never felt as troubled as now. You know, the kind of “troubled” where you think about it most of the time, and where it just doesn’t seem that it will ever go away. Hans was a very sensitive man, and what was happening to his wife really hurt him to the core.
“It’s happening again, Hans,” Marie sobbed as he entered, “I have this terrible pain in my lower parts. It really hurts.”
“Have you put a hot towel on it?“ Hans asked weakly, “That sometimes does some good.” “I think it needs more than that, but I don’t know what,” Marie composed herself, “I wish, oh how I wish, that this would go away.”
Marie, Hans’s second wife, had been in bed almost all the time since she had become pregnant, and was sick like this almost every day. What hurt Hans was all the intense pain she was having.
What was so puzzling to Hans was that Marie had not had trouble giving birth to their children Georg, Barbara, Johannes, or Marx- all born to them in the past 8 years.
Hans had experienced the births of his eight children with his first wife Anna- and vividly remembered how Anna became weaker and weaker, and with much suffering, died only a few days after her last child, Johannes, was born. He didn’t want this to happen to Marie. It would be more than he could bear.
“Well, I’ll be a donkeys uncle,” Hans exclaimed as he opened the door to find Fred, his friend from Nuremburg, “What brings you to Grub? I haven’t seen you for a month of Sundays!”
“Heading to Eselsdorf to do some business,” Fred responded. “Thought I’d stop by. You look as ornery as ever.”
“Come in and sit awhile,” said Hans, momentarily forgetting Marie’s problem, “When’s the last time you came to Grub?”
“It would have been a couple of years ago,” mused Fred. “I remember when I was coming into town that toothless old guy on a horse sat there by that village sign and just grinned at me. Then I kept seeing him at different places in town, always grinning. And, by golly “old toothless” was right there on his horse when I rode out of town, him, and I think him and his horse were both grinning. I tell you, nothing gets past you nosey people of Grub!”
Hans, busying himself getting Fred a beer to quench his thirst, gave him a grin himself and said, “Fred, did you ever think about the possibility that the old guy had just taken a liken’ to ya?”
Grub was a small German village, not far from Nurenberg, but seemingly unaware of it. It was not unlike many other similar villages in Germany-small, concerned mostly with producing food supplies for its citizens, and worried about the poll and land taxes.
In the quiet of their homes, the people talked about why they had to be so obedient to all the restrictions put forth by their Crown Prince, and questioned the idea that the princely rank was a sacred trust from God. They generally abhorred the gaudy display of extravagance put on by the Crown Prince, and marveled at his imagined greatness.
But outwardly they were doggedly industrious citizens of a village that was economically limited, but nonetheless, when taken together with all the other similar villages, was the life-blood of the country.
Everyone in Grub did know everyone else, and they did have a healthy-even nosey- curiosity about strangers. Hans couldn’t deny it.
Hans and his wife, Marie, lived in a house close to the center of Grub that they built from lumber hewed from the nearby Ansbach forest. The house was closely attached to a barn that housed their animals, and, as Marie often observed, “We have a lot of togetherness.”
Like so many German farmers, had started helping his father farm at the young age of 8 years. Hans now farmed a relatively small area of land, and had to make use of it for different crops at different times of the year. He loved the land, and was proud to be a farmer. He was a man of the soil, simple and straightforward- hard-working, frugal, honest, and devoted to his crops.
Hans kept a lot inside himself, so he didn’t confide in Fred much about Marie’s problem. But Fred confided in Hans, and told him he was out of a job, and need to find work to put food on the table. He had applied for a job in a blacksmith shop owned by a man Hans had gone to school with.
As Fred took his leave, Hans told him he would put in a good word for him with their mutual acquaintance in Eselsdorf. Hans was known as a man whose word was good, and Fred knew he count on him to do what he said he would do.
When Hans had a problem, he faced it head-on, got to the
heart of it, and did what he had to do. He didn’t have much time for people who let their problems get the best of them. He was beginning to shape a plan to help Marie.
“Hello, Hans,” nodded Gebhardt the barber, as he trimmed just a little more hair from his last customer of the day, “What brings you out on such a gloomy old rainy day?” Gebhard asked as his customer darkened the door to leave. “See ya, Bart,” Gebhard mumbled, thinking mostly about why Hans was there.
“Just thought I’d say hello,” Hans said, fidgeting with his watch fob. “No haircut today.”
Gebhardt had been barbering in Eselsdorf for years, and
was also well known for his skill in bloodletting. He advertised with a red and white striped pole outside his shop. The red symbolized blood and the white stood for the tourniquet.
When he had come with his friend Georg a few years ago, Hans had seen Gebhardt use a spring-loaded lancet, cock its trigger, and fire a spring-driven blade with a fleam stick into Georg’s vein to draw several pints of blood, for the purpose of curing Georg’s throat infection. He drew the blood by heating a small flint glass cup, and creating a vacuum inside the cup, which caused the blood to flow into it.
Gebhardt had known Hans for a long time- long enough know that today he had something on his mind.
Hans was sure that Gebhardt knew enough about medicine to do away with the baby, and stop Marie’s mental and physical torture. And even though Hans didn’t feel very good about bloodletting-probably because it didn’t help Georg-maybe it would somehow help do away with Marie’s intense pain.
“What’s troubling you, Hans?,” Gebhardt asked quietly, motioning for him to sit in the chair next to his station. “I can tell by lookin’ at you that this ain’t no social call.”
“Marie’s got bad troubles with her pregnancy, Gebhardt, blurted Hans. “ She has constant pain in her lower parts, and it’s getting worse by the day. Can you help us either stop the pain, or abort the baby?”
“I reckon I could try bloodletting, Gebhardt answered thoughtfully, “It might help. And if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be a big trick to go ahead and get rid of the baby.”
Hans felt almost instant relief, and after some more conversation about the details, took his leave and headed for home.
“Marie, there is something I want to talk to you about,” was the way Hans broached the subject that evening. “ I think you have had enough of this almost constant agony. It isn’t worth it. Gebhardt says he can try bloodletting, and if that doesn’t work, he can abort this birth, and take you out of all this misery.”
Marie was no pushover. She had grown up in a family of 9 children, of which she was the 7th. Her parents had difficulty providing food and shelter for themselves and their children, and Marie knew hardship and tough times.
You could see Marie, who was a small demure woman, beginning to steel herself. Her facial expression suddenly evolved into a determined, defiant look, and her body began to tremble. “We will do no such thing, Hans,” she shouted, her dark eyes on fire. “ I want this baby and I will have this baby, no matter what it takes. I may complain, but I can take it. Just erase that thought from your mind.” “I’m not looking for an easy solution. I complain because I want to talk about it.”
Hans was well aware that underneath Marie’s quiet exterior was a rock solid perseverance that rarely emerged, but when it did, it took those around her-even him-by surprise and even by storm. He knew he had no choice but to back down in the face of Marie’s defiant proclamation. She really did want to have this baby-there was nothing more to discuss. But Hans knew it would be so excruciatingly difficult.
Today was no exception to every day in the past month. When Hans, a born farmer, came in from tending to his cattle, Marie-ordinarily a pretty tough woman- was screaming with pain. “This is so hard to deal with, Hans,” she gasped between her cries of anguish. Hans, who Marie often described as “an accommodating and obliging man,” who was very considerate to those he loved, could hardly stand to hear his wife in so much torment. “Why does it hurt so much, Hans?” Marie gasped as she gripped the side of the bed so hard that her knuckles were white. Maybe Hans was right, she thought fleetingly. Aborting the baby would stop this terrible pain.
“I wish I knew-Lord, I wish I knew,” whispered Hans, in as quiet a voice as he could muster. “When did it start?” Marie shifted in the bed, began to relax for a time, and responded “It came on me just after you left for the barn. I didn’t want to disturb you. And I didn’t want you talkin’ abortion again.” Hans, momentarily proud of her courage and desire to help him, searched for what to say. “You’ll get through it,” Hans said with encouragement, “What can I do to help?”
As he tried to soothe her and make her comfortable,
his thoughts returned to how he could stop this terrible discomfort. He made note that he should talk to Magdelena, a long time friend who lived on the next road, and who had helped them deliver their babies.
Even though some midwives had been labeled “witches” by the government, Hans had respect for them because they knew so much about giving birth, and helping women who shouldn’t be having babies know how to prevent being pregnant. Hans thought the government was down on midwives because their help in reducing births defeated the government’s purpose of re-populating the country after the Bubonic Plague. But he didn’t have time to think much about things like that.
Maybe Magdelena would have an idea about how to make the baby come earlier. Hans and Marie both knew that the baby wasn’t supposed to come for a month, and he dreaded dealing with the unbearable situation that long.
Hans went to bed that night deeply troubled. He was no stranger to problems, and he wasn’t usually a worrier. But this was different. He wondered where he would get the strength to cope. But Hans knew that one of his strengths was being persistent. He had experienced adversity before and had gotten through it. His thought was, “I can do it again, and I will.”
He finally fell asleep, and dreamed of his ancestors and their problems. The Bubonic Plague had killed many of his early ancestors in the 14th century. But miraculously, some survived, and he had heard the family stories about his great-great grandfather, Heinrich born in Eselsdorf in 1560. In Hans’s dream, Heinrich almost lost his son Johannes in 1592, Johannes almost lost his son Stephen, Hans’ father in 1636, and around and around it went. They were all cattle herders, and even the lives of the cattle in his dream were threatened.
“Ahheeee!, screamed Marie with a blood curdling shrillness that made Hans bolt out of bed from his fitful sleep, “Ahheeeee!
“Help me, Hans!” pleaded Marie, “I think the baby wants to come out.” Marie was sweating profusely, and her intermittent screams told him that something was terribly wrong.
“It will be alright. I’ll get help,” shouted Hans who was there in an instant to put his hand on her hot-stove forehead to comfort her. “Try to bear it. I’m here to help you!” Marie was sweating profusely, and her intermittent screams told him that something was terribly wrong.
It took him only a moment to see that her bed was soppy wet, and that she was having labor pains. But they were no normal pains. Something was causing the pain of the beginning of birth to be magnified- it seemed like five fold-and Hans knew something must be done very quickly. “I’ll get help,” shouted Hans, “It will soon be better!”
Hans rushed to his neighbor’s house to awaken them and sent his son Georg for Gebhardt. He then rushed to get Magdalena to Marie’s bedside as fast as he could.
“Push, Marie! Push!” shouted Magdalena, placing a cold cloth on Marie’s forehead, and holding her hand. “Help the baby get out! Push harder!”
Hans and Gebhardt heated a tub of water, and did what they could. But Marie was so weak that it was almost impossible to get her to push. And her excruciating pain continued.
Marie’s contractions were more powerful and frequent now, and her cheering section had gained confidence. Magdalena was so good at trying to get Marie to relax and get into the rhythm, but she was not used to helping her patient deal with so much pain.
“Oh my God, it’s coming,” shouted Hans, as the very small baby fought against the odds and somehow wanted to be born.
Miraculously, and after much time and trauma had elapsed, there was no doubt that the baby was beginning to emerge.
“Hold on, Marie, stay with us and help,” Magdalena shouted with encouragement, “It’s about over!”
Hans held Marie’s hand and Gebhardt helped brace her as the baby slowly but surely sought the light of the room.
“I can’t stand it anymore,” Marie shouted weakly, in a state of pain and utter exhaustion. “ God help me!”
Just as the baby was born, Marie passed out with fatigue and the unbearable pressure, and Hans and Gebhardt worked feverously to keep her alive, as Magdalena tried to keep the tiny baby breathing.
It was a very long and difficult night, and several times both Marie and the baby’s breathing halted, only to be restored again by warm applications, massage, and something from a bottle that Hans had stored in the cupboard for such emergencies.
Hans was a beer drinker, and had no use for hard liquor, but he knew the medicinal value of a shot of whiskey, and kept some on hand for emergencies. In contrast to one of his neighbors, he didn’t-for some “unknown reason”-have to keep replenishing his supply.
Hans, having had a wife die in childbirth before, mustered all of his courage, busied himself helping Gebhardt and Magdalena, and tried to not think about what might happen to Marie.
Near daybreak, both mother and child began to relax and breathe more normally. Marie could talk to Hans, and began to regain a little strength. The newly emerged baby, a tiny boy, began to cry loudly, and breathe in a tenuous rhythm. Everyone there knew, however, that this small wisp of progress might be fleeting, and lives could be in danger at a moments notice.
This tiny, premature baby had little chance. Gebhardt and Magdalena did the best they could to keep him alive, but it was rare, if ever, in their experience, that a baby two months premature would live.
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The days gathered into weeks, and by what seemed like a miracle to Hans, the baby, with his life hanging by a thread, managed to defy all odds and continue to grace their presence.
Marie, who by all measures had a close encounter with death, almost willed herself to be among the living, and began her journey to wellness.
“I want to call him Marcus, after my grandfather,” said Marie quietly, and Hans agreed. “I hope he will grow to be as tall as your grandfather,” offered Hans, “But the little devil has a long way to go!” “I’m so happy,” exclaimed Marie, “I think he will make it.” Not being so confident, Hans only smiled, harboring an inner concern that did not show.
The first few months of Marcus’ life was an amazing panoply of true grit, on the part of everyone. The baby boy’s entry into this life was fragile at best, and it took a great deal of effort and perseverance to keep him well. Needless to say, it was a surprise to all when he began to gain weight, to grow in length, and strive mightily toward becoming a normal sized baby.
Marcus was the thirteenth child for Hans, and would be the last child Marie would birth. He almost didn’t make it. Maybe his name, derived from the name of the Roman God, Mars, gave him special blessing. Or maybe he was buoyed up by the strength of his forefathers.
Or maybe it was something else-something that Hans had never talked about to anyone.
It happened when Hans had just turned 18 years old. His father, Stephan, had given him permission to drive their horse and the buggy to pick up his girlfriend Anna. It was in the rainy season, and the creek he had to go over on the way had swelled way out of its banks. It was very risky, but Hans was young, wanted to get to Anna’s house, and so decided to drive over the bridge anyway. Even now, Hans shivered when he thought about it.
“I probably shouldn’t be doing this,” he had thought, “but I know I can make it. I’ll just keep to the center of the bridge, and even though it is swinging too much, and the water is splashing over it, I know I can get over to the other side if I go quickly.”
“My God!” Hans had shouted, half way across the bridge. As a massive blast of water washed over the swaying bridge, his horse panicked. The buggy, careening from side to side, suddenly veered to the left, hit the rail, and was forced up on it by the rushing water. It was balanced on the rail, ready with only a little nudge, to plunge over the side, taking Hans and the horse with it into the rocks and rushing waters below-probably to certain death.
And then it happened. Almost as if a strong hand was guiding it, the buggy righted itself, the waters subsided, and the frantic horse came to her senses. Hans was delivered safely across the creek, and all was well.
He had relived that event many times, and he could only conclude that he had been guided that evening by someone or something that cared for him, and who was there with him in time of trouble.
After that, he had always felt that he had a Guardian Angel, who had his best interests at heart. He’d never seen the angel, but he was as sure as he was born that the angel had been with him at the bridge, and at other times in his life. It wasn’t just a feeling. To Hans it was a reality. He just knew someone was with him, protecting him, and helping him solve his problems. It was like the angel was a family angel, who had been with his ancestors and was now with him. He knew it was sort of weird to think like that, but he couldn’t help it. And he also couldn’t help thinking that the angel had played a key role in keeping Marcus alive during and after his birth.
Regardless of the reason, many in the community, along with Hans, truly felt that a miracle had happened the day that Marcus was born. And some even called him “that Ohdoerfer miracle baby.”
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Wolfgang’s Father Facing Problems
Wolfgang shed a tear when he thought about his father- who had died too early- and who Wolfgang felt he had let down by losing the family mill that his father had loved so well. Did his father’s life have a message for him and his problems? Wolfgang wanted to believe that it did-but what was it? Again, Wolfgang drifted into his memories, reliving the time-worn stories of his father, Marcus Odoerfer’s worst times…
Grub, Germany, 1746 – Marcus, Wolfgang’s father, and the “miracle baby”, was 31 years old two years ago when he married Anna, a 23 year old beauty from nearby Eselsdorf.
At 5 feet 11 inches, he was taller than most, if not all, of his neighbors-and of his ancestors, for that matter. He was also different from them in that he had a full head of blond hair- a stark contrast to the traditional Odoerfer dark hair and eyes. Looking at him, the miracle baby, you would have had no clue that he had been born prematurely.
Marcus was known for his friendliness, and his willingness to help a neighbor in need. He was, like his ancestors before him, known for his temper, but also for his ability to “get mad and get over it quickly.” Generally, people liked Marcus.
Anna and Marcus were a great match. Anna was smart and practical. She had grown up in a very religious family, had a deep faith, and was the catalyst for religion in the Odoerfer family.
Anna was also the practical organizer in the family, and helped keep things running and Marcus on track. Like Marcus’ mother, Anna had penetrating dark eyes, but unlike her, Anna was not a small woman. She had a distinctive beauty that made you look twice when you saw her- rather tall, a pretty smile, and while the dresses she wore tried to hide her attractive shape, it wasn’t hard to guess what she would look like if not so covered.
Marcus, always willing to have some fun, enjoyed Anna’s sense of humor.
“Do you like the cows better than me,” Anna playfully chided as Marcus came in late from the barn, “I smell their perfume on you, so I can only guess that you were pretty close to them.” “Only one of them strikes my fancy,” Marcus said with a grin, “And sadly, she is pledged to someone else.”
It was their ability to poke fun that had kept Marcus and Anna on an even keel as their troubles had multiplied recently. Marcus had grown up on the farm in Grub, Germany, and followed his father’s footsteps to become a farmer. To everyone he knew, it seemed that he would always be one. But with little money coming in from crops, and low prices for selling farm animals, he had been just getting by.
Marcus felt much like Goethe, who would later say in regard to agriculture in Germany, “Things have gone so far now,… that more is consumed in a day at the top than can be produced in a day at the bottom.” By all accounts, while those in government needed to tax the peasants to fill their coffers, there was really very little income in the country to tax. The farming methods were out of date, and somehow, tradition won out, as it usually does, over innovation.”
In the past few months, Marcus had severely felt the pressure of high taxes and weak crops. In the midst of his worries, he had experienced thoughts that passed like a wisp of chimney smoke, but which caused him to wonder if there wasn’t a better way.
During that same unsettling time, Marcus and Anna had also been preoccupied with worries about whether they could have children. They so much wanted to, but had tried and tried for months, with no success. It was eating on both of them, and making their life troubled. They had each searched their past, wondering if it could be their fault that they couldn’t conceive.
Marcus wondered if it was his fault, because of the bull. He remembered the day well. How could he forget?
He was a 10 year old boy, full of himself, and always willing to take a risk for the sake of adventure. He and his friend, Arndt, were inseparable. They talked about the meaning of their names. Marcus searched and searched to find that one variant of his name meant “Little Warrior” and Arndt’s name meant “Eagle Power.” They loved to pretend, and often acted out adventures related to these brave and powerful names.
On that fateful day, they had ventured into the pasture where their trusted family bull was grazing, and decided to get him going a little-to pretend that Little Warrior and Eagle Power were cutting their way through the jungles of Africa, and the bull was a charging rhinoceros. In their state of pretending they wanted the “rhino” to attack, and for the prowess of the warrior and the power of the eagle would save them.
As Marcus began to wave his red handkerchief in front of the bull, Arndt went behind, and gave the bull a kick in the butt.
It all happened so suddenly. The bull reacted much more violently than they expected to the provocation, and began to rush full speed straight toward Wolfgang. “Run, Wolfie, run!” shouted Arndt at the top of his lungs. He wanted to stop the bull, and save Wolfgang, but he realized that he was too small, and the bull was too strong. Wolfgang felt the hot snorting breath of the bull instantly-too fast for escape. “No, No! shouted Wolfgang, as the bull charged right at him, like a suddenly humanized locomotive. As Arndt watched in stupefied horror, the bull rammed his horns into Wolfgang’s groin, lifted him high off the ground and threw him against a large pile of rocks, straw, and wood that was adjacent to the pasture.
Arndt, feeling totally weak and helpless, somehow found a way to divert the bull’s attention away from Wolfgang, or he might have attacked again. Arndt just had time to help Marcus under the fence and out of harms way before the bull slammed into the post.
When Marcus drug himself, with Arndt’s help, to their house, Marcus’s father, Hans, realized immediately that Marcus had almost been gored almost to death by their trusted family bull, who had suddenly gone mad. Knowing that the reason bulls attack humans is often that they mistake them for another bull in the herd that needs to be put in its place didn’t help Hans, as he rushed Marcus to their doctor, fearing the worst.
The bull had not been selective as to the location where his horns had collided with Marcus, and the doctor hadn’t seemed to really know what to do. “You’re lucky to be alive,” he said, as he closed and dressed the wound. Marcus knew that anyway, and waited for the doctor to say more, but his attitude seemed to be only “time will tell.” For many weeks after, Marcus just didn’t feel right, and much later, as an adult, he had wondered if the accident was the cause of him not being able to have children.
Or perhaps it was the frustration that came with trying to fight an up-hill battle with poverty that caused him to be too stressed to relax and let life take its course.
On the other hand, could it be Anna’s fault? Early in their marriage, she had tearfully confided to him that she had been molested as a child by her uncle, and had brutally lost her virginity. Marcus tried to get her to talk more about it, but his efforts always ended in stony, glassy eyed silence. Had she been injured, and rendered unable to have children? Marcus worried that this might forever remain a mystery, but the whole thing seemed to be constantly on his mind.
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Just when they thought things couldn’t get worse, a sunny day in late July gave birth to an event that would forever change their lives. And it came on the wings of a cousin that Marcus would just as soon not have seen.
It was Anna, busy spinning wool into a course cloth for clothes, who first saw him. “Marcus,” she exclaimed, “Isn’t that Helmut tying up his horse? Or is the horse tying up Helmut?” Marcus peered out of the window and recognized his irascible cousin from Ansbach, finally subduing the horse, and heading for the house.
Marcus and Anna welcomed him in, and seeing that he was parched after a long ride, offered him a drink. “Helmut,” said Marcus cordially, “What brings you here. We haven’t seen you in several fortnights-since Aunt Erna’s funeral.” “Just riding through, on my way to Eselsdorf, Helmut said curtly, “Don’t want to trouble you.” “Oh, no trouble at all,” Anna intruded softly, “Would you stay for supper?” “Didn’t come here for a handout,” Helmut said gruffly, “Just to say hello, and remind you that you still owe me for that heifer that I sold you last year.” “I know, I know,” Marcus mumbled, “ I‘m a little short of money now, but will have it for you as soon as I can. I hope you understand.”
Helmut was not pleased, and with his hopes for getting his money dashed, made small talk for a while and soon started to take his leave. As he stood in the door, about to go, Helmut handed Marcus a flyer, and said “Marcus, it looks like you’re not making ends meet very well in this farming business. You might want to take a look at this.”
Helmut turned abruptly, and in a moment, after a quick “Come see us again” from Anna, was on his horse, trotting down the dirt road heading out of Grub.
Marcus looked at the flyer, but dismissed it as another one of Helmut’s wild ideas, certainly not applicable to him.
“Are you going to read me what it says?” Ann asked quietly.
Marcus complied, and without much enthusiasm read the contents to Anna.
Wanted: A strong man, with good character, experienced with horses, and driving carriages.
Must live in Ansbach, and drive the Crown Prince’s carriage. Must have a loyal, unblemished record.
All applications, with attestations about character, must be in by August 10.
Contact: Erhard Brummer, Assistant to
Crown Prince Philip Alexander
Ansbach, Germany July, 1746
Marcus had heard stories about the Crown Prince’s father, who drank a lot and couldn’t control his temper. When he had had a few too many, he would shoot subjects for minor infractions, hang thieves for petty thefts, and cut off a head or two without much provocation.
Marcus didn’t know much about Crown Prince Phillip Alexander, but had heard that he was more inclined to be humane than his father. But he didn’t give the flyer much more thought.
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As the days passed, and his money grew less and less, Marcus began to worry more and more about how he could support himself and Anna. He was beginning to feel that he must, somehow, take drastic measures.
Late one night, a few weeks after Helmut had given it to him, Marcus picked up the flyer, and thought, almost in despair, “What the hell-I might as well give it a try.”
So he spent the next two days, with a lot of help from his friend Fredrick Hasseldorf, the local schoolmaster, writing a carefully worded letter that he would personally deliver to the Crown Princes’ assistant. Frederick urged him to include letters of recommendation from the owner of the local stable-who knew how good Marcus was with horses-and Marcus agreed. He also included a letter from the minister at the Lutheran church at Rasch- an old friend of the family-who was well known for miles around.
Unaccustomed to applying for a job, he had little confidence that he would be considered, and even less confidence that he would be hired. And yet something- or someone- told him that he would be a good carriage driver. He knew and liked horses and horses liked him. He was good at upkeep of machinery, and that included carriages. And he was good with people. Anna always told him that he had “a gift of gab.” and he believed it.
Anna, as usual, helped him sort it out. “You have done everything you can, Marcus. It’s now in God’s hands, and whatever happens will be the best for you.” Marcus went to sleep that night ready to accept rejection, if it came, and determined to make a go of farming, if that was to be his lot.
A fortnight after he had delivered his application for that seemingly unattainable job, Marcus and Anna again saw a man on a horse approaching their house. This time it wasn’t Helmut, but instead, a stranger that neither of them had seen before. He tied up his horse and approached the door. Upon opening the door, Marcus was bowled over to learn that the stranger was a messenger from Crown Prince Alexander, who wanted to talk to him.
An hour later, after the most grueling round of questioning Marcus had ever been subjected to, the stranger looked him straight in the eye and, almost threateningly, asked “ If you were to be a carriage driver for the Crown Prince, how can I know that you would be loyal to him, and even be willing to sacrifice your life for him if, say, his carriage was attacked with the intent of doing him harm?
By then, Marcus had decided that what will be, will be, and was not in the least afraid of Erhard Brummer, the Crown Prince’s messenger. Marcus stood up, and brought himself to full height. “Mr. Brummer,” he said boldly, “You read what people here said about me. They know I have the courage of my convictions, and that my word is good. If that ain’t good enough for you, you’re talkin’ to the wrong man.”
Erhard Brummer had evidently heard what he was looking for, because in his next breath, he offered Marcus the job of carriage driver for the Crown Prince!
Marcus and Anna had not even talked about this eventuality. They were afraid to even entertain the idea that such an opportunity could come to them. But it didn’t take long for them to look each other in the eyes and know what they wanted to do. Yes! They were ready for this change in their life, and were excited to embark on this life-changing adventure. As the messenger’s horse carried him down their lane, they were already happily making plans to move to Ansbach.
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As the day of their move approached, Anna and Marcus had been very busy getting ready. Marcus had a sale and sold their farm animals that they had to leave behind. They also sold many household and farming items that would be of little use to them in the city of Ansbach.
As he went about these urgent tasks, Marcus’ thoughts, surprisingly like those of his father Hans, centered on something that had come into his life when he was a small child. No, his father hadn’t told him about the Guardian Angel. He had just felt it. When bad things had been averted and had passed, and especially good things followed, there had seemed to be a presence-someone with him, helping.
Now, he knew he was not simply lucky to get the carriage driver job, but felt strongly that not only had he worked hard to produce the right application, but that someone or something else had played a role. Maybe it was not an act of God, but yet, it was something. And he was left wondering, “How do you thank a Guardian Angel?”
As they settled into a routine in Ansbach, both Anna and Marcus found themselves happy that they had made the move, and more relaxed about their lives. Anna had found some new friends in the St. Johannis church that they were attending, and Marcus loved his job as carriage driver. He was no longer constantly worried about how to make ends meet, and was treated well by the people with whom he worked. He seemed a natural for the job, and wondered why he had not left farming long ago.
One evening, after a hard, but rewarding day’s work, Marcus sat with Anna on the porch swing of their simple but comfortable little house in Ansbach, and, to Anna’s surprise, said, “You know, I’m not worried any more about having children. We can make a good life here, and put the efforts we would have put into raising children into our church and my work. We’ll be OK.” Anna didn’t know what to say, since she still had many moments when she thought about the fact that they hadn’t been able to have children of their own- but always thinking it was still possible. “I understand, Marcus,” she said quietly, “But I haven’t given up hope. I trust in God’s will, and I think He will hear our prayer.”
It was a cool, crisp day in late November when Anna first felt it. She feared that she might be taking ill. There had been cases of smallpox in Ansbach, and one of her newly found good friends had recently died of the dreaded affliction. She had heard that the disease often began with fatigue, a headache, a backache, and vomiting. She had been nauseous, fatigued, and had felt a twinge of ache in her back. She began to worry.
Anna had heard that some people had been cured from Smallpox by rubbing smallpox scales from others, who had a mild case, on their body. She had confided in Marcus about how she felt, and they wondered if she should see the physician in Ansbach.
“You should go as soon as possible,” Marcus asserted, “It doesn’t do to wait on things like this.” “I know,” Anna replied, “But it hasn’t been that bad. Maybe I should wait and see if I feel better.” Marcus would have none of it, and the next day they went to see Wilhelm Stuber, the local physician.
“Well, Anna, you look worried- what seems to be the trouble?” asked Wilhelm. He knew Anna from church, and felt he could talk straight to her. Anna described her symptoms, and Wilhelm asked questions. He listened, probed, and poked- all in Marcus’ presence, of course.
Anna prepared for the worst, but as Anna told him more, a smile began to creep over Wilhelm’s face. “Anna,” he said reassuringly, “ The “small” you need to be concerned with is not the one in “smallpox,” but the one in “small one”. You are going to have a baby!”
At that moment it all became clear to Anna, and she and Marcus were overjoyed. At last their prayers had been answered! And the journey toward birthing could began!
After they got back home, a smile began to creep over Marcus’s face. Anna saw him and began to smile also. Quickly, Marcus could not keep just a smile intact and began to laugh out loud. “What are you hee-hawing about, you big buffoon,” Anna chided, trying to hold back her own laughter. “ “Don’t you remember the time when you were sleeping and that tiny lizard leaped on your chest and you thought you were having a heart attack?” “You got it all wrong,” Marcus said with obvious good humored evasion, “I just thought the lizard had Smallpox and I didn’t want her to rub her scales on my body.” And Anna, ignoring the purported sex of the lizard, went to what would be their child’s bedroom to busy herself with preparations.
It was June 21, 1747 when Anna and Marcus were blessed with the birth of their first child. Marcus had heard the stories of his own birth, and knew that the community where he was born called him a “miracle child.” Somehow, given their long wait to conceive, he felt that the birth of his new son was also a miracle. And in the recesses of his mind, there was still this vague, but nevertheless real, feeling that his Guardian Angel surely must be smiling.
Anna and Marcus named their son Johann Wolfgang, and he took well to the world of Ansbach, Germany. He grew fast, and was the couple’s pride and joy.
Anna had found childbirth easier than she thought, and loved being a mother. Little did she know that her motherhood pleasures would soon be doubled. Five months later, she realized that she was pregnant again, and in June the next year a little girl, who they named Maria Margaretha, was born to Anna and Marcus. As Marcus remarked, “When it rains, it pours.”
Talk about a surprise! Marcus went to work that day like any other day. He checked and fed the horses, and polished the carriage so that it would be in wonderful shape for the Margrave. He knew that the Margrave would have somewhere important to go, and Marcus would get him there.
It was not that Marcus had any love for the Margrave. The older men in the Margraves employ said that Margrave Charles Alexander was much better than his murderous father with the same name, but Marcus had not experienced his goodness. It amazed him that the Margrave paid so little attention to his carriage driver. It was as if Marcus was an invisible object, and “object” was the best way to describe it. He didn’t really feel that he was treated as a human, and even though he had worked for him for two years, there had never been any evidence that the Margrave saw him as anything other than an invisible means to get to where he wanted to go.
The day was pretty ordinary, and Marcus did his job with as much perfection as he could muster. That’s the way he was. It wasn’t until the the day dwindled toward quitting time that Marcus was beckoned to talk with the Margrave’s assistant who had hired him- the mousy little man, Erhard Brummer. “Marcus, may I have a word with you,” he asked curtly.” “Sure,’ responded Marcus, “What can I do for you?” Erhard, becoming somewhat nervous, stammered “Marcus, the Margrave wants his nephew, Jakob, to be his carriage driver. You are released immediately. Your pay, ending today, is in this envelope. And now I must take my leave.”
You could have knocked Marcus over with a feather. In his wildest dreams, he had not expected this. As Erhard walked quickly away, Marcus was shocked, and amazed that he had not said one word about thanks for a job well done, nor did he seem to have any appreciation of the impact his announcement would have on a man with two children. But Erhard was the Margrave’s messenger, not a humanitarian.
As Marcus made his way home, he wondered what kind of job he could find, and how he could support his wife and two small children. The more he thought, the more despondent he became. “Look out!” shouted a man with a donkey cart, as Marcus absent-mindedly stepped out in front of him. Marcus mumbled an apology the rider had no way of hearing, and trudged on, oblivious to everything around him.
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Marcus had two days of worry and depression- two days when all of his thankfulness for the miracles of the birth of his children and of finding his new job seemed hollow. He felt down and out, and didn’t have much hope for finding a way to put bread on the table for his family.
Reluctantly, on the third day, he dragged himself out of bed on Sunday morning and went with his family to church. It took all he could muster, because he felt that God had somehow let him down. And it didn’t help that Johann Wolfgang and Maria Margaretha wanted to play, and weren’t in the mood for church either. But he had always gained strength from church, and something tugged at him, telling him to go.
At church that morning, out of the blue, his friend Leonhard approached him and said “ Marcus, at the mill where I work, Fredrick is too old to continue, and we need someone to take his job. Are you interested?” Marcus looked at Leonhard in disbelief, as he continued. “ It isn’t the biggest paying job, but it’s a decent wage. And I think you would like the men that work there.” Marcus was flabbergasted, and agreed on the spot to come to the mill on Monday morning and give the job a try. As he pondered his good fortune, thinking that good things come to those who wait, little did he know that this opportunity would end up also being valuable to Johann Wolfgang, when he became an adult.