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Mutter Grube:
Recollection of a scary visit on the Minnesota frontier
Ernst and Helen Mueller began married life in Madison, Minnesota, in 1898. Their fourth child, Adelheid, was four years old when the family moved to Freedom Township, about 20 miles east of Mankato. Ernst was a Lutheran minister. He served German immigrant congregations in German communities, where German was the common language. Mutter Grube made a lasting impression in Madison.
 Arena Township Opa’s main congregation was St. John’s in Madison, Minnesota, which he established. He also served Zion in rural Arena Township, his original call. The children, clockwise from left: Erna, Adelheid, Gerhard, Frieda, Ernst. Since my father served several spread-out congregations in western Minnesota, and since he had to travel by horse and buggy, he often had to be away from home for several days at a time. My mother had to be very brave at those times. She was only 21 when she left Chicago, where she had lived all her life within walking distance of the downtown Chicago Loop. Now she lived on the prairie. It was a completely new life and she loved it — but she had to be brave at all times.
Our kitchen was huge, kept warm and cozy with the kitchen range, a Monarch. In the evening, we sat and sipped our hot cocoa — Schokolade. (My mother always added cream to it. I caught her once when she had no cream and saw her put a lump of butter in it instead.) While we sipped, our mother read to us — fairy tales of all sorts — Grimm’s Fairy Tales in German.
It was dark outside. On the prairie, the sun goes down “in glory” every night. The sky is almost crimson red. People stand still in awe; some men even take their hats off. Then the sun suddenly seems to say Kerplunk and drops out of sight as into a hole. The beautiful color stays on for a while, and then comes total darkness. There are millions of stars, of course, but not bright enough to light up the countryside unless there is a full moon. Then it is so light it’s hard to sleep.
And so there was complete darkness one night at story-Schokolade time. There were no shades at the windows, an unnecessary luxury since there were neither neighbors nor highway. And then, all of a sudden, there appeared a face at the window. My mother saw it first and so she kept reading faster and faster, hoping we children would not see it. The face would disappear and suddenly there is was again. Horrors!
And then we all saw it. No one spoke. Our hearts beat so loudly we could hear each other’s hearts pump. We watched the face come and go like a vision — but we knew it was real.
I looked at Gerhard, called Jochan then, and his face was white. (He scared easily, although he always pretended he was extremely brave. He always whistled in the dark, a sure sign of being scared.) Even my sister Erna, who really and truly was a champion of bravery, was white and her lower lip quivered. Frieda, who depended completely on her guardian angels, was red in the face and hot. Ernie, I think, was asleep. He was just a baby. And I — I thought the end had come for all of us, and my father not home to save us. We were doomed! I knew it! I was sure the Indians — or worse than that, the Gypsies — had us.
And then our brave mother opened the door (of all things)! We held our breath, hoping and praying the monster wouldn’t take her first!
We heard her say, “Good evening, Mutter Grube. Do come in and share our Schokolade.” We children sat glued to our chairs. I’m sure our legs could not have held us up. Mutter Grube had strayed from her home, perhaps even seeking adventure. She didn’t have all her buttons, poor thing. There we sat, sneaking glances at this strange woman who did not utter a sound as I remember. No one could tell if she was enjoying her cup of Schokolade.
When Mutter Grube became a little restless, my mother suggested she’d walk with her until they could see her home light. They drew their shawls around their shoulders and left. My mother didn’t take a chance to look back and see her immobile children. She left them in the hands of their guardian angels.
When she came back, none of us had moved an inch. We were still glued to our chairs. No one spoke. She explained to us that Mutter Grube had had a hard life and finally had lost a bit of her senses. She had been a kind and very dear lady, and Mother was sure she would long remember her “night out.”
I had a hard time going to sleep that night upstairs in the dark. I kept seeing faces at my window.
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