She looked at Little Jim with a definite frown on her face. “Sixteen is too young, by most standards. Well, today’s standards. I was sixteen when I married your grandfather. He was nineteen then. But that makes no difference as far as these two are concerned.” She looked smiled at Little Jim. “What makes a difference to me is that they seem to be truly in love. They can wait a bit before the actual ceremony, but I, and his parents, wouldn’t be against an engagement.” She looked in the dictionary and came up with the German word for betrothal. “A verlobung.”
Jurgen and Tilda consulted quietly for a few moments before Jurgen answered. “Ve ist not in goot times. Dis var ist not to end zoon. Ze school, they say it ist many years to come before it ist end. But ve are Americans now. Ve vill liff like Americans, ja? Zo we decide. She may be verlobung. Engage. But not to marry until she ist achtzehn. Eighteen.”
Tilda continued at her husband’s nod. “Anna ist not rich girl, but not beggar. In tee years ahead she vill make her mitgift. She vill not come to altar vith empty hands.”
Elizabeth nodded and stepped aside to let Little Jim speak again. “Mister Braun, I am willing to accept these conditions. As a token, I offer Anna this ring. It’s Grandma’s engagement ring that Grandpa gave her.” He smiled broadly at Elizabeth, then at Anna.
Anna stepped forward at her father’s nod, and Little Jim went to one knee. “Anna, will you marry me?”
Anna looked confused for a moment. “I haf already say yes.”
George smiled at her. “It’s kind of tradition, Anna. He proposes on one knee and you say yes, then he gives you the engagement ring. That makes it official.”
Anna looked slightly confused, but said, “Yes, my Jim, I vill marry you.” Jim put his grandmother’s ring on the ring finger of her left hand, then stood and took her gently into his arms.
Elizabeth and George stood to the side, smiling at the scene. She smiled at the proud smile on his face and patted his arm, then went to hug her grandson and his future bride.
* * *
George continued to secretly see Doctor Adams as his health, once propped up by modern medicine, continued to decline. As the medications that were stocked in the town pharmacies ran out, herbal remedies were tried. But as the winter wore on, even the herbs could not control his blood pressure.
George awoke in the middle of the night. He was gripped by a crushing pain that was driving the breath from his chest as he struggled to reach the few nitroglycerin pills that Doctor Adams had managed to find for him. They were there on the nightstand, he could see them, but they were out of reach. The pain eased slightly as his sight dimmed, and he managed to whisper one word with his last breath. “Mary.”
* * *
Anna found George the next morning. With the cold weather they had all taken to sleeping in late, snuggling under blankets until the sun was well above the horizon. George was usually the last one up, but when he hadn’t appeared by ten she went to find him.
“George? Ist you goink to sleep all day?” she asked playfully. Then she saw his face. There wasn’t anything obviously wrong, but she knew before she touched his cool cheek. A choked sob escaped her lips as she backed away, and she finally turned to scream, “MUTTI!” before she collapsed beside his bed.
Tilda and everyone else in the house crowded into George’s room. The old man looked so peaceful, but there was no question about his death. One of the elder boys was sent to town to inform the authorities, and soon Doctor Adams and Chief Frost were driving up in a natural-gas-powered police cruiser.
Doctor Adams looked at George and took his pulse for form’s sake, but he knew it was far too late. “He went quietly,” the doctor said, as he noted the pills still on the nightstand. “He has been expecting something like this. Ever since his medications ran out he has known that he was living on borrowed time.”