Stein House: A German Family Saga

Praise for Stein House

"In Stein House, Myra McIlvain gives us a fascinating view into the little known world of the German pioneers who settled Indianola, Texas in the last half of the 19th century. In this gripping epic tale, we follow the young Helga Heinrich and her children as they make their crossing to the new world where they struggle against the forces of nature and their own shortcomings to carve out a life for themselves in this land of opportunity."

­—Daya Doris, playwright of the awarding-winning

Blinded by the Lights

Historical fiction is anything but boring in McIlvain’s latest work... McIlvain faces the South’s history of slavery head-on, contrasting the Germans’ distaste for the practice with the pro-slavery land they now live in. It makes for a fascinating glimpse into a world that isn’t as black and white as it might seem... A wonderful slice of history that animates mid-19th century Texas.

—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

"With Stein House, Ms. McIlvain opens a window on a forgotten port in a faraway past through which we see the courage, fortitude, and tenacity of realistic characters overcoming turbulent times. Think Gone with the Wind with a German accent."

—Howie Richey, Texpert tour guide and author of Party Weird

"Those who know Texas well, as Myra McIlvain does, will no doubt recognize the cultural landmarks in her new book, Stein House. They will also hear familiar strains of historical human struggle against the power of nature reminiscent of Dorothy Scarborough’s The Wind. For those who aren’t familiar with the layers of life in early Texas, though, Stein House offers a good starting point for understanding and appreciating what defines the Lone Star sense of place."

—Dan K. Utley, Chief Historian, retired, Texas Historical Commission. Co-author of History Ahead and Faded Glory

Also by Myra Hargrave McIlvain:

Six Central Texas Auto Tours

Texas Auto Trails: The Southeast

Texas Auto Trails: The Northeast

Shadows on the Land: An Anthology of Texas Historical Marker Stories

Texas Auto Trails: The South and Rio Grande Valley

Legacy

The Doctor’s Wife

And from Sunstone Press:

Texas Tales, Stories That Shaped a Landscape and a People

© 2017 by Myra Hargrave McIlvain

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including

information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher,

except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Sunstone books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use.

For information please write: Special Markets Department, Sunstone Press,

P.O. Box 2321, Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504-2321.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: McIlvain, Myra Hargrave, author.

Title: Stein house : a German family saga : a novel / by Myra Hargrave

McIlvain.

Description: Santa Fe : Sunstone Press, [2018]

Identifiers: LCCN 2017046839 (print) | LCCN 2017057381 (ebook) | ISBN

9781611395334 | ISBN 9781632932082 (softcover : acid-free paper)

Subjects: LCSH: Immigrants--United States--Social life and customs--19th

century--Fiction. | German Americans--Fiction. | Domestic fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3613.C5345 (ebook) | LCC PS3613.C5345 S74 2018 (print)

| DDC 813/.6--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017046839

www.sunstonepress.com

SUNSTONE PRESS / Post Office Box 2321 / Santa Fe, NM 87504-2321 /USA

(505) 988-4418 / orders only (800) 243-5644 / FAX (505) 988-1025

This book is dedicated to Stroud, my best friend, who held my hand and encouraged me every step of the way.

Acknowledgments

My life has been a rich texture of love, encouragement, and support from more folks than I can ever name, but there are a special few who have blessed me throughout this project.

The top of the list belongs to my husband, Stroud, for the many times he patiently read the manuscript, asking questions that helped me hone my craft and advising this city girl about mules and woodstoves and gardens.

My sister, Doris Hargrave, pored over the manuscript with her red pen, offering critique that pushed me to tighten my writing, keep to the storyline, and not veer into a history lesson.

A dear friend, Barbara Wagner, set aside time to carefully read the manuscript twice, using her keen eye for detail to mark my spelling errors and note the places that needed clarity.

Earl Russell, a friend and memoir writer, served as my mentor, pushing me to write my Texas history blog and generously sharing his publishing tips and accolades along the way.

Thanks must go to a woman who was in her mid-nineties when I interviewed her in 1974. She shared many fascinating tales about her ancestors who had settled around Indianola. But the story that stayed with me and haunted me and finally came alive for me in Stein House was an incident she mentioned only casually: a widow and her children arrived in Indianola after watching their drunken papa and husband leap between the ship and the dock before falling to his death in the waters of Germany’s Weser River. After all these years, that widow became Helga Heinrich of Stein House.

Stein House, which is set during a period of great tumult in Texas and the United States, required months of research and many sources. I owe a tremendous debt to Brownson Malsch for his Indianola: The Mother of Western Texas, an award-winning detailed history of the thriving seaport and its residents.

Finally, there are the supporters that kept telling me how eager they were to read Stein House. To all of you I say, Here it is. I hope you enjoy the journey as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Preface to this New Edition

After Sunstone Press did such a beautiful job publishing Texas Tales, Stories That Shaped a Landscape and a People, I was delighted when they agreed to bring new life to my book Stein House, Saga of a German Family, which tells the story of early Texas settlers. I especially like the historic cover image.

The book began taking root in the 1970s when I lived on the Texas coast. I became fascinated with the old ghost town of Indianola and its origins as the landing place for thousands of German immigrants who started arriving in 1844. I moved to Austin and spent years writing Texas Historical Markers, newspaper and magazine articles, and books about small towns all over the state. Along the way, I continued to discover more and more about the amazing Germans—their work ethic, their love of education, and their disagreement with their new homeland over the slavery issue.

Many of the Germans who felt betrayed by the noblemen who organized the emigration society known as the Adelsverein, refused to accompany the group that settled towns like New Braunfels and then Fredericksburg. Instead, they remained on the coast and developed a port that grew into the thriving city of Indianola, a seaport that rivaled Galveston by 1875.

I wove the fictional tale of Helga Heinrich and her children who operated the Stein Boarding House into the history of Indianola. They emigrated at the urging of Helga’s sister Amelia who was married to the wealthy Dr. Stein. My story ended with the 1886 storm that left behind a ghost town, but many readers asked me about the relationship between Amelia and her husband. Thus began The Doctor’s Wife the prequel, which centers on the strange marriage of the Steins as they pitched themselves into the development of the port that became known as Indianola.

Map of the coast.

Diorama (map) of old Indianola. From the Collection of the Calhoun County Museum, Port Lavaca, Texas. Jeff Underwood designed and built the diorama. Photograph by Philip Thomae.

This sign, copied from the diorama on the previous page, is located at the Indianola ghost town. Note just below the sign one of the surviving shellcrete cisterns built during a drought in Indianola.

Union Troops in the Streets of Indianola, Texas, Civil War wood engraving by Thomas Nast published in the New York Illustrated News, April 6, 1861. From the collection of the Calhoun County Museum, Port Lavaca, Texas.

1

1853

Helga gripped the ship railing, straining to see the slowly materializing shore, lulled by the sweet sounds of Paul’s harmonica as he roamed among the passengers. His music had become part of the voyage, always in the background, adding energy when the hours dragged, lifting spirits during the after-supper sing-alongs. Now, the passengers leaned over the ship rail, chattering excitedly, as unaware of Paul’s music as they were of the gentle breeze blowing against their faces. Heaving its way through the waves, the ship seemed as eager as everyone on board to reach Indianola, the tiny speck of buildings stretching across the flat Texas landscape.

Then, like a storm wave rising black and angry out of the sea, the memory washed over Helga, forcing her back to the horror that had begun their trip: Max leaped wildly over the ship rail to the dock. The crowd on board roared its delight, enjoying another of his hilarious antics. He whirled to face his audience on deck, tilted the rounded brim of his hat over one eye, spread his feet apart like the maestro of a grand orchestra, and played a few bars of Die Huehle on his harmonica while the passengers clapped or rapped the rhythm on the ship rail. Then his long, graceful legs sprang gleefully into the air, and he clicked his heels together in a final salute and raced into the inn. The children’s hysterical laughter stopped the instant Max disappeared. A cold wind of fear blew over them. Helga caught her breath and pulled the children tight against her, apprehension forcing bile into her mouth.

Gretchen whispered, No, Papa... as she clutched little Anna and buried her face in the two-year-old’s shoulder. Paul trembled like a leaf, and Hermie stood as rigid as a poker, his face still flushed from howling at his papa’s performance. The sailors ignored it all, kept to their steady pace, never looking up from their work of hauling in the gangplank. The ropes slid like gigantic reptiles onto the deck, the sails billowed, and the vessel heaved as it inched ever so slowly from the dock.

Max reappeared in the doorway of the inn, and the crowd on deck shouted in delight as he stopped, bowed to his audience, and took a huge gulp from the open bottle.

Gretchen shuddered against Helga’s shoulder, and Hermie’s fist pounded the rail as he muttered between clenched teeth, Come on, Papa.

It’s all right. The captain will wait. Paul breathed into his cupped hands.

The ship began its laboring surge as the black, swirling water of the Weser River churned up waves that grew from undulating ripples to frothy caps. Still Max whirled and danced and tipped his bottle as he headed almost casually toward the departing ship. The laughter died, and in a body the crowd began coaxing him to jump, to make one mad leap, to entertain them one more time.

Helga pulled the children tighter against her, holding them, willing them not to watch.

And then Max jumped, tossing the empty bottle into the water as his body floated, suspended, arms extended, fingers spread, wildly grasping for the slowly arching rail. His face suddenly twisted to disbelieving shock as his fingers missed their grip, and he dropped like a slender arrow straight down into the roiling, icy water without causing the slightest splash.



Mama, are you sick? Helga felt Gretchen’s arm slip around her waist, forcing her back to the present.

Catching her breath, Helga shook her head and cuffed the sweat off her upper lip. Just excited. Tante Amelia is probably jumping up and down watching our ship head toward port.

Paul makes me think of Papa when he plays that harmonica with such joy. Gretchen’s lip trembled. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t.

When he plays, I can see your papa—even at ten, he’s so tall and thin. Helga did not add that she worried, as she watched Paul on shipboard, that he might be as much of an entertainer and as eager to please the crowd as Max.

As they had waited for their small transfer ship to be loaded with the sea trunks and equipment and foodstuffs they had been advised to pack for Texas, Helga had watched in amazement as Max became acquainted with all the passengers. He quickly discovered if they were merchants, or farmers, or professionally trained. The men delighted in his wild tales, such as the one about stacking his manure pile on top of old farm implements to form such a mountain of manure that his neighbors thought he owned a huge herd of milk cows.

Max managed the introductions by strolling about the dock playing his violin or his harmonica. The first night after supper, crowds gathered as his rich bass led them in familiar folksongs. By the second night, people of all ages accompanied him in four-part harmony. It passed the time, and it seemed to cheer those in grief over leaving the fatherland.

At night, when Helga tried getting the children to sleep, Max kept all four of them in gales of laughter with his whispered tales of the other passengers: Frau Brugh’s gas explosions every time she bent over, Herr Schmidt’s big toe peeking from his shoe, and Frau Mueller bringing enough bedding for every person on the ship.

Growing up, Helga had listened to her papa’s favorite sermons about Job and character and the test of a believer when faced with adversity. It all seemed so simple: like Job, girded with trust and faith, a person could weather any test, any storm God sent his way.

Then their lives changed abruptly. Helga stood paralyzed at the railing, staring at the place that had swallowed Max, her mind telling her to comfort the children, to ease the terror gripping them, but she could not move.

Hermie raised his head, staring at her in disbelief. He’s drowned. Papa’s drowned in the Weser.

Won’t they get him out? Won’t they help him? Gretchen pleaded.

The passengers moved close, some of the women enfolding them in the circle of their arms, whispering gentle consolations:

He was so happy.

"He was such a good man.

Everyone loved him.

He kept our spirits up as we waited all these long days.

If there had been some place to go on the tiny transfer ship, somewhere off the crowded deck, she would have pulled the children away. There was nothing to do but stand in ice-cold silence, nodding as well-intended strangers offered what comfort they could muster.

Gretchen cried softly, stroking Anna’s blonde curls and straining to see through the crowd as though watching for her papa. Hermie stood as white and cold as a piece of marble, and Paul wailed, his face pressed against Helga’s breasts.

Herr Weilbacher pushed through the crowd and gently laid his hand on Helga’s shoulder. "Frau Heinrich, the captain says if they find his body in time, they’ll cart it the few miles downriver to Brake where we’re transferring to the Margarethe. We’ll carry him out to sea for a proper burial."

Bury Papa in the ocean? Gretchen’s face twisted in pain.

Helga sucked in the cold spring air. She could not break down. She could not let the children see the desperation settling over her like an icy quilt. Remember how Papa loved the water? How he jumped from way up on the bank of the river? I think he’d love being buried at sea like a sailor. She reached for Gretchen and Anna, circling them in her arms, pulling them to the ship railing where Hermie held onto Paul, who gazed into the water softly calling, Papa. The cluster of women moved with them, silent at last.

The wind picked up, propelling the ship swiftly toward the village of Brake, where they planned to wait while the crew loaded all they owned onto the giant sailing ship bound for Texas without Max.

Someone handed Helga a cup of hot tea. Captain said for you to decide if you want to continue or have your belongings unloaded at Brake.

Helga held the hot cup between her fingers, surprised at how cold they had become. My sister at Indianola expects us. We must continue. She did not add that Amelia and Dr. Stein were expecting Max to run their mercantile store. She could only hope that they would still want her to operate their new boarding house.

Arriving in Brake as darkness settled, they found an additional hundred people at the inn that were scheduled to join them on the ship. At last, and despite the overcrowding, the innkeeper allowed Helga and the children the privacy of a tiny attic room. They spread their blankets in silence and stretched out across the sagging bed in complete exhaustion.

Soon Helga heard their steady breathing, all except fourteen-year-old Hermie, who lay on the far side of the line of bodies in the position that should have been Max’s, way too young to move into his papa’s place.

What was she going to do without Max to lift her spirits when they faced the new and strange land of Texas, without Max to warm her on the cold nights? Tears, held back since Max disappeared in the dark waters of the Weser, poured unchecked in the darkness.

Morning dawned cold and clear. Helga went downstairs before the children woke. Outside the door of the inn, a peasant farmer standing solemnly beside his cart nodded toward the body wrapped in a heavy shawl. I walked the whole way with him, Frau.

My thanks to you, sir. What pay do you require for so much effort?

I’d thank you for his boots. I’m in need, and they look to be about my fit. The skinny little man, who had no teeth, opened a coat Helga recognized as Max’s. It was still damp and so large it hung off both his shoulders like pointed wings. She recognized Max’s fine leather boots by the brass hooks shining through the clods of mud.

Of course. She wanted to tell him Hermie needed those boots and the coat far more than Max had needed them, but it seemed the least she could pay for his effort in such cold weather.

When I slipped off the boots, out tumbled this old silver Thaler. It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. Your man saved it in the top lining of his boot.

The sight of the one-pound coin emblazoned with the worn image of the Wild Man of the Harz Mountains, so large it covered both the man’s palms, caused such a jolt of surprise Helga felt faint.

Are you all right?

Helga nodded and took a deep breath as she accepted the heavy silver piece. "Thank you for your honesty. It’s such a blessing to have it returned. It was passed to my old grossvater, who gave it to my papa when he was a boy." She did not say that Max had insisted they pack it in their sea chest, that he had always claimed it held more value than her papa knew and that it would be their assurance against catastrophe. If Max found that running her brother-in-law’s mercantile store didn’t work out, they had the old silver Thaler to get them started with their own land.

She hadn’t planned to look at Max, to see how he suffered before he gave up and let the water freeze his lungs, but the realization he had secretly taken the Thaler and risked losing it, that he had gambled with their future, and that his drunken antics had left them alone, forced a trembling surge of fury through her body. In one quick motion she yanked the shawl back and gazed at his swollen, discolored face. His cavalier grin, his flippant air of confidence, was gone. His mouth gaped open in one last desperate scream before he sucked his last breath.

She tucked the huge Thaler in the pocket of her woolen shawl, asked the gentleman with the fine new coat and boots to pull the cart to the dock for loading, and walked back into the inn to wake the children for breakfast.

With nothing to do but wait for the ship to be loaded, the passengers roamed the dock and watched the sailors. Two sailors quickly built Max’s coffin and left it to be loaded with the luggage.

Papa’s in there, isn’t he? Gretchen’s voice trembled.

Helga folded her arm around the frail shoulders already stooped from Gretchen’s insistence on carrying Anna.

I don’t like snow on it, Anna said.

Hermie brushed the powdery flakes off the coffin. Let’s go up to our room, he said, surprising Helga by reaching for Anna and carrying her to the inn.

Passengers continued to express their sympathy. One after another came to their room with little packages—cookies for the children, smoked sausage, and jars of sauerkraut—supplies prepared for the trip. And then Herr Schmidt, whose toe peeked from his shoe, came to their door with a harmonica.

It belonged to my grossvater, but I don’t play like your papa. Herr Heinrich gave us so much joy with his music. I thought his sons would be sad to lose his harmonica.

Paul reached for the instrument, rubbing his hand across its shiny surface. Thank you, Herr Schmidt. I’ll play it for my papa. He blew softly, surprising Helga at how much command he had of the sound. Think I’ll go out on the dock. He sounded like Max when he said he thought he’d go down to the tavern—half question, half statement.

To the surprise of everyone, as the trip progressed, Paul mastered many of Max’s lively songs. He rekindled the passengers’ interest in nightly sing-alongs, with Hermie adding his sweet tenor to round out the harmony. Several passengers brought out their violins and guitars, and the sailors led the young ones in lively dances.



Now, after three months of endless ocean, the long piers of Indianola jutted into the bay like outstretched fingers welcoming them.

The buildings are so small and painted so many colors. Hermie sounded disappointed.

Helga had tried to read between the lines of Amelia’s letters and had cautioned Max and the children about Tante Amelia’s knack for finding beauty in a hog wallow. Yet as she gazed at the flat, treeless Texas prairie stretching away from the bay, Helga found herself agreeing with Amelia’s glowing description of the port. The bright colors of the buildings shining in the morning light gave the tiny village sprawling along the shore an energy that sent a surge of hope through her body. She remembered Amelia writing that with hard work they could make a good life.

They say the land begins rising about fifty miles inland. A woman’s voice carried over the crowd. They say trees shade the road to New Braunfels.

We can trust the letters from Friedrich Ernst, a man said. There will be green meadows.

We can plant green meadows, Hermie declared. His determined jaw made him look like Helga, but he sounded like his papa. Helga felt the sting of tears as this man-child, standing so tall, laid his hand on her shoulder.

We’ll plant our own garden, she said.

The women on board often reminded her to direct her mind toward positive images to lift her spirits. By day she controlled her anguish, but at night, lying in their family berth and hearing couples talking softly, privately behind the makeshift walls of quilts hung between the wood frames, she missed Max, missed him terribly. It always began as a pain in her chest, then it moved to a gnawing ache in her belly, and finally the yearning took shape in her groin. At first she fought the growing need, and then she let it carry her, finally soothing her until exhausted sleep made her body forget the constant sway of the ship and the night cries of children.

Isn’t that Tante Amelia? Gretchen pointed toward the end of the pier.

The children began waving at their only relative in America.

Amelia threw up both arms to wave and then—too quickly, Helga thought—lowered them demurely to her sides. Not at all like the rambunctious Amelia who had left for her Texas adventure.

The final good-byes started as the crew began lashing the ship to the pier. Only Helga and the children planned to remain in Indianola. The others sought inland communities in rich farming country, places Friedrich Ernst described so glowingly in his letters that were published in the Oldenburg newspaper and in a book about travel in Texas.

Most of the passengers had offered advice throughout the trip, and now their tight embraces showed genuine love and concern for the new widow and her children. A warm bond of friendship had developed over the months as the mass of strangers facing the unknown quickly took comfort in one another’s lives.

When parents had realized Helga intended to ignore seasickness and spend each day continuing with the schooling and English lessons she had started with her children long before Amelia made her trip to Texas, they began asking if she had room for their children in the class, which she held under the shade of the billowing sails. Many of the parents soothed their German pride at asking for free education by saying Helga made a wise choice to stay busy.

The children quickly learned to speak and read English, as did many of the adults who sat quietly on the fringes of the classroom silently mouthing the lessons as their children went through the drills. Most people on shipboard, including the crew, followed an unwritten rule to speak English as much as possible.

Max would have disapproved; he would have said she was foolish to teach thirty children without pay, that she and Amelia had spent too many years learning English to prepare Amelia for life in Texas to give away all that knowledge. But the passengers paid in cherished copies of newspapers and books, clothing, and respect. Max would have laughed about the respect. He had always claimed their neighbors respected her because she was Parson Anton’s daughter. The past three months had proved him wrong as more and more parents expressed admiration for her teaching skills. She followed the guidance Papa preached in his powerful sermons—she used the gifts God (and Papa) had given her.

Anna tugged at Helga’s skirt, demanding to be held so she could be seen and receive the special attention she had grown to expect from the doting passengers. From the time they pulled up anchor, Anna had scampered among the families making friends and jabbering a mixture of English and German.

Old Herr Helfin had become one of Helga’s most faithful adult students. He sat on the edge of the classroom mouthing all the drills while cradling Anna on his lap. The first time he settled quietly on the deck beside the children, Anna had headed straight for him, backed into his lap, and begun stroking his full white beard.

Now, as the ship slowed, the breeze subsided and the warmth and humidity became oppressive. Amelia had warned them to change to cotton clothing as soon as they reached the Gulf, but they didn’t own cotton garments. Cotton was impractical even for Oldenburg’s balmy summer days.

Anna pulled at a prickly rash on her neck, and the other three sweated in profusion. The women who insisted on wearing their wool scarves either abandoned their coverings or looked faint as they mopped the sweat creasing their faces.

Helga was startled to see Negroes moving like a steady stream of ants along the pier. Amelia had written about slaves, yet Helga hadn’t expected to see black-skinned men everywhere. Their powerful, bare arms glistened with sweat as they tied down the mooring lines; a group of about ten sang a deep, melodious song as they heaved huge crates into the hold of a neighboring ship. Several others loaded an enormous wagon waiting on the pier, grunting in low, gentle tones to quiet a team of skittish mules.

Did white men not work? Negroes made up the entire labor force on the pier.

Gretchen helped Anna find Tante Amelia among the throng waiting on the pier, and the child waved eagerly, happy to finally see the relative who held such importance in their family conversations. Amelia responded like the same young girl who had left home years before; she jumped and waved, ignoring the sideways glances of the frock-coated gentleman standing next to her.

After their mama died, Amelia, the adventurous one, had come to Texas with a prominent family to tutor their son. The boy had died on shipboard, and his mother had died of yellow fever soon after they landed in Galveston. Amelia had taken work as a maid at Galveston’s Tremont Hotel, and that’s where she had met Dr. Joseph Stein.

After Helga buried their papa, Amelia’s glowing reports of opportunities at Indianola, combined with the landlord’s three-month deadline for Helga and Max to vacate the manse’s property, had convinced Max to accept Dr. Stein’s offer to operate his mercantile store. Now, if Dr. Stein no longer wanted her to run his boarding house. . . She automatically touched the ancient silver Thaler riding securely in the leather money belt around her waist.

Hermie led the way down the gangplank followed closely by Paul. Amelia pulled them both into a fierce hug. Hermie had been seven when Amelia left for