Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (14 page)

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Using her index finger, she crossed an X on her bodice.

I’d never before seen anyone do such a thing, but I assumed it meant she’d keep her word. “Yes, I have more than one, but I’m not telling you anything more until you tell me everything you heard.”

“Oh, all right.” She settled on the bed. “Wilhelm said he is coming for a visit, and he has something important to discuss with your parents.”

“What?”

“I didn’t hear everything. They said something about Louisa.

Do you know anyone named Louisa?”

“She’s Mutter’s younger sister. After my Oma died, she lived with my family. She and Wilhelm and Pieter were very close.”

Berta scooted closer. “What about you? Were you close to her, too?”

“She moved away before I was born. She’s never come back.

Mutter and Vater don’t speak of her, but Wilhelm told me a little about her. He loved her very much, and said she was like an older sister to him. When he spoke of her, he would always become very sad.” I forced my thoughts back to the present. “Did they say Louisa is coming to visit, too? She lives in Chicago now.”

“I don’t think so, but maybe. I couldn’t hear very well.” She hesitated for a moment. “Your mother started to cry.”

“Maybe Louisa died,” I whispered. “That would be a terrible thing. They haven’t seen her for all these years, and if she died . . .” The words choked in my throat. How would Mutter feel in such a circumstance? Even though I’d never met
Tante
Louisa, I had always hoped that one day she would return for a visit with the family. The very idea that she might have died was like a weight on my chest. “What else did you hear, Berta? Surely you must have heard something more. When is Wilhelm scheduled to arrive?”

“I’ve told you everything I heard. I moved, and the floorboard creaked. Your mother turned around and saw me. I said I was looking for you. That’s when I saw her wipe her eyes.”

I now understood how Berta had managed to burst into my room without knocking. I longed to know when Wilhelm would arrive, but I dared not ask my mother. For once, I wished Berta had been more skillful with her snooping.

Berta pointed toward the headboard. “It’s time to let me see.”

I reached beneath the pillow. “Only this one.” Berta could beg all she wanted, but I wasn’t going to divulge my hiding place.

Instead of grabbing the magazine, she held it between her hands in a reverent manner and traced her index finger around the title. Her eyes appeared to glaze as she slowly turned the pages and devoured each one. “This is an old edition, but it’s still wonderful.” She glanced up at me. “How did you get it? I know they don’t have these at the general store.”

Wilhelm wouldn’t care if I told, but if my parents discovered he’d been bringing me magazines, they would be angry with him. And even if Berta gave me her word, she was an impulsive young girl who might unintentionally blurt out my secret. “I’d rather not say. Isn’t it enough that you get to look at it?”

“You don’t need to tell me. I’ve figured it out for myself. Wilhelm is the only one who would bring them to you.” With an impish grin, she turned another page. “I think I would like Wilhelm very much. I believe he must be a lot like me.”

“No, he’s not. Not in the least.” There was no need to defend my brother’s character, yet I felt obligated. Perhaps because bringing the magazines had been my plan. I’d captured a glimpse of
Godey’s
when a visitor brought a copy into the Küche. The next time Wilhelm arrived for a visit and asked what gift he could bring me, I requested the periodical. At first, he opposed the idea, but I pressed him until he finally relented. Now and then I experienced a pang of guilt for reading something other than the Bible, but mostly I enjoyed studying the fashions and reading the articles and short stories.

Berta flipped another page, apparently unaffected by my outburst. “Is Wilhelm married?”

“Yes. Her name is Larissa, but I’ve not met her. She’s never come with him on his visits, but I’ve urged him to bring her.” Perhaps that was what the letter had contained. Something regarding Wilhelm’s wife, Larissa, rather than my aunt Louisa. Maybe Berta had misunderstood.

Berta pointed to a flowing lavender gown. “This one is very pretty, don’t you think?” She waited for my approval, and after I nodded, she said, “Wilhelm’s wife is probably very stylish. Maybe he fears she would consider life in Amana quite odd.” She gathered the magazine close to her chest. “Or maybe he thinks she’d be afraid he’d want to move back to Iowa. That would be awful for her! Do you think Wilhelm would do such a thing?”

Ever dramatic, Berta clearly had envisioned a scene worthy of the stage. The girl could squeeze a story to life from one simple comment. “No. Wilhelm has no desire to live here again. I’m certain he assured Larissa of that before they married.” I, too, had given thought to the fact that Larissa might find our way of life odd, but I remained silent. If I agreed with Berta, she would develop yet another sensational story.

“Larissa. That’s a lovely name. What does her family think of Wilhelm?”

“I have no idea. Do you think you may have heard the name Larissa rather than Louisa when my parents were discussing Wilhelm’s visit?”

Berta continued thumbing through the magazine. “No. I’m certain it was Louisa.”

Questions invaded my thoughts. The minute one question was answered, another would spring up to take its place. Would Larissa come with Wilhelm? Had something tragic happened to Tante Louisa? Why were my parents keeping Wilhelm’s letter a secret?

“May I take this to my room?”

“What?” Berta’s question jerked me from my musings. “No. Of course not.”

“That’s selfish. If I had some magazines, I would lend them to you for as long as you wanted.”

“We shall never know about that, for you don’t have any magazines. And even if you did, I would never ask. I’m sorry if you think I’m selfish, but I won’t take a chance on the magazines being seen by anyone else.”

With a frustrated huff, Berta slapped the magazine atop the bed. “Then you should at least let me look at one more while I’m in your room.”

“This one is enough for today. If it’s raining next Sunday afternoon, you can look at another.”

A scowl creased Berta’s face. “But there’s plenty of time before we must return to the Küche.”

There was no denying the girl had determination. No wonder her parents found it difficult to tell her no. She could wear down the nap on a rug in no time. “I’m not going to change my mind, Berta.”

“Even if I told you another secret?”

I didn’t believe she knew anything more. She was egging me on, yet I couldn’t squelch my curiosity. “You have to tell me something more than that before I can decide. What kind of secret? More about what you heard from my parents on the porch or about something different?”

A wicked gleam shone in her eyes. “A little of both. I heard it from your parents, but it’s not about Wilhelm or his letter.”

The girl was a tease of the worst sort, and I was no match. She knew she had gained my attention. I could see it in the way she angled her head and grinned at me. Even in her plain calico, Berta appeared far worldlier than any seventeen-year-old girl I’d ever known.

After weighing my decision, I cultivated an idea of my own. “I will let you look at another magazine if you tell me.”

“Today. You must let me see it today.”

“I will let you see another magazine today.” The girl was impossible. “Now tell me what you heard.”

She scooted along the edge of the bed and tipped her head close to my ear. Her behavior made me feel as though we’d joined together in a dark conspiracy. “They talked about you and Carl.”

I reared back at the unexpected declaration. Immediately suspicious, I narrowed my eyes and attempted my fiercest look. “You are fibbing to me, Berta Schumacher. If you think I’m going to give you another magazine when you make up stories, you’re mistaken.”

She flinched as if I’d slapped her. “It isn’t a lie. I heard your mother say she thought you should marry Carl.”

I shook my head. “You forget that you told me this story once before, but last time you said it was Vater who was arranging my marriage.”

Berta jumped up from the bed and assumed a rigid stance. “I
am
telling you the truth. If you want to say I’m a liar, I can’t stop you. But I know what I heard.”

Her haughty glare was intended to defy my challenge. Such behavior might work with her parents, but it didn’t convince me. Still, I worried there might be a snippet of truth in what she’d said. Mother had carefully avoided my questions about marriage and Carl the previous Sunday. On the other hand, Berta wanted those periodicals, and she would invent any story to get what she wanted. If I denied her, she might tell someone I had the magazines. I didn’t think she’d go to my parents, but she’d likely confide in Rudolf. And who could know whether he’d remain silent. I was cornered and needed an escape.

“I’m not certain if you’re telling me the truth, but since I can’t be sure, I’m going to keep my word. If I discover you’ve lied to me—”

“I’m not lying. I promise.” She rubbed her hands together and smiled, obviously eager for her prize.

Her grin disappeared when I pointed to the door. “You can wait in the parlor while I retrieve the magazine.”

“But what if your parents are out there? What will I say? I’m waiting for Johanna to remove a magazine from its hiding place?”

Berta never disappointed. She was always quick with a rejoinder. “Tell them you’re going to the outhouse and will return in a few minutes. If reading another magazine is truly important, I doubt that a few raindrops will deter you.”

She stomped across the floor and slammed the door behind her as she left the room—a clue that the parlor was empty. I hurried to the large walnut wardrobe. Not a moment too soon, I unearthed another magazine.

Without so much as a knock on the door, she poked her nose back into the room. “Ready?” she chirped.

Pulling the magazine from behind my back, I held it in the air. “Ready.”

She bounded across the room and plunked down on the edge of the bed. “Since you kept your word, I’ve decided to tell you one more thing I overheard. But I’ll wait until I want to see another magazine.”

Berta had dropped the luring temptation in front of me like a baited fishhook. Although I managed to maintain my dignity and didn’t beg, the girl’s assertion hung heavy in my mind. I was torn among dread and anticipation and disbelief. Had she truly overheard more of my parents’ conversation? And if she had, did she hear something I would consider good news or bad?

CHAPTER 11

Berta Schumacher

Over the next few days I decided my plan had failed. Johanna hadn’t said one word about my other secret. I had hoped she would come to me. That way I could strike a bargain. One that would let me see more of her magazines and possibly convince her to let me borrow them. But not once had she mentioned our conversation. With each passing day I became more annoyed. How could she possess so much patience and I so little?

Yesterday I had done my best to lure her with a mention of the ruined fishing expedition with Carl last Sunday. Her only reaction had been to murmur that God controlled the weather. And each time I had attempted a visit with her after prayer services, she had demurred. Her declinations had been kind but firm. And always in her mother’s presence. Her way of avoiding any argument from me—at least that was what I’d decided.

Even on our way to work each morning, she controlled the conversation with talk of kitchen chores, but last night I decided upon a new tack. On our way home from work today, I would drop a few mentions of Carl and see if she took the bait. If so, I would insist upon two or three of her magazines as a reward. I would return them, of course, but she could part with them for a few days.

I was lost in my thoughts of the latest fashion plates when Sister Muhlbach poked my shoulder.

“Where are your manners, Berta? It is rude to ignore people when they speak to you.”

Startled, I wheeled around, and the crock of cottage cheese I was carrying across the room slipped from my hands and landed on the wooden floor with a heavy thud. Except for chips along the rim, the crock remained intact, and for that I was thankful. Cottage cheese was everywhere. It had ejected from the crock like a wintry explosion. Keeping my eyelids at half-mast, I peeked at Sister Muhlbach. Her lips remained fixed in a giant oval while she surveyed the area. My clothing and the floor had received the worst of it, but there were also splashes on the worktable legs, on Sister Muhlbach’s shoes, and on the hem of her skirt. A few curds had even landed in the older woman’s graying hair, a sight that caused me to grin.

“This is not funny. Look at the waste of gut food,” Sister Muhlbach said.

“No. There’s, there’s . . .” I pointed to her hair.

She brushed her hand across the top of her head, but her fingers stopped when they touched the wet curds. “Ach! I’m going to my room to clean up while you scrub the kitchen floor.” She pointed to the edges of the cabinets and table legs. “And don’t miss any of it. If I haven’t returned by the time you finish, go home and change your clothes.” Sister Muhlbach sent a warning look to the other workers. “No one is to help her. You all have your own work to finish.”