After Eleanor Reb married her indentured servant, Heinrich Bruder, they opened a tavern and goods store. When they learned how to conduct transactions in English, they were happy to modernize his name to Henry Brother. Still, on the Sabbath, they sought comfort, returning to hymns in their mother tongue at the German Reformed Church. Here they baptized their children, including Valentine, the grandfather of Civil War Marine, Charles Brother.
The tavern was a salve for exhausted men needing “wet goods” and entertainment. Eleanor accepted the tradeoff, the mud for the money, but could not convince her knees to do the same. Even before the doorknob bells jiggled with the traffic, she felt her arthritis, accepting this holy reminder that God was in charge.
When travelers arrived, she scanned their appearance for signs of trouble. Any lice? What barter will they waste her time with? Did they bring news of the young republic?
She was adamant to pass down her refined skill for spotting a liar to Valentine, now 12, since he was managing the register. But on this day in August 1785 she mumbled that she should have taught this mouthy boy to manage his tongue. She did not think twice about the slap she brought to his pimpled chin, moments ago, making that long-overdue correction and turn about face.
Valentine was still not moving fast enough at the fireplace when she set down her pail to rub her knees. Just then Mr. Baer burst through the door with flapping arms, spitting a bucket as he finally got his English out, finally ending up in German, “George Washington just dropped anchor in the Monocacy River!”
Valentine turned to his abuser and leaned in with a foreign urge to embrace her and jump. Now was the moment they could pivot as one force, rushing through the back pantry, tossing out reason and accounting, sacrificing weekly rations for this occasion. He grabbed a broom and started to frantically zig zag, yelping.
Now Eleanor was the one not moving fast enough. Frozen, she could order him, in German: “Go. Run to the church. Pull those bells. The greatest moment of your father’s life is upon us. Now go!”
He bolted to the church tower, passing the boys going the other way. He leaped onto the ropes and began that familiar ride, only this time he was very precise with his weight and swing, for this moment, for his father, for G. W.