A Good American by Alex George Read Free Book Online

them to remain in St. Louis. Joseph Wall listened without comment as Frederick told him of their plans to reach Rocheport as soon as possible. When he had finished, the doctor said, “You understand that undertaking such a journey at this juncture would not be without risk?”
    “Of course.”
    “If I arrange for a carriage for you, will you at least promise me one thing?”
    “Certainly.”
    “You need a proper night’s rest before you begin your journey. Much better to start in the morning.”
    “Very well,” said Frederick. “Can you recommend a cheap hotel?”
    Joseph Wall smiled. “I believe I can do better than that,” he said.
    T hat evening Frederick and Jette sat down and ate supper with Joseph Wall and his wife. Reina Wall was a short, neat woman, a contained bustle of domestic efficiency. Her brown hair was twisted into a bun on the back of her head. She and her husband spoke softly to each other in a cocktail of English, Polish, and Yiddish, before Joseph would turn to their guests and address them in perfect German while Reina sat next to him and smiled.
    The food was simple, wholesome, and good. Thick white soup, coils of pink sausage, slabs of heavy black bread. For the first time in days, Jette ate.
    During the meal, Joseph Wall told their story. He and his wife had arrived in America from Poland thirty years earlier. Their first act as new immigrants was to undertake a bureaucratic metamorphosis, shrinking their name from Walinowski to Wall with a single stroke of a pen. Those last three syllables were lost forever, ghosts from their old life. Joseph and Reina had faced the future with their new name—simple, unforeign, monumental.
    “That was the biggest mistake I ever made.” The doctor sighed and looked at Frederick. “If I may give you some advice. Learn the language, but don’t ever change your name. This is a land of immigrants. I don’t just mean you and me. I mean
everyone
. We all came here from somewhere. But who am I now? Who are my sons?
Wall
.” He shook his head. “It’s a good name, but it’s not ours.”
    Frederick nodded, and just like that, we were doomed to our own polysyllabic heft of German nomenclature.
    The following morning, the doctor watched as Jette climbed into the carriage that he had procured. Two horses waited patiently in their harness, eating sugar lumps out of the driver’s hand.
    “How much is this going to cost?” asked Frederick anxiously. “Two horses is more than I can really—”
    Joseph held up a hand. “I’ve borrowed them from a friend of mine. I explained the situation. He says you’re welcome to them. He won’t miss them for a few days.”
    “But you don’t know us,” protested Frederick. “How do you know we’ll send them back?”
    Joseph pointed at the driver. “
He’ll
come back, and he’ll bring the horses with him. Besides,” he said, “I do know you. I
was
you, once.”
    The two men looked at each other for a moment, and then shook hands.
    “I don’t know how to thank you,” said Frederick.
    “Live your life,” answered Joseph Wall. “Look after your wife and your new baby. Cherish your family. That will be thanks enough.”
    “God bless the United States of America,” said Frederick solemnly, in Polish.
    The doctor laughed. “Go,” he said. “Go to your new home, Frederick Meisenheimer. Go and be a good American.”
    “A good American. Yes. That is what I shall be.” Frederick smiled at him. “I shall never forget you, I promise you that.”
    “All right, then. Good. Don’t forget us.” The doctor’s hand landed in the middle of Frederick’s back. “But, go, please, before your wife has her baby right here on the street.”
    With a final wave, Frederick climbed into the carriage. The driver shook the reins and the horses moved away.
    Frederick turned to his wife. Jette lay limply against the cushions. She smiled weakly at him, her face cast into shadow by exhaustion. “I can feel every cobblestone