Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (19 page)

During the ride Johanna and Carl were unusually talkative, while I was unusually quiet. Rudolf attempted to engage me in conversation, but I cared little about the new calves and lambs being born or the laying hens that were disappearing from the coop behind one of the other kitchen houses. What I wanted was peace and quiet, an opportunity to be alone with my thoughts of Caroline’s unwanted intrusion in my life and what the future held for me. I couldn’t help but wonder if my father would sneak off in the night, just as I’d crept out to meet John Underwood when we lived in Chicago. I wanted to believe Father would tell me—that he wouldn’t simply walk out of my life. That I’d have an opportunity to beg him to stay, to promise I’d behave in a proper manner, to convince him he needed us more than he wanted Caroline. If only he would give our family another chance, maybe he would be happy. Maybe.

“Berta and I get the spot by the big rock!” Rudolf nudged me when I didn’t immediately reach for his hand. “Come on, Berta.” He poked Carl’s shoulder and pointed to a grassy slope a short distance away. “That would be a good place for you and Johanna.”

Carl laughed and shook his head. “I can choose my own spot, thank you.”

“Grab the tin of worms, Berta,” Rudolf said as he helped me out of the buggy.

I followed his instruction and trailed behind him. Once he’d settled on the rock, I handed him the tin. “I don’t feel much like fishing. I’m going to go hunt for mushrooms. I’ll be back in a while.”

He made several fervent requests for me to remain and fish with him, but I declined. After my final refusal he dropped his fishing pole to the ground and jumped to his feet. “Then I’ll go hunt mushrooms with you.”

“No. Absolutely not.” I pointed to the rock. “Sit down and fish.” Confusion shone in his eyes. “This has nothing to do with you, Rudolf. I need some time alone to think.” I forced a smile and leaned forward to squeeze his shoulder. “Maybe when I return I’ll feel more like fishing.”

Though he didn’t appear totally convinced, he sat down. “Here. You’d better take this for your mushrooms.” He pulled a burlap bag from beneath him. “I don’t need it. Brought it along in case we wanted to sit in the grass.”

I thanked him and hurried off before he could change his mind. Sister Muhlbach had collected some morel mushrooms last Sunday and cooked them for the kitchen workers as a special treat. Fried in her buttered iron skillet, they had melted in my mouth. While I searched for the golden sponge-topped morels, my thoughts returned to Caroline’s letter and how I could save our family.

I pushed aside an early growth of plants that had begun to take hold in the wooded area and smiled with satisfaction when I spied several of the yellowish mushrooms poking through the weeds. Like vigilant sentinels they appeared to be standing guard over the woodland floor. I dropped them into the burlap bag and continued my search. Sister Muhlbach had told me the mushrooms were difficult to find, but after tasting the delicacies, I knew they were worth the effort.

I’d located several of the mushrooms’ hiding spots when I heard the rustle of approaching footsteps. I expected to see Rudolf. Instead, I caught a glimpse of Johanna as she pushed aside an overhanging branch.

“Any luck with the mushrooms?”

Strange. When I wanted company no one came around, but when I needed time to think, there wasn’t a quiet place to be found. Holding the bag shoulder high, I gave a nod. “Not nearly as many as Sister Muhlbach picked last week.”

Johanna peeked inside the bag. “But there’s enough that we could have a tasty treat when we do the laundry tomorrow. We can borrow a skillet from the Küche and fry them over the stove in the washhouse. What do you think? That would be a nice reward for doing the laundry.”

I wasn’t certain Johanna’s mother would agree. She seemed far too stern to enjoy frying mushrooms in the washhouse. “Do you think your mother would agree?”

“Of course. She enjoys mushrooms as much as I do.”

“Any luck catching fish?”

Johanna shook her head. “Not for me, but Carl and Rudolf have each caught two. I think they’re in competition.” She stooped down and looked beneath the undergrowth and pulled out a large mushroom. Smiling, she stood and dropped it into the bag. “I keep meaning to ask you what your father said about that letter he received. Did he tell you who had written to him?”

My throat constricted. I gasped for a breath of air and choked out my answer. “He said it was from one of his patients in Chicago.”

“There, you see? No need for concern.”

I hadn’t planned to tell Johanna my secret, but I could no longer hold the ugly story inside. “He lied!”

Her eyes opened wide at my shouted accusation. “That’s a serious statement, Berta. What makes you think he lied?”

“Because I read the letter. The woman wasn’t one of his patients.

She loves my father. Even worse, I fear that he loves her.” Without warning my tears spilled over and plopped onto my stained shirtwaist. I sniffled and wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand.

Unless tears were being used for the purpose of manipulation in a difficult situation, I detested them. Long ago I’d learned that women who cried were considered frail and defenseless. I never wanted to be considered either of those things.

“Oh, Berta.” Johanna pulled me close and wrapped me in a warm embrace. “I’m very sorry. This is why you’ve been so quiet and withdrawn, isn’t it.”

Her soft cotton dress rubbed against my cheek. “Yes. I wish I had followed your advice. It would be better if I didn’t know.”

“Have you spoken to your mother?”

I took a backward step. “Not yet, but I think she may know.”

“You should be very careful, Berta. You don’t want to hurt your mother. You should seek God’s direction. A mistake could create problems that might never be resolved.”

Johanna was right. This was more serious than peeking at presents before Christmas morning arrived. Saying or doing the wrong thing could ruin the rest of our lives. “If I tell my mother and there is an argument, I fear Father will leave Amana for good. And I’m certain he won’t take Mother or me with him. What would you do?”

“I don’t know, Berta. That’s why you must pray for God to give you the direction you need.”

Later that afternoon, I listened to my father’s footsteps as he descended the stairs. Once I heard the front door close, I glanced toward my mother. We were seldom alone nowadays. If we weren’t at work, we were at church. And when we were at home, Father generally sat in the parlor reading his medical journals while Mother stitched on her needlepoint. Even now she held her handwork, though she did appear distracted. She hadn’t taken a stitch since I’d looked in her direction. With Father off to check on a patient, I decided this would be the perfect time to ask some questions.

I crossed the room and settled into the chair beside her. “That’s a lovely piece you’re working on.”

“What?” Her focus darted to the needlepoint. “Oh, this?” She dangled the fabric in the air. “It’s a canvas I started before our move to Amana.”

Her response gave me the perfect opening. “How well are you enjoying our new life in Iowa, Mother?”

She measured and snipped a length of yarn. “I believe we’re adjusting quite well. Don’t you?”

I lifted my weight and pulled the chair closer. “When we first arrived, I thought Father was the one who wanted to move here, especially since he has a distant cousin living in Middle Amana.” I was going to ask her if we would ever meet the unknown relative, but immediately pushed the idea aside. I didn’t want to veer from the important questions. I couldn’t be sure when Father would return. “Now I’m wondering if you’re the one who made the choice to move here.”

She stared at me for a moment. “It was a joint decision. We both knew it would be best for all of us to move away from Chicago.”

“So you admit we didn’t move here because you feared I’d run off with John Underwood.”

“Not entirely. We were very worried about your behavior prior to our departure. You are easily influenced by others—especially young men. And that’s not a good thing. Amana is a safe haven for all of us.”

“But why is this place good for you and Father? You were happy in Chicago, and Father had a good medical practice with lots of patients. This move makes little sense, and Father doesn’t appear particularly happy here. What if he should decide to leave?

Would you go with him? Would you permit me to go if he wanted to move back to Chicago?”

My mother shifted in her chair. I could see my questions made her uncomfortable.

“None of us is going to leave Amana. We are a happy and content family. Besides, we have sold all of our possessions, and the money was turned over to the society when we moved here. Even if your father wanted to return, he has no way to rebuild his life in Chicago. It would be far too difficult.”

I swallowed hard as I remembered the contents of the leather pouch in my father’s dresser. Had Mother never seen it when she placed clean laundry in his dresser? Then I remembered that she’d assigned each of us the task of putting away our own laundry when she started working at the Kinderschule. Still, I wondered if she knew about the leather pouch and had chosen to ignore my father’s dishonesty.

“Were you unhappy in Chicago, Mother?”

Her fingers trembled as she attempted to thread her needle. “Why all this talk of Chicago? I thought we’d settled this discussion long ago.” She narrowed her eyes and pinned me with a hard look. “Is there something you need to tell me, Berta?”

I wagged my head back and forth, but my mother’s gaze remained steadfast. If I turned away, she’d know I was lying. “No, nothing I can think of at the moment.”

She placed the needlework in her lap. “I realize you still find life here in Amana difficult. But if you will open your heart to God and listen to His Word at Sunday meetings and during our prayer services, you will feel His presence and the blessing He can bring to your life.”

Who was this woman? She didn’t sound like my mother. In all the years we’d lived in Chicago, I’d never heard her speak of God’s presence. Her conversations had consisted of fashion, artwork, and her friends’ latest acquisitions. There had been no talk of blessings— other than a bargain she’d discovered when purchasing fabric for a new gown.

Disbelief assailed me. Did she truly think this had been a good choice? “You enjoy attending all the church services and sitting with me and the other women rather than beside your husband? You like going to the Kinderschule every day and teaching children how to knit mittens and scarves? You like wiping their runny noses and buttoning their jackets? You enjoy taking your meals in a room full of strangers rather than eating in the privacy of your own dining room? You enjoy washing our dirty clothes every Monday, and you enjoy the routine we must follow each day? You like living in these rooms, and you’re pleased we moved here?” With dramatic flair, I created a sweeping motion that embraced the cramped living quarters.

She looked at me as though I were the slow child in her Kinderschule class. “Yes. I think it was a wise decision—for all of us. However, I could do without eating the doughnuts, waffles, and cream puffs every Tuesday. It isn’t good for my waistline.”

Leaning toward me, she clasped my hand. “If you remain unhappy and want to move away when you are older, I won’t object. Of course, such a move would prove difficult, since your father and I couldn’t provide any financial assistance.” She released my hand and offered a bright smile. “But I have a feeling you’ll steal some young man’s heart, get married, and remain in Amana. You’ll have a good life here, Berta. No worries about other women coveting what is yours.”

“What’s coveting?”

“That’s when you want something that belongs to someone else. Like a nice home or pretty jewelry, or—”

“Your husband?”

“Ouch!” Mother lifted her finger to her mouth and held it there for a moment. “I pricked my finger.”

Had she intentionally poked herself in order to avoid my question? I remained silent and waited to see if she would answer me.

She yanked her handkerchief from her pocket and wrapped it around the finger. Moments later she arched her brows and glanced up at me. “Now, what were we talking about?”

“A woman coveting your husband,” I said.

She sputtered and coughed. “I didn’t mean that in the literal sense, my dear.”

We locked gazes, and I knew that she was lying.